#sound mixing techniques

[musitechnicformation]

Discover the essentials of sound engineering to produce high-quality audio for music, films, and live events. Learn about advanced techniques in recording, mixing, and mastering, along with the best tools and software used in the industry. Sound engineering is the cornerstone of professional audio production, helping you achieve crystal-clear sound and perfect acoustics. Whether you’re a beginner or an experienced audio engineer, enhance your skills and take your projects to the next level.

[beaulesbian]

One Piece ep. 260 || "Even a monster like him isn't the leader of the group?"

+ bonus

[yuzuyoon]

can you explain more about jimin's vocals sounding different? i noticed something but i know nothing about singing 😭😭 he said that he had been taking singing classes for 2.5 months tho

Ofc I can explain. I'm not very good at explaining things and I tend to trail off into tangents, so just bear with me for this. 

To understand how his vocals have changed, we have to look back on his old vocals and what made them “bad” compared to today. I'm sure you’ve unfortunately seen the clip all the antis use to drag jimin from the fake love performance with charlie puth. I hate the clip because Jimin seemed super tired and sick, but it is regretfully the best clip to show the difference between then and now. In the clip, he sings his lines, but they’re super shaky and it just doesn't sound good. You can hear that he sounds tired. His vocals lack control and stability and pitch. It’s just not good. 

Now this doesn’t mean Jimin was a bad singer. Jimin has never actually been a bad singer, but he did use some techniques that put a lot of strain on his vocals. This on top of bts’s crazy schedules at the time meant Jimin's voice was getting overworked. It led to his voice sounding quite tired at times and fatigue in general, manifesting in sore throats, losing his voice, voice cracks and even getting sick, like the fake love performance. if you wanna kinda feel what i'm describing, just try and belt incredibly high notes for 5 minutes straight very loudly and see how your voice feels after. I mean, you can just yell for 5 minutes straight too. it's exaggerated, but your voice becomes super tired and raspy after it and trying to sing nicely after it is super hard and your voice is super shaky after it. 

In the minimoni music episode, jimin mentioned how he needs to learn balance between his new and old techniques and said to sing older songs, he sings forward and up in his head, near his nose. Generally, when belting high notes, you want to aim for the power behind it coming from your diaphragm and your abdomen. Jimin saying that's where he sang makes me think he hit all those bts high notes by tightening his vocal cords to hit high notes. This is not good technique if you want to produce healthy sounds. When you watch him sing you can tell it takes a lot of effort to reach and sustain the note. The high tone he has is beautiful but his producers assumed high tone = the capability to belt high notes.

Jimin's voice sounded best when he would use falsetto and head voice. when he would use chest or mix it could sound a bit shaky and weak. this and his vibrato was inconstant and shaky as well. Sometimes these problems would completely disappear, but that’s not a good thing at the core because it meant he lacked consistency to continue with good technique. These are the main things that I notice a difference in. The key word for Jimin's old technique would be "tight.” If there’s anything i’d want you to focus on it’s listening to how high and tight jimin’s vocals used to sound. They sounded thin. It lacked the depth it needed to thrive. 

So what’s the difference now? Well if i described jimin’s old vocals as tight, high, and thin, I would describe his new technique as open, deep, and resonant. I’ll have to find some clips to show the difference side by side. 

he's not tightening his vocal cords to produce higher notes. if there is a note that's very high, he leans more towards a mix voice (head voice and chest voice) to produce a sound that can sound like belting without actually belting and puts breath support behind it to really push the resonance or he goes straight head voice. He’s not trying to hit challenging notes by pushing himself and hurting his voice anymore. he's pulling the weight of singing from lower down now for those more middle to lower notes and then leaning more into a mix for those higher notes. you can start to hear the difference back in the like crazy jazz version. He skips the highest notes to catch his breath and his voice sits more at the back of his throat instead of up in his nose making a lovely sound. I know to make the difference happen in my own voice but i don't know how to explain it, so you’ll have to try to sing the difference for yourself?

Jimin saying that he knew his technique would hurt his voice really was the confirming detail for me. We knew he was never satisfied with his vocals, but we never saw him outright say he knew how he was singing was wrong. I think the lack of vocal lessons back then was probably from their insane schedule and simply just a lack of time to get them done. No time to do vocal lessons meant that their schedule was packed to the point of overwork, which is another reason he was sounding off at that time. With the huge break bts got to work on solo stuff, there was so much more room for lessons, and i'm glad he took the opportunity because now he sounds amazing!! All these differences aside, Jimin still sounds like Jimin, and that’s the most important part

here's a little comparison video so you can try to hear the difference

I explained the fake love clip already, but when you listen to the who clip, you can tell he’s singing from a deeper spot and he’s really pulling strength from his breathing. Those higher notes are actually easier to sing when you use a “deeper” sounding tone. (and earlier in the clip when he sings the pre-chorus the final phrase sounds so crisp and clear an resonant and i basically swoon each time i listen to it)

[valeechtine]

Why is it impossible to find a version of All I Ask Of You that I enjoy on Spotify. None of these singers are doing it right.

[ourwitching]

The live music festival – a battleground of wet socks, sunburn, dehydration, challenging personaliti...

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — sometimes your boyfriend’s want for you just seems to be insatiable.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, mating press, breeding, biting, he loses control of his technique a teeny tiny bit at the end, im going absolutely insane. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiii this is a lil mix of my gojo thoughts over the past few months, my sanity is slipping as u can tell <3

the way gojo satoru was in bed was exactly how he was in real life, absolutely merciless when he wanted to be, you realise with the dizzy haze in your mind and the pillow he’s shoved under your hips. there’s a pleasurable burn in your thighs where he’s got them folded into you, your ankles dangling by his ears as his hips press into your ass and the way he looks over you is needy, and a little wild.

but he only really got like this on on a few occasions, like after a gruelling mission, a boring mountain of paperwork or maybe you’d been teasing him. sometimes he’s just consumed by the idea of you carrying his kids— he’s so incredibly insatiable.

“you feel me right here, sweet thing, hm?” the snowy haired man above you hisses with a languid roll of his hips, deliberately pressing into the sweet spots inside of you that he always seems to be able to find so easily. but you can barely breathe, nevermind answer with how full you feel — your warm walls twitching around his heavy shaft before he’s giving you a few more thrusts.

“don’t hold out on me, it feels good, right?” gojo goads, chuckles when the next particularly deep kiss of his cock along your insides has your lips parting to moan, eyes squeezing shut as you wriggle underneath him.

“‘ts too deep, satoru! fuck—“ you manage, voice breaking under the weight of your own arousal but shit— he loves you like this. pliant and pretty and all his. you’re basically begging for him to give you his soul, to pour it into your body and your bones until you’re twitching— his stamina was limitless after all, an endless pool of energy.

“oh? but i’m sure you can take more..” gojo’s words are a low drawl as he curls over your folded figure, making your muscles scream for some sort of relief but he still manages to give you more. he begins a pace that’s so deep, so animalistic that you feel like you could black out with the way the pleasure rips through you, making your body clap against his as his balls smack loudly against your ass and suddenly he’s even deeper.

“see, i knew it.” it’s smug despite the the trembling undercurrent to his tone, breaking under the weight of his own arousal as his voice takes an octave higher. but you’re doing so well for him, your eyes are rolled back— lips parted and you’re basically begging for him to go harder when he leans into press his lips against yours, pushing his name between your lips as your hands grab at him for any sort of relief.

“almost there, right?” gojo groans against you with the next quiver of your walls; the next particularly heavy thrust makes your thighs tremble and he’s so deep it almost hurts, making something spark and burn along your inside as he fucks you into the mattress like a wild animal.

you whimper, barely— it’s a desperately pathetic little sound, wound up tight and it makes him pull away to look at you, crystalline eyes cloudy with lust before his lips are stretching into a smirk.

“oh, more?” gojo’s head cocks to the side and you know you’re done for when his pace picks up, every heavy thrust is driven by the muscles in his body and your pussy squelches loudly with every wet connection of his hips.

“oh, i’ll give you more, baby. so greedy f’ me, hm?” despite his teasing, he’s babbling— sweat beading along his skin as the snowy peaks of his hair frame his flushed features and fuck, the pretty sight above you only makes you feel even better. you’re so high off his desperation, every muscle in your body screams under his but the nerves in your body cry even louder with how good you feel— with how much your body craves him.

“‘ts so tight, you milkin’ me, sweet girl? how many you want, huh? give you as many as you need. wanna see you swollen f’ me, you want that, mhm?” gojo’s barely coherent but his words only make you squeeze around him tighter— a silent little invitation as every thrust has you crying more, more, more! satoru, want your cum—please! punched out little gasps and cries as he digs the orgasm out of you.

“oh, you’ll look so pretty f’ me—f-fuck!” his huge body is looming over yours, pressing you into the mattress and the pillows beneath you. your thighs are flush against his abdomen and chest, and your lungs feel like they quake on every exhale as your lips part to moan. he presses himself into you— face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he grazes his teeth along the skin there, headboard screeching loudly in time with every smack of his hips.

“‘toru, please please please—‘m g’nna,” you tremble as you shake beneath gojo, thighs tensing tight against his body and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you as he smirks against your skin. your orgasm hits you so suddenly, so hard and good that your toes curl where they hang over his shoulders, your body stiffening beneath him and the first milking compression of your pussy makes his pace stutter, hugs him so tight he can’t help but bite so hard into the sensitive skin of your neck he draws blood.

“should see h-how pretty you look like this. tell me ‘ts all mine, y’ gonna make me a daddy, yeah? g’nna fill you up so good. oh, this pussy’s made f’ me, ain’t it?”

his body trembles as he pulls back slightly to watch your cream pool around the base of his cock, your slick smeared along his skin and your walls still throb with every unforgiving push of his hips. your orgasm feels like it stretches on forever as you gasp out broken yeah, yours, love you so much ‘toru, waves rolling through your body with the heat you feel pour and sting along your nerves. it only takes a few more clapping thrusts and your choked confessions before hes kissing you, just as he likes as his lips curl into you.

gojo cums hard, thick and heavy inside of you when he feels your tongue push against his, swallowing both of your groans into the kiss as he pushes his load into your puffy cunt. you’re both so lost in bliss, so unaware of the electricity across your boyfriends skin and the uncomfortable pressure that seems to suddenly weigh down on your intertwined bodies.

the bedroom light flickers but you don’t notice, he’s slurring curses against your lips as he almost pins your thighs to your chest completely, the air between you seems tighter— atoms trembling in the finate space. but he’s continuing to fuck into your sensitive pussy with tiny little thrusts you don’t notice the creek of your furniture as it twitches out of place— like it’s being pulled towards you both. the small flickers of purple fizzle out when you’re both spent and he’s collapsing on top of you with a low, breathy chuckle, making you whine with the cramp you feel in your body.

“‘toru! you’re heavy.” you grumble, voice worn and scratchy but it doesn’t move gojo as he cuddles deeper into you, leaving sweet little kisses along your skin with obnoxious kissy noises— a stark contrast to how filthy he was being a second ago.

you’re both breathing deep as you give up trying to escape from underneath him, opting to press your fingers through his damp hair instead before he finally moves. he pulls back, enough for his cock to push his cum out of your pussy as he does, squelching and dripping into the mattress beneath you both as you jolt slightly. “careful, ‘ts messy, ‘toru.”

gojo whistles lowly before he looks at you again, one of your legs still haphazardly thrown over his shoulder before he’s placing a sweet kiss to your ankle, then following it up with a painfully languid, experimental thrust as his crystalline eyes focus on the mess he’s made of you.

“come on, sweet girl. you’re not nearly full enough f’ me yet.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

25 Prose Tips For Writers 🖋️✨ Part 1

Hey there!📚✨

As writers, we all know that feeling when we read a sentence so beautifully crafted that it takes our breath away. We pause, reread it, and marvel at how the author managed to string those words together in such a captivating way. Well, today I'm going to unpack a few secrets to creating that same magic in your own writing. These same tips I use in my writing.

But before I begin, please remember that writing is an art form, and like any art, it's subjective. What sounds beautiful to one person might not resonate with another. The tips I'm about to share are meant to be tools in your writer's toolkit, not rigid rules. Feel free to experiment, play around, and find what works best for your unique voice and style.

Power of Rhythm 🎵

One of the most overlooked aspects of beautiful prose is rhythm. Just like music, writing has a flow and cadence that can make it pleasing to the ear (or mind's ear, in this case). Here are some ways to incorporate rhythm into your writing:

a) Vary your sentence length: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, flowing ones. This creates a natural ebb and flow that keeps your reader engaged.

Example: "The sun set. Darkness crept in, wrapping the world in its velvet embrace. Stars winked to life, one by one, until the sky was a glittering tapestry of light."

b) Use repetition strategically: Repeating words or phrases can create a hypnotic effect and emphasize important points.

Example: "She walked through the forest, through the shadows, through the whispers of ancient trees. Through it all, she walked with purpose."

c) Pay attention to the stressed syllables: In English, we naturally stress certain syllables in words. Try to end important sentences with stressed syllables for a stronger impact.

Example: "Her heart raced as she approached the door." (Stronger ending) vs. "She approached the door as her heart raced." (Weaker ending)

Paint with Words ���

Beautiful prose often creates vivid imagery in the reader's mind. Here are some techniques to help you paint with words:

a) Use specific, concrete details: Instead of general descriptions, zoom in on particular details that bring a scene to life.

Example: Instead of: "The room was messy." Try: "Crumpled papers overflowed from the waste bin, books lay spine-up on every surface, and a half-eaten sandwich peeked out from under a stack of wrinkled clothes."

b) Appeal to all five senses: Don't just describe what things look like. Include smells, sounds, textures, and tastes to create a fully immersive experience.

Example: "The market bustled with life. Colorful fruits glistened in the morning sun, their sweet aroma mingling with the earthy scent of fresh herbs. Vendors called out their wares in sing-song voices, while customers haggled in animated tones. Sarah's fingers brushed against the rough burlap sacks of grain as she passed, and she could almost taste the tang of ripe oranges on her tongue."

c) Use unexpected comparisons: Fresh similes and metaphors can breathe new life into descriptions.

Example: Instead of: "The old man was very thin." Try: "The old man was a whisper of his former self, as if life had slowly erased him, leaving behind only the faintest outline."

Choose Your Words Wisely 📚

Every word in your prose should earn its place. Here are some tips for selecting the right words:

a) Embrace strong verbs: Replace weak verb + adverb combinations with single, powerful verbs.

Example: Instead of: "She walked quickly to the store." Try: "She hurried to the store." or "She dashed to the store."

b) Be specific: Use precise nouns instead of general ones.

Example: Instead of: "She picked up the flower." Try: "She plucked the daisy."

c) Avoid clichés: Clichés can make your writing feel stale. Try to find fresh ways to express common ideas.

Example: Instead of: "It was raining cats and dogs." Try: "The rain fell in sheets, transforming the streets into rushing rivers."

Play with Sound 🎶

The sound of words can contribute greatly to the beauty of your prose. Here are some techniques to make your writing more musical:

a) Alliteration: Repeating initial consonant sounds can create a pleasing effect.

Example: "She sells seashells by the seashore."

b) Assonance: Repeating vowel sounds can add a subtle musicality to your prose.

Example: "The light of the bright sky might ignite a fight."

c) Onomatopoeia: Using words that sound like what they describe can make your writing more immersive.

Example: "The bees buzzed and hummed as they flitted from flower to flower."

Art of Sentence Structure 🏗️

How you structure your sentences can greatly affect the flow and impact of your prose. Here are some tips:

a) Use parallel structure: When listing items or actions, keep the grammatical structure consistent.

Example: "She came, she saw, she conquered."

b) Try periodic sentences: Build suspense by putting the main clause at the end of the sentence.

Example: "Through storm and strife, across oceans and continents, despite all odds and obstacles, they persevered."

c) Experiment with sentence fragments: While not grammatically correct, sentence fragments can be powerful when used intentionally for emphasis or style.

Example: "She stood at the edge of the cliff. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Ready to jump."

Power of White Space ⬜

Sometimes, what you don't say is just as important as what you do. Use paragraph breaks and short sentences to create pauses and emphasize important moments.

Example: "He opened the letter with trembling hands.

Inside, a single word.

'Yes.'"

Read Your Work Aloud 🗣️

One of the best ways to polish your prose is to read it aloud. This helps you catch awkward phrasing, repetitive words, and rhythm issues that you might miss when reading silently.

Edit Ruthlessly ✂️

Beautiful prose often comes from rigorous editing. Don't be afraid to cut words, sentences, or even entire paragraphs if they don't serve the overall beauty and effectiveness of your writing.

Study the Masters 📖

Please! Read widely and pay attention to how your favorite authors craft their prose. Analyze sentences you find particularly beautiful and try to understand what makes them work.

Practice, Practice, Practice 💪

Like any skill, writing beautiful prose takes practice. Set aside time to experiment with different techniques and styles. Try writing exercises focused on specific aspects of prose, like describing a scene using only sound words, or rewriting a simple sentence in ten different ways.

Remember, that developing your prose style is a journey, not a destination. It's okay if your first draft isn't perfect – that's what editing is for! The most important thing is to keep writing, keep experimenting, and keep finding joy in the process.

Here are a few more unique tips to help you on your prose-perfecting journey:

Create a Word Bank 🏦

Keep a notebook or digital file where you collect beautiful words, phrases, or sentences you come across in your reading. This can be a great resource when you're looking for inspiration or the perfect word to complete a sentence.

Use the "Rule of Three" 3️⃣

There's something inherently satisfying about groups of three. Use this to your advantage in your writing, whether it's in listing items, repeating phrases, or structuring your paragraphs.

Example: "The old house groaned, creaked, and whispered its secrets to the night."

Power of Silence 🤫

Sometimes, the most powerful prose comes from what's left unsaid. Use implication and subtext to add depth to your writing.

Example: Instead of: "She was heartbroken when he left." Try: "She stared at his empty chair across the breakfast table, the untouched coffee growing cold."

Play with Perspective 👁️

Experiment with different points of view to find the most impactful way to tell your story. Sometimes, an unexpected perspective can make your prose truly memorable.

Example: Instead of describing a bustling city from a human perspective, try describing it from the point of view of a bird soaring overhead, or a coin passed from hand to hand.

Use Punctuation Creatively 🖋️

While it's important to use punctuation correctly, don't be afraid to bend the rules a little for stylistic effect. Em dashes, ellipses, and even unconventional use of periods can add rhythm and emphasis to your prose.

Example: "She hesitated—heart pounding, palms sweating—then knocked on the door."

Create Contrast 🌓

Juxtapose different elements in your writing to create interest and emphasis. This can be in terms of tone, pacing, or even the literal elements you're describing.

Example: "The delicate butterfly alighted on the rusted barrel of the abandoned tank."

Use Synesthesia 🌈

Synesthesia is a condition where one sensory experience triggers another. While not everyone experiences this, using synesthetic descriptions in your writing can create vivid and unique imagery.

Example: "The violin's melody tasted like honey on her tongue."

Experiment with Sentence Diagrams 📊

Remember those sentence diagrams from school? Try diagramming some of your favorite sentences from literature. This can give you insight into how complex sentences are structured and help you craft your own.

Create a Sensory Tour 🚶‍♀️

When describing a setting, try taking your reader on a sensory tour. Move from one sense to another, creating a full, immersive experience.

Example: "The old bookstore welcomed her with the musty scent of aging paper. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight piercing the high windows. Her fingers trailed over the cracked leather spines as she moved deeper into the stacks, the floorboards creaking a greeting beneath her feet. In the distance, she could hear the soft ticking of an ancient clock and taste the faint bitterness of old coffee in the air."

Use Active Voice (Most of the Time) 🏃‍♂️

While passive voice has its place, active voice generally creates more dynamic and engaging prose. Compare these two sentences:

Passive: "The ball was thrown by the boy." Active: "The boy threw the ball."

Magic of Ordinary Moments ✨

Sometimes, the most beautiful prose comes from describing everyday occurrences in a new light. Challenge yourself to find beauty and meaning in the mundane.

Example: "The kettle's whistle pierced the quiet morning, a clarion call heralding the day's first cup of possibility."

Play with Time ⏳

Experiment with how you present the passage of time in your prose. You can stretch a moment out over several paragraphs or compress years into a single sentence.

Example: "In that heartbeat between his question and her answer, universes were born and died, civilizations rose and fell, and their entire future hung in the balance."

Use Anaphora for Emphasis 🔁

Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of successive clauses or sentences. It can create a powerful rhythm and emphasize key points.

Example: "She was the sunrise after the longest night. She was the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. She was hope personified, walking among us."

Create Word Pictures 🖼️

Try to create images that linger in the reader's mind long after they've finished reading. These don't have to be elaborate – sometimes a simple, unexpected combination of words can be incredibly powerful.

Example: "Her laughter was a flock of birds taking flight."

Use Rhetorical Devices 🎭

Familiarize yourself with rhetorical devices like chiasmus, antithesis, and oxymoron. These can add depth and interest to your prose.

Example of chiasmus: "Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country." - John F. Kennedy

Even the most accomplished authors continue to hone their craft with each new piece they write. Don't be discouraged if your first attempts don't sound exactly like you imagined – keep practicing, keep experimenting, and most importantly, keep writing.

Your unique voice and perspective are what will ultimately make your prose beautiful. These techniques are simply tools to help you express that voice more effectively. Use them, adapt them, or discard them as you see fit. The most important thing is to write in a way that feels authentic to you and brings you joy.

Happy writing, everyone! 🖋️💖📚 - Rin T

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: After a series of graffiti attacks on your bakery, you find out Jihoon is the vandal behind it, frustrated because your shop's success has outshone his grandma's bakery. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: enemies to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, physical violence (reader hits jihoon with a mop, vandalism), jealousy, emotional conflict, fingering, blowjob, hair pulling, semi-public sex, cock riding, overwhelming, body fluids (cum), no protection, fetish elements—being painted with grafitty during sex, claiming, mention of an enormous cock on the bakery's wall.

Your arms are crossed in a tight clutch as you stare at the front door of the bakery, the black, fresh tags sprayed across the pastel walls like an ugly bruise. It’s the same crap, just a new day. The pink and white of your shop—the delicate aesthetic that drew people in—was constantly being smeared by some low-life with a spray can. Months of this, and all the cameras ever caught was a faceless guy in a black hoodie. Useless.

With a frustrated sigh, you unlock the door, pushing it open with more force than necessary. The day needed to start, vandalism or not. You open the windows, letting the fresh morning air in. At least the floors were clean, thanks to the obsessive mopping you’d done last night. That had become a habit lately, one of the few things you could control.

You grab a bowl, dumping the ingredients for cake batter in with a bit too much force. Your arm flexes as you whip the fouet through the mix, your irritation guiding every furious stroke. It’s therapeutic, in a way—until Mingyu walks in.

“Are you... trying to murder the batter?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice as he sets his stuff in the locker. “You’re about to crack the bowl in half.”

You glance up, still scowling, but the comment catches you off guard. “Shu’up, Mingyu. You would be mixing like this too if someone graffitied your walls for the hundredth time.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be so dramatic about it,” he teases, walking over to grab his apron. “It’s just a little paint. You act like the world’s ending.”

“It’s not just paint! It’s every day with this. And it’s not even good graffiti. It’s just some bullshit tags that don’t mean anything.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know, some people might say you’re overthinking it. Maybe the artist is just misunderstood. Maybe there’s a deeper meaning.”

“‘Eat shit’ has no deeper meaning,” you deadpan, pushing the bowl to the side. “And I’ve got a cake due at 3 p.m. Can you please help me with the fondant? I need to leave on time for class.”

“Gastronomy waits for no one,” he quips, moving to help you.

You sigh, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Exactly. And if I’m late, I’m fucked. So let's get this done.”

Mingyu chuckles, but he gets to work, his hands already busy with rolling out the fondant. “You ever think of just... catching the guy yourself? Stake out the place or something?”

“Yeah, because that’s a great use of my time,” you mutter. “I’ve got school, work, and now this mystery asshole. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Sit outside all night and wait to get jumped?”

“Hey, you might scare him off with your mixing technique alone.”

You snort. “At this point, I’d rather beat him over the head with the bowl.”

— // NEXT DAY // —

You’re bent over the counter, carefully arranging the pies and cupcakes in the vitrine, when the bell above the door jingles. The sound makes you straighten up automatically, pasting on your best “welcome to my bakery” smile.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” you ask, looking up to see Mrs. Yang, one of your more... particular customers. She smiles politely, her bag clutched in one hand, and takes her time approaching the counter.

“Good morning, dear,” she says, her voice too sweet for whatever she’s about to say next. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about... the situation outside.”

Here we go.

You nod, still smiling like your life depends on it. “Yes, we’ve been dealing with some, uh... graffiti issues lately.”

Her lips purse. “It’s quite the eyesore, don’t you think? Having that sort of thing on the storefront isn’t good for business, especially with such a nice bakery like yours. People might get the wrong impression. I wouldn’t want to bring my friends here if it continues.”

You feel Mingyu’s eyes on you from the back, wide and alarmed like he’s bracing himself for whatever smartass remark is about to leave your mouth. You can almost hear him holding his breath.

But instead of snapping, you swallow it down. Barely.

“I understand, Mrs. Yang. We’re working on getting it removed as soon as possible,” you say, your voice calm and professional, even though your brain is screaming, What the hell do you want me to do? Hand-paint the walls every night?

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll handle it,” she replies with a thin smile, “You always do such a lovely job here. I’ll have two of the lemon tarts, please.”

“Of course,” you say, grabbing the tarts and ringing her up, every muscle in your body tense as you try not to explode. “That’ll be $8.50.”

As she leaves, Mingyu sidles up behind you. “You alright? That looked painful.”

You shoot him a glare. “Shut up before I throw a tart at you.”

He just laughs. “Hey, props for not biting her head off. That’s growth.”

Your day only goes downhill from there.

An order comes in last-minute, right when you're about to head out for a cake delivery, forcing you to juggle too many tasks at once. The fondant on the cake cracks just as you’re trying to finish it, and you nearly drop the entire thing when you’re loading it into the car. By the time you deliver it, you're ten minutes late, and the client is tapping her foot like you ruined her wedding or something.

As you drive away, you notice that some idiot in the parking lot nicked the side of your car with their door. The scrape is fresh, ugly, and just another thing you don’t have time to deal with.

By the time you make it to the university, you’re on edge. Every little thing is pissing you off—the late delivery, the car, Mrs. Yang’s passive-aggressive comments replaying in your head.

You stomp into the classroom, tossing your bag on the desk as you take your seat. Your friend, Jiyeon, looks up from her notes, immediately catching the “I’m about to lose it” vibe radiating from you.

“Woah, woah... Don’t talk to me,” you say, waving her off before she even opens her mouth.

She raises her hands in mock surrender, exasperated. “Okay, okay, damn. I wasn’t even gonna say anything!”

From the corner of your eye, you catch the guy sitting next to you glancing over. He’s half-smirking, like he’s amused by your bad mood. You roll your eyes as you pull your utensils from your bag.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” you snap, not really in the mood for whatever attitude he’s giving you.

He just raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “Nothing. Chill.”

You huff, biting your tongue. “Whatever, man.”

As class starts, you try to focus on the lecture, but it feels like everything is stacking up, one annoying thing after another. You’re counting down the hours until you can get out of here and back to the bakery, where at least you can take your frustrations out on some dough.

[...]

The bakery is finally quiet. You’ve set the doughs to rest for tomorrow, turned off the colorful lights, and now it’s just you, the mop, and the hum of the radio. There’s something peaceful about the dark bakery—like it’s resting, too, after a long, chaotic day. The floor’s slick beneath the mop as you drag it in lazy strokes, the apron around your neck, always too tight, was finally off.

It’s quiet out there too. Rush hour’s over, people are strolling by in pretty scarves, leaving their cubicles for the day. Not that you’d ever want that life. That could never be you—this was your space, your bakery. You’d rather be here, mopping your own floors than stuck in some windowless office.

Even if your apron’s been digging into your neck all damn day. You rub at the sore spot, sighing, when—

Wait.

What the fuck? You squint, eyes narrowing as some guy steps right up to your bakery window, a paint can in hand. You watch in disbelief as he starts spraying. Right on your wall. Again.

You don’t even think. You just move. The front glass door slams open so hard the bell almost flies off, the aggressive clatter echoing behind you as you stomp out, mop still in hand.

“YA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

The guy barely turns, but it’s too late. You’re already swinging. The wooden handle of your mop cracks across his back with a satisfying thud, and he lets out this startled grunt, almost tripping over his own feet. You swing again, harder this time, and it echoes across the empty street. Even the homeless guy across the road—the one you always give leftover tarts to—jumps in his spot, startled.

“What the fuck, you asshole! You think this is funny?!” you yell, swinging the mop at him again as he ducks, letting out an “ouch” with each hit. “You keep tagging my walls, and I’m the one paying for this shit! Do you even know how much it costs to get this cleaned? Huh?!”

“Ouch, fuck! Stop, STOP!” he stammers, arms up, trying to shield himself.

You don’t stop. You’re done with this day, done with this week, done with this punk-ass artist ruining your bakery’s vibe. “You piece of shit! You’re dead! I’m gonna shove this can so far up your—”

“What the hell?!” the guy stumbles, trying to dodge your swings, but you’re relentless.

“You think you can just waltz in and spray whatever dumb shit you want? You’re gonna clean this up with your tongue, you little—”

Before you can deliver another hit, the guy turns around, and his hood falls back. Your breath catches.

“Jihoon?!”

The guy grimaces, rubbing his back where you’ve practically beat the soul out of him, but it’s definitely him. The same Jihoon you snapped at in class today, the same Jihoon you barely tolerate during group projects. The fucker who’s been defacing your bakery.

You blink, still holding the mop in a death grip. “So it was you, you fucking idiot?! You’ve been doing this the whole time?!”

He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, still smirking like this is some kind of joke. “Well... I wouldn’t say the whole time.”

“You—” You jab the mop handle at him again, making him flinch. “You’re going to clean this up. I don’t care how. Hell, you can start with your tongue if you’re so attached to your damn art.”

“Woah, woah.” He holds his hands up in surrender, backing up a step. “I didn’t think you’d take it so personally. I mean, it’s just paint.”

“Just paint?” you repeat, incredulous. “I’ve had customers complain, the city’s sent me notices, and you’re out here calling it just paint? Are you fucking insane?”

“Come on, the tags aren’t that bad.”

“Oh, no. They’re shit. Like, the worst shit I’ve ever seen,” you bite out. 

You cross your arms, staring Jihoon down as he leans awkwardly against the wall. 

“You know what? I should call the police on you.”

His eyes go wide, his posture straightening instantly. “No, no, no! Come on, don’t do that!”

You slowly pull your phone from your back pocket, waving it in front of him as you point a finger at his chest. “I think it’s about time you get what’s coming to you.”

Panic flashes across his face, and he lunges forward, trying to grab your phone, but you thrust the mop at his chest, pressing it against him to keep him at bay. “Back off!”

He stumbles back, frowning, his lips jutting out in a sulk. “I don’t wanna go to jail! I don’t wanna sleep in the cold!” His feet stomp on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum, the whole thing looking ridiculous enough that anyone watching might think this was an opening scene from The Office.

You ignore his whining and start dialing, but he won’t shut up. “Please! You can’t let me go to jail over some paint!”

“You should’ve thought about that before tagging my bakery again.” You cut him off, giving him a pointed look. “Why the hell have you been doing this? And don’t think I didn’t notice the enormous dick spray-painted on the back of my shop either.”

Jihoon stays quiet for a moment, avoiding your eyes as he shifts on his feet. His hands fidget with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you narrow your eyes, sensing something off.

“Well? Spit it out,” you demand.

He mumbles something, so low you can barely hear. 

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What?”

His face goes red, and he mutters again, “Only if... you let me try one of your tarts.”

You blink, leaning in closer. “What was that? Speak up, punk.”

Jihoon sighs, cheeks practically glowing. “I said... I want to try one of your tarts, okay?!”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you serious right now?”

He nods, keeping his head down, looking smaller and more pathetic than you ever imagined he could.

“You’re telling me... you come here, paint my walls like a little delinquent, and now you want a fucking tart? You—”

You breathe in, trying to summon every ounce of patience you have left. The tarts are your best sellers—the buttery crust, fresh fruit, and creamy filling that made your bakery famous not just in the neighborhood but all over town. People raved about them, coming from across the city just to get their hands on one. Hell, students from your college made regular stops just to bring some back to class.

Your shoulders sag in exasperation, but you eventually gesture toward the door. “Fine. Get inside.”

Jihoon looks up, surprised but not daring to push his luck. You flip the lights back on, the bakery coming to life once more. Heading to the back, you grab a fresh tart from the display, muttering curses under your breath as you shout, “Which one do you want?”

“Strawberry!” he calls out.

You grab a pink plate and set the tart delicately in the center, placing it on the counter with one of your signature gold-colored forks and a neatly folded napkin. When you walk over to the table Jihoon picked, nestled in a corner, you notice him glancing around the bakery with a curious expression, taking in the space like he’s never seen it properly before.

He sits down, eyeing the tart suspiciously at first. You cross your arms and sit across from him, your foot bouncing impatiently under the table. You can’t help but suppress an inner smile—every customer had the same reaction to their first bite, and you’re secretly waiting for it.

Jihoon picks up the fork, hesitantly cutting into the tart. As soon as the buttery crust gives way, the scent of fresh strawberries and sweet cream fills the air. He takes a bite, and his eyes widen almost immediately. He chews slowly, like he’s processing the taste, his expression changing from sulky to... amazed.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs under his breath, glancing up at you, eyes wide. “This is... really good.”

You lean back, crossing your arms tighter. “Yeah. That’s what people keep saying.”

He takes another bite, and then another, clearly trying not to devour the whole thing in two seconds. His face softens, the usual smugness gone, replaced by genuine awe. He looks around the bakery again, understanding slowly sinking in. The care you put into every detail—the soft lighting, the warmth, the way the scent of fresh-baked goods fills the air. It’s no wonder other bakeries in the area couldn’t compete.

No wonder people kept coming back.

Jihoon finally looks up, sheepish but impressed. 

You shift in your seat, arms still crossed, and stare at Jihoon as he wipes his mouth with the napkin, setting it down with a quiet sigh. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture heavy with something unsaid.

“So… you gonna tell me why you’ve been punking my bakery?” you ask, your voice less biting than before, though the edge is still there.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing out the window for a moment like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he sighs again. “We had a bakery, me and my grandma. It was right across the street.”

You frown, your head tilting slightly as you turn to glance outside through the window. Yeah, you remembered that place. It had that old-school charm, the kind of bakery that felt like a cozy throwback to the 60s, with its wooden benches and rustic signage. It had been there before you moved into the neighborhood. You even remembered the old lady that used to work there, always with a smile, though her hands were slow and her voice even slower. The front of the bakery had been boarded up for months now, closed and forgotten by most.

Jihoon continues, his voice lower. “Before you opened up, we did well. My grandma’s tarts were, like, the thing around here. People came from all over to buy them.” He pauses, and you see his shoulders drop slightly. “But after your tarts took off… we started losing customers. A lot of them.”

You don’t say anything, but the tension in the air thickens. You swallow, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable weight in your chest. You remember seeing them sitting outside their shop, the once-busy bakery now quiet as yours boomed with success.

“We tried to keep up,” Jihoon says, his voice a little shaky. “But no one came in anymore. People stopped buying our stuff. My grandma and I used to just sit there on the bench, watching people line up outside your place while we were lucky to sell a couple tarts.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, like he’s mocking the memory. “She’d pretend it didn’t bother her, but I knew. I knew it killed her inside.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach, guilt creeping in even though you know it wasn’t really your fault. Still, hearing it from him, the weight of their loss, makes you look down at the table, feeling suddenly small.

“What was I supposed to do?” you ask softly, the words barely escaping your mouth. “This was my dream too.”

Jihoon nods, almost like he understands, though there’s still bitterness in his tone. “I know. And it’s not like you did anything wrong. Your bakery is… well, people love it. They loved your tarts. And I guess, after a while, I just got so… mad.”

He looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “We had to close the bakery. We couldn’t keep up. And I started working in the city, doing graffiti, whatever I could to make ends meet.” He shakes his head, laughing without humor again. “And when I saw people still lining up here, day after day, it just… pissed me off. So I started tagging your walls. Stupid, I know.”

You feel a lump in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you harder than you expected. You glance back out the window, seeing the boarded-up bakery in the distance, and it stirs something deep inside. His frustration, his anger… it all makes sense now.

“I didn’t understand,” Jihoon says, his voice softer now, almost defeated. “I couldn’t figure out how your tarts were better than my grandma’s. It didn’t make sense to me. We’d been here for years. How could people just forget about us?” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sad. “But now I get it. I guess… your tarts really are better.”

The way he says it, with that empty laugh, hits you right in the chest. There’s no joy in his voice, no real acceptance, just this sad realization that his family’s legacy had been outdone by you.

You lower your gaze, feeling awful. “Jihoon…” You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt gnawing at you, but what could you even say? You worked hard for this. It wasn’t like you meant to destroy his bakery. But it’s clear now that, in a way, you did.

“I never meant for this to happen,” you mumble, your voice quieter than you intended. “It’s not like I wanted to take business away from you guys.”

He waves it off, but his eyes don’t meet yours. “I know. It’s just how it worked out. You did what you had to do. I just… I didn’t know what else to do but get mad at you for it.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with unsaid things. Jihoon keeps his gaze on the table, his fingers playing with the edges of the napkin, while you try to process the weight of everything he just said.

And as much as you want to feel justified—after all, you didn’t do anything wrong—there’s a part of you that can’t shake the sadness settling deep in your chest. You glance out the window again, at the closed shop across the street, and for the first time, you wonder what it must’ve been like for them, watching your bakery rise while theirs fell apart.

Jihoon’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “I don’t know… it’s dumb. You didn’t mean to screw us over. I just… I just miss the way things used to be.”

You breathe in deeply, trying to push down the growing lump in your throat. 

The silence between you two lingers, stretching out like the stillness of the night outside. You can hear the faint hum of the refrigerator behind the counter, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. You breathe in, thinking of something to say, and for a moment, Jihoon glances up at you, expectant. But when you close your mouth again, he looks away, fingers fidgeting with the napkin.

Finally, you place your hand on the wooden table between you, the sound of your fingers brushing the grain breaking the silence. "What kind of tarts did your grandma sell?" you ask, voice steady but curious.

Jihoon frowns, clearly taken off guard by the question. "Savory ones," he says after a beat, as if testing the waters of the conversation.

Your brow lifts in surprise. Savory tarts weren’t really your thing—you specialized in the sweet stuff. "Savory?" you lean in a bit, curiosity piqued. "Like what?"

Jihoon seems to hesitate, unsure of where you’re going with this, but then he starts listing them off, voice soft at first but growing stronger. "Palm heart or olives, ham, and cheese, sometimes we’d do quiches with bacon and caramelized onions, even some seasonal ones with pumpkin or sweet potato… Stuff like that."

You sit back, letting the list of flavors settle in your mind, gears turning. You’d never considered offering savory tarts before—your bakery was known for its sweets. But maybe that was part of the problem. There was a whole side of the tart game you hadn’t even touched.

"You think you could make some of those flavors and bring them tomorrow?" you ask, your tone casual as you rest your chin in your hand.

Jihoon frowns deeper, confused, his head tilting to the side. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

You chew your lip for a second, glancing around your bakery, imagining it filled with the rich, hearty smells of savory tarts instead of the usual sugar and cream. "I was thinking maybe we could try something… an experiment," you say, eyes lighting up as you lean forward. "You bring the savory ones, I’ll sell them in the display, right alongside the sweet ones. See how people like them."

Jihoon blinks at you, processing your words, and for a moment, you see a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, like he can’t quite wrap his head around what you’re suggesting. "You… you wanna sell my grandma’s tarts here?"

You nod, the idea already snowballing in your mind. "Yeah, why not? People around here are crazy for the sweets, but maybe they’ve just never had the chance to try something savory. And you know I don’t do that kind of thing, so… it’d be different." You pause, watching his face, which is slowly starting to shift from confusion to something brighter. "We’ll call it a collab or something. Give them a taste of what your bakery used to offer."

His eyes light up, sparkling with excitement as the idea sinks in. The hesitation that was there before vanishes, replaced with genuine enthusiasm. "Really?" He leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "You think… people would like them?"

"If they’re as good as you say they are," you grin, tapping your fingers on the table, "then yeah, I think they will."

Jihoon’s face softens, and for the first time tonight, a real smile spreads across his lips. It’s small at first, but there’s something genuine and almost childlike about it, like you just handed him a lifeline he wasn’t expecting. "They’re really, really good," he says earnestly, nodding. "My grandma used to get people coming back for them all the time. They were, like, her specialty."

"Then bring enough for tomorrow," you say, feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth despite yourself. "We’ll put them out, see what happens. Maybe it’ll bring some of her old customers back."

He looks at you like you’ve just flipped the entire script on him. The guy who’d been tagging your bakery out of spite now suddenly has a shot at redemption, and it’s written all over his face. You can see the wheels turning in his head, his excitement barely contained.

"How many do you need?" he asks, voice filled with an eagerness you hadn’t seen in him before.

You pause, thinking for a second. "Start small—maybe a couple dozen to test the waters. If they sell out, we’ll know we’re onto something."

Jihoon nods rapidly, his excitement bubbling over. "I can do that. I can bring, like, the spinach and feta ones. Those were super popular. And maybe the mushroom ones too. People loved those." He’s rambling now, his hands gesturing wildly as he talks. "You think they’ll like them? I mean, people around here are kinda obsessed with sweet stuff, but these… these are different."

You laugh softly, watching him get more and more animated. "I think if they’re as good as you say, people are gonna be lining up for them. And who knows? Maybe savory tarts will be the next big thing."

Jihoon sits back, grinning like he can’t believe this is real. "I can’t believe you’re actually doing this." His eyes flicker over the bakery, taking in the pink and white décor, the polished countertops, the faint smell of sugar still lingering in the air. "I thought you’d just tell me to fuck off, honestly."

You shrug, smiling slightly. "Well, I did wanna hit you with a mop earlier. But… I don’t know. It seems like the least I can do after everything."

He stares at you, his grin softening into something more serious, more genuine. "Thanks," he says quietly, and you can tell that he means it. "I… I really judged you wrong."

You wave him off, but inside, there’s a warmth spreading, something that feels almost like… relief? Like maybe this little experiment could be more than just business—it could be a way to right some wrongs.

"Just bring your best game tomorrow," you say, standing up from the table. "If your grandma’s tarts are half as good as you say, I’m sure people will love them."

Jihoon stands too, still grinning like a kid on Christmas. "Oh, they will. Trust me." His eyes sparkle with that confidence again, and for the first time, it feels like you’re seeing the real him, not the guy who’s been tagging your bakery out of anger.

As you walk him to the door, you glance back at the kitchen, already imagining the savory tarts lining the shelves next to your usual sweets. This could be something big, something new—something that might even help mend the bridge between you two.

Jihoon pauses at the door, turning back to you with a grin. "Tomorrow, then. You won’t regret this."

The next morning, Jihoon arrives at your bakery with a box, the warmth of the tarts and quiches radiating from inside. You grin as you lift the lid, the smellof the buttery crust wafting out. Carefully, you place them in the display, arranging them neatly beside your sweets.

Jihoon moves towards the door without saying a word, but before he can leave, you raise your voice, “Where are you going?”

He pauses and steps back in, bending down to pick up a bucket of paint remover and a brush from outside. “Gonna get rid of the mess,” he says with a shrug, shaking the supplies in his hand.

You scoff, leaning against the counter. “Looks like hitting you with the mop actually worked.” You raise an eyebrow, arms crossed.

He freezes, his eyes widening a little, like he just remembered something. “Hey! You!” he protests, gesturing to his back. “I’m my back its black and blue thanks to you! My back its ruined.”

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Serves you right,” you shoot back, and Jihoon huffs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes as he heads outside to scrub off the tags.

As the morning rush starts, a couple of your regulars approach the counter, eyeing the new items. One of them, Mrs. Park, furrows her brow. "What’s all this?" she asks, nodding to the savory tarts.

You flash her a smile, "We’re doing a little collab with Jihoon’s family bakery. They used to sell these savory tarts, and we thought we'd give them a try here. You should taste them, they’re amazing."

Mrs. Park raises an eyebrow but picks up one of the tarts anyway. Within minutes, word spreads, and before you know it, the dozen savory tarts you put out are gone—people even leaving with extras for home. You lean against the counter, watching the buzz, satisfaction building in your chest.

As the rush dies down, you step outside where Jihoon is wiping down the wall, now tag-free. You smirk. "Sold everything," you say, watching his reaction.

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide. “Really?!”

You nod. “Yeah, they went faster than I thought. Even Mingyu couldn’t keep his hands off them,” you say, pointing through the window where Mingyu is, mid-bite, munching happily on a tart behind the counter.

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he looks at Mingyu, then back at you. "I’ve got more ready at my grandma’s place. I can go grab them now."

"Do it," you say with a grin, waving him off. “Bring a lot. I don’t think these’ll last long.”

An hour later, Jihoon returns, but this time he’s not alone. His grandma, the sweet old lady you remember from the bakery across the street, is with him. You light up when you see her.

"Mrs. Lee!" you greet her warmly. 

She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she gives you a gentle hug. "You’ve done so well with this place," she says, looking around the bakery.

As you help unload the box of fresh tarts, you see Mingyu’s eyes widen as he watches you set them out again, his mouth practically watering. He reaches for one, but you swat his hand away.

"Those are to sell," you scold playfully, but before you can follow up, Mrs. Lee reaches up and pats Mingyu on the head.

"Eat, eat, you’re a big boy. You need it," she says, and Mingyu, towering over her, grins sheepishly as he lowers his head.

"Yes, ma’am," he says with a boyish smile, clearly charmed.

With the tarts restocked, the afternoon turns out to be just as busy as the morning. People are coming in and out, curious about the new savory options, and before you know it, they’re sold out again.

After the rush dies down and the shift ends, you pull out the cash notes, counting how much you’ve made for the day. You walk over to Jihoon, handing him a stack of money.

"Here, this is how much we sold, minus the cost of ingredients," you say, but Jihoon waves his hand, shaking his head.

"Nah, don’t do that," he says, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s your bakery. I’m just helping out."

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms. "You think I’m not gonna pay you for your grandma’s recipes? Don’t be stupid."

He fidgets, glancing down. “I don’t deserve it,” he mumbles, but you cut him off.

"Come on. You think of reopening your grandma’s bakery again?"

He hesitates, then nods slowly. "I’ve been thinking about it. But there’s a lot to clean up, fix…"

You lean back, thinking for a moment. “Well, while you figure it out, how about you use my bakery to sell your savory stuff? We can split the profits and see how it goes. Maybe that way, you’ll get enough to fix it.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen, gratitude spreading across his face. "You… you’d let me do that?"

You shrug. "Why not? People love your stuff, and I’ve got space. Plus, this way, we both win."

His lips part, disbelief still etched on his face, but then his shoulders relax, and a small smile forms. "I don’t know what to say. Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," you say, grinning. "We still gotta get through tomorrow."

He laughs, the tension that had been hanging between you since the whole graffiti incident finally easing. "I guess I’ll be back here early with more tarts, then."

"Bright and early," you reply, with a playful nod. "And don’t forget to bring your grandma too. Mingyu might cry if she doesn’t show up."

Jihoon chuckles, glancing at Mingyu who’s in the back, still wiping tart crumbs from his face. "I think you’re right about that."

As Jihoon and his grandma leave, you’re left standing in your bakery, the warm glow of the lights reflecting off the now pristine windows. 

The next morning, Jihoon shows up right on time, his grandma’s small hand wrapped around his arm as they step into the bakery. There’s something heartwarming about the sight—the way she leans on him, and how he effortlessly balances the heavy box of tarts in his other hand. You catch a glimpse of the pure affection between them, the kind only grandparents seem to have for their grandkids, and it makes you feel... softer.

Jihoon flashes you a quick, almost shy smile as he sets the box on the counter, the warmth of the freshly baked tarts instantly filling the room. You move to help him, opening the glass case of the vitrine. As you lean in to arrange the tarts, his arm brushes against yours, just barely. It’s nothing, really—just a quick touch—but you bite back a smile anyway. The warmth of it, the quiet ease, feels nice. Comfortable.

Outside, the rain begins to pour, pattering against the windows. It's not the gloomy kind of rain, though—it’s the kind that makes people crave warm spaces, a place to settle into with a coffee in hand. Your bakery, with its soft yellow lighting and the sweet smell of tarts mingling in the air, feels like the perfect refuge. You can already see a few people huddling under umbrellas as they make their way inside, the little bell above the door chiming each time.

Jihoon steps back, his eyes following yours as you arrange the tarts in perfect rows. “Looks good,” he murmurs, glancing over at you.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to sound casual, though your voice is a bit quieter than usual. You clear your throat. “Rain’s gonna bring people in. They’ll want something warm.”

Almost as if on cue, the door swings open with a gust of wet air, and your best friend stumbles inside, panting, her umbrella flung into the holder by the door. She shakes the rain off her coat and makes a beeline for the counter, eyes wide.

“I heard you’re selling savory tarts now,” she exclaims, nearly breathless.

You shoot her a look, half-amused. “Word spreads fast around here, hm?”

She leans on the counter, eyes scanning the new additions in the vitrine like she’s sizing them up. “You know me. I’ve got my ear to the ground,” she says, grinning. Her gaze shifts to Jihoon, who’s still standing behind you. “And you,” she says, her tone turning teasing, “finally decided to be useful, huh?”

Jihoon just rolls his eyes, but you can see a flicker of amusement there. “I’m useful in ways you don’t even know,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear, but it makes you smirk.

Your friend raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure,” she quips, pulling out her wallet. “Alright, give me one of those tarts. Let’s see if they’re worth the hype.”

You grab a tart—spinach and cheese, her favorite—and hand it to her on a small plate. She takes one bite, her eyes widening dramatically. “Oh my god,” she says, mouth half full. “Okay, this… this is dangerous. You can’t sell these, I’ll be here every day.”

You laugh, watching her devour the tart. Jihoon leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed, a little smug. “Told you they were good,” he murmurs.

The steady rain outside only adds to the cozy vibe, making the bakery feel like a warm little haven. More customers trickle in, shaking off their umbrellas and ordering coffees to go with the new savory tarts. Some regulars ask about the new addition, and you tell them about the collaboration with Jihoon and his grandma. It’s casual, like you’re letting them in on a little secret, and soon enough, people are lining up to try them.

As you work, you can feel Jihoon’s presence behind you, quietly helping out where he can—refilling the display, wiping down tables, clearing plates. It’s kind of funny, actually. Not long ago, this same guy was spray-painting the walls of your bakery like a punk, and now here he is, setting tarts in your vitrine, his arm brushing against yours, acting like part of the team.

Your friend finishes her tart and slides the plate back toward you, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Okay, I gotta go before I eat the whole case,” she says, shooting you a wink. She glances at Jihoon as she grabs her umbrella. “You better keep bringing these, or we’ll have problems.”

Jihoon smirks, giving her a mock salute. “I’ll keep ‘em coming.”

As she leaves, you watch the bakery fill with warmth, laughter, and the soft hum of conversations. The rain taps against the windows, the outside world grey and wet, while the inside is alive with comfort. You lean against the counter, watching Jihoon’s grandma chatting with a customer. It’s kind of perfect, in a way—everything just falling into place.

After the lunch rush, Jihoon catches your eye, his expression a little sheepish. "They’re really selling, huh?"

You smile, a little proud. "Yeah. Told you they’d be a hit."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Guess I underestimated this place."

“It’s kinda nice having you around... even if you are a pain in the ass.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes but not disagreeing. “You just like bossing me around.”

“I do,” you admit with a grin. “And you’re getting pretty good at following orders.”

Jihoon laughs, shaking his head as he picks up a rag to wipe down the counter. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll bring more tomorrow."

The evening was quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint swoosh of the mop gliding across the floor. You were halfway through cleaning when your foot nudged something under the counter. Frowning, you crouched down and pulled out a box—heavy, clinking inside—and when you opened it, there they were. Paint cans.

You tilted your head, staring at them, then shouted, "Jihoon! What the hell is this?"

He popped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Uh... well, I was thinking... maybe the bakery could use a little—art,” he said hesitantly, his eyes darting from the cans to you.

"Art?" you raised an eyebrow, hands resting on your hips. "You're not gonna draw a dick on the front door, are you? 'Cause if that's your plan, Jihoon, I swear—"

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No! It wasn’t me, alright? That was one of my friends.”

Your eyebrow shot up even higher. "So you had your friends tag my bakery too?"

He suppressed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I yelled sorry, like, a million times already.”

You shook your head, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Jihoon stepped closer, eyes scanning your expression carefully. “Look, I promise—no dicks. I was thinking... something different. Something that matches the vibe here. I could paint something... that looks like you.” His gaze lingered on you, analyzing your features like he was already sketching you out in his mind.

You sat back, considering it. The idea of graffiti on your pristine bakery wasn’t exactly appealing, but there was something about Jihoon’s offer... the way he was looking at you, not like a cocky vandal but like someone who wanted to create something for you.

You frowned, arms crossed, skeptical. “You? Graffiti something that looks like me? You’re kidding.”

He shrugged, stepping back slightly. “Let me show you. I’ll do it on the back wall. Something pastel, something sweet—like your bakery.”

You huffed, but curiosity got the better of you. “Fine. But if it looks like shit, you’re cleaning it up, Jihoon.”

Outside, the air was crisp, and the dim lights of the street barely reached the back alley behind your bakery. Jihoon grabbed the cans, setting them down with a focused energy, his jaw tight. He was different when he worked on something—serious, quiet. You watched as he started to shake one of the cans, the metallic rattle filling the space. 

He started to sweat after a few strokes of the spray, his arm flexing each time he pressed the nozzle. The light from the back door illuminated his face, and when he flicked his hair to the side, it reminded you of those boys from high school, the ones who all had that Justin Bieber haircut. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought.

He stepped back, turning toward you, his eyes searching your face. “So... what do you think?”

You tilted your head, focusing on the paint. It was a pastel-colored slice of cake, detailed with delicate swirls and shadows that made it look almost real. “The... strawberry looks a little weird,” you pointed out, walking closer.

Jihoon let out a soft laugh, stepping aside. “Come help me then. You fix it.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Me? I don’t know how to spray paint, Jihoon. It’s gonna look like a five-year-old did it."

He waved it off, walking toward you with the can in hand. “Nah, you can do it. C’mere.”

Before you could protest, he was already pulling you out of the chair, placing the can in your hand. “Just like this,” he murmured, stepping behind you. His chest pressed lightly against your back, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear. His hand moved to yours, guiding your fingers to press down on the nozzle, and the paint sprayed out in a clean line. "Here," he murmured, his voice low. "Press gently... just like that."

“See?” he whispered, his voice right in your ear, and you could feel the concentration in his breath, how calm it was. “Not so hard, is it?”

You were too aware of everything—his breath, his hand on yours, the way his body pressed just slightly against yours, not enough to feel too much, but enough to make your pulse pick up.

His hand, now on your waist, gave you the faintest squeeze, right where your skin showed between your top and your jeans, right where your shirt had ridden up a little. It was an absent touch, almost like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. But you did. His fingers were warm, the pressure light but there. Your breath caught in your throat for a second.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. His hand never moved, just stayed resting on your waist, a quiet but steady reminder of how close he was. The paint kept flowing, and you realized you were barely focused on the mural anymore. It was all Jihoon. The way his body moved with yours, the brush of his breath against your ear.

“Jihoon,” you whispered, voice low, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get. "You sure you're not just getting handsy with me to avoid doing the work?"

He huffed a small laugh, right in your ear, his breath warm. “You think this is me being handsy? I’m just trying to teach you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back a little more, just enough to feel him tense up. His hips were snug against yours, and you could feel the smallest reaction in his body, the way his chest rose sharply as you pressed back into him.

"Uh-huh,” you said, feigning innocence. “So that’s why you sound like you’re having the best time of your life right now? Not exactly subtle, Jihoon.”

He scoffed, his mouth so close to your ear that you flinched a bit. "Says the one who's shivering under my arm like I’m doing more than just helping you paint.”

You let out a soft chuckle, your head leaning back just a little, the movement making his face brush against your shoulder. You could feel his breath catch again as your body pressed back.

“Jihoon…” you said, voice dropping an octave. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying real hard not to moan in my ear.”

His breath hitched, and this time, you felt it. His body tensed, the can in his hand wavering slightly as he pressed the nozzle. He was trying—trying so damn hard to stay focused on the paint, but your words were getting to him. His grip tightened on the can.

He lowered your arm, stopping the spray of paint, and you could feel the tension crackling between you both. His hand lingered on yours for a moment, and then he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing the edge of your jaw as he whispered, “You keep teasing me like that, I’ll forget the painting and pin you to this wall.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the low rumble in his voice, letting your ass push against him again. You give him a slow, teasing smile, turning your head just enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. “And if I told you I wouldn’t mind?”

Jihoon’s eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, in a blink, he turned you around, the paint can clattering to the floor as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His lips hovered over yours for just a second, his breath mingling with yours, tension thick in the air. “You're playing with fire, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “Then burn me.”

His lips crashed against yours in a starved kiss, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his body pressed so close it felt like there wasn’t an inch between you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him down harder into the kiss, feeling the tension melt away from his shoulders. His hands roamed over your back, slipping under your shirt, his touch burning your skin as he kissed you deeper, rougher, like he couldn’t get enough. 

His body pressed you against the wall, his hips fitting perfectly against yours, and you could feel his cock coming to life. The slight tremor in his hands as they roamed your sides, the way his breath hitched when you kissed him harder—it was all there, barely restrained.

His lips were warm, tasting faintly like the strawberries and honey from earlier, and every time you tried to pull back for air, he chased you, his lips crashing back against yours like he couldn’t stand the space between you for even a second. 

Finally, when you both pulled away for breath, your foreheads resting together, you smirked, your breath still uneven. “You okay there, Jihoon? You look like you’re about to lose it.”

He chuckled, his hand still gripping your waist, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You talk too much,” he muttered, pulling you back in for another kiss before you could even think of another comeback.

You could feel the wetness of his tongue against yours, slick with saliva that started to pool at the corners of your mouth as you sucked it in deeper. Jihoon’s hand was firm, gripping the curve of your ass, his other arm wrapped tight around your waist as if he couldn’t let go even if he tried.

You stumbled backward in a tangle of steps, the two of you moving like you were magnetized to each other, lips fused together, completely unwilling to separate. His hand squeezed your ass hard, making you gasp into his mouth. That sound—the desperate little moan you couldn’t hold back—had him groaning too, swallowing the noise like it fueled him, pressing you harder against the door to the back of the store.

Jihoon fumbled for the handle, blindly opening it while keeping his mouth glued to yours. You barely noticed when he shoved you through the threshold, into the bakery’s quiet salon. He didn’t break the kiss, not even for a second, not until your back hit the counter and he pressed himself against you again, trapping you between him and the cold wood.

You were breathless, desperate to kiss him harder, to get more of those sweet, low moans he made when your lips connected just right. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slipping between you that you realized what he was doing. Somehow, in the heat of it all, he had already undone your jeans, his fingers deftly sliding the button free, his hand dipping lower, teasing the waistband of your panties.

"Fuck, Jihoon," you panted, head thrown back as his lips trailed along your jaw. You shivered when you felt his hand slipping under the lace, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin. You felt your sink boiling, the warm air from the bakery making you sweat down your neck. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, more like moaning. 

The jeans you still had on were tight, too tight, and it made it impossible for you to spread your legs the way you wanted. The friction of his hand between you was good, but not nearly enough.

You shifted against him, trying to spread your legs wider, your breath coming out in frustrated little pants. "Jihoon," you managed, voice almost pleading, "jeans... get them off."

His lips curled into a smug grin against your skin, and you could feel him smirk before he pulled back slightly. "So bossy," he murmured, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands went straight to your jeans, tugging them down with quick, rough movements, the denim catching awkwardly on your thighs before he yanked them free.

With your jeans finally gone, he spread your legs wide, his eyes dark and hungry as they trailed over you. His hands gripped your thighs, positioning you exactly how he wanted before slipping his fingers right back under the waistband of your panties, but this time, there was no hesitation.

He slid one finger through your slick folds, groaning low when he felt how wet you were for him. "God, you're soaked," he breathed, almost like he was in disbelief. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles that had your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.

You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips. "Just... please, Jihoon—more."

He slid a finger inside you, the sensation making you gasp, your legs instinctively spreading wider for him. You wanted more of him, needed it, and when he curled his finger just right—not even forcing it, he felt the spongy spot, you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

"Like that?" he whispered, voice hoarse as he added another finger, filling you up and making your whole body arch into him. His other hand gripped your thigh, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, each thrust deeper, more insistent.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, barely able to form words as he sped up, his thumb still rubbing circles over your clit, making you see fireballs with closed eyes. "Just... just like that."

His hand moved faster, fingers curling and stroking deep inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the quiet room. Your hips bucked against him, chasing the sensation, wanting him to take you higher, needing him to push you over the edge.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, "I could do this all night... but I think you want me to make you come, don’t you?"

You whimpered. "Please, Jihoon," you breathed, voice shaky. "I need it."

His fingers quickened their pace, thrusting deep, hitting that spot over and over until your whole body trembled. He could feel how close you were, could see it in the way your thighs quivered, the way your breath came in short, desperate gasps.

"Cum for me," he murmured, thumb pressing harder against your clit, feeling the nerve throb as his fingers worked inside you. "Cum all over my fingers."

You rest your elbow on the counter, arching your back in a way that makes the slick sound between your thighs almost obscene. It’s impossible to ignore. You know exactly how wet you are, and palm, right there pressing down the mound of your pussy—god, you can feel it, burning hot. Your breath hitches, and you throw a hazy glance in his direction, catching his smirk, that cocky look on his face. His lip is trapped between his teeth, eyes dark and full of heat, and that’s all it takes before you come apart.

Your orgasm hits hard, ripping through you. Eyes squeezing shut, your body tenses, thighs trembling as your hips jerk involuntarily against his hand. You hear him coaxing you through it, his voice a low murmur, his fingers keeping steady pressure, coaxing every last wave of pleasure out of you.

“There you go… good fuckin' girl. Just like that, keep comin’ for me… shit, so fuckin’ good,” he mutters, fingers slowing just enough to keep you riding the high.

Your chest heaves, your breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you slowly open your eyes again. He’s staring at you—taking in every inch of you. The smirk on his face hasn't faltered, only deepened. There’s something dangerous about the way he looks at you, like he's already planning his next move.

“You think you can turn around for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, still catching your breath, but a wicked grin spreads on your lips. “Nah. I’ll fall to my knees and suck you off instead.” Your voice is steady despite the way your legs still tremble. His eyes widen just for a second before he sharpens a breath, a harsh inhale that lets you know you’ve hit the right nerve.

You don’t give him time to respond before you’re on your knees, fingers already undoing his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. You look up through your lashes, watching his jaw tighten as his cock springs free, already hard and leaking at the tip. His breathing’s heavy, uneven.

You run your tongue along his length slowly, collecting the sticky precum, teasing the underside before wrapping your lips around the head. He moans immediately, one hand gripping the edge of the counter so tight his knuckles turn white.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth, hips jerking forward as your lips slide further down his cock. The sound he makes is a whiny moan, almost of frustration as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. You can feel the pulse of him on your tongue, the way his body reacts to every little move you make.

He grips your hair, tugging gently as you bob your head, setting a slow rhythm that has him panting. His hips start to move, barely restrained, thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Goddamn… ngh—fuck! From hittin’ me with a mop to this?” His voice cracks on a laugh, but it’s breathless, shaky. “Didn’t think you’d… suck me off like this…”

You pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, lips slick, before looking up at him, smirking. “Better than the mop, right?”

His laugh turns into a groan, the sound vibrating through his chest as you take him deep again. “Fuck yeah… way better than the fuckin' mop.” He’s losing his composure now, hips moving a little more desperately, the hand in your hair tightening, guiding you as you work him harder, faster.

His moans grow louder, less restrained, and you can feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tighten as he gets closer. You hollow your cheeks one last time, sucking him in deeper, tongue working every inch of him until you hear him curse under his breath, his head falling back as his body shudders.

“Shit—” His moan is drawn out, almost too much for him to handle, as he loses himself in your mouth, his hips bucking forward uncontrollably. You keep going, pushing him right to the edge, savoring every last sound he makes until he finally pulls you off, breathless and wrecked.

“Fuck... you’re gonna kill me with that pretty mouth,” he pants, grinning down at you, still catching his breath. 

You pull back for a second, lips slick with spit, catching your breath before you go back in, this time with a wicked grin. His cock twitches in your hand as you stroke him slowly, teasing, just enough to keep him on the edge.

“So…” you start, voice low, looking up at him with a dangerous gleam in your eyes. “How are you gonna fuck me, huh? Gonna be good to me, or…” You drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, making him gasp before taking him back into your mouth, sucking harder, wanting to hear him stutter. “… or you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

His breath hitches, and he swears under his breath. “I—fuck, I—” His hips jerking toward your mouth, but he’s not quite there. The pressure is building, you can feel it, the way his muscles tense, the way his grip in your hair tightens.

But before you can push him too far, he suddenly pulls you off with a gasp, his cock red and leaking at the tip, his body shaking from the almost-orgasm. “Stop, stop, fuck—”

You raise an eyebrow, lips swollen as you sit back on your heels, panting, teasing. “Could’ve just let me finish you off,” you murmur, licking your lips slowly as you watch him struggle to catch his breath.

He grins, though his expression is tight, like he’s holding onto control by a thread. “Not gonna let you win that easy,” he mutters. He helps you up, hands firm but delicate as he lifts you to your feet. Your knees wobble a little from the discomfort of kneeling on the hard wooden floor, and he notices, his thumb brushing gently across the soft skin.

“They hurt?” he asks, glancing down at your knees, frowning just a little.

You shake your head, smirking. “I’ll live. But you owe me a good fuck for that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

You let him guide you back against the counter, his hands already sliding down to the waistband of your panties, hooking his fingers into the fabric and pulling them down tossing it on the floor. He pauses just for a second, eyes flicking between your bare pussy and your face, his breathing heavy.

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Gonna make you scream.”

You shiver, feeling his cock press against your thigh as his hands move to grip your waist. His fingers are rough, impatient. You can barely think straight when he turns you around, pushing your chest flat against the cold countertop. The contrast of the cool surface and his hot skin makes your breath hitch, your body already aching for him.

He groans softly, positioning himself at your entrance, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it along your slick folds as you grind back against him, impatient.

“Fuck—please, just—” You barely get the words out before he thrusts into you, filling you up completely in one swift movement. The stretch is intense, but it’s exactly what you needed, the delicious burn making you gasp as your fingers dig into the counter.

He groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls back and thrusts again, setting a relentless pace. “That good enough for you, hm?”

You can barely answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are desperate moans as he fucks into you, hard and fast, just like he promised. “F-fuck, Jihoon… yes—just like that.”

He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his lips brush your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good… so tight, fuck.” 

Your body trembles under his, the pleasure building so quickly that you can barely keep up. "Jihoon—" His name leaves your lips in a broken moan as you start to lose control.

Your breath is ragged, chest heaving as you lick your fingers, letting them trail down your slick body. The moment your fingers find your clit, Jihoon freezes. His cock still buried deep inside you, but it’s like he's hypnotized by the way you touch yourself. You know he’s watching, eyes dark with hunger as you start to circle your clit, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your legs weak. There’s something so intoxicating about him just watching you, letting you take control of your own pleasure while he stays inside, keeping you full.

"Fuck, that’s hot," he mutters, his voice husky and rough as he leans over you, his lips grazing your ear. "You look so fucking good like this."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, his words fueling the fire burning low in your belly. Your mind flashes back to everything between you two, from the first time he tagged your bakery walls, scowling like you were the enemy, graffiti cans in his bag, the way he barely looked at you when he spoke. 

Now look at him, look at you—sweat-slicked bodies moving together, his fingers pulling your hair. The teasing exchanges that turned into this—tangled limbs in the very place you swore you'd kill him if he ever touched.  Now, all you can think about is how good he feels inside you, how much you crave more.

His hips start to move again, slow, smooth rolls that make your whole body tingle, but he keeps his hands steady on your hips, letting you keep that perfect rhythm on your clit. The sound of your wet fingers moving in time with his thrusts fills the room, and it’s obscene, but fuck, it’s so good.

“What do you want me to do?” he murmurs against your ear, his voice vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

God. Hot. So fucking hot.

You could ask for anything. Him fucking you against every surface in the bakery, bending you over the counter, the tables, hell, maybe even hanging from the goddamn chandelier if it were possible. But right now, with the way his cock fills you and your fingers work your clit, you only want one thing.

“Pull my hair.”

His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair, and he gives it a firm tug. The sharp pleasure shoots you, and your body arches against him, hips pressing back to meet his next thrust. The way body rollsl, smooth, matches the pace you’ve set with your fingers. It’s perfect, it’s so fucking good.

His hips snap against you harder now, and you can feel his restraint slipping. He’s getting close, the way his moans get rougher, the way he’s tugging your hair a little more desperately. You know he’s just as on edge as you are.

“Jihoon…”

He moans sly. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You hum, breathless. Something so ridiculous comes to mind, and you can’t believe you’re going to say it, but fuck it. 

“Can you… paint me?” You’re not sure where the words come from, but once they’re out, you can’t help but smirk.

He hesitates for a second, his hips stuttering before he recovers. “What?”

You bite your lip, half-laughing through your moans. “You heard me. Paint me. Grafitti me. Whatever. Do it.”

He’s still chuckling, his chest pressed against your back as he slows down, but you can feel the horniness in the way his cock twitches inside you. He is very into it. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless. “You’ve been tagging my bakery for weeks. Might as well make it official.”

He groans, biting his lip as he slides out of you for a moment, leaving you feeling suddenly empty, needy. You turn your head, watching as he reaches for one of the paint cans you knocked over earlier, shaking it a few times. The sound of the metal ball rattling inside echoes through the small space, making your heart race faster.

“You sure about this?” he asks, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still hard and wet, glistening in the dim light.

You arch your back, pushing your ass out toward him, wiggling a little for good measure. “You scared?”

He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip. “Not even a little.”

Then, with one hand steady on your lower back, he leans in, the cold metal of the spray can grazing your skin. You hear the hiss of the paint as he presses down on the nozzle, feeling the cold spray hit your skin. It’s not the same as the heat between your legs, but it sends a thrill through your body nonetheless.

“Hold still,” he mutters, focused, but you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s enjoying this—maybe a little too much.

You laugh, a shaky sound as the paint settles on your skin, the smell of it filling the room. “What are you even writing?”

“You’ll see,” he says, voice teasing. The spray continues, and then, after a moment, he steps back. “There. Perfect.”

When he’s done, he pulls you back onto his cock all in once, making you gasp as the pleasure returns full force. “Red suits you,” he says, his voice whiny. You can feel his eyes on you, taking in the sight of you painted, fucked, completely his in this moment.

You look over your shoulder at him, breathless. “What did you write?”

He smirks, thrusting hard enough to make you cry out. “My name,” he says simply. “Right across your ass.”

The sound that leaves your throat is half-laugh, half-moan. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but you can’t deny how fucking hot it is, the thought of his name on you, like a claim.

He watches the paint dry quickly, the faint sheen of it on your skin as you move against him. The thought of cleaning it off flickers in his mind, but fuck, the idea of you walking around with his name stamped across your ass, hidden inside your jeans as you go about your day—a part of him wants it permanent, a tattoo maybe, to mark you in a way no one else could see but him. His. Completely.

His hand slides up your body, fingers sneaking under your shirt and bra until they’re squeezing your tit, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you yelp and splatter your hand onto the counter for balance. Your legs are shaking as his thrusts get rougher, messier, the slick sound of him filling you echoing in the quiet bakery.

You moan out his name, “Jihoonie…” and he fucking loses it. Every time you call him that, it gets to him. The way you say it, needy and teasing, like it was meant to wreck him.

He grunts in response, pulling your hair again to tilt your head back against his chest. Your eyes roll, pleasure coursing through you like fire, and your pussy clenches tight around his cock, sucking him in deeper.

You try to hold yourself up, but your legs are jelly, barely able to stand. “I’m gonna… fuck, Jihoon,” you gasp, your body trembling. You’re on the edge, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly, ready to snap at any second.

He pulls you back harder, his chest flush against your back, his mouth right at your ear as he growls, “Cum for me, baby. Fuckin’ do it. I wanna feel you.”

His words, the rough sound of his voice, the way he’s completely owning you—it pushes you over the edge. You shatter around him, your body convulsing as your orgasm slams into you. Your pussy clenches tight, milking his cock, and you scream his name, your voice echoing through the empty bakery.

He groans deep in his chest, thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own orgasm. The way you squeeze him, the way you moan and tremble in his arms, it’s too much. He pulls out at the last second, just barely, his hand jerking his cock as he cums, thick ropes spilling onto your ass, painting over his name in red.

You’re a mess, both of you—paint, cum, sweat sticking to your skin—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

His hand slides gently down your back, soothing the tremors that still ripple through your body. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice still shaky. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck, completely different from how rough he was just moments ago.

You breathe out a laugh, still catching your breath. “Think we’re gonna need more than a mop to clean this up.”

Jihoon chuckles, pulling back slightly to admire the mess he made. “Yeah,” he says, “But I gotta say… seeing you with my name on your ass? Kinda want it permanent.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a lazy smirk on your lips. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His smirk matches yours as he tugs you closer, his hands still resting on your hips. “Maybe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. “Maybe more than I should.”

Jihoon sulks, his face twisted in irritation as he presses the paper towel against your ass, muttering under his breath about how he ruined it. You can hear him grumbling, the cum smudging the once-clear letters of his graffiti like some kind of art project gone wrong. He’s so focused on trying to clean it up, but all he’s doing is making a bigger mess, the red paint mixing with the white streaks, swirling into a chaotic, almost laughable design.

You, on the other hand, can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. The whole situation is just too ridiculous—the great Woozi, all serious and brooding, now pouting like a kid who messed up his school project. You rest your arms on the counter, the cool surface grounding you after everything, and glance over your shoulder, still half-naked from the waist down, shaking your head.

“Hey,” you snicker, pushing up onto the counter, bare skin still tingling from what just went down, “come on, take a picture for me.”

He glances up, narrowing his eyes in that grumpy way of his, but he’s not about to argue. With a sigh, he reaches out to take your phone, swiping it from your hand like it was a burden. He shakes his head, but there's the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, waiting as he squats a little to get the right angle. His breath is still slightly ragged, cheeks flushed pink, but he’s focused now, swiping a thumb across the screen before lifting the phone to snap a pic. You hear the click, followed by his low mutter. “Fuckin’ smudged.”

“Let me see,” you laugh, reaching out for the phone. He hands it over with a huff, standing there, arms crossed, while you inspect the damage.

There it is. Bold, bright red, smeared all over your ass. “Woozi,” right there in the middle, smudged but still totally readable. The first “W” is clear, but by the time you get to the “zi,” it’s a messy blur of paint and cum, like he tried to rush through it at the end. You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bakery.

“Woozi?” you choke out between laughs, glancing up at him. “You really went with that?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, cheeks burning a bit now. “What? It’s better than my actual name, isn’t it?”

You squint at the screen again, biting your lip to stop the next wave of laughter from spilling out. The smudge really does make it funnier. It's like his little alter ego tried to make a grand appearance but ended up getting dragged through a mess of his own creation.

“Woozi,” you repeat, grinning as you shake your head. “So now I’m walking around with your vandal name on my ass?”

He shrugs, still pretending to sulk, though you can see he’s fighting back a smile too. “Thought it’d be… symbolic or something. Besides, no one’s gonna know what it says. It’s all smudged now.”

“Oh, they’ll know,” you tease, lifting the phone to show him the picture again. “It’s clear enough, trust me. Woozi’s gonna be famous for something else entirely after this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, great. Exactly what I need. My name on your ass, and you showing it off to the world.”

“Not showing it off to the world,” you smirk, leaning back on the counter. “Just, you know, keeping it for personal reasons.” You give him a cheeky look, watching as his eyebrows raise in mild curiosity.

Jihoon moves closer, sliding his hands over your hips again, thumbs brushing the sides of your thighs. “Personal reasons, hm?” 

“Yup,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide. “Might just stare at it whenever I need a good laugh. Or maybe when I need to remember how well you… fuck.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes again, but there’s a smirk pulling at his lips now. “You’re real funny, you know that?”

You nod, still grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Mm,” he hums, stepping even closer, so close that your legs naturally part to let him stand between them. “Love it, huh?”

You raise a brow, tilting your head. “Yeah, love it. You, though?” You press your palms to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt just a bit. “You’re sulking because you didn’t get the masterpiece you wanted.”

His hands grip your waist, and he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m not sulking,” he whispers, voice dripping with faux irritation. “I just didn’t expect my art to get ruined by…” He pauses, pulling back slightly to give you a teasing look. “…circumstances.”

You snort. “Circumstances? Jihoon, you came on it.”

He tries to hold back a laugh, but it slips out anyway, his chest vibrating against your hands. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly help the situation. You’re the one who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if he’s trying to erase the memory of what just happened.

You grin, tugging him even closer by his shirt. “Say it. I’m the one who what?”

He chuckles. “You’re the one who kept calling me ‘Jihoonie’ like you were trying to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s on me?” you laugh, giving him a playful shove. “You loved it, don’t even lie.”

“I did baby girl, I did.”

You hold on to him, tired from working the whole day and from… fucking in the workplace too.

“But don’t think this makes us even. You still hit me with that damn mop.”

The next few days were nothing short of chaos—an exhilarating rush of sweet and savory tarts flying off the shelves, and new recipes you and Mrs. Lee concocted together, bringing fresh buzz to the bakery. The scent of freshly baked goods filled the air every morning, pulling in crowds, while the constant hum of the oven working overtime had become your new normal.

One morning, Jihoon arrives early, the sun barely peeking over the rooftops, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet streets. He strolls in, wiping the sleep from his eyes, hair a little mussed but looking determined to work.

As soon as he steps inside, he spots you standing near the counter with Mingyu. You're talking animatedly, your hands gesturing as Mingyu grins at something you said. His big frame blocks most of your view, so Jihoon immediately veers toward the vitrines to see how the tarts are doing. He doesn’t want to interrupt whatever you’re saying to Mingyu, but he's definitely curious.

He gets to the counter and freezes. The vitrines… they’re empty. Not a single tart left. Not even the little label card for the savory tarts, the one that proudly displayed the flavors he’d worked so hard to perfect.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, half in disbelief. “Hey, where’s all the savory tarts?” he asks, trying not to sound like he’s panicking a little.

You and Mingyu exchange a quick glance before you turn to Jihoon, biting back a smirk. “Oh, yeah... about that,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the counter. “We had to stop selling them here.”

Jihoon blinks, caught off guard. “What?” He steps closer, eyebrows knitting together. “Stop selling them? What are you talking about?”

You sigh dramatically, playing it up. “They were just taking up too much space, you know? Not enough room for the sweets and everything else. Figured we’d move on to other things.”

Jihoon stares at you, his eyes flicking between your face and the empty case. You can see the gears turning in his head, confusion, then frustration. “But… they were selling well. Why would you—?”

Mingyu pipes up, poorly holding back a laugh. “Yeah, dude, it was wild. People just stopped caring about them, I guess.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “No way. They were doing so well just yesterday—” He stops, eyes narrowing at Mingyu's grin. Then he looks back at you, finally sensing something’s up. “Wait… what’s going on?”

You can’t help it. The corners of your lips twitch, and then you crack, bursting into laughter. “Come on, Jihoon. Just follow me.”

He follows you, still a little skeptical, his pace hurried as he tries to keep up with your sudden excitement. When you lead him out of the main bakery, his confusion only grows. You guide him around the corner to a neighboring shop space you’d kept quiet about.

Jihoon stops dead in his tracks the moment he sees the sign hanging above the door: Lee’s Tarts. His eyes go wide, scanning the large windows where people are already lined up outside, some chatting excitedly while others peek through the glass to get a look at the new place. And right inside, behind the counter, Mrs. Lee is standing tall, her hands expertly working as she serves up savory tarts to eager customers. The place is buzzing, the line practically spilling out onto the street.

“What the hell...” Jihoon mutters, blinking in disbelief.

You nudge his arm playfully. “Surprise.”

He turns to look at you, his expression still caught in shock. “You opened a shop?”

“Well, technically, Mrs. Lee opened the shop,” you grin. “I just helped.”

Jihoon shakes his head, still processing. “This… this is for her?”

“Yeah, for both of you,” you say, folding your arms, satisfied with the look on his face. “Your tarts were way too good to just stay in one little display case. Now they’ve got their own home.”

Then, without warning, he turns to you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit,” he mutters into your hair, squeezing you so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling warmly, something that you rarely see from him. 

“You deserve it, Jihoon. It was all you.”

His lips curl into that soft, genuine smile that’s rare but so worth it when you see it. “Guess we’re gonna be pretty busy, huh?”

“Guess so,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Better get used to it, Woozi.”

You and Mingyu handle the morning crowd in your bakery, but every now and then, you steal glances through the window at the new Lee’s Savory Tart shop next door. The line of people doesn’t seem to stop; every time you look, it’s like there are more. Jihoon’s name is already making waves, and it’s only been a few hours since the doors opened.

Someone at the counter clears their throat, and you turn back, wiping your hands on your apron. A woman leans over the display case, eyes scanning the rows of sweets. “Hey, don’t you have those savory tarts? The ones with the spinach and cheese?”

You nod, smiling. “Not here anymore, actually. We’ve got something even better now.” You motion with your thumb toward the window. “Just next door. The savory tarts have their own shop now, Lee’s Tarts. You’ll find all the flavors there—probably even a few new ones.”

The woman’s eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh! I didn’t know they moved! I was looking forward to trying them again.”

Mingyu, wiping down the counter behind you, pipes in with a grin, “Yeah, you’re gonna want to head over there before the line gets longer. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

The woman glances outside, spots the line, and her face shifts to one of mild panic. “Oh god, it’s already long.”

You chuckle. “Better get in there while you can. They’re selling out fast.”

She nods quickly, a little flustered, and rushes out the door, making a beeline for the shop next door. As the door closes behind her, you share a look with Mingyu. He’s smirking, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter like he owns the place.

“You’re really sending our customers away like that, huh?” he teases, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do when everyone’s over there?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh please, you know people will still come for the sweets. Besides, Jihoon’s shop is practically ours. Same team, right?”

Mingyu grins wider. “Yeah, I guess. But damn, the guy’s getting popular fast. Never thought I'd see the day where Jihoon had groupies for tarts.”

You laugh, glancing out the window again, and sure enough, more people are queuing up outside the Lee’s Tarts storefront. “I know, right? It’s kinda surreal.”

Another customer steps up to the counter, a man in a suit, adjusting his tie as he peers at the empty spot where the savory tarts used to sit. “Excuse me, do you still have those mushroom and leek tarts?”

You shake your head, smiling. 

[...]

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms and watching through the glass again. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing people excited for Jihoon’s tarts—almost like watching a small victory unfold before your eyes. It’s hard not to feel proud.

Mingyu glances at you, brow quirked. “You think he knows how big this is yet?”

You shrug, still watching the customers flow in and out of the shop next door. “Maybe. He’s probably too busy to even think about it right now.”

Mingyu snorts, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope he doesn’t get all cocky now that he’s got his own place.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nah. That’s not him. If anything, he’s probably stressing about making sure everything’s perfect.”

As if on cue, the door to the bakery next door opens, and Jihoon steps out for a quick breath of air. He’s in his apron, hair falling into his eyes, looking a little sweaty but in control. 

He glances over to your shop and catches your eye through the window. For a second, his expression softens, and he gives you a small, appreciative nod.

You wave back, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. Then, before he can get too sentimental, he’s back inside, ready to tackle the next wave of customers.

As the day wears on, the steady flow of customers in both shops never really stops. You keep handling the orders, but every once in a while, someone comes in asking for the savory tarts, and you point them next door, grinning every time at how fast Jihoon’s new shop is becoming the talk of the town.

By the end of the day, when the last customer has left and the door finally swings closed, you take a deep breath, leaning against the counter, watching the lights flicker off in Lee’s Tarts through the window. Jihoon steps out again, this time wiping his hands on his apron as he locks up for the night.

He crosses the sidewalk and steps into your bakery, looking utterly exhausted but somehow content. “Busy day?”

You smile. “You could say that. You?”

Jihoon lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Never thought tarts could be this stressful.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist in a brief hug. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with it now.”

He smiles down at you, that soft look back in his eyes as he pulls you in for a kiss—quick and sweet this time, just a little stolen moment before the work starts all over again tomorrow.

From behind the counter, Mingyu makes a gagging sound, dramatically covering his eyes. “God, you two are disgusting.”

As you roll your eyes, Jihoon leans in close, his lips brushing your ear with a low murmur. “Maybe we should celebrate... you know, properly. You, me, that freaky side you try to keep in check—let’s see if I survive tonight.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. “Is that a challenge, Jihoon?”

He chuckles, breath hot against your skin, his hand squeezing your hip suggestively. “Only if you’re up for it. I might not walk straight after, but I’m willing to take that risk.”

[...]

The next thing you know, you're in a motel room, Jihoon having insisted that the best way to celebrate was somewhere far away from work, where neither of you had to think about baking for once.

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, thighs caging him, riding him so hard it’s like you’ve forgotten how to go slow. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with every thrust, but all you can hear is Jihoon’s moans—loud and desperate. 

His pale skin is already flushed pink, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Fuck... you're gonna break me," he gasps out, voice strained, eyes half-lidded and desperate. His head falls back against the pillow as you ride him harder, his lips parted in a silent moan. "I can't... shit, you're too good."

You lean down, your hair falling around your faces, your lips brushing his ear as you tease, “You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his hands slipping down to grip your ass, trying to hold you still for a moment, but you don’t let him. You push back against him, harder, faster, and his groan rips through the small motel room. “Fuck, I’m serious... gonna fucking break...”

“You’re the one who wanted to celebrate, remember?” You dig your nails into his shoulders, moving with an intentional grinding roll of your hips, making you two shiver at the same time. "Now take it."

He almost sobs at that, his hands tightening on your waist, his head falling back as his hips buck up into you. The noises spilling from him—those choked-off moans and heavy breaths—made your lower belly boil, making you even bolder. You grind down, angling just right, and Jihoon lets out a sound that's more a whimper than anything.

You bite your lip, holding back a laugh as you grind down harder, feeling his cock twitch inside you. “Look at you. Jihoonie, you're so fucked out. What was that about me breaking you?”

He groans loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands grip your thighs tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Shit—”

You lean down, your mouth brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. “Maybe you’ll survive if you’re lucky.”

That’s all it takes for Jihoon to melt completely. His hands slide down your body, clenching desperately as his entire body tenses beneath you. His hips stutter, a long, ragged moan tearing from his throat as he finally cums, body trembling as he cums hard, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, you just let him ride it out, watching the way his chest heaves, eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss, his body still twitching from the orgasm. You slow your movements, giving him time to catch his breath.

When he finally opens his eyes again, they’re hazy, half-lidded with exhaustion. He looks up at you like you’ve completely destroyed him, which, to be fair, you kind of have.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “You really are going to break me.”

You smile, leaning down to kiss him softly on the lips, your hips still gently rocking against his. “Can’t break my Jihoonie.”

He covers his face, whimpering, cheeks flushing up as if they couldnt get more red. 

“If you call me that again, I'll paint your face.”

“At least it's not my bakery.”

[...]

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching through the window as Jihoon crouched outside, focused, the spray can in his hand hissing with each stroke of paint. The tart he was working on looked almost surreal—like it could pop right out of the wall, the pastry perfectly golden, the filling a burst of deep reds and oranges, with olives vibrantly on top. It was almost too pretty for a bakery wall, but it was Jihoon, and somehow, it worked.

"You're staring again," Mingyu's voice broke through your thoughts, and you barely turned your head as he leaned against the counter beside you, his stupid teasing grin stretching across his face.

“Shut up, i'm not,” you muttered, but even you could hear the weakness in your voice. Your eyes stayed glued to Jihoon, his hands moving quickly, confidently, as he added more details to the tart. a few people stopped to admire it, heads turning as they passed by, and you could see them whispering to each other, clearly impressed. he really was talented.

“Uh-huh," Mingyu’s voice showing that he was doubting everything you say, “You know, if you’re gonna stand there drooling, you might as well just go out there and sit on his lap while he paints.”

You shot him a glare, cheeks heating up. “Mingyu, fuck off.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Oh come on, just admit it. You’ve been staring at him all week. It’s obvious. The way you look at him? Please.”

You bit your lip, eyes sliding back to Jihoon outside. He had stood up now, switching cans, his fingers stained with vibrant shades of pink and yellow. There was something about watching him work, about how focused he got—His brows furrowed, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he leaned in close to get the details just right.

And, god, after yesterday when he finished the cake on the front of your shop… you were pretty much done for. You hadn’t even realized how long you'd been staring until he'd caught your eye, giving you that little smirk that made your stomach flip. And yeah, the way he insisted on going around the whole damn city to find the perfect pastel colors to match your aesthetic? It was sweet. Way sweeter than you wanted to admit.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, waiting, and you let out a long, frustrated sigh, finally caving. “Fine. okay, Yes. I fucking like him. Happy now?”

His eyes widened in mock surprise, but he was clearly pleased with himself. “Oh my god, really? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Oh, shut up,” you sulked, crossing your arms tighter across your chest and turning your gaze back to Jihoon, who was now adding some final touches to the tart's crust. The sunlight hit him just right, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the veins in his forearms as he shook the can. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was annoyed as hell with him, and then… Yeah. Here we are.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of this. “I think it was when he convinced you to let him spray that cake on your wall. You looked like you were about to strangle him, but then you didn’t. You just stared at him like he’d hung the moon or some shit.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny it. “Yeah, well… I guess it was kinda cute. He really went all out with that cake. You know he circled the whole damn city for those colors?”

“Yeah, he told me,” Mingyu said, smirking. “And now look at you, all whipped for him.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair, trying to push down the feelings that were bubbling up again. “God, why am I even telling you this? I don’t need you making it worse.”

ou sighed, glancing out the window one more time, watching Jihoon wipe his hands on his jeans, the drawing complete. He took a step back, admiring his work, and for a second, he glanced your way, catching your eye. He raised his hand in a casual wave, a soft smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly turned away, feeling like you’d been caught.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.” You groaned, pushing past Mingyu to head back behind the counter. “Whatever. You’re just jealous he didn’t paint something for your store.”

Mingyu’s laughter followed you as you walked away, but as you leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, you found yourself glancing back out the window, one last time. There was no denying it anymore. You were definitely into him—his art, his focus, the way he just fit into your world without even trying.

You let out a small sigh, content, but your peaceful moment was interrupted when the door swung open hard enough to make the bell jingle a little too loudly. A group of boys walked in, street-worn and loud, carrying backpacks that were half-open, revealing cans of spray paint inside. A couple of them had skates hanging off their shoulders, and their clothes were loose, baggy, clearly not from around here—or at least, not part of the usual clientele.

You blinked, taking in the sight of them as they strolled in like they owned the place, heads bobbing to whatever beat they had going in their heads. One of them, tall with a beanie pulled low over his eyes, spotted you behind the counter and immediately grinned. “Yo, is this the spot where Jihoon’s lil' girlfriend works?”

You froze, mid-wipe, blinking silently at the question. Girlfriend? Lil’ girlfriend? Your face flushed, and you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. You quickly tried to play it cool, clearing your throat. “Uh... I don’t—what?”

The guy chuckled, his crew falling in behind him, all of them eyeing the bakery like it was some kind of alien planet. “Nah, nah, don’t play like that. We know. Jihoon said his girl runs this bakery. This is it, right?”

One of the other boys, wearing a hoodie that was about three sizes too big, pointed to the display case, leaning over the counter a bit. “Damn, y’all got those fancy-ass tarts here. Hey, you think we could get a discount? You know, 'cause we know your man and all.”

You blinked again, gulping, still processing the whole “girlfriend” thing. Flour clung to your apron and dusted your arms, and you suddenly felt a little out of place, standing there dirty from baking while these guys—who clearly rolled with Jihoon—looked way too comfortable.

“You, uh, want some tarts?” you asked, trying to change the subject, wiping your hands on your apron.

The beanie guy grinned again, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll take some. Heard you got some sweet shit in here. Hook us up, Jihoon’s girl.”

You cringed at the nickname but forced a smile, grabbing a few plates and serving up some of the sweet tarts you had left. They all watched you work, curiosity in their eyes, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched watched.

As you handed them their plates, another one of the boys spoke up. “Damn, I thought bakers were like... supposed to be all old and shit. You’re cute, though.”

You almost dropped the plate. “Thanks,” you muttered, cheeks turning pink as you slid the tart towards them. “Enjoy.”

“Yo, speak of the devil,” one of them interrupted, nodding toward the door as it swung open. You turned around, relieved, and there was Jihoon—sweaty, paint splattered across his arms and hands, still holding a spray can. He froze for a second, taking in the scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his crew huddled around the counter.

“The fuck you guys doin’ here?” Jihoon grumbled, walking in with that same grumpy look he always wore when he was caught off guard.

You could see Jihoon’s jaw clench as he approached the counter, shaking his head. “She’s not—why the fuck are you even here?”

Another one chimed in, chuckling. “We just wanted to see the spot, man! Heard it was dope.”

Jihoon stepped up next to you, placing a hand on your lower back in a subtle, protective gesture. “Get outta here, you dumbasses. This isn’t a playground.”

 “Bro, why didn’t you tell us she makes shit this good?”

Jihoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked up to the counter. “They’re not here to cause trouble, are they?” he asked, giving you a look that was half-apologetic, half-amused.

“They’re just hungry,” you said, shaking your head, trying not to laugh at how out of place they all looked in your pastel-colored bakery. “Let them eat. I think they like the tarts.”

“They’re pretty good, right?” you teased, handing Jihoon a tart too.

One of the guys pointed his finger between you and Jihoon, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Man, your kids are gonna be so well-fed. Tarts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”

Jihoon almost choked on his tart, coughing as he shot the guy a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no denying the redness creeping up his neck.

You burst out laughing, the absurdity of the situation too much to handle. “You really bring these guys everywhere, huh?”

Jihoon shook his head, embarrassed but smiling too. “I didn’t bring ‘em. They follow me like strays.”

One of the guys grinned, shoving another tart into his mouth. “Hell yeah, we do. And we gonna keep comin’ back if these tarts are free.”

You gave Jihoon a look, shaking your head with a laugh. “Let ‘em eat. They’re harmless… mostly.”

“That one,” Jihoon said, jabbing his thumb toward the high guy. “He’s the asshole who drew the giant cock on your wall.”

Your eyes widened, immediately zeroing in on the guy who was now trying to pretend he wasn’t the subject of conversation. He suddenly found the tarts very interesting, stuffing another one into his mouth to avoid your glare.

“No way,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You did that?”

The guy, mouth still full of tart, shrugged sheepishly. “Uh, it was… kinda funny though, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Oh, hilarious,” you said, your voice thick with sarcasm. “Do you know how many old ladies came in here and gave me looks?”

He swallowed hard, looking around at his friends for backup, but they all just laughed, clearly enjoying the fact that he was getting called out. “I, uh… I’ll clean it up?” he offered, scratching the back of his head.

Jihoon snorted, shaking his head. “Too late for that, man. She already scrubbed it off.”

You shot Jihoon a look. “I scrubbed it off. With bleach. In the middle of a freakin’ heatwave.”

The guy looked genuinely guilty for a second, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “My bad, yo. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal…”

Jihoon laughed under his breath, clearly amused by the whole situation. “You owe her, dude.”

The guy shrugged again, looking at you with a half-apologetic, half-amused grin. “Aight, aight. My bad, lil’ bakery girl. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, you better,” you teased. 

“We’re definitely talking about the ‘girlfriend’ thing later.” Jihoon gave you a squeeze on your ass behind the counter, where nobody could see it.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow at him, not missing the way his eyes lingered on you just a second too long. “Oh, are we?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing against your ear. “After I get these idiots outta here.”

[musitechnicformation]

Discover the essentials of sound engineering to produce high-quality audio for music, films, and live events. Learn about advanced techniques in recording, mixing, and mastering, along with the best tools and software used in the industry. Sound engineering is the cornerstone of professional audio production, helping you achieve crystal-clear sound and perfect acoustics. Whether you’re a beginner or an experienced audio engineer, enhance your skills and take your projects to the next level.

[kurooh]

— SPELLBOUND ! . . geto suguru

⊹₊˚. while he’s out on a mission, suguru absorbs a special cursed spirit.

☆☆ 18+ content (mdni), fem! reader, unprotected sex, creampies, breeding, squirting, 1 face slap, slight exhibitionism, reader works in an office, NOT proofread..

all he can do is run faster through the hallways of your workplace, heels hitting the floor rather roughly as suguru increases his pace. dark hair that’s usually bound in a neat bun and resting against his shoulders is currently tousled, sticking to his sweaty face. god, he’d been pulling his hair so much he made himself look like he’d lost a fight with a leaf blower.

security had initially been after him when he raced through the turnstiles in the lobby, but he’d been faster as he made it onto the elevator. ordinarily, suguru would’ve felt badly for causing such a scene, but this couldn’t be helped.

he’d been out on a mission, tracking a special grade cursed spirit in the depths of the city. according to some intel garnered through extensive monitoring of the area, he’d come to learn that this cursed spirit wasn’t just any cursed spirit…

this was some kind of humanoid curse that couldn’t be wrangled by local sorcerers and had even slipped up some sent over from jujutsu high. naturally, suguru had to get ahold of the curse and add it to his collection of special grades. now, he’d heard a few embarrassed testimonies about the curse’s technique impacting bodies and minds for a day or so.

suguru hadn’t expected the fight for submission to go as fast as it did, and he certainly didn’t expect the sudden surge of lust throughout his whole body the second he choked it down. unlike most other curses, this one was hot on his tongue and tasting of spice and sweetness.

suguru’s chest heaves as his feet skid to a stop on the carpet, right in front of your office door. without even bothering to knock, he throws the door open, effectively startling you.

“ah! suguru? what the hell are you doing here? i thought you were busy tracking—”

you take him in, eyes wandering over his broad frame. suguru’s a mess, face flushed and sweaty; his hair’s unruly and looks as though it was ripped from its bun in some kind of panic. looking closely at his eyes, you notice a lilac glow encircling his pupils, coloring over his usually brown irises.

“sugu?” you ask softly, taking a step closer. “hey, what happened? you look terrible, is everything okay?”

he groans loudly in response, hips banging against your desk as he slams his hands down on some papers.

“lock the door,” suguru musters, hanging his head as he tries to decide how to explain this mess to you. he hadn’t been affected after absorbing a curse since he was just a first year at jujutsu high, throwing up all over gojo after his new rainbow dragon wouldn’t settle down in his belly.

“will you tell me what’s going on, damn it?”

suguru whirls around, clothing looser than it had been before you’d turned to lock your office door. “i-it’s the fucking curse i was after! right after i absorbed it, i started feeling like this.”

“meaning?”

“i’m sure this sounds insane, but it was an aphrodisiacal kind of curse.. so essentially, my body and mind are aroused to a level beyond my control.” the silent implication behind suguru’s words has excitement and anticipation swirling throughout your body, cumulating between your thighs and dampening your panties.

with one look shared between the two of you and a quiet exhale, you rush forward and melt into him, his arms strong and chest sturdy against your smaller frame. dark strands brush against your cheeks as he tips his head forward to take the lead in a hot kiss.

rather quickly, his tongue is passing between your lips as his teeth clash against your own in a desperate attempt for more of you. more of your taste, made up from the sticky sweetness of your lipgloss and mixed notes of your afternoon coffee.

suguru reverses your positions easily, and suddenly you can feel how fucking thick he is through a few layers of clothing. you twist your hips, attempting to hump on his clothes cock, and he pulls your hand from his, guiding it to the bulge.

he’s struggling with your nimble fingers touching his cock just right, the sudden urge to cum rising inside him.

“ughhh, shit..”

quickly, suguru adjusts you; the small of your back hits the edge of the desk before your ass is scraping against it as he pushes you on top.

“off,” is all he commands as he drags his casual shirt and pants off, eyeing your neatly pressed pants and almost fully buttoned blouse. in this state, he’s doing his utmost to hold back for you — god, he would’ve ripped all your clothes off long ago.

“okay if i’m rough, sweetheart?”

your needy little ‘please’ along with your office slacks hitting the floor has him leaning you back onto the desk, papers flying in every direction.

although he always likes to drag out the foreplay and prep, suguru doesn’t waste any fucking time as he spreads your thighs and spits on your clit before diving right in to devour you.

“a-ah, shit!” you exclaim, voice pitched and shaking almost immediately. “sugu, lick my clit harder.. yes, just like that!”

large hands pressing down hard on your squirming thighs keeps you in place from moving anywhere but towards him and your orgasm. a mixture of your slick and his spit dribbles down his chin, catching the light as he leans up for a brief breath.

“oh—! feels amazing, sugu, ‘m gonna cum soon!”

weakly, you raise your head to observe the way he’s ravaging you, hungry for no one except you. your tits bounce as your body twitches, falling over the cups of your bra and almost through the half undone blouse.

you sit upwards, and he lets you go so you can wrap your thighs around his head. soon the blouse falls to the ground, discarded, and your bra follows suit.

“s-suguru, ‘m gonna— ‘m gonna cum!”

you bite down hard on your fingers as he lifts you and drags you up and down his face, slurping every last drop of your taste. he groans faintly as he licks your inner thighs clean, despite the fact that he’ll be making them messy again pretty soon.

“on your belly, sweet thing.” suguru punctuates his words with a smarting slap to your ass cheek when you turn over, and he picks up your panties from the floor. the lace is sticky with the mess you’d made getting so horny when he’d been kissing you.

he balls them up and shoves them into your open mouth, then circles the desk so as to position himself behind you. suguru can’t help but groan as he finally takes off his boxers, letting his cock rest on your ass before he moves any further. without wasting much time outside of your cunt, he spits on his cock and lubes it up.

he’s hot and heavy, then thick and absolutely throbbing as he nudges his sticky tip forward and between your slippery folds.

“fuck—! ughhh, shit, sweetheart,” he feels as though a bucket of water has been splashed on him, the heat and wetness of your cunt addicting as it envelops his cock fully.

you whine a little from the stretch, bouncing your ass on him as you try to adjust completely. with a hand planted firmly on the wood of the desk and the other pressing into the plush skin of your hip, suguru advances forward, driving his hips into you mercilessly.

“suguru!” a near scream of pleasure almost rips from you, but thank god he’d gagged you with those panties.

“shhh, you need to stay quiet, sweetheart,” he chokes out, the lilac glow in his eyes growing brighter right before they roll back into his head. “y-you’re real tight, baby, ‘nd you’re taking me so fucking well, shit.”

suguru is literally drilling you into the desk, but it’s still not enough for him. he only moves faster and harder, leaning his body over yours to nip at your jaw, nudging your burning cheek with his nose.

“i’ve been waiting to use your pussy like this since i got cursed,” he grunts, satisfied at the way your eyes roll back into your head at his words.

with each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls, you reach your orgasm quickly. your body twists beneath his as you sob, clenching on him and all over.

however, a rare pressure coils in your pelvis; tight and hot and ready to come out, all over him.

“sugu, ‘m gonna cum.. fuck, i-i think i’m gonna—”

your voice raises, words spoken fast and sounding just a little panicked. after all, it’s not like you squirt that often with suguru, and especially not on your work desk in your workplace with your coworkers walking the halls.

what if you got your papers and stationary all wet like this, by being nasty?

“go ahead ‘n make a mess, sweet thing,” his voice rumbles in his chest behind you, low and exuding hunger. “all over me, yeah?”

“a-are you sure?” you gasp, liquid already starting to drip from your pussy; you can barely feel it since he’s fucking it away.

displeased, suguru raises his hand and lightly slaps your cheek, just enough to sting but burn.

“of course i’m sure,” he grunts, eyes meeting yours as you tearfully turn back to look at him. “give it to me.”

just his words have your eyes rolling back as you cum on command — puffy cunt clenching as liquid sprays onto his pelvis and balls. he lets go too, pulling out and jerking his cock onto your pussy.

“fuckkk, sweetheart..”

suguru’s eyes, still glowing, fall shut as his cock shoots cum all over your quivering pussy; your cum mixes with his and starts to run off your clit, and you lean up to start cleaning yourself.

a strong hand presses right into the middle of the back and pushes you down immediately.

“sugu, we have to clean up, what’re you—”

“don’t play dumb,” he sighs, impatient as he rubs his tip in the mess covering your pussy before pushing back in.

you let out a choked gasp, which is unheard over the sounds of sticky skin smacking against skin. he removes his hand from your back and spreads your asscheeks, giving himself a nice view of your rear.

“one orgasm won’t relieve the curse, sweetheart.”

it doesn’t take much for you to melt, losing all your resolve as he fucks you into the desk with little mercy. your face’s pressed into the wood as tears pour down your cheeks, lips parted by sounds you couldn’t even think about holding back.

“i-it’s gonna happen again,” you mewl, unable to sit up or move much as you squirt on him yet again. the spray soaks some papers, and his pelvis, drops of liquid sparkling in dark hairs.

thoroughly fucked out and unable to count how many times you’ve cum, you wail his name, only one thing in your head.

“put a baby in me, suguru. fill me up, please.”

“oh yeah? that’s what you want?” tears of overstimulation build in his eyes but he just can’t stop fucking you. the position, view, sounds, feelings, place, all of it — he doesn’t want to stop.

“fill me up,” you cry again, pushing yourself closer to him.

“i’d much rather see your face as i stuff you full, baby,” and with that he’s pulling out of you, as painful as it is, and flipping you over with ease.

drool runs down your chin as you blink up at him blearily, not one single thought behind your teary eyes. your face crumbles as he pushes inside you, back arching off the desk.

“my baby’s been fucked dumb,” suguru laughs, glancing at your bouncing tits and rock hard nipples. “look at me when i cum, hm?”

you force your eyes open, noticing the tears in his own. he looks beyond amazing — face flushed, eyes squinted as his orgasm rushes up, long dark locks a mess behind him.

“i’ll put a baby in you,” he grunts, tone sounding just the slightest bit competitive.

inside you, suguru thickens and throbs before he loudly chokes out a groan and finally cums inside you. the warmth of his cum inside you has you squirting again, the slightest bit of liquid running down the base of his aching cock.

“think that’s enough, suguru?” you gasp, leaning your head back, body entirely limp.

he pulls out, hissing softly at the loss of your warmth. cum floods out of you, staining your skin as some drips to the floor.

“i could always eat you out..” he offers, grinning slyly.

“suguru, you just—”

a hasty knock on the door has you sitting straight up, limbs aching from being pressed into the desk as much as they were. suguru’s eyes widen, as do yours, as reality hits the two of you like a goddamn truck.

you recognize your boss when she calls your name, and a few of your coworkers’ voices. “is everything alright? we’ve been hearing continuous thudding outside of your office. the office has just been locked down, since some random ran in past security.”

you smack suguru’s shoulder, face contorting.

he shrugs dramatically before grabbing some tissues to wipe up your thighs, himself, and the sprayed liquid covering the wood of your desk.

“ma’am, we will be coming into your office. this is necessary security protocol.”

[whowritessometimes]

Back and Forth - Art Donaldson x Reader

A Stanford!Art Donaldson and Stanford!Reader fic :) Kinda slow burn, very soft very sweet.

Word Count: 3.9k

---

The California summer sun beamed down on the court, making the colors of the advertisements and signs around you appear almost neon. Upbeat music flowed through speakers that you couldn't quite place, embodying the feeling of the tennis matches that surrounded you, the back-and-forth beat pulsating through your head. It was almost overstimulating, but this was your normal.

You were pre-med at Stanford, volunteering at some local tennis camp to fill your summer and add fodder to your resume. You didn't do much, occasionally helping some rich, pompous kid stretch out their wrist, or their knee, or their ankle, or whatever. The days blurred together, they all spoke to you in the same condescending way. For most people, it would be mind-numbing.

But it was exhilarating. You had this intrinsic love for tennis, you always had. Perhaps it was that love that led you to signing up for this gig, and not the resume experience. But you would never admit that to anyone. You had played tennis for fun your whole life, with your family growing up, with your friends in high school. It was only when you shattered your wrist sophomore year that you had to stop.

It sucked. It sucked at the time, and it sucked now. You weren't professional-level at tennis, not like these people, but it was nice to have a hobby unlike anything else people expected you to do. The pre-med thing, the reading, the studying, it came naturally to you. And it wasn't like you didn't enjoy it, and it wasn't like you weren't good at it, but you loved tennis. And every now and again, you missed it.

So here you were. Your head followed all the heads in the crowd in a practiced, synchronized, subconscious back-and-forth. There wasn't really ever a crowd, the games at the program were often informal, the audience often consisted of coaches and other players. But this was a unique match, Stanford's players engaged in a captivating display of athleticism. It was almost like a dance, the way they seemed to know the moves of the other before they made them. You could feel the intensity from your tent by the end of the bleachers.

Stanford's star player (well, one of them)—Art Donaldson. You'd half-watched him play from your tent whenever you weren't working. He was elusive, but undoubtably one of the best there. You had never spoken. He was enigmatic, focused on his training and on helping others. He had perfect technique, people said. Now, you had the chance to really see how he was. And he was. Top of his game.

Usually.

The air was thick with humidity. Your gaze flickered between the players, boredom warring with the gnawing anxiety that always hummed beneath the surface during matches. Then, a sound sliced through the rhythmic thwack of the tennis balls—a sharp cry of pain.

Your head snapped left like a whip, your heart leaping into your throat. There, sprawled on the opposite side of the net, lay Art. His face was contorted in agony, one hand clutching his ankle at an unnatural angle. His racket lay a few feet away, as forgotten as the polite pleasantries that had filled the air before the match.

The shitty plastic chair beneath you creaked in protest as you scrambled to your feet. Ignoring the surprised yelp from the equally shitty excuse for a supervisor you'd been assigned for the summer tennis program, you sprinted across the court. Dust billowed in your wake, blurring the vision that was already swimming with a mix of dread and the adrenaline rush that always came with seeing someone hurt.

You skidded to a halt beside him, kneeling. His eyes, usually bright with playful competitiveness, were screwed shut, teeth clenched as he fought back a string of obscenities you knew all too well.

"Hey," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm despite the tremor running through your body. He flinched at the sound of your voice, a flicker of something akin to fear crossing his normally confident expression.

"Hey," he managed to rasp out, opening one eye a sliver. He tried to push himself up, but his face crumpled again as a fresh wave of agony shot through him.

"Don't move," you ordered, the calmness in your voice surprising even you. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was slick with sweat, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from his injured ankle.

"'S bad, huh?" he breathed, a flicker of vulnerability in his voice.

The concern in his eyes sent a jolt through you. It wasn't just the pain; it was the fear.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice softer now, "We'll get you checked out. Just...hold still."

Ignoring the sting of sweat in your eyes, you carefully slipped your arm around his waist, offering what little support your slight frame could provide. Heaving him halfway onto your leg, you began the slow, agonizing walk towards the medical tent. Each step sent a spike of pain through Art's leg, reflected in the way he gritted his teeth and winced with every movement.

The supervisor, finally spurred into action, scurried behind you, muttering something about ice packs and paramedics. But your focus remained solely on Art, on getting him to help as quickly as possible.

You knew what it was like. Maybe that's what spurred your immediate action, your need to help him recover, to keep playing. You knew what it was like.

The antiseptic sting of the medical tent assaulted your nose as you hovered beside the injured player. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he clenched his jaw with each prod from the trainer.

"Think they all saw that?" he finally rasped, a hint of amusement battling the pain in his voice. You blinked, surprised by his oddly timed humor.

"Doubt it," you played along, a small smile tugging at your lips. "'S not like you're Art Donaldson or anything."

A sheepish grin replaced his grimace. "Thank god."

The trainer finished his work, leaving you and the injured player alone in a tense silence. He cleared his throat, his gaze meeting yours for the first time.

"So," he began, trailing off as he stared into the ceiling of the tent. There was something in his expression, the physical pain, the fear that comes with injury, the odd quiet of an unfinished game.

"So," you mimicked, sitting next to him in another shitty chair.

Something hung in the air, something all too familiar to you. He turned his head to look at you, to make eye contact, keeping his body flat on the cot. You realized then how close you were. Close enough to see his eyes, the sharp point of his jawline, the strawberry blond of his curls.

You averted your gaze, looking out into the brightness of the tent entrance. The typical ambiance of the outside seemed to be drowned by the odd intimacy you'd created together, the silence between you and Art seemed to be the only noise you could hear. His shoddy breathing, despite his attempts to pretend he was okay, only brought you back to when you felt the same way he did, all those years ago.

A blush crept up your neck. You fumbled for something, anything, to break the charged silence in the tent. "I, uh, broke my wrist sophomore year," you blurted, surprised by the words leaving your lips. "Tennis, ironically. One minute I'm playing—probably terribly—and then I'm in the ER holding a bag of frozen peas. And, I don't know, I guess I'm just saying... I get it. Sort of."

"You trying to distract me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," you admitted, a hesitant smile mirroring his. "Is it working?"

"Yeah, actually," he conceded, leaning back on the cot. "Tell me more."

You felt a genuine laugh bubble up from your chest, the first since the moment you saw him crumpled on the court.

---

And that was really the last time you saw Art. Suffice to say you hadn't forgotten about the encounter. It was actually stupid, how often you thought of it. He didn't even know your name, but you remembered the timbre of his voice, the softness of his gaze.

In your defense, he was hard to avoid. Now that the spring semester had started, tennis season was in full swing. His picture was plastered around the most of the facilities you frequented, future NCAA champion Art Donaldson.

The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine hung heavy in the crisp California air as you hurried across the bustling Stanford campus. The semester had sprung with a vengeance, bringing with it the usual flurry of activity—overloaded backpacks, animated discussions about last night's party, and the ever-present anxiety of looming deadlines.

Today, however, an extra weight sat on your shoulders. Your pre-med advisor dropped a last-minute surprise: mandatory tutoring for a struggling athlete. Juggling med school coursework with a part-time job at the campus health center was already a tightrope walk, and adding this felt like a precarious extra step. But you managed it, as you did most things. How you had some semblance of a social life was a mystery. And maybe your very obvious lack of a love life was why you thought about Art so often. You didn't have time to psychoanalyze yourself, though. You barely had time for whatever this tutoring session was about to be.

Reaching the designated classroom, a small, windowless space usually reserved for last-minute group study sessions, you took a deep breath before pushing open the heavy door. The sterile light inside momentarily blinded you, but as your eyes adjusted, a sight unfolded that caused your breath to hitch in your throat. Sprawled across a cluttered table, papers piled haphazardly around him, was a man who you'd spent the better part of the last few months thinking about.

There, unmistakably, was Art. His signature strawberry blond hair, slightly longer than you remembered, covered with a backwards baseball cap, curled at the edges, framing his face. A deep furrow creased his brow, a testament to the frustration radiating from his hunched form as he focused on a massive biology textbook. An unsettling warmth bloomed in your chest, a reaction entirely too potent for a tutoring session.

The memory of him sprawled on the opposite side of the tennis court last summer, his ankle twisted at an unnatural angle, flickered across your mind. The panic that had gripped you then seemed almost comical now. The sterile environment and the way his eyes had held a curious blend of pain and something else—gratitude, maybe?—all formed a vivid memory you hadn't realized had imprinted itself so deeply.

His presence filled the small room, unexpectedly stealing your breath and injecting a jolt of something entirely different into the monotonous routine of your day. A shyness spread across your face, tinged with an unfamiliar nervousness as you cleared your throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the sudden silence.

A slow smile took over his features as he looked at you, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you were caught in that smile, a memory resurfacing from the hazy days of summer.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm. He reached a toned arm, pulling out a chair for you.

"Hi," you blinked, momentarily flustered by the gesture and the echo of familiarity in his voice. There was a moment of tension in the air, of uncertainty, of a strange sense of reconnection. Finally, you managed to force out the words, "How are you?"

"My ankle's a lot better now, if that's what you're asking," he replied with a playful glint in his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, making you hyperaware of the way your heart hammered against your ribs.

"You remember me?" you blurted out, the question leaving your lips before you could stop it.

"Course I remember you," he said, his voice laced with amusement. You couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your body, and back up. Blatantly checking you out. And you could hear his smile in the way he spoke, warm and genuine, sending a familiar flutter through your stomach. The memory of his teasing laughter in the sterile medical tent resurfaced.

"Right," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You shifted in your chair, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his gaze on you.

The next hour or so unfolded in a way that surprised you both. Art's initial confusion melted away as you hovered next to him, animatedly explaining each concept. Social life, love life, Art Donaldson, you couldn't explain. Biology, medical stuff, sports, you understood.

And he was beginning to as well. Time became a forgotten entity, measured only by the turning of pages and the occasional frustrated groan from Art. He wasn't the cocky athlete you'd half-imagined, but someone with a genuine curiosity about the world around him and some kind of depth hidden beneath his confident facade on the court.

Finally, Art leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "We should probably call it," he declared, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. He thanked you, looking into your eyes as he said your name, the syllables dancing off his tongue in a way that made you feel like it was more than a word you had offhandedly mentioned to him.

"Yeah, sure," you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

The study sessions became a regular occurrence. The two of you exchanged numbers, only to arrange meetings, you reminded yourself.

But whenever he called, you found yourself talking about so much more than biology. It started with him asking how you were, a simple courtesy that somehow felt more genuine coming from him. Yet, as you replied, a comfortable ease would settle in. You'd find yourself laughing at inside jokes, dumb stories, the kind that wouldn't be particularly funny to anyone else, would mindlessly tumble out, fueled by the comfort you felt in his presence. It was a kind of nonsense, a space where you could just be yourself, and somehow, it felt like everything and nothing all at once.

---

Now, it was late, and it was finals week.

Papers and textbooks were scattered across your desk, a battlefield of scribbled notes and highlighted passages. You were in the trenches, neck-deep in the intricacies of biochemistry, desperately trying to cram information into your sleep-deprived brain.

Suddenly, the familiar buzz of your phone cut through the silence of your cramped dorm. You fished it out of your pocket, a flicker of annoyance battling with the ever-present hope that it might be a break, a distraction from the relentless onslaught of scientific jargon. Gratefulness shot through you when you saw Art Donaldson's name on the screen.

You answered the call. His voice crackled through the phone, laced with desperation. "I need your help," he blurted out, completely unlike his usual easygoing self. "What the fuck is molecular cell biology?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "In general?" you replied, already picturing the hours that it would take to explain the subject. Finals be damned, apparently.

"Can you just come over?" he groaned. "If you aren't doing anything."

You glanced back at the flashcards on your desk. "I'm not doing anything."

So here you were, knocking on the door of Art Donaldson's dorm. You heard rustling from the other side, making you wait just a beat longer in the dimly lit hallway. You rocked back and forth on your heels, chewing the inside of your cheek and rethinking your current appearance. The oversized Stanford hoodie, mess of your hair, and lack of makeup now seemed ill-fitting for a meeting with the boy who had somehow winded his way into becoming your crush. You felt like a kid again, back in high school.

You were starting to worry you had the wrong room until the door swung open, bathing the hallway in a golden, hazy light. There stood Art, moving his large frame out of the way to gesture you into his room with a short greeting and a "thank god." You didn't know what you expected, really, but there you were, slinking a little too closely past him as he stood in his doorframe. You felt his breath on the back of your neck as he stood behind you, guiding you to his tiny desk in the corner of the room. His hands ghosted over the small of your back, and you felt his warmth, despite him not actually touching you.

The room itself was small. It wasn't unlike yours, or any of the others on campus. But it somehow felt smaller with Art next to you, burying his face in his hands every time you patiently explained a concept you'd gone over already. His face. He was so close to you now, the quiet of the night and the room only making you feel closer.

The energy of this study session felt so different from all your others in the past. You weren't in a classroom, or meeting him after practice in the library. You were seeing another side of Art, the part of himself he didn't publicize. Every freckle, the stretch of his faded t-shirt over his body, the curls he brushed out of his eyes every now and again, the way he flexed his callused hands as he cracked his knuckles, a nervous fidget.

It felt like time slowed down. You labored over the biology textbook, finding practice questions and asking him some of your own. You were gentle, cautious. Maybe it was the weird intimacy of the moment, maybe it was the lack of air in the cramped dorm. Your voice was soft, and you couldn't help but notice how the tension Art held over the phone and when you entered the room melted away. Did you do that? You felt this reciprocation, possibly imagined. But whenever you cracked a dumb joke, he'd laugh and put a hand on your arm. The contact always made you freeze. The touch was a reminder he was real, he was tangible. Every fleeting gaze, every smile in your direction.

You had almost reached the end of the chapter, and Art was getting almost every practice question right. You fidgeted with a sheet of his messy notes, reading it over to continue some rant you were on about RNA.

"...made up of nucleotides, which are ribose sugars attached to nitrogenous bases and phosphate groups..." You trailed off, looking up from the papers only to find his gaze already on you. How long had he been looking at you? And the way he looked at you...

"Do you want to take a break?" He tilted his head.

You quirked an eyebrow, unable to fight your smile. "Sure."

He got up with an over-exaggerated sigh and stretched his arms over his head, exposing the bottom of his toned abdomen. For a moment. He reached under his desk, pulling out a box of some cheap canned beer. He popped the tab of a can, taking a long draw and passing it to you.

You looked away from his watchful eyes as you took a sip. Your face heated as you took into account the fact you were drinking from the same can he had.

You winced. "God, that tastes like ass."

"Sorry." He laughed, taking the can from you. Warm, callused fingertips brushing against yours.

"I didn't take you for a Steel Reserve kinda guy."

"What did you take me for?"

"I don't know. Gatorade?"

"Okay." He shook his head. "No more for you."

"Wait, wait, okay, I take it back."

He held out the can for you again.

"Mhm."

"Still taste like ass?"

"It tastes like what I imagine WD-40 tastes like."

You felt your heart swell as he laughed at that. You hadn't noticed how the two of you now sat impossibly closer, thighs brushing, shoulders sending sparks whenever they met. The half-empty can of beer felt like a nervous talisman being passed back and forth between you. Dumb jokes tumbled easily from your lips, punctuated by laughter that echoed weirdly loud in the quiet room. Finals week stress had completely evaporated, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the shitty beer.

It was so easy, talking to Art. Easier than it should have been, considering you were explaining the intricacies of cellular respiration to a man who once thought mitochondria were a type of pasta. But he listened, truly listened, his eyes locked on yours. You caught yourself getting lost in their depths, a dizzying kaleidoscope that mirrored the nervousness in your stomach.

He leaned in, as if to hear you better, and you mimicked the movement unconsciously. The space between your faces shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. His gaze did its familiar dance—right eye, lips, left eye—and this time, it lingered on your lips a beat too long.

A sudden self-consciousness washed over you. Should you pull back? This wasn't your intention. But before you could overthink it, Art's lips were hovering over yours, a question in the way they hovered, hesitant but hopeful.

"This okay?" His voice was impossibly low, breathy, quiet. His eyes raked over your features, eye contact shifting from left to right, back and forth. His hand, warm and calloused came up to cup your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

"Yeah." You breathed.

The kiss, when it came, was soft and unexpected. More of a tentative exploration than a passionate assault. It tasted of desperation and relief, of unspoken feelings finally finding a voice.

Your hands moved from your sides to toy with the curls on the back of his head, earning a barely audible groan from Art. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, his other hand moving down to pull you impossibly closer by the small of your waist. His touch was shy, tender.

After what felt like forever (and you wouldn't have minded had it been), you pulled away slowly, breathless, a blush painting your face. His eyes searched yours for some unknown answer. For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged rhythm of your breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, mirroring the one blooming on yours. "God, you're so pretty."

Leaving Art's dorm room felt like navigating a dream. Your head spun, a mix of the cheap beer and the potent aftertaste of the kiss. Your lips still tingled where his had been, a brand new sensation that sent shivers dancing down your spine. Relief, sweet and unexpected, washed over you. Months of stolen glances, late-night calls disguised as study sessions, and a simmering tension that had threatened to consume you—all of it had culminated in that single, electrifying kiss.

As you walked down the quiet hallway, a giddy smile stretched across your face. It wasn't just the kiss itself, though that replayed in your mind in a loop—hesitant, searching, then deepening with a shared sense of discovery. It was the way he'd looked at you afterwards, his eyes soft with unspoken emotions, mirroring the whirlwind in your own chest. A nervous flutter remained in your stomach, a delicious mix of excitement and uncertainty.

But beneath it all, a quiet confidence bloomed. He felt it too. This wasn't just some fleeting moment, a stolen kiss in the dead of night. It was a turning point, a bridge crossed, and the future, once shrouded in the haze of exams and unspoken feelings, now shimmered with possibility.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Lick Back by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Angst, Cheating, Unprotected Sex, Illicit Extramarital Affair, Adultery, Pregnancy Sex, Breeding Kink, AITA!Terry Richmond.

Summary: Terry Richmond is stationed at the Camp Pendleton Marine Corps Base where he teaches incoming soldiers close quarters combat techniques as a MCMAP instructor. While hanging with rowdy fresh blood recruits at a bar, he meets Nova, the new wife of a fellow soldier who recently moved to Oceanside from South Carolina. Nova and her husband Jordan seem close at first, but Terry knows that Jordan cheats on her every chance he gets with secret weekend trysts. When Nova becomes pregnant and struggles to keep her marriage together, Terry steps in to cheer her up from Jordan's indifference. But he unintentionally embarks upon an illicit affair with Nova that turns his life upside down.

Word count: 18.2K

"In this world, concrete flowers grow

Heartache, she only doin' what she know

Weekends, get it poppin' on the low

Better days comin' for sure"

Kendrick Lamar & Sza – "Luther"

Terry never planned on having an affair.

Like the cliché excuse used the world over, it just…happened.

He'd been drinking and playing pool with his marine buddies Kevin and Von when Jordan Patterson stumbled into their favorite off-base dive bar with a group of rambunctious grunts that disturbed the peace of other patrons.

"Hey, Patterson…pipe down," Terry called out.

Jordan raised a hand to wave at Terry before his jarhead crew stopped at the bar to order drinks. Their loud laughter and conversation sounded celebratory.

"Cut him some slack, T. The man just got married," Kevin said.

"Patterson? Married? To who?" Terry asked.

He noticed several women near the bar rolling their eyes at Jordan and his party. Sticking his thumb and index finger in his mouth, Terry whistled and gestured for the rowdy group to join his side of the bar where he could preserve the peace.

"Hey! Sergeant Richmond! You're back!" Jordan said.

"Yep. My leave ends in two days."

"How was Louisiana?" Jordan asked.

"Same as I left it."

"Family good?"

"Yep."

Jordan had a gregarious personality that came off bigger than life. He was about four inches shorter than Terry, with a chiseled, penny-brown face that turned heads wherever he went. A natural lady-killer. Terry liked him well enough as a soldier, but away from work, he wasn't much for running around in the streets like the younger Lance Corporal was. He gave dap to Jordan and the others, and the quiet calm he exuded filtered down to the others. Terry bought a round of drinks for the newlywed and his friends. They settled into a good time quickly.

An attractive entourage of women walked in and joined their group. Most were girlfriends or wives of the men he hung with. That's when Terry first noticed Nova. She was taller than a few of the other women who were Filipino and Black. One Mexican woman mixed into their group pointed toward them in the back, and Nova caught his eye. She looked unsure of the surroundings and he could smell the country aura she exuded. A loose ponytail held back her black hair, and she wore a cute orange jumper that showed off slender legs. She was light brown like him, but the type of brown that would get darker in the California sunshine given time. Terry sipped his glass of whiskey and concentrated on the pool game he played with Von.

"Sarge…sarge…lemme introduce you to my wife…Nova. Nova…this is the baddest MCMAP instructor on base…Terry Richmond."

Nova's warm brown eyes twinkled. He held out a hand to shake. She took it.

"How are you doing, Mrs. Patterson?"

Nova giggled.

"That still sounds so strange to hear," she said. "Pleased to meet you Terry."

Her southcack accent sounded like warm honey molasses on thick buttered toast, and for a second, he couldn't believe Jordan's wild ass could pull a sweet country girl clear across the nation. Terry glanced at Jordan, but the younger man already had his eye on some other beauty playing pool at another table. The youngin always had a wandering eye, but Terry figured he'd shut that shit down with a wife present.

"You coming to the spot tomorrow? We're throwing a barbecue to celebrate me and Nova," Jordan said.

"I'll be there," Terry said. He looked at Nova again. "Enjoy your time here."

Von missed a shot, and Terry returned to his game, soon forgetting about Nova.

The bar had a small area where a live band played, and the music was a mix of millennial R&B and pop hits. Terry left tip money on a nearby table for his server and headed for the door. He glimpsed Jordan dancing with Nova, and they appeared happy. In love. He wished them well in his heart and went home.

Little did he know that their brief encounter would morph into something bigger than he could've imagined.

Terry wasn't hurting for companionship. Six-foot-three, fit, good looking, and single, he enjoyed a wide variety of women from Long Beach to San Diego. Living in Oceanside long enough had him looking away from the small seaside town for women. Military life attracted a certain kind of woman he wasn't interested in near the base. He was pleasantly surprised that Nova was nothing like the husband-hungry women his military buddies dealt with. For one, she was a university graduate. He found that out on the weekly flag football game he played at a park with the guys and their partners.

Playing flag football with men and women was something he and Von started seven years ago to create a tight bond of friends, especially for the younger men coming into the fold. It soon became a casual mentorship that fostered goodwill and was a lot of fun. It also helped the women find friends to help deal with homesickness for those who were far away from home for the first time. They became a support system when the men were called to do their tour of duty.

The crew played before eating, and Terry covered quarterback duty for Team A. He brought his friend Angie, who everyone thought he was fucking, to hang out and play. She was his beard to keep the other women from setting him up with their female friends who were desperate for a marine to marry. Angie was gay and always played her part well, plus she was a skilled football player.

Nova played with Jordan on Team B, facing a man twice her size. The sun beat down on them, and the odor of grilled ribs and brown sugar barbecue sauce flared his nostrils at the start of the game. Von and his wife Bethany started cooking early before everyone else arrived so that the food would be ready after the first quick game. Kevin played the role as ref and blew the whistle to start the game after Terry took a long huddle to explain to a new soldier's girlfriend her position. Her name was Cath, a white-looking mixed Filipina who seemed more interested in looking cute rather than actually playing. She kept batting her lashes at Terry and fiddling with her stringy dyed hair the color of a bleeding sunset.

"Let's go Team A, we ain't got all day!" Kevin called out.

Terry clapped his hands, and his teammates spread out. Angie hiked the ball to him, and Terry took a step back, cradling the football in his hand, ready to spring his powerful arm forward. His two wide-receivers, a man and woman, jetted down the grassy field and—

Nova snatched his blue flag from around his waist in less than six seconds.

Terry stared at her with an incredulous expression as Jordan danced around and talked mad shit. Nova grinned and twirled his flag belt in her hand. Terry glared at Conner, who was supposed to block her.

"Aye, she's fast, man," Conner said. "I pushed her back, but she got around me."

Team A huddled again. Terry glanced at Nova. An impish smirk creased her pretty lips. Angie hiked the ball, and Nova gunned it for him, blowing past Connor's bulky frame like he was a toddler. Terry ran and threw the ball fast. In fact, Nova kept him running and switching up his plays. When Team B finally had their chance to move the ball around, Terry and the others witnessed Nova's athleticism. Her lean build and speed were amazing. They switched up the teams after eating, and Terry took a break to watch and drink beer from the sidelines. He thought it was cute the way Jordan slapped his wife's butt each time she made a huge play. They were lovey-dovey and Terry hoped she would curb his explosive temper that he sometimes brought to the games. Jordan could be hard on new guys hanging out to play with them, and the addition of alcohol with testosterone didn't help.

Nova skipped playing the last game of the day and sat near Von's wife and Angie, chatting. Other women joined them as the guys stood or sat around arguing about their fantasy football picks or why Bronny James should ride his nepo ass on the Laker team bus. Terry ate another rib and licked his fingers, listening to the clash of several conversations. Jordan pulled a folding chair next to his wife and threaded his fingers with hers.

"Tired of them niggas arguing about the same shit every weekend," Jordan said.

"What do you think of California?" Angie asked Nova.

Jordan kissed her hand, and Nova fixed her eyes on Angie.

"It's different. A little faster than what I'm used to."

"You'll get used to it, baby," Jordan said.

The football landed in his lap. Kevin jogged over.

"You wanna play a quick game? These cholos nearby want to play," Kevin said.

Jordan glanced at Terry.

"You in man?" Jordan asked.

"I'm good."

Jordan bounced up from his seat and darted out to the field.

"He is so happy," Bethany said.

Nova gave a winsome smile while staring at her husband.

"We both are."

"How long were you dating before getting married?" Angie asked.

"Oh, Jordy's been my childhood sweetheart since I was thirteen."

"Really? Oh gosh, that's so cute," Bethany said.

Bethany gave a look to Terry. They both knew Jordan had been seeing other women while stationed there.

"We'd been on and off since high school. I went to the University of South Carolina in Columbia and got my degree in communications. I have to wait a year to get residency here, and then I'm going to apply to SDSU and get my masters in communications."

"What do you want to do?"

"News broadcasting. I'm starting an internship at KGTV next month. That means a lot of commuting to San Diego."

"It's not bad, thirty to forty minutes," Angie said.

"Jordy proposed to me last year when he came home to visit. I told him I wasn't getting married until I had my degree in my hand first."

"I know that's right," Bethany said, tossing back her Senegalese twists. "Von and I were married ten years ago. Two kids later and I'm still wishing I finished my education. I'm thinking about doing some online classes next year."

"Do it!" Angie said, patting Bethany's leg.

Nova sighed and watched Jordan play football.

Terry discreetly studied her and wondered if she knew her husband cheated on her all the time while she was in South Carolina. He couldn't let go of the disappointment he felt in Jordan who'd been his pet project for three years because the big brass felt he had the potential to be an outstanding soldier, but needed a personal hand to keep him in line. Terry took on that responsibility and kept the man under his wing. Jordan's biggest problem was his immaturity. At twenty-five, he was only two years younger than Terry, but their maturity levels were worlds apart. Nova seemed like a smart woman and had to know her man wasn't up to her level. He didn't want to assume anything because men often acted differently around their women sometimes. Terry just hated seeing good Black women choosing lames.

She caught him looking at her.

"You play football well," he blurted.

"Jordy and I played all the time back home. Our families are close and full of boys, so I got in to fit in. I ran track too, so that helps."

"Yeah, it does, cuz you did not let me rest out there."

They all laughed.

She kept him laughing. The others, too. Nova fit the group perfectly. She was funny and encouraging and smitten with Jordan.

While packing up, Bethany cornered Terry near his truck.

"Did you know Jordan was engaged all this time?"

"No."

"That man was at my house last month with some random woman. I feel so icky talking with his wife knowing he's been unfaithful with other women."

"Maybe they had an understanding while they were long distance."

"Stop making excuses for him, Terry. You know that's some janky ass shit to bring a wife around us out of the blue. No Black woman from here to Timbuktu is going to accept that."

"That's why we're all going to mind our business."

Bethany moved closer to him, her hard light brown eyes almost glowing in her dark brown face. She lifted an accusatory finger at him and wagged it.

"You need to have a talk with him, or else I will. You're his leader that he respects and listens to. Von would just curse him out and make things worse. Nova is a beautiful woman who deserves respect. We're lucky he brought none of those other women to our football games. Suppose one of those birds popped up today?"

"Alright…alright…I'll check in with Jordan, but I won't lecture him."

"Good. Let him know I'm watching out for Nova."

Von wandered over, carrying leftover bags of supplies.

"What are you fussing about over here?" Von asked.

"Jordan," Bethany said.

Von grit his teeth comically.

"You didn't say anything to Nova, did you?" Von asked.

"I'm not hurting a woman I just met on the first day. Terry's going to talk to him."

"Babe, we gotta stay outta other grown folk's business."

"Jordan and the word 'grown' do not compute. The man runs around town like a horny teenager," Bethany complained.

"He's married to a good woman, and she's living here with him now. Let's all be cool and act like we don't know a damn thing."

"Terry…check that man or I'm pulling the pin and blowing his shit up," Bethany said, climbing into their mini-van.

Von and Bethany left him standing alone.

Jordan and Nova embraced each other near their car.

Maybe Jordan got his dick wetting season over with and would finally settle down.

Six months passed by, and Terry didn't feel the need to say anything to Jordan. The man fell into a marriage routine that convinced even Bethany that matrimony cured his loose dick. The couple invited everyone to their new military home for a housewarming party and, seeing them together, Terry had to admit there was some growth in Jordan's behavior. He was attentive to his wife, and didn't hang at the bars with the single men as much anymore. When he did pop out, he brought Nova with him, and they left early. No more bar crawls or skirt chasing. Domestic bliss. Kevin married his fiancé during a winter wedding, and Jordan gave a moving speech about how marriage changed a man for the better. Babies were born, and other men in his circle got engaged or settled into long-term relationships. The more he looked around, the more he felt like the lone bachelor clinging to singledom.

Terry didn't want to think about a wife and kids until after he was out of the military. He had a good gig going with MCMAP. A decent wage. The respect of his peers. The freedom to come and go as he pleased with no strings. Pussy was easy to come by, and no woman was special enough to entice him into monogamy.

His schedule grew hectic as the military geared up for a new deployment. He never had to go anywhere because the Marines recognized his value in training. An elite soldier in his rank, the higher ups wanted Terry to mold thousands more just like him during his stint. He went in hard on his charges, building up the best trained soldiers he could.

Nova adjusted to California life. She and Jordan had to share the use of one car to save money for her future schooling. She'd drop Jordan off to work and make the drive to San Diego for her internship. After a month, he heard from Bethany that Nova quit the internship because it became too stressful to meet the requirements with Jordan's schedule. They couldn't afford another car at the moment because the cost of military housing had gone up.

Nova ended up taking a part-time job at a public library as she waited for her residency to kick in for school. She'd gained weight and Jordan didn't seem too happy about it. Terry thought she looked good, filling out more from living a slower lifestyle than when she was running around on a university campus. At the flag football games, they bickered a lot, and Nova stopped playing altogether, sometimes not even showing up at the park. Bethany gave Terry a look at the absence, and he finally pulled Jordan aside.

"Hey man…what's going on with you? Everything cool at home?" Terry asked nonchalantly on a park bench.

"Aw man…y'know, life is lifing. Things aren't going the way we planned…or rather, the way she planned."

"What's up with Nova?"

Jordan glanced at the grass on the ground and picked at a scratch on his knee that he injured earlier that day from falling. Terry had to pull him away from another player before a fight broke out. A dude named Marcus had simply tripped over his feet and fell into Jordan, but Jordan flipped out about it, shoving Marcus in the chest.

"Man…this marriage shit is for the birds."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, Sarge."

"That's what I'm here for, Jordan."

He gave an exasperated sigh.

"I love Nova…I really do…but lately…she's been getting on my nerves."

"How?"

"Always asking me about shit that ain't really important right now. She wants another car for school, and I told her she should postpone going to SDSU, at least until I make a higher paygrade. She got a job to pay for a new car herself. Her library gig is within walking distance, so she doesn't need to have my car during the day. I need to use it more than her."

"For what? She drops you off and picks you up every day."

"Sometimes I wanna go to the bar with the fellas after work to chill."

"Then ride with them and hitch a ride home with 'em too…or catch an Uber or a Lyft."

"Man, I ain't doing all that."

"You expect her to do that, then?"

"She don't need the car every day," Jordan grumbled. "Walking will do her good, anyway. All she's doing is getting fat."

"That's how you talk about your wife?"

Jordan sucked his teeth.

"Her ass used to be fine as hell when she first got here."

"She's still fine."

Jordan glared at him.

"You lookin' at my wife funny?"

"No, what I'm saying is, Nova is still a beautiful woman. She's a lil thicker and in case you haven't noticed, no one else is complaining when she rides on base dropping your ass off early in the morning."

"I'ma get her a gym membership on base and whip that ass back into shape."

"You foul man."

"Not trying to have a sloppy booty wife."

Terry's jaw tightened. He thought Nova looked even better with the weight gain. She started wearing large T-shirts and sweatpants more, but he and the other guys on base appreciated the extra jiggles when she walked by. His daddy always told him a well-loved woman put on weight the first few years of marriage. That's how a man knew he was taking care of his wife.

Jordan looked off into the distance and Terry turned his head to see what he was checking out. One guy had brought an extra female friend to play football, a lithe Black woman from L.A. who modeled for department store flyers.

"Jordan, I hope you're staying true to your vows with Nova and not stepping out on her."

Jordan's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"What are you talking about?"

"You heard me. We all know you were fucking around before you brought her out here. None of us knew you had a fiancé, and you brought her back like a prized jewel. Now you're acting like you want to trade her in for some outhouse pussy cuz she put on a few pounds. You shouldn't have gotten married if you're acting like this."

"Jumping to conclusions and shit—"

"Nigga, I know you. Seen with my own eyes how you move. Is that why you want the car for yourself? To sneak around on Nova?"

Jordan wouldn't look Terry in the eye.

"You really are a piece of work. Here I am thinking you finally became a real man," Terry huffed.

He stood and narrowed his eyes at Jordan.

"Get your shit together. Stop trash talking your wife and take your ass home. Buy her some flowers and candy. Spoil her for even choosing your ungrateful ass."

"Whatever, man. You wouldn't understand… you ain't never been with anybody long-term."

"Because I have the maturity to know I'm not ready to settle down. Do better. Respect your wife. Don't let me catch wind of you fucking around on her."

"You her daddy or something?"

Terry held his tongue.

Shit hit the fan on a fourth of July cookout at Nova and Jordan's house.

Terry arrived, bringing ice and his homemade salmon croquettes. He mingled with the joyous gathering of co-workers and friends. Nova played the cheerful hostess, wearing a red, white, and blue summer dress that accentuated her new curves. Her face looked rounder, and she kept tugging on the back of her dress.

"This thing keeps riding up," Nova joked with Bethany.

"Welcome to the world of big booty life," Bethany said, patting her own high shelf donk.

Terry played d.j. with the music, synching his phone with the sound system. He put together a Black Barbecue playlist and let Frankie Beverly and Maze remind people of their childhoods. Bethany shouted and raised her hands when Roy Ayer's "Everybody Loves the Sunshine" popped on and the music fit the vibe of Black folks getting brown in the sunshine of the Patterson's backyard cookout.

Kevin handed Terry a glass of beer from the keg someone brought for the occasion. He gulped it down to cool off and watched the ecstatic faces around him. Life was good.

Terry's friend Raymond arrived with a bunch of people bearing drinks and lemon meringue pies. Jordan and Nova stood near him and greeted the new guests. Terry noticed Jordan's shifty eyes as he tried to ignore Lourdes, a Mexican chick known to Terry's crew as a pass around good time.

"I remember you," Lourdes purred, rubbing her hand up Jordan's arm.

Jordan grinned and nervously threw an arm around Nova's waist.

"Hey, good seeing you at another cookout…this is my wife, Nova," Jordan said.

"Hi," Nova said.

"Wife?" Lourdes squeaked.

Nova's lips pressed tightly together and Lourdes fluttered her eyes back to Jordan.

"Haven't seen you at Ringer's for a minute. Thought you got deployed," Lourdes said.

Nova glared at Jordan and stomped away.

Terry switched the music to upbeat, loud fun, and a few people started dancing. Jordan went after Nova. Lourdes grabbed a glass of beer from Raymond and flitted among the men, ignoring the other women completely.

Terry heard shouting from in the house and he followed behind Bethany and Von to check it out. Inside the kitchen, Nova screamed at Jordan, who only leaned against the kitchen island with a grim expression.

"Nova…Jordan? Everything okay in here?" Bethany asked.

Nova's wet face and agitated state told the complete story. Terry looked at Jordan.

"He's a liar…and a cheat. His hoe is walking around my home!" Nova screamed.

Jordan lowered his head. Terry was glad the man had an ounce of shame in him.

"I told you that bitch was from a long time ago. You're making a big deal about a past relationship," Jordan said.

"Past relationship? Jordan, we've been together forever! You promised that you were done disrespecting me. I should've listened to my friends and never come out here!"

Nova grabbed a glass from the dish rack near the sink and threw it at Jordan. It clipped him in the head.

"Nova…fuck!" he screeched.

Jordan lunged forward to stop her from throwing a dish, but Terry stepped between them, blocking him with his back.

"Okay, let's all calm down," Terry said.

Von put an arm around Jordan's shoulder and walked him out of the kitchen. Bethany stayed behind.

"I'll tell Raymond to get that woman out of here," Terry said.

Bethany nodded, and Nova burst into tears.

"Oh, sweetie…let the men handle this," Bethany said, hugging Nova.

Terry sought Von and Jordan.

Lourdes and Raymond left in a hurry with their group, and everyone at the party gossiped in hushed tones as music continued blasting. On the side of the house, Von cursed out Jordan whose only response was, "I know…I know…I know…"

"Are you still fucking Lourdes?" Terry asked.

"That shit is old. Ain't my fault Raymond brought her over here. I didn't invite that woman."

"How old?" Terry asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"I dead that shit back in January."

"January? Nigga, you're married!" Von shouted.

"Keep your voice down," Jordan said.

Terry stuck a finger in his face.

"You betta not trip when she leaves your ass," Terry said.

"She ain't going nowhere."

"Why not?"

Jordan closed his eyes and rested his head against the side of his house.

"She's pregnant."

Von and Terry groaned and rolled their eyes.

"See, niggas like you is why Black women hate us now," Von barked.

"I'm gonna change…watch and see. I gotta man up now…I'ma be a father and my kid needs his father."

"If she were smart, she'd abort and go home," Von said.

"Von…yo…ease up, man," Terry said.

"Nah, T…Jordan doesn't want a wife…and he damn sure don't deserve no children with how he acts toward Nova. I wouldn't be surprised if Bethany is in there now telling her the same thing! I oughta kick your punk ass."

"Stand down, Washington," Terry said, using Von's surname in a tone used at work.

Von threw up his hands and walked away. Jordan pushed past Terry and entered a side door that went into the garage and back into the house. Terry followed.

Nova stood in the kitchen with Bethany. Terry nodded his head for Bethany to leave, and he posted up by the fridge to watch over Jordan.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Please…don't make that face. I know I'm always sorry about shit and I hurt you. Don't abort my baby."

Nova glanced at Terry. The pregnancy had been a secret, apparently.

"Get out of my face," Nova said.

"Nova—"

Terry put a hand on Jordan's shoulder.

"Give her some space, c'mon."

He led Jordan back to the party. Everyone else partied on, ignoring the messy marital discord. Jordan drank some beer and joined Kevin and Von in a corner with some married men. Terry sauntered over to the food table and made himself a plate. Bethany had smoke coming out of her ears, commiserating with other women.

The mood had soured within the hour, and folks gathered to-go plates and said their goodbyes. Terry made himself a plate of pork ribs and macaroni salad with a couple of hot links thrown on top for good measure. Kevin took Jordan to his house for the night with his wife, Vivian, to keep him away from Nova. They both needed to sleep apart and figure out their situation in the morning.

Terry held up a hand to everyone left behind and headed out. Two blocks down the street, the glare of the sunset struck his eyes. He reached for the top of his head and couldn't find his sunglasses. Pulling over, he searched the truck seat to see if they fell off. Then he remembered. He put them down on the patio table at Jordan's. If they had been cheap drugstore shades, he would've let it go. But they were three hundred dollar wrap-around Oakley's.

He made a U-turn and parked in the Patterson driveway. Sneaking toward the side of the house, he crept toward the high wooden gate that led to the yard. He wanted to run in and out of the backyard without disturbing Nova.

The gate was locked.

He walked back to the front and rang the doorbell.

Nova answered with pink eyes, still wearing her holiday dress.

"Hey…Nova…sorry to bother you, but I left my shades in your backyard. Can I go get them?"

"Sure," she said, stepping aside.

Terry moved through the living room and into the kitchen, pushing on the sliding glass doors. He found his shades perched on a speaker. He tucked them into the neck of his t-shirt and looked at the other speaker.

"I can move these back in the house for you," he offered.

Nova nodded. He didn't want her straining to carry them. It took him less than a minute to move them and the cords inside the living room. Jordan could set them back up when he returned home.

"All done. See ya next time," he said.

Nova nodded with her back to him, facing the kitchen sink. Her shoulders shook and Terry felt awkward being there while she cried.

"You'll be okay, right? Maybe call a friend over?" he suggested.

"What friends? Everyone is Jordan's friend."

"Bethany?"

She shook her head.

"I can't bother her. She has kids and stuff to do. I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks for bringing the speakers in."

"No problem…alright. I'm going to bounce."

Nova turned her head to the side.

"Everyone knew, didn't they? That he's been cheating on me this entire time?"

"Nova…uh…"

She glanced at him with glossy eyes and a crinkle in her forehead.

"You don't have to lie to me, too, Terry. I've always suspected, but couldn't prove it back home. He swore up and down that he's been faithful and only loved me. Jordan made me look like the biggest dumb fool today. How many other women have come through my house and fucked my husband while smiling in my face?"

"We thought he would change…we didn't even know about you until you arrived a year ago."

"Not one of you said anything."

Terry moved over to the sink and stood next to her.

"Look, a few of us talked about it. Bethany wanted to tell you from day one, but we…the fellas…we thought Jordan would shape up. It became a matter of us not wanting to hurt you."

She closed her eyes. A single tear ran down her face. He felt like shit.

"Bros before hoes," she said.

"It's fucked up, but…yeah, that's what it came down to. None of us wanted this for you."

"Well… I got it, anyway."

Her face crumpled. She covered her eyes with her right hand.

"He's not attracted to me anymore…I've gained all this weight…now I'm pregnant and can't trust anyone around me!"

Her cry of pain bruised his insides.

Terry stood paralyzed next to her, not wanting to be inappropriate, although he thought he was supposed to hug her or something. No comforting words came to mind that sounded good enough for her. He pulled out his cell phone and called Von.

"Yo…man…can you put Bethany on the phone? I'm at Jordan's place and Nova is having a hard time…Bethany? Hey, can I ask for a big favor? Could you come over to Nova's? Yeah…it's bad…okay. Okay. Thanks."

He swiped his phone and stuck it in his back pocket.

"Bethany is coming over right now—"

Nova pushed her face against his chest and wept. The top of her hair tickled his chin, and he held his arms out, not knowing where to place them. He finally hugged her, and she broke down more, her warm tears soaking his shirt.

"I'm sorry you're going through this, Nova…I really am."

He stroked her back as she poured her wounded soul into his broad chest.

"Shh…shh…it hurts bad now, but it'll pass…I promise…" he whispered to her.

She nodded and leaned back, wiping her face.

"You're too pretty to be scrunching up your face like you tasted some lemons," he teased.

Nova laughed and blinked away tears.

He became cognizant that he still held her close against him. She smelled like sugar cookies and all the weight Jordan complained about felt good in his arms.

"Your smile lights up a room, and if that fool can't appreciate it, someone else will," he said.

Nova gazed into his eyes. With her hair up in a bun, Terry could enjoy every part of her sweet face. They'd never been that close together, and he became self-conscious. He dropped his hands to his sides, but kept his eyes on hers. Nova stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for caring so much," she said.

Uncomfortable. That was the first feeling that ran through him. He shouldn't be there with her. Alone. Seconds ticked by and they both stood there, looking at one another. Her eyes focused on his lips and she kissed him on the mouth.

Like an idiot, he kissed her back, parting his lips so her tongue could probe his mouth and find the comfort she needed. She didn't hold back, circling his neck with her arms and pressing into him hard, wanting to feel his muscles against her heavenly frame. Terry tilted his head more and thrust his tongue further into her mouth. He swallowed the soft moan Nova released against his lips. He licked her bottom lip and kissed her fully until they both started moaning from the illicit encounter.

One nasty thought kicked around in his brain.

He could fuck her raw and cum all inside her. Since she was already pregnant, there'd be no need to have a condom barrier to prevent knocking her up. His breeding kink revved up, and he seriously thought about fucking Nova in her marital bed to teach Jordan a lesson. Fill her up with his cum…treat her the way she deserved to be treated by a real man who appreciated a woman no matter what her size was. Jordan was crazy to think a once slender Nova didn't compete with the thicker one in his arms. And she was about to get even bigger while pregnant?

His dick got hard.

Nova felt it poking against her.

"We gotta stop," he whispered into her mouth.

"Why? I should be allowed to get my lick back with someone better than my husband."

Terry pulled away, afraid of the consequences if Nova kept talking to him reckless like that.

His erection tented his pants. It was undeniable how much he wanted her. Nova licked her lips, staring at the thick bulge she could have. She boldly reached out and touched it…squeezed it to see how big it was. He moaned, and she ran her fingers up and down his length, teasing him until she reached the wide head that strained against his zipper. Pulling her fingers away, he had to take a stand or else they'd do something that couldn't be undone.

"Bethany will be here. I better go."

Terry swiftly parted from her and rushed to his truck. The irrational part of his mind wanted to lay some good pipe down on her. He wiped her lipstick off of his mouth once he sat in the driver's seat. His dick throbbed in his pants.

Nova was married. Calm the fuck down.

Yes, Jordan Patterson was a selfish knucklehead, but that didn't mean snatching up the man's wife because he dogged her out.

Terry started his car and drove away before Bethany showed up. He spent the next two days relaxing in his bachelor's quarters on base. At work, he ran into Jordan briefly, but it was in passing to teach one of his martial arts classes. Jordan looked sheepish and apologetic, and Terry just gave a nod and kept on moving.

He skipped two weeks of flag football, not wanting to hear gossip or run into Nova. No one questioned his non-socializing. He sometimes dropped out of sight when his workload increased to cover staff leave or new training.

A third week of avoiding his friends continued, and his phone rang with a number he didn't recognize. He answered without thinking.

"Hello?"

"Hi Terry. It's me…Nova."

"Nova…hey…I don't—"

"I'm sorry. If you're avoiding everyone because of me…you don't have to stay away from your friends. I kissed you and it was wrong. I made things weird for you."

Terry sighed.

"I don't want any problems, Nova. You and Jordan have to sort your relationship out without adding more trouble."

"I don't know why I did that, Terry. You were just being kind, and I liked how you made me feel…wanted. Seen. I'm two months pregnant and my hormones could be messing with me, too. I want to apologize and ask that you not hide anymore. It makes me feel awful, like I chased you away being inappropriate when I was feeling low."

"It's understandable…but I really have been busy. Don't stress out about anything. That night has been forgotten."

"Good."

"See you around," he said.

He hung up and deleted her number from his phone.

Hearing her voice did something to him. He called up Von and went to his house to have a beer and catch up. Bethany wasn't home, so the men could chat openly without her chiming in or judging.

"How's Jordan been doing with Nova?"

"Hard to say, really. They seem okay. But he's at the bar after work a lot. Kevin hung out with him a few times. Tried talking sense into him. Looks like they're going to work things out."

"Good for them."

"He's being deployed to the Indo-Pacific at the end of the year."

Terry exhaled with a loud breath.

"Damn, that sucks. He'll miss the birth."

"Yep. But distance has a way of making the heart grow fonder. That's what they say, right?"

"With Jordan, it seems to do the opposite."

"He wants Nova to go back to South Carolina while he's gone. She wants to stay here."

"She doesn't have a support system here, though."

"Bethany has adopted her as the little sister she always wanted. Nova is good people. We'll look after her."

Terry left Von and took a drive up the coast to see a friend in Long Beach. He returned to Camp Pendleton and got a fresh line-up from his barber and hooked up with his buds for a baseball viewing party at an on-base pub. The Padres lost, and he ended up playing pool for the rest of the night, listening to tall tales and body counts among his peers. Unexpectedly, Jordan and Nova showed up to hang out.

He couldn't look at her the same way.

She'd fixed her hair into a sexy new pixie cut that had soft gelled waves making her look like a starlet and even more attractive. Their eyes met and something definitely changed between them. All he could think about was their kiss, and the way she wanted to feel on his dick. Her dewy gaze told him she was thinking the same thing, too. Terry avoided saying too much to her, giving a polite 'Hello' to them both before locking into his pool shots.

Jordan guzzled down beer and hammed it up with a few officers. Nova wandered over to his pool table, nursing a soda. She sipped and watched him play against his friend Luis, then slipped a quarter onto the end of the table, signaling she had the next game against whoever won. Of course, it was him because Luis was a lousy shot most of the time.

Nova chose a pool stick and chalked it down, eyeing him curiously with a playful smile. Terry glanced around, hoping someone else wanted to play instead, but the guys were too busy drinking and talking loud. The pub overflowed with patrons, blocking him and Nova from view of the others. He checked the watch on his arm.

"Gotta run. Early day tomorrow," he said.

He placed his pool stick on the rack and wiped his hands of chalk dust. Nova pursed her lips and her shoulders drooped. He forced himself to leave. Looking at her only increased a forbidden desire, and he'd be damned if he fell for a woman simply for lust. He had a roster of willing women on his phone if he needed sexual relief that badly. Nova was danger, and he read the warnings clearly.

He walked toward housing with hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. All he had to do was stay away from Jordan and their mutual friends until he deployed. Then he'd have no reason to worry about ever seeing Nova. By then, she'd have a baby and no longer feel like hanging out anywhere he'd likely be. The woman dredged up feelings he wasn't used to, like longing and nesting up with someone away from his male companions on base. Jordan Patterson had to be the luckiest motherfucker in the world and couldn't even appreciate what he had at his fingertips: a good woman who loved him with a pure heart.

Terry's parents raised him with morals and values. Thou shall not covet and Thou shall not commit adultery. Such simple tenets and yet his salacious mind quibbled over semantics, searching for loopholes. Could he really covet someone if the husband didn't really want the wife? If a husband broke the marital bond first, should the wife stay beholden to the rules? He shook his head, blaming the rambling thoughts on all the beer he drank. His brain marinated in liquor. Any unscrupulous thoughts he entertained weren't to be taken seriously. He believed that for a full thirty days, Nova-free.

Until the day Von called him over to hang out.

Bethany was out for the day with friends, and his kids were at a summer camp for the week. Von wanted to enjoy a house without his family in the presence of his best bud, and Terry was all for it. Bethany always bought the best snacks, so Terry and Von hunkered down, stuffing their faces with chips, Ding Dongs, string cheese, and Pepsi. They watched some action flicks and talked shit about their jobs and the people who irked them that week. Von and Terry had joined the marines on the buddy system. They were friends back in a small Louisiana parish and had each other's backs ever since. Terry was the one to introduce Von to Bethany. They attended a beach party in Mission Beach and Bethany hemmed Terry up, asking about his friend with the big chocolate malt ball-looking head and thick muscles. From that moment on, Terry, Von, and Bethany had become a family.

Von tapped his TV remote and flipped through a series of military espionage flicks. Terry leaned back and shoved a Hostess cupcake down his throat. The front door flung open and Bethany walked in carrying bags with Nova.

"Time to go," Terry said.

"No…stay. We've got Chinese food and wine. Where you been, stranger?" Bethany asked.

Von jumped up to help put the bags in the kitchen. Bethany gave Terry a kiss on the cheek. He nodded at Nova.

The woman glowed.

Ringlets of shiny black curls crowned her short cut and her skin looked like someone had dusted it with a light bronzer. Her white baby doll tank top and jean shorts reminded him of the Creole girls back home who walked to the corner store looking cute and summery.

"Wash up you two. We'll eat and catch up," Bethany ordered.

Terry headed for the nearest bathroom, and Nova followed him. He let her wash her hands first while he waited against the doorjamb. They switched places. She stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"It's good seeing you again, Terry. Jordan asks about you a lot."

"Been busy…work…y'know."

"Yeah. Guess you heard the news, huh? He's being shipped out. Bad timing for us…with the baby coming, and all."

He nodded and dried his hands.

"Excuse me," he said, stepping past her into the hallway.

"I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable…still."

"We're good."

He walked into the dining room where Bethany set up plates and Von poured white wine into three glasses.

"We put sparkling cider in your glass," Von said, winking at Nova.

Everyone sat down and passed around different containers of shrimp fried rice, chow mein, garlic paper chicken, and sweet and sour pork. They chowed down and talked, and Terry settled into falling for Nova against his will. A year of living in Oceanside had made her appear more confident and comfortable, and she didn't seem all that daunted by the idea of Jordan leaving. He listened to her and Bethany talk about having a baby shower before Jordan left, and they discussed birthing centers and hospitals. Nova genuinely looked happy, and Terry relaxed being with her. Any lascivious thoughts he had in the past about her left his mind. Bethany and Von treated her like family, and he fell in line with the sentiment. One indiscretion didn't doom him. He could turn the page and start fresh with Nova.

After dinner, Nova and Bethany went into the garage while Terry and Von cleaned up the dishes and put away leftovers. They sauntered back into the living room to watch more TV. Bethany and Nova passed them carrying boxes into the den.

"What's all that?" Von asked

"My old maternity clothes. I told you there was a good reason to keep them. Nova and I are going to look through these and find some things for her to take," Bethany said.

"Take it all, please!" Von joked.

Terry lounged on the couch, half watching the TV. He peeked at Nova and Bethany. The women chatted with excited voices and Bethany held up old clothing against Nova's body. Bethany kept drinking wine and snorting as she told maternity stories about birthing her own two girls. Nova sounded nervous and excited about welcoming a little one. He overheard her telling Bethany that the baby wasn't planned, but she hoped it would bring Jordan around to be a better man. Bethany tried to reassure her, but Terry doubted she believed a word she said to the younger woman.

It grew late, and Terry didn't want to overstay his welcome.

"I'ma head on out."

He slapped hands with Von and grabbed his keys from the coffee table.

"Terry, can you drop Nova at her house with the clothes?" Bethany asked.

Terry stood at the front door like a deer caught in headlights.

"I've had too much wine to be driving, plus it's on your way back to base," Bethany said.

She handed Terry a box to carry. Nova carried the second box.

"I can call an Uber," Nova said.

"Save your money, girl. Terry is right here and he can carry the boxes for you. Do you want to take some leftover Chinese food with you?"

"No thank you," Nova said.

"Terry?" Bethany said.

"No, I'm full and Chinese doesn't taste all that good heated back up to me."

Bethany took the large box from Nova and followed Terry out to his truck. They placed the maternity clothes in the truck bed. He opened the passenger door for Nova and she climbed in using the grab handle on his truck. Bethany patted his back.

"Thank you for taking her home. I don't feel safe taking a chance, plus it's supposed to rain in twenty minutes. Your truck is a battalion. Baby on board!"

Bethany hugged him. He accepted the affection.

"I owe you," she said.

Bethany tapped on the window, getting Nova's attention.

"Make sure you wash everything," Bethany said.

Nova nodded. Bethany leaned in toward him so Nova couldn't hear.

"Check on Jordan, will ya? Vivian told me he's been hanging with Kevin after work. I don't know why he's acting like he doesn't want to go home, but Nova needs his support."

Terry sighed and nodded.

"Truth is, I can drive, but I know if I see that man, I'll hurt his feelings. You know how to get through to him," she said.

"Night," he said.

Terry walked to the driver's side and climbed in. He started the car and lowered the air conditioning he had blasted earlier.

"Ready?" he said, trying to sound chipper.

"Yep."

They rode in silence, listening to the radio. It started sprinkling and traffic on the I-5 freeway slowed. By the time they neared her home, there was a full on downpour with sonic booms of thunder that rattled the truck. Nova cowered in her seat. With each thunderous clap, she jumped and trembled. The storm gathered gray ominous clouds that pressed the bolts of lightning lower in the atmosphere. Silver heat sliced erratic zig-zag lines across the horizon. The weather even made Terry feel uneasy. They arrived at her home just as a heavier shower drenched the roads.

"Go open the door, and I'll bring the boxes in," he said.

She hopped out with a mad dash to the front door. He lifted both the wet boxes from the back of his truck and strode indoors, expecting to see Jordan. No one else was in the house.

"Just bring those back here," she said.

She led him to the second bedroom that they were turning into a nursery. He placed the boxes against the closet door.

"Thank you for doing this…bringing me home and carrying all of that."

"No problem."

He glanced around and noticed cute little cartoon animal pictures on the walls. A brand new crib sat in an unopened box near the wall.

"I see you two are getting ready for the new bundle of joy," he said.

"Yeah, Jordan has a few things to put together for me. I am terrible at assembling stuff. We have a whole shelving unit and a baby play center waiting in the garage, still in boxes, too."

He followed her back into the living room. Nova shook rainwater off of her and checked her smartphone. She frowned. Her fingers flew across the text pad.

"Something wrong?"

"Jordan was supposed to be here by now."

She tapped her phone, and Terry heard the dial tone ring. A voice recording came on.

"Jordy, I'm back home. Where are you? Call me and let me know you're on your way back."

Nova placed the phone on a side table and wrung her hands. Hard rain pelted the roof. She pulled a curtain back from the front window.

"It's really coming down," she said.

Her voice carried the strain of worry.

"Jordy isn't a good driver in the rain…" she murmured.

She tried his number once more. Voicemail again. She didn't bother to leave a message.

"You mind if I use your restroom before I go?" he asked.

Nova nodded and sat down on her couch. Another powerful rumble vibrated across her roof. She turned on her TV and tried to ignore the sound outside. Her shoulders trembled.

Terry went to the guest bathroom, closed the door, and pulled out his phone. He called Jordan. The line rang four times and Jordan picked up.

"W'sup, sarge? Where you at? Come through Kevin's way, we're chopping it up over here."

Terry's jaw grew tight. The man ignored his wife but answered his phone for a friend? Trifling.

"I dropped your wife off at home. She's worried about you. You sound drunk and it's raining."

"Why did you drop her off? She's supposed to be with Bethany."

"Bethany was too tipsy to drive and asked me to drop Nova off on my way home. You need to answer your wife's calls."

"All she does is nag me. Every time I turn around, she wants me to put stuff together. We got six more months until the baby gets here."

"Call your wife…now."

Terry hung up and called Kevin.

"You missing out over here, Terry. Got a good spades game—"

"Kev, how sober is Jordan? Is he good to drive or nah?"

"That dude is buzzing."

"Don't let him drive. When the rain dies down, put him in an Uber and send his ass home."

"What's going on, man?"

"He needs to be with his wife. She's worried, and he's not answering her calls. The storm is scaring her, too."

"He said he talked to her."

"He's lying. She called him twice in front of me and he ignored her. I called, and he picked up."

Kevin sighed on the other end.

"This nigga…I'll have him call her."

"Right now, Kev."

"Okay. On it."

Kevin hung up. Terry flushed the toilet. He quickly washed his hands in the sink.

"I should not be babysitting a grown ass man," he mumbled to his reflection.

He took a deep breath and left the bathroom. Nova paced in the living room, arguing with Jordan on her cell. He eased his way toward the door, happy that they were at least talking to one another. Terry's phone vibrated in his pocket. Kevin.

"Aye, I'm going to keep Jordan here for the night. He's talking crazy to Nova on the phone," Kevin said.

Terry could only hear Jordan's muffled voice and Nova's bawling.

Fuck.

"What's he saying?"

"He's drunk off his ass…blaming her for fussing all the time and putting us in their business. All bullshit. Vivian thinks he might act up if he goes home."

Nova threw her phone on the couch and dashed down the hallway.

"Okay. Make sure he's back here in the morning."

Terry swiped his phone and waited by the front door.

"Nova? Kevin is going to keep Jordan at his place until tomorrow. He won't be driving in the rain."

"He can crash into a pole for all I care!"

He heard footsteps and the bathroom door slamming shut. The shower ran. She had a right to be upset. But it wasn't good for the baby. Terry's sister had miscarried from stress in her first trimester. Overactive hormones and an unhappy home weren't a good mix. He walked into the kitchen and searched a few cupboards and a pantry until he found some hot cocoa packets and tea. The cocoa seemed like the best choice for her. He turned on an electric kettle and ripped open a cocoa packet. Finding a decent mug, he mixed hot water, milk and cocoa together. Thunder kept rumbling and a flash of lightning streaked outside the kitchen window.

Nova stepped out of the bathroom wearing a thick red bathrobe. She smoothed back her damp hair, and he held out the hot cocoa to her.

"This should help you calm down," he said.

She padded over to him and took the mug, cradling it against her robe.

"Thank you. For everything."

He nodded.

"Could you stay here for a few more minutes and talk? I don't want to be alone just yet…I get scared of thunder. Jordan usually calms me down, but when I'm alone listening to it…I get nervous…scared. I know nothing will happen to me, but the booming noises…I've always been afraid of that sound. You can watch TV if you don't feel like talking."

Her tremulous voice brought out the protector in him.

"I'm sure there's a late-night horror movie I can watch to go with the weather," he said.

She grinned with relief all over her face.

He joined her on the couch and picked out the Twilight Zone on a streaming service. They watched a couple of episodes while Nova sipped the cocoa. The TV froze for about fifteen minutes, and they chatted about her day with Bethany. She jumped with each thunderclap, but having him next to her seemed to help her deep-rooted fear. Eventually, the TV started working again.

"A lot of these episodes have soldiers or talk about war a lot," she said.

He nodded.

"Rod Serling fought in World War Two. I read a biography about him a few years ago. He used war themes as an allegory in a lot of his episodes."

"Interesting," she said. "Oh! This is one of my favorite episodes…that guy is a prisoner on a planet and has to live with a robot."

"I remember it. He falls in love with her."

"But he can't keep her when he's freed…not enough room on the return space ship."

She put the cocoa mug on the end table.

"So sad. Do you think you could love a robot?"

"Maybe…if it looked real enough. People fall in love with all kinds of things."

"Like in that movie 'Her'. When that guy fell for an app program," she said.

"That was a good movie. Had me looking at my phone apps different. I have one that does a guided meditation and the A.I. voice has a female British accent. I think it's a Black woman…the voice sounds so sexy, telling me what to do."

They both laughed.

"I think your voice would be good for a guided meditation," she said.

"Maybe. People tell me it's deep enough to do voice overs."

"Let's try it."

"What?"

"Do a guided meditation for me so I will fall asleep and you can go home. I know you're tired of sitting here with me being a scardy cat."

"I don't think you're a scardy cat. A chicken maybe…"

She tossed a decorative pillow at him.

"Lay back in a comfortable position," he said.

He moved away from the couch and planted himself on the loveseat, allowing her to stretch out.

"Close your eyes," he said.

She did.

"Imagine that you're on a faraway island somewhere…there's a warm, sunny beach with clear waters for as far as the eye can see. Lie down on the soft warm sand…let the warmth of the sand cover you completely in a blanket of peace. No storms…no worries about thunder…just peace and tranquility…"

Terry kept talking and Nova settled into breathing deeply and relaxing her limbs.

"You can feel yourself floating to a safe place of calm…"

Nova drifted off to sleep.

Terry sat on the loveseat, quietly watching over her. The tension in her face relaxed while she slept. He glanced around at the other furniture, looking for a blanket or throw cover. Nothing caught his eye. He lifted Nova and carried her into a neat bedroom. The curtains were open and another pass of rolling thunder shook the window. Fat drops of rain smacked against the glass, fogging it up with condensation. He placed Nova on the high, queen-sized bed and closed the curtains. Feeling around for the lamp on the nightstand, he turned on a light and pulled the covers back. He reached across the bed and lifted her again. The bathrobe looked cumbersome on her. He untied the belt to make her more comfortable and didn't realize she was naked underneath. Embarrassed, he covered her back up and tied the belt, tucking her in.

Nova's eyes fluttered open.

"Jordan?" she said.

Her eyes adjusted to the light and peered at him with surprise. She glanced at the bed and then the room. Her eyes watered.

"He's probably with someone else right now," she whispered. "All of his friends cover for him."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Terry sat down on the bed and held her. He stroked her hair and murmured comforting words in her ear. All he wanted to do was erase the sadness in her eyes.

A slow-burning anger simmered in Terry's chest. He couldn't understand Jordan. Couldn't understand the neglect of a good woman. What was the point of getting married if you didn't want to be around your wife?

Terry kicked off his shoes and socks and climbed onto the bed, resting his large body next to Nova. If Jordan didn't want to be there, then he would take his place and comfort a lonely wife. She tucked her head under his neck and he rubbed her back with gentle hands.

"You deserve so much more, Nova," he said.

"I think I'll go back home," she huffed into his chest.

"Do what you think is best for you and your baby."

"I've tried my best…but he won't stop…I don't know what he sees in those other women. Why would he ask me to marry him? Why get me pregnant if that isn't what he wanted?"

"All you have to do is rest. In the morning, you can call your people and decide what you want to do."

"Okay," she said with a shuddery breath.

She snuggled against him, and he moved the blankets to make more room for himself.

That's when she did the unthinkable.

Took off the bathrobe.

Terry froze.

Nova tossed the bathrobe on the floor and tugged on his shirt.

"Take it off. You're still a little damp from the rain," she said.

He pulled the T-shirt over his head. Fuck it…he took his sweatpants off, too. He tossed his boxers and sweats on the floor, and in the lamplight, Nova looked over his body with heat in her eyes. She traced his right pec with her finger, and then curled against his side, hugging him. Her breasts pressed against him like soft, fluffy pillows. He looked down at her pretty brown areolas and dared to touch a nipple. Nova leaned back so he could get access to both breasts.

God…she felt so good in his hands. Her nipples stiffened like cute little buttons, and his dick thickened. Any thoughts of right or wrong flew away from his mind. Jordan didn't want to be in the bed with her. He did.

He fondled her breasts, getting more aroused as she sighed with pleasure, enjoying his large hands. What a difference a year made in her body. The once slender physique filled out into a new form, one that had his dick propped up saluting her. He glanced between her legs. Her trimmed thatch of pubic hair looked so pretty, especially with her inner labia plumped up and waiting for his touches. He kissed her first, sliding his tongue into her mouth. She moaned and her legs fell open wider. The pink of her pussy glistening with arousal had him gripping his dick and stroking himself. Nova's eyes widened, looking at the size of his erection out in the open. Whatever she thought his dick length was didn't match what her eyes feasted on.

She started playing with her pussy, and Terry groaned so loud that her opening throbbed at the sound. Nova pushed him back and crawled on top of him, letting her wet pussy lips slide up and down his erection. She made the veins on his dick shiny with her slickness.

Up and down she went across his length, teasing the bulbous head of his dick. His pre-cum spilled out, adding more lubricant, and that's how she pleasured herself, grinding slowly on his dick, letting her delicate inner labia slide across the hardness.

She rose and wound her hips, moving that wet pussy in circles, teasing his hardness, making him pant like a desperate man. Her tits hung in his face, doubled in size from the first time he met her. He thrust up to get more exterior friction from her labia. The inner pussy lips spread across his girth, making slippery sounds. She looked at his long dick slathered in her clear sticky fluid. He watched threads of it shine in the light. She rubbed those sticky lower lips against him harder, rocking her hips forward and back.

Nova liked what she felt.

Her mouth became reckless.

"It wouldn't be wrong for us to fuck, Terry. I want to feel you inside of me," she said.

He grabbed her breasts and squeezed them. "Nova…shit," he said.

"Will you fuck me?" she asked.

She started gyrating on his dick and her labia hit a spot that curled his toes. The thick ridge of his frenulum rubbed against her clit, and Nova kept that slow, tortuous grind going.

The woman courted danger. Offered him married pussy on a platter. He'd already wandered into sketchy waters by climbing into bed with her. What the fuck did he think was going to happen doing that? He finally had to come clean with himself.

He wanted Nova.

Wanted her the first time they met. He'd been in denial about his feelings for her. Somehow she got under his skin, and Jordan made it easy by neglecting a husband's duty. He adored her from afar, always waging an internal battle to stay away, so afraid to confront what he tried to hide. Now Jordan's wife humped Terry's dick, asking to be fucked.

"Can I cum inside you without a condom?" he asked.

Nova's glassy-looking eyes were full of lust for him.

"You can cum as much as you want inside of me."

He shut his eyes. Asked God to forgive him for the disrespectful mess he was about to make in that woman's pussy. Her man wasn't due back until morning. Terry was built for long strokes and going all night. His erection grew stiffer with anticipation.

He flipped her over and kissed her passionately, allowing himself the luxury of taking his time. All pretense of being a dutiful wife left Nova. Her man had scorned her, and she wanted the forbidden fruit of new dick.

Terry kissed down her throat and in between her breasts. He sucked both nipples, using his tongue like a brush to paint the most delightful shapes all over her tits. Delving further down, he licked her pussy and kissed her clit, claiming it all for himself.

"This is all mine now," he said, while staring at her with his disarming green eyes.

Nova nodded and whimpered, "Yes…yes…yes…baby it's all yours."

He groaned into her vulva and her legs wrapped around his head. Nothing would stop him from pleasing her. He ate her pussy like a charcuterie board, smacking his lips and sampling her clit, tasting her delightful opening by thrusting the tip of his tongue in, then gliding his full lips down the middle, giving her gentle kisses. Terry gazed at her while doing it with sensual eyes that dared Nova to give in to his cravings for more. He pampered her vulva as if that night would be his only chance to have her. She came so hard on his lips that they dripped with her natural lubricant. Spent from her orgasm, Nova cried, turning her face toward the pillow.

"We can stop…if you can't handle this…we can stop and forget it ever happened," he said, trying to soothe her.

She shook her head.

"I don't want to stop. I'm just…happy. Haven't had an orgasm like that in so long. I forgot how good they can feel," she said.

She hugged him tight and bawled in his arms.

"It feels good to be wanted again, Terry…thank you."

A smidgen of guilt tried to latch hold, but he threw it off like his morals.

"Don't cry, let me make you feel even better…I'll make you forget all your troubles," he whispered in her ear.

He gently pushed her legs back and draped them over his biceps. Nova watched the head of his dick rub on her clit, testing her sensitivity. She hissed and clamped her lips together when he pushed the tip in. Her pussy was tight at the entrance, and he waited for her to relax before he pushed in further.

"Ooh…Terry…its big…oh…wait…wait…oh God…oh God…"

Nova's eyes rolled back as he thrust in deeper. She tilted her hips, and he hit the bottom of her pussy so fast that he groaned out her name. Her walls clenched around him.

"Oh, fuck, Nova…baby this pussy is so tight…you're gripping me so good baby…you been wanting this dick, huh?"

"Yes…yes…yes…"

He pumped inside of her with assured thrusts, making sure she felt every inch dedicated to her pleasure.

"Oh, you feel so good, Terry…"

He hunched down lower, wanting to feel her breasts against his chest. Everything about her made him feel giddy and alive. He wondered if this was what love felt like while making love. His heart swelled with so many emotions. Happiness, desire…even revenge. Revenge for the lack of care Jordan had for his wife. He wanted Nova to get the best dick he could offer her.

They kissed while he gave her deep dick. Their tongues colluded in an illicit affair of their own, and Nova whimpered his name inside his mouth, casting her love magic all over him. He wanted to clap her cheeks and helped her turn onto her hands and knees as his balls slapped against her ass and clit with each doggy-style thrust. She gripped the sheets tight and looked back at him with a shocked face.

"You're stretching my pussy…Terry…it's so big."

"You're taking it so good, baby…I got you."

He reached around and played with her clit, giving it slow, circular strokes. Her ass bounced with his pounding and she locked her eyes on him, wanting to watch the satisfaction on his face.

"You like it?" she asked.

She knew damn well he did by the way he grunted and cursed with each stroke.

"I love it."

"You want to cum inside me?"

His mouth fell open, and his eyes narrowed. Her walls yanked on his dick. She had something to prove. He wished he'd been the one to put a baby in her. She threw that ass back on him and his nutsack pulsed, already gearing up for a release. He wanted her on her back. He wanted to nut deep inside of her in missionary. Pretend he was making a baby with her.

"Turn around…yeah baby…on your back…ooh yes, leave your legs wide open like that," he said.

Terry made love to her like she was his woman. Nova whipped her head back and forth and when he pinned her down, they locked eyes.

"Cum inside me…please…Terry…"

Nova touched his cheek, and he closed his eyes, unable to take the intensity she poured out from her gaze. She let him get deep in her guts. Her pussy stretched around him like she belonged on his dick and no one else. He stroked her clit, and she chewed on her lip. A look of ecstasy danced in her eyes and he begged her to cum on his dick first.

She broke apart easily…endlessly. Her orgasm flushed her light brown skin in a sheen of sweat that soaked his body and the sheets. Terry watched her climax with a feeling of gratitude. God allowed him to witness her pleasure, and it captivated him.

"Nova…I'm cumming…fuck…I'm cumming…all deep in your pussy baby…you're making me nut so hard! Fuck..I want to get you pregnant myself. Ohhhhhhh! Fuuckkk!"

She babbled something incoherent, but it didn't matter. Her tight pussy rocked his fucking world. The first spurt of semen made his anus clench and a heavy outpouring of cum spilled into her like it would never stop. He dug his toes into the mattress and rode out the wave of orgasmic pleasure that flowed out of him and into her like electricity. Knowing he was filling her up with so much jizz brought on another surge of semen that knocked him off his feet. He hollered out her name and jammed a hand on the headboard to keep from falling over as a rush of contractions squeezed his balls into pussy submission.

Gasping for air, Terry blinked sweat from his eyes and leaned back, pulling his dick out.

So much cum ran out of Nova's glossy pink opening. He stretched her open so much that he could see the tunnel he made in her walls. It was all flooded with white.

"Damn," he said.

He kissed her on the lips and held her close until she had to pee. She left his side briefly and returned, giving him soft kisses on his cheeks and lips. He took a restroom break and cleaned his dick for round two. Nova was up for it. She was over three months pregnant and her body acted like it wanted to get knocked up again. He let her ride his dick, and he enjoyed her so much it made his heart ache. Perhaps it was the illicit nature of the sex and the danger of Jordan walking in on them, but Terry and Nova made wild love like the night would never end.

"You're so beautiful. Look how pretty you look fucking my dick…such a good girl riding this big dick like that. Oh, bounce on it…yesssss…just like that. Let me stretch you out some more. Go up…all the way up…hold it…now slide back down…yes…you love this dick…dontcha? Tell me…tell me you love this dick."

"I love this dick…oh Terry…I love this dick…harder…fuck me harder."

"You sound like you want me to make another mess in that tight pussy."

"I do…oh! Right there!"

"Right there? Like that?"

"Yes!"

The give and take was unreal and by their final tryst, he'd drained his balls while holding her breasts in reverse cowgirl. He imagined her big tits spurting milk for the baby and nutted so hard that his eyes crossed. Nova leaned forward so he could watch his cum flow out of her in creamy rivulets. She helped push it out. He wiggled his fingers inside her to feel his liquid warmth coating her walls. He helped her change the ruined sheets afterward, and they snuggled up like husband and wife.

He put her to sleep and spent the last hours of the night watching over her and stroking her hair. By morning, he gave her a big kiss on her forehead and snuck away as she slept.

He thought their night together would be a onetime thing.

How wrong he had been.

That one night created a bond so tight that it was difficult to function anymore around their friends with normal interactions. He hated for her to be stuck with Jordan, and he hated being around them together because his eyes never stayed off of her. She was the same way. Any mention of leaving Jordan and going back to South Carolina never happened again. They had embarked on something that neither of them wanted to end. Her pregnancy didn't hamper anything. It actually enhanced their encounters.

At flag football games they pretended to be casual, but the longing gazes between them became overt and he ended up wearing his Oakley shades a lot. Von and Bethany threw more late summer barbecues at their home and he'd sneak into the bathroom to meet up with Nova just to kiss and fondle her body.

"I miss you," she'd whisper.

"I miss you more."

She sat on the closed toilet seat and sucked his dick, squeezing his balls and swallowing his load.

Her baby bump started showing by early fall, and he fucked her from behind in her own kitchen while Jordan sat outside in his backyard talking to their mutual male friends.

Terry was brazen about it.

Nova washed dishes in the sink, and he pretended to make a private call on his cell. He unfastened his jeans. The guys joked around outside, getting drunk and telling bawdy overseas stories. He lifted Nova's dress and slid her panties to the side, stuffing his heavy dick inside her pussy. She panted and begged for more. He clutched a breast with one hand and palmed her rounded belly with the other.

"You miss this dick?" he breathed into her ear.

"Always, baby. You make my pussy feel so good."

She watched the back of her husband's head as Jordan laughed it up, not knowing his wife's pussy was getting smashed to smithereens three feet away. He pumped in and out, listening to the squelching noises and enjoying the tight squeezes she gave him with each lewd thrust.

"The baby okay?" he asked.

"It's okay…oh Terry, you feel so good. I wish we could fuck in the bed. I want to ride your dick so bad right now."

"I know, baby. But we have to enjoy this for now."

She whimpered and clutched the sink for balance. He tried to control his moans, but her pussy weakened him.

"Ready for me to cum inside you?" he rasped in her ear.

The root of his dick pulsed, and he stopped holding her belly to stroke her swollen clit. It was sinful. So wrong. They didn't care. It felt good…felt right. He bit into her shoulder to stifle a loud groan as he spurt into her pussy. She came with him and they struggled to keep quiet, knowing that all it took to court disaster fully was for Jordan to turn around and see him pressed against his wife.

Terry pulled out, and a bit of semen fell to the floor. He didn't care. Nova fixed her panties, and they stepped away from the window so they could secretly kiss.

"I'm getting a new place soon," he said.

Her eyes lit up.

"Nothing fancy, just a one bedroom where we can be alone. Can't have you sneaking on base again," he said.

A week previous, Nova came on base during the night and they fucked in his truck. His buddy Ken walked through the parking lot to his car, but stopped when he saw Terry lifting Nova up and down in the pushed back driver's seat. Luckily, Ken didn't see her face in the darkness. Getting his own place seemed like the smartest move. They didn't want to risk hotels or motels.

Terry walked back outside with his phone in his hand and watched Nova walk out ten minutes later, bringing Jordan a beer. She sat next to her husband and Terry secretly loved the fact that Nova was full of his cum, acting like they didn't just bump uglies. He didn't care anymore. Nova was his woman…she just happened to be married to another man.

During her third trimester, Nova and Jordan planned a road trip to San Francisco for Thanksgiving. All of his friends had trips to other places. Von and Bethany planned for a trip to Indiana to see her family. Terry finally had his own place, and the day before she was to leave, Nova snuck away to see him. Their hookups became few. She waddled to the condo he ended up leasing. He waited for her by the elevator, and once she reached the third floor, they hugged each other so tight that he thought he'd never see her again. Her plump face and swollen feet made him smile.

He held her hand and walked her to his tastefully furnished home. Inside, he rubbed her feet and listened to her litany of body complaints. He didn't mind her complaining. Listening to her voice poured life into his spirit. Terry didn't realize how alone he was until Nova came into his life. Everyone in his clique had someone to come home to. He longed for the same.

He cooked Nova a healthy dinner of baked chicken and sliced squash with homemade garlic mashed potatoes the way his mama made it.

"How come you aren't going home for the holidays?" she said, stuffing her mouth with a second helping of potatoes.

"My family is going on a cruise out of New Orleans. Plus…I don't want to be far away from you."

Nova put down her fork and wiped her mouth with a napkin. He put away the food and helped her rest on his bed. She slept for a long time and he spooned around her, rubbing her belly. He loved her. Loved the child inside of her.

Terry secretly wanted her to divorce Jordan and marry him instead.

She woke up and checked her phone on his nightstand.

"Baby, I'm sorry I slept so long," she said.

"I don't mind. I just want to be with you sleeping or awake."

"My doctor said I can still have sex…we can fool around before I go."

"You feel up to it?"

"I want to make you happy."

"You lying next to me makes me happy."

She hugged him, and he cradled her in his arms.

"I feel a kick," she said.

Nova moved his hand to where she lifted her maternity shirt. He spread his long fingers across some stretch marks on her side. He smiled.

"Somebody is punching up a storm in there," he said.

Nova clutched onto his arm.

"I want to be with you for Thanksgiving. I'm going to be miserable in San Francisco," she said.

"You get to see your parents."

"I know, but then they'll be down here through Christmas. That means…"

She pushed her face into his chest.

"Aw, Nova, I know. Our time is narrowing down. We knew it would happen the closer it came time for your birth," he said.

"When the baby comes…will you leave me?"

Terry wiped tears from her face. Their whirlwind affair was taking a toll on them both. What sane man starts a romance with a married pregnant woman?

"Let's enjoy right now. Don't worry your beautiful mind about the future. We're here…now."

They kissed. He helped her undress slowly and then shook off his clothes, anchoring himself around her. Pillows eased the weight of her belly. She turned on her side further and he entered her slowly. He squeezed and fondled her breasts that were engorged with milk, ready to feed an infant. Terry imagined himself being with her while she fed the baby, imagined what it would be like to hold it in his arms. He pinched her nipple and rocked into her wet softness. Her pussy still took care of him.

Nova moaned with pleasure, and the sound heightened his arousal. Life played a cruel trick on them, bringing him the love he never knew he needed at the wrong point in time. He should've been the one to have her first. Terry would've run home to Louisiana with her in triumph, showing his family the love of his life. He would've set Nova up in a big country house and put a ton of babies in her. Her nipples leaked milk. He pinched one of them, letting the liquid express in a messy drizzle down her breast. The sight of it caused his balls to throb, and he pushed hot cum into her pussy.

"Ooh…it's so warm," Nova said.

He pinched her other nipple, and another trickle of milk wet his fingers.

"Fuck…fuck…Nova…"

His body tensed, watching her big tits drip milk while his dick pulsed inside her, shooting cum deep in her womb. He hollered out his climax loud enough for the neighbors to hear through the walls. His pelvic muscles contracted rhythmically, taking the thrusts of his hips out of his control. Another urge to ejaculate built up again, like the snapping of a rubber band back to square one.

"Soak that pussy, Terry," Nova urged him.

He obliged by resting for a minute to indulge in the sensations coursing through him by being inside of her. His ability to get another erection quickly was a blessing. He didn't worry about falling asleep on her because his refractory period was far off. Their time together was precious, and he was going to savor every second with Nova. His dick understood that and acted accordingly.

She left the bed to urinate, and they got right back to it on her return. He held her leg up the second time and she cried, telling him she loved the way he fucked her. She looked back at him.

"I love you, Terry…I love you…"

Her words struck him hard, and he roared his satisfaction by flooding her walls.

Nova's phone vibrated. They both peeped Jordan's avatar.

Terry turned away from her. Nova answered the phone, her voice flustered.

"Hey, I'm out shopping. I'll be home soon. Okay…yes, everything is packed. I put your blue tie in it with the red one… I'm calling an Uber now," she said, with rushed breath.

She hung up.

"Jordan's home. He wants to take me to dinner and leave early. It's supposed to rain tomorrow, and he wants to avoid all the traffic."

"That's smart. Gotta get you and the baby to your parents in one piece."

"I'm going to use your shower."

He nodded and watched her leave for the bathroom. The guilt and gnawing jealousy worked his nerves. He slammed a fist on the mattress and fought back uncontrollable tears.

Nova gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

Terry heard about it through Bethany. He didn't communicate with Nova while her parents were staying in Oceanside for a month.

"Your godson is on his way," Bethany said on the phone.

Terry lifted weights at the gym. He had a martial arts class to teach in an hour and needed to finish a leg day before instructing.

"Oh, yeah?"

He tried to sound normal, but his heart thumped worrying about Nova.

"This boy must've known his daddy needed to see him before he shipped out. I'll call you when he gets here. I'm in the hospital waiting room with her parents."

"Okay, thanks."

Terry grew nauseous with anxiety. Nova was a strong woman. He wanted to be by her side, but it wasn't his place. He showered and went to his class on auto-pilot. His students put it all on the mat and he compartmentalized his thoughts to focus on them and not on his lover.

Godson.

Jordan Patterson Jr. came into the world at six pounds, two ounces. Bethany sent him pictures, and Terry stared at the little wonder with awe. Jordan approached him about being the boy's godfather after they did an ultrasound and found out they were having a son. He begged off from the title, but Von and Bethany insisted he couldn't let the couple down because they looked up to him. It was a punch to the gut, but he reluctantly accepted with Von's urging.

"That man needs guidance, T. Being a godfather means you can be his role model on another level," Von said.

Terry laughed from crying. Jordan Jr. should've been Terry Jr.

He sucked it up.

Nova stayed in the hospital for two days. Terry went to visit her late in the evening, after he hoped everyone was away. Unfortunately, her mother and mother-in-law were there, fussing over Nova and the baby. He walked in carrying rainbow balloons and a powder blue teddy bear.

The new mother rested in her hospital bed breastfeeding Junior. He watched her for a moment until her eyes rose to meet his. His vision grew blurry staring at her. She was so beautiful. Nova lowered a blanket on her shoulder over the baby's head and her breast. He knocked on the door, getting the other women's attention.

"Momma, this is Terry, Junior's godfather."

Mrs. Easton, Nova's mother, smiled and welcomed him in. He greeted Jordan's mother and handed her the teddy bear and balloons.

"I can sleep on my stomach now," Nova joked.

She pulled her hospital gown back over her breast and removed the small white blanket covering the baby's face. She burped him on her shoulder first, then held him out for Terry to hold.

"Hey little dude…look at you," he said.

Nova's lips trembled, and her eyes welled up. She blinked back tears and her mother came over to kiss her goodbye.

"Visiting hours are about to end. I'm going to go have dinner with Cindy," Mrs. Easton said.

"I should go, too," he said, pretending to leave.

The two older women left first, and he waited a minute before sitting down next to Nova, cradling the baby against his chest.

"He's a beautiful boy, Nova. You did good, baby."

"Thank you."

They hadn't seen one another for over a month. He would've given the world to scoop them both up and run off to his place. She was a mother now. His fantasy romance had to end. He sat quietly with her, unable to say anything of significance. She knew it was over, too. Her energy and time had to go toward the bundle in his hands. He leaned over and kissed her. Their love lingered in the space between their lips. All the unsaid things lived in the kiss.

Terry studied Junior's face. Tight black curls and cocoa brown skin. All Jordan. A nurse stopped by and he handed the baby back to Nova. He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. Neither of them said goodbye.

Jordan left for the Indo-Pacific tour a week later.

Nova's mother stayed in town, and her father flew back home. He stayed busy with work and flag football. Von and Bethany invited him over for a birthday dinner in his honor two months later. Nova showed up with the baby. She looked stunning. The new-mother weight had shifted and morphed into something different. She looked like a sexy coke bottle bombshell. Without the maternity clothes, her new wardrobe highlighted her wider ass and fuller breasts. She still had a little belly fat with her stomach, and he liked it. The changes gave her a maternal shine that he couldn't get over. She seemed delighted to be around him again, and they both acted with decorum, despite his yearning to hold and kiss her.

Jordan Jr. was round and chunky, like the Michelin Man. Terry walked around with the boy like the proud godfather he was. Everyone at his party complimented him on how comfortable he looked with a baby and kidded him about getting married like everyone else. He only grinned and bounced Junior in his arms. At one point, folks started dancing, and Terry playfully grabbed Nova's hand and spun her around among their friends. Bethany held the baby, and it gave him the opportunity to touch Nova. He swung her out with some old-fashioned partner dancing to SWV and they lived inside a liminal space carved out just for them. Watching her laugh, feeling her warmth against him, having her catch his hand after he released her in time to the music was the best birthday gift he could have.

Von introduced him to a woman named April, and Terry became annoyed at the attempt at setting him up on his birthday. When the party became more raucous in the evening, Nova left. Terry followed her down the street to her car. She carried Junior in a car seat.

"Do you have to go?" he asked.

Nova placed her son in the back seat.

"Junior is a light sleeper. The noise will get to him. I had a great time today seeing everyone all together again. Happy Birthday, Terry."

She hugged him.

The moment they touched, everything felt the same. He sighed while holding her. Their lips couldn't stay apart and they kissed out in the open.

"I want to see you again," he said.

"We can't… things are different. I have the baby."

"Bring him. Let's just have dinner at my place. I'm supposed to spend time with my godson, right?"

She smirked.

"Bethany has someone more your speed waiting for you back at her house."

"April? She's cool, but she's not you, Nova. No one compares to you."

She shut the back passenger door and walked around to the driver's side.

"Dinner and nothing else?"

"Promise."

He kept the promise.

He cooked fettuccine with steak and played with the baby. Nova left with her dignity intact and they continued seeing each other without sex. He grew comfortable settling into a non-sexual relationship with her. Unfortunately, that only encouraged the stronger emotional attachment that grew between them. They acted like a couple raising a child together whenever they were alone.

When they hung out with their mutual friends, he gave off Big Uncle energy to his godson. On his days off, he offered to babysit so Nova could have a few hours to herself.

They didn't start sleeping together again until Jordan returned. The six-month tour changed him. He bonded with his son and, of course, this cut off Terry's time with Nova. She snuck away when she could and their relationship headed for a conclusion he didn't want to face. Nova knew they were about to plummet over a precipice, but he was determined to stay calm about it. The baby grew bigger and looked just like his daddy. He sensed the ambivalence in her about maintaining their affair. It was only a matter of time before he expected her to end it. He dreaded that moment.

One afternoon, he fucked the curls out of Nova's hair. She showed up wearing a sheer red negligee under a long coat and he sent her home dripping with semen in her panties. An hour later, Jordan came knocking on his door.

Terry stared at him through the keyhole and braced himself for some bullshit. He never gave Jordan his address. Other than Nova, only Von and Bethany knew that he'd moved off base.

"Who is it?" Terry called out, pretending not to know.

"Terry, it's me, Jordan. I need to talk to you…man to man."

Terry inhaled and opened the door, keeping his right leg behind him in case he needed to stick and move. Jordan had creases in his forehead and the whites of his eyes were pink.

"I need your advice," Jordan said.

Terry widened the door and invited Jordan in. He sat on the couch, and Terry sat on his recliner.

"What's going on?"

"It's Nova…I think…I think she's cheating on me."

Terry swallowed thickly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"What makes you believe that?"

Jordan stared at the floor.

"I've suspected it for a few months now. Since I came back. She's different, man."

"Motherhood changes women."

"Nah. Not like this. She's probably getting back at me because of Lourdes."

"Lourdes?"

"Some letters and a care package got forwarded to our house."

"You're still seeing her?"

"She was just a placeholder when Nova first got pregnant. I didn't have sex with Nova because of the baby and, well…shit…I got a blowjob here and there from Lourdes…ate some coochie and jerked off. I left overseas, and she started emailing and sending me shit. Nova didn't know until this fucking box showed up at the house today. But me and Lourdes were done…been over. That bitch stalked me with mail and gifts. Nova stormed out after we had a fight about it and left me with the baby. She came home smelling like sex and claimed she went to the gym and that I'm just projecting onto her. My wife is fucking another nigga and it's all because of that dumb bitch."

"So, none of this is your fault? Sneaking off to get your dick sucked? Constantly making poor choices?"

Jordan closed his eyes.

"Terry…listen to me. All that shit is over. I came home, and she put my son in my arms and I just…he looks just like me. Nova held it down by herself and now I'm gonna lose her to some fucker knocking her box out. She walks around humming and doesn't care if I go out anywhere. She don't nag or fuss at me like she used to. It's like she's plotting to leave the house every moment I turn my head. I'm thinking about dropping one of those Apple AirTags in her purse to track where she goes when she claims she's shopping or having lunch."

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"And say what? Stop cheating on me? She's getting back at me and I can't say I blame her. But I'm different. I'm willing to do anything…in fact, I'm getting out of the marines and taking her and the baby back to Charleston. I'm not re-upping. I gotta get her outta Oceanside and away from whoever she's seeing. This nigga done shifted her entire personality. I know he's fucking the shit outta her cuz her body is ridiculous. She's probably been banging him since I've been gone. I snooped around the house and found Plan B and spermicides in her personal bathroom cabinet."

Jordan held his head in frustration.

"Nova ain't never used spermicides with me. I bet she's letting this fool raw dog her."

Terry tried not to grind his teeth and sat back in his chair.

"I can't lose my family, Terry!"

Jordan burst into tears and moaned in great pain. Terry could only watch him with pity and feel dirty about the whole situation. All three of them were moving foul. But now a baby was involved.

"I have loved that woman for so long," Jordan said.

"You have a weird way of showing it."

"I know…I can't make any excuses for it anymore."

Jordan rolled into a ball on the couch. He looked like a hurt little boy that got his ball taken away…a ball he kicked away himself.

"What am I going to do?" Jordan pleaded.

"Can I ask you something personal? I want you to be truthful with me, though."

Jordan lifted his head, teary-eyes and lost.

"What?"

"Why did you marry Nova? You could've spared her suffering if you didn't get married."

"I loved her."

"Beyond that, though. What were you thinking when you asked her? Why didn't you just leave her be until you'd got your hoeing out of your system?"

Jordan glanced around Terry's condo like he was searching for the shadow of an answer in the corners.

"She was always my girl."

"Dig deeper."

Jordan closed his eyes in thought. He sat up and looked at Terry directly.

"If I didn't snatch her up soon, someone else would take her. I didn't want to leave her in South Carolina single. I thought…if I locked her down, I'd be set. No one else would touch her. I got her pregnant, and I figured we'd work through the kinks and things would get better."

"How did that come through your pea brain, Jordan? She's not someone you can put in a box and ignore until you're ready to grow up. You sidetracked her life—"

"I didn't want to lose her, Terry. Maybe I wasn't ready…but we'd been close for years. Our families are locked in. I didn't…I can't lose her."

Jordan jumped up and angrily paced.

"I swear to God if I catch this nigga she's creepin' with, I'll kill him."

"If she's happier, let her go."

"Nigga what? Are you crazy?"

"You're getting care packages overseas from a woman you claim was a past side piece a year ago. Nova did nothing but love you, and you shit on her every chance you get!"

Terry stood and stared Jordan down with flared nostrils and narrow eyes.

"That woman has cried over you…prayed…done everything to keep your marriage together. Fuck, man! She had your baby! Gave up school because of it. You haven't thought about what she's sacrificed to be with you… everything revolves around your needs. I want her to divorce you!"

Jordan gawked. His mouth fell open, and he inched back. His eyes went up and down Terry's body. He held up a hand.

"Why would you want her to divorce me, Terry?"

Exasperated, Terry exhaled and put his hands on his hips.

"You can't make Nova happy if you keep hurting her. That's all I'm saying. Let her go if you can't get your shit together. For her sake, and your son."

Jordan glared at him.

"Are you fucking my wife?"

Terry mustered all the calm he could find in his bones.

"No."

Jordan closed his eyes and huffed.

"I love her. I love my son. He's the best thing that's happened to us," Jordan said.

Terry's legs shook. His stomach twisted in knots, and he tasted a sour liquid at the back of his throat. He wanted to blurt out the truth, but he probably would've vomited had he done that, knowing that Nova would suffer the consequences. So would Junior. He clamped a hand on Jordan's shoulder. His godson deserved to have a father who wanted to make things right once and for all.

"Jordan, go home to your wife. Beg her for forgiveness and show her with your deeds—not words—that you're deserving of her love. Don't worry about who she may or may not be fucking. This is your only chance to come correct."

Jordan nodded his head and started crying. He was a child in a man's body with the emotional intelligence to match. Terry had no faith in him to do better. However, every man deserved the opportunity to try. He wouldn't stand in the way. Terry knew he and Nova would hit a brick wall once Jordan came back. It was time for fate and Jordan to take over.

Terry reached over and hugged Jordan.

"Go home to your family."

Jordan stayed true to his word and didn't re-enlist. Von and Bethany threw them a going away barbecue at one of their flag football games. Nova played on an opposite team and snatched Terry's flag off a few times for old times' sake.

They spoke on the phone privately the night before and cried together. Despite her anger and bitterness toward her husband, Nova loved Jordan. Terry didn't reveal that he spoke with him in his condo. He also kept his opinion about having no faith in Jordan's ability to man up to himself. There was no need to pressure her into giving him what he wanted. She had to leave her husband on her own when she was ready. Pushing her to do it would cause resentment.

"I love you…always baby," he told her.

"My heart hurts…I love you—"

"Go hold on to that beautiful baby for me."

"Terry…please don't hate me for trying again."

"I could never hate you, Nova. Put that thought out of your mind."

"He stopped drinking. Most of his infidelity issues and unacceptable behavior came from that. We're starting counseling back home. Getting back into church again. I think he was so disconnected from who he was…maybe Junior helped remind him of who he used to be."

He respected her decision. Had he been in Jordan's position, he would've begged God to give him another chance, too.

"Nova?"

"Yes?"

He should've bitten his tongue, but he said it anyway.

"When you want me to come get you. You let me know. Okay?"

She stayed quiet.

There were so many friends at the park that it became easy for him to drift along and keep busy with other people. He wandered to his truck to get a jacket, and Nova thought he was leaving. She chased him down in the parking lot and threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her up and held her, their tears mixing in person. Emotionally drained after the sad goodbye, Terry drove home and cried.

Nova and Jordan flew out the next day with their baby, and it didn't surprise Terry at all that Nova left Jordan four months later. Bethany let slip at a cookout that Nova filed for divorce and moved in with her brother- and sister-in-law. Terry minded his business and hoped Nova would finally find happiness. She was with her people and had a strong, supportive family to carry her through. Inserting himself into her life in the middle of new turmoil was something he wouldn't do. God took her away for a reason. Terry worked on closing that chapter in his life, no matter how painful it was.

Another summer was upon him, and he made vacation plans to visit his family on a road trip. He cleaned his condo, dropped off some spare keys for his friend Angie to watch his place while he was gone, and gassed up his truck. The only thing he had left to do was collect his travel bags. He collected mail from his mailbox in the condo lobby and found a large white envelope addressed to him by name, but with no return address.

Terry took the elevator to his home and tossed the junk mail aside. He opened the envelope and pulled out a large color photo of a cute brown baby girl with green eyes so bright they seemed to leap off the photo paper. His heart thudded in his chest. He sat down on his couch and flipped the photo over. There was only a name and a phone number.

Terrina Richmond.

The phone number had an unfamiliar area code. He looked it up on his smartphone.

Charleston, South Carolina.

Terry's hands shook so badly he had to press them on his thighs. He stared at the photo again. The baby had wispy waves of dark brown hair like him, but the eyes…God the eyes were his, too. Especially the long curling eyelashes.

He picked up his phone, and with trembling fingers, called the number.

"Hello?"

"Nova?"

"Terry—"

"I have a photo in my hand. That's why I called this number…Nova—"

"Come get me…come get us."

"Send me the address, baby. I'm on my way."

He asked no questions. Didn't worry about how he would explain to his relatives that he had to make a detour from Louisiana to South Carolina. His prayers had been answered.

Terry Richmond booked a flight to Charleston. He had to get his woman back and meet his new daughter.

Lick Back 2 HERE.

A.N: Hey, shit happens. Just needed to write this one to see where it would go!

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[nanaslutt]

i just wanna like… have toji teach me how to give him head 😞

you and me both

contains: fem reader, oral(m!receiving), slightly inexperienced reader, big dick!toji, size kink, manhandling, throat fucking, cum eating, slight asphyxiation, praise, he talks you it, established relationship, dirty talk, sweet!toji :p

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

You’ve been standing behind the couch where toji sat for 5 minutes now.

Youve been wanting to give him head for a while now, but you have no idea where to even start.

For one you’ve never even sucked a dick before, not having a lot of prior experience before you met toji. And second, his dick was intimidatingly big.

He always had to fuck you open on four of his fingers; having had at least 2 orgasms; before he even thought about putting his dick inside you, and still the stretch was barely manageable.

The thought of what he might do to your throat since having the knowledge of how bad he can wreck your pussy, scared you.

He was so patient with you though, always wiping your fat tears off of your cheeks, cooing at your pained expression, while he let you cockwarm him, getting used to his girth before he ultimately fucked your brains out.

“Ur bein’ fucking creepy doll, what is it.” his deep voice sounded through the room. Making you stand on edge as you bit the inside of your cheek, having been found out.

“Sorry..” you bashfully apologized, walking around the side of the couch to see your boyfriend sprawled out in front of the television.

Big thighs manspreading on the cushions, arms laid out on the back of the couch, one large hand was holding a freshly cracked beer can, as he looked up at you with his dark eyes.

The look you had on your face made him curious as to what the hell you were thinking about. A mix of nervousness and contemplation plastered on your pretty face as you started to climb on him.

You slung your arms over his shoulders, straddling his hips, and placed your head in the crook of his neck and sighed deepy.

“Whacha thinkin about pretty girl?” toji asked, hand not holding his drink coming down to rest against you ass.

“I uh.. wanted to ask for your help.” you softly replied. Toji stayed silent, rubbing his hand over your backside encouragingly as he waiting for you to get the courage to speak again. He brought the beer to his mouth in the meantime, taking a couple sips.

“Been thinking about sucking your dick but uh.. I’ve never done it before.” your unexpected bluntness made him choke on his drink, recovering quickly as he looked at you the best he could with your head being in his neck and all.

“Yeah? Been thinkin’ about it?” he teased, you could practically hear his cocky smirk.

You let out a soft “mhmm” in reply.

Toji always ate you out so good, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess on his sheets every time he was finished licking you clean. He never complained when you didn’t return the favor, he knew how big he was and his experiences with women giving him head in the past wasn’t exactly.. enjoyable.

Reminders of the dull teeth that would scrape against his cock, or the lack of technique the women would use on him would flood his mind whenever he thought about receiving head.

He already picked up on how intimidated you were when his length flopped against his stomach when he removed his boxers, which is why he never dared to bring up the idea.

He figured if you wanted to try it, you would ask, then you would try, and it ultimately it wouldn’t work out like always and that would be alright.

Although toji never complained about it, he had constant fantasies of your lips around his cock. Nights when you weren’t at his apartment he spent his time in his bed, hand wrapped around his thick cock as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He would apply a generous amount of lube, trying to simulate the feeling of your wet mouth as he fucked his hips into his hand, pretending it was sliding down your warm throat.

His fantasy always shattering when he came, vividly picturing your face covered in his cum right before he came, but snapping out of the pipe dream when he felt the hot ropes of cum shoot on his stomach instead.

But that was satisfactory, you did plenty for him in bed, always taking his cock so fucking well, stroking him off with your small hands, his dick pressing between your thighs, your tits; he was spoiled, so who was he to complain?

Although his reply to your confession was fairly composed, toji was mentally losing his shit. Trying not to get hard at the situation and potentially scare you away when you realized his problem, being reminded of just how big he was and turning you off from the idea.

Little did he know you were well aware of that fact already. You would never be able to forget the way he split you open with the sheer size of his cock, for as long as you lived.

“I can teach you if that really sounds like somethin’ you want” he spoke nonchalantly, trying not to get his hopes up at the thought that you might actually be the one to take his dick down your throat, heart betraying him as is practically beat out of his chest.

“Really?” you perked up, sitting up to face him, loooking like an eager puppy. “Can we try it now?” you asked.

exactly like an eagar puppy.

“You sure your ready for it?” he asked, setting his drink down on the side table before joining his other hand in grabbing your ass.

“Why not? you are.” you giggle, glancing down to his lap, referring to the massive tent he was sporting. Clearly his efforts in trying to keep it down were in vein.

but jesus christ was he in high school? popping a boner at the mention of head? good lord he needed to get a grip.

“Smart ass,” he left a light slap on your backside, making you giggle. He leaned over and grabbed a pillow he used as decoration on the sofa, “Go ahead and get on your knees for me, use this so yer knees don’t hurt.” his gruff voice spoke.

You nodded obediently, placing the pillow on the carpet right between his spread thighs, while you folded your knees on the pillow, playing your hands on his knees as you waited for your next instruction.

“Rumor has it my dick is unsuckable, so,” he paused, “if this doesn’t go how you think it will, it’s not yer fault.” he assured, ruffling your hair.

“I can take it.” is the only thing you said back, the look you had in your eyes was so determined, it made his grin stretch across his face.

You watched intently as toji pulled down the band of his sweats and boxers alike. Massive cock springing up like always. His angry tip was leaking so fucking much, you were truly oblivious to how bad this idea affected the older man.

He wrapped his big hand around his thick cock, using the precum he was leaking to ease the slide against the skin as he looked down at you while you watched him stroke himself.

He noticed you squirming from your place on the floor, not to subtly pressing your thighs together.

“Watchin’ me touch myself make ur little pussy all wet?” Toji spoke, smirk, still prevalent on his face. The way in which he spoke made you think you had no shame at all.

You nodded, mouth watering watching his pre bead up in the slid of his cock before dripping down, getting swiped up by tojis large hand.

“‘s so big toji” you spoke, intimidation obviously laced in your voice, but you were so determined to be the one who took tojis cock.

You wanted to show him exactly how good he made you feel when he used his mouth for you.

“C-can I?” you slid your hands on his big thighs, training twords his cock, watching him strok himself steadily.

“Can you what?” Toji always made you use your words. He never got tired of watching how embarrassed and flustered you got over stuff like this.

His head spinning when a blush covered your face, eyes darting around the room before you spoke again, “”Can I touch it, please,” you asked.

Toji quickend his strokes, “Look at me baby.” Your eyes instantly meeting each other at his demand, his eyebrows were furrowed together. A look was plastered on his face that said you can do better than that.

Keeping your eyes on Toji’s dark and intimidating ones, you elaborated begrudgingly, “Wanna stroke your cock Toji, please”

He let out a short aroused laugh, big hand placing itself on your own, against his thigh, “Course you can baby, jus’ had to ask,”

He curled his fingers under yours, scooting his hips towards you on the couch before he placed your hand on his cock, his hand covering yours.

“You don’t need any help with this part right? Little hands always touch me so fucking good.” he praised, retracting his grip around his cock as he let you take over.

Your other hand came up to join the fun, using both your hands to wrap around his cock. You payed special attention to the tip, just how you knew toji liked, twisting your wrists together, creating delicious friction on his length.

Toji’s abs clenched under his shirt, feeling your hands on him always felt too good, his eyes drooping even more as you stroked him with vigor.

His eyebrows suddenly shot up when your head dropped down to his crotch. Your pink tongue darted out to lick in the slit of his cock, licking at the precum that had beaded up again.

He swear his brain short circuited when he felt your warm tongue touch him. That barely there feeling alone felt a hundred times better than his hand trying to mimic your mouth when he was alone.

“Someone’s eagar.” he laughed, arousal seeping into his voice when he spoke, big hand coming down to rest against your head comfortingly.

“Wanna make you feel good, can you uh.” you paused, “can you teach me now?” he thought it was so fucking cute how you currently had his dick in his hands, stroking it with a technique on par with a porn star, and you were embarrassed asking him to show you how to suck his dick.

“Want me to teach my pretty girlfriend how to suck my dick?” he corrected, making you squeeze your thighs together at his filthy mouth, an action that did not go unnoticed by toji; none of your reactions did.

“Please” you whimpered.

He tucked in his lips for a second, reminding himself not to cum the second his tip was in your mouth. Letting his plush lips pop back out he started his lesson.

“Start by lickin’ on it, just like you did a second ago.” he instructed. Toji watched you nod, looking so focused when you dropped your head back down, flattening out your tongue and rubbing it along his tip.

He relished in the feeling of thr little circles and shapes you drew. Your strokes had died down against his length, putting all of your focus on your mouth that would soon be around him.

“You can suck on the tip if you can get yerself to do it too.” He groaned out.

You wasted no time, taking a deep breath through your nose before sliding your lips down around his tip and suckling.

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” toji bit his lip between his teeth when you followed his instruction so quickly. “Use your tongue when you suck on it too princess, it’ll make me feel so fuckin good” he added, knowing how much you loved getting him off.

So you listened, rolling your tongue around his tip as you bobbed your head a bit, taking his tip and just under that into your mouth. He tasted salty against your tongue as his tip leaked pre steadily into your mouth.

Toji slung a hand up behind him, placing it on the back of the sofa and squeezing the pillow between his fingers harshly, trying to ground himself, his other tangling itself in your hair still.

He had to actively fight his hips to not thrust into your mouth and just bully his cock down your throat, but it was so fucking hard. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to do so at the visual of you eagerly sucking on his cock.

He clenched his jaw hard when you looked up at him, presumably, for another direction.

“Wanna try taking it a little deeper?” he asked, eyes fluttering when you moaned out an “mhmm” around him, abs clenching at the vibration.

“Good girl.” He praised at your need to learn. “Keep your teeth tucked behind your lips and relax your throat so you don’t choke,” he gagged, though the thought of you choking around him didn’t sound half bad, but he was trying to be nice right now.

“Don’t push urself doll, take more whenever your ready.” he said, restraint was coursing through his veins. He didn’t want to get carried away and start thrusting haphazardly. He knew that if he showed restraint and this went well, that maybe in the future you would let him fuck your throat, that thought kept him sane right now, constantly reminding him of that revelation.

Toji tried to let himself relax against the cushions when you took him a little deeper.

Your mouth was being stretched painfully around his length the further you got down, a similar feeling to how your cunt felt when he slid in for the first time.

Eyes starting to water, forcing back a gag when you barely got halfway down his cock, and he was already pressed to the back of your throat.

Toji’s eyes rolled back in his sockets, he ran his fingers through your hair at the feeling of your mouth constricting him. “Doin so fucking good baby girl shiiiit,” he groned. You rubbed your thighs together at the praise.

So far he only felt your teeth graze him once, and that was already doing way better than the people who have attempted this before you.

The moans and whimpers you let out around him were sending delicious vibrations straight to his balls. His cock throbbing and twitching inside your warm mouth, threatening to spill into the cavern already.

He wanted to let you have your fun before he ruined it with his orgasm, and would ultimately have to wait till his cock was ready again before you continued. Although it probably wouldn’t take long with knowing just how hard he got in seconds at only the thought of your mouth around him, now having experienced it a little, he might not even have a refractory period after he came.

but he digressed

Toji jolted when you gagged around his cock, coughing around him and sending sputters of spit around him. “Fuck, c-careful doll, don’t hurt yourself” Toji groaned.

While you let yourself get used to taking in half, your hands came up to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth.

“Bob your head a little pretty thing, keep using your tongue too, just like you did for my tip.” his deep voice instructed when he noticed you just kept his length in your mouth, only moving your hands.

You followed his advice, bringing your warm mouth up, and back down on the amount that was comfortable for you right now, hands meeting your lips on the upstroke.

Toji was in heaven, he wanted to pull out his phone and take a video so he never forgot the scene in front of him.

He had never experienced receiving head that felt this fucking good before. His toes were curling in his slippers, balls tightening, and abs clenching rhythmically to match his heart wet as he watched you work.

It was so messy, spit was accumulating on the base of his cock, and his pelvis. Watching string of spit connect from the base to your small hands and lips was making his head feel fuzzy.

Much to his dismay, you popped off his dick, keeping your grip around the bottom of his cock when you spoke, “Toji, I wanna take it deeper” you whined, sounding frustrated. “Cant do it by myself, It won’t go any further.” you poured up at him, begging eyes pleading for some guidance.

oh this was fucking perfect, he thought.

The promise of future throatfucking that was preventing him from destroying your throat right now; opting to let you set the pace; might be seeing the light of day sooner than he though.

“Want me to help you sweet thing?” He asked, holding your cheek in his large palm, rubbing against your spit covered skin.

“P-please toji” you begged.

He felt the coil in his stomach tighten, this would not take long, but that was fine, he didn’t know if you would be able to take it for very long anyways.

Toji stood up in front of you, holding the sides of your head in his hands as he spoke, “Gonna fuck your throat okay?” he said, “If it’s too much jus’ tap my thigh n’ i’ll stop” he said, chest heaving before you took his cock back into your mouth.

You gripped your nails into his thighs, rubbing your legs together as you tried to alleviate some of the neediness you were feeling between your thighs.

You started to bob the first couple inches of him in your mouth, hands free; before he spoke. “Gonna move now ‘kay?” Toji waited till he felt you nod before he thrust his hips into your mouth.

You panicked a bit when you felt his cock slide down your throat, gagging around him when he pressed his balls completely to your chin, short hairs on his pelvis tickling your nose.

“Fucking- sh-ittt,” Toji groaned, holding you against him while you gagged and sputtered, “Relax your throat baby, ‘s okay, not gonna hurt ya” he comforted, “Took me so fucking well,” he continued praising.

Warning you before he started thrusting, you dug your nails into his skin, making him groan as he fucked his cock in and out of your wet cavern.

He cooed at you, watching the cat tears roll down your thighs as he mercilessly fucked your mouth. Years of unsatisfactory blowjobs and pent up need was being unleashed on your throat, and you were taking it like a fucking champ. “God, right fucking t-throat feels so good baby, you okay?” he asked, knowing you were in no place to give a proper respose, but he felt the agreement in vibrations around him when you tried to spoke

Making his smirk stretch across his face once more. Spit strings were connecting from your chin and his balls, as he kept up his bruising pace. “fuckfuckfuck,” toji let out a string of curses, “good-fucking-girl” he repeated in between thrusts.

The eye contact you were keeping with him was making him feel drunk, “Keep lookin at my baby, doin so good, keep those pretty eyes on me,” he instructed, biting his lip down at you.

He pulled your head off of his cock right before he came, letting you swallow down air as you let a small coughing fit wrack your lungs, toji pet your hair until the end of it.

“Doin so good,” he praised “I’m about to cum, Is it alright if I go a little harder? Wont take long sweet thing,” he promised.

Your small hand leaving his thigh to rub at your sore throat, strained voice pushing out your consent before he continued.

You used your hand to guide his cock back in your mouth, before dropping it back onto his thigh for stability. He wiped away your tears before he started up again, “You can take it,” he assured.

He curled his fingers into your head, gripping your hair as he brought your head into him to meet his thrusts, heavy balls slapping your chin with his mean thrusts, gagging and groans of approval being heard throughout the room.

Toji didn’t lie when he said this wouldn’t take long, his thrusts were so much rougher than before, more frequent too, leaving you with a shorter window to get air into your lungs between thrusts.

Vision starting to twinkle with spots when his thrusts started becoming erratic and losing their rhythm, “Take it take it fuck” his deep voice groaned, “So fucking close ohmygod“ he looked down at your fluttering eyes, new tears having been spilled over your cheeks at the harshness.

“Gonna swallow it all for me pretty girl? hmm?” The final straw being when you looked up at him, finally making eye contact with your fucked out eyes, “cumming- shit shit sh-“ he groaned long and deep, hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat as you used all the brainpower you had to swallow around him, trying not to pass out from the lack of air.

Roughly pulling your hair back by one of his big hands, the other coming down to stroke his hand quickly over his cock, the last of his seed being pained all over your pretty face.

The black dots in your vision started fading as you gulped air greedily into your lungs, sticking your tongue out instinctly while his hot cum landed in long streaks all over it.

“fuuuuuuuck” toji almost whined, cock still in hand as he flopped back down into the cushions. “think i almost died,” he said softly, chest heaving up and down like he just ran a marathon.

Sweat was beating off his face, face flushed red and eyes lidded as his soul slowly but surely came back into his body, you rested your head against his thigh as he stroked the side of your face.

Toji leaned down, scooping you up under your arms and placing you in his lap, cradling you against his hard chest as the two of you caught your breath, “think i’m addicted to ur mouth,” his voice resonating through his chest vibrating through your body when he spoke.

“Think my mouth is addicted to your cock,” your horse voice retaliated, making him wince in remorse, “fuck” he laughed, “you sound awful, promise i’ll make you some tea for your throat later” he promised, caressing the back of your head.

“later?” you asked, curious as to why he doesn’t go make a cup now as it only take a couple minutes, “gotta eat ur pussy out to show u how much I loved what ya’ did for me first.” he said, like it was obvious. “But i guess if ya’ want I can make you tea first.” he half joked.

You pulled back from his chest, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back onto the couch cushions with you, his huge frame swallowing yours, “tea can wait.” you smiled.



[ourwitching]

The live music festival – a battleground of wet socks, sunburn, dehydration, challenging personaliti...