wonbyyou

[wonbyyou]

hello, members of kpop/enhypen community! my name is tori and I am the owner of the jjk-centered blog @kenntoria. please read this if you care about content theft and plagiarism!!

after thinking long and hard about this(not that long, okay) i have decided that bringing attention to this situation was the right thing to do. now, let me start by saying that i mention in my pinned post that my works are not to be plagiarized, but I guess it wasn’t clear enough which brings us all here:

not even a week ago, on july 23, i received an ask from anon asking if i own a certain blog since there is a fic very similar to mine and anon also linked the post. same anon then sent another ask with another link to a different post of the same writer. the blog is named @okwonyo !

i’ll link the fics here(had to unblock the author to do that): “confession” and “dreamer”.

and the works that they were “inspired by” are: “flirting” and “shaving nanami”.

now, the posts were uploaded on july 21 and jul 10, notably later than my works, and if it weren’t for anon i wouldn’t even have known about anything, because i don’t lurk around the enhypen tag. if you want to, you can read works and connect the dots, but i am gonna present the similarities and explain why i, and many others, think it’s blatant plagiarism rather than inspiration(red is marking her work and blue is marking mine), you can read the whole thing too if you’d like ofc, i highlighted everything that would guide to see the problem, but please read everything.

this is from “dreamer” and “shaving nanami” fics. you can see that there is similar pacing, and some of the sentences are structured the same way, using the same words, minimal changes applied. and yeah, you can say that the writer added the “dreaming about marrying you” thing to her work but it doesn’t change the fact that this whole thing was basically ripped off. then, let’s get to the “confession” fic that has like a sequence of sentences taken from my fic, despite the plot being a little different in her fic, but the whole “not noticing the flirting thing” was taken from me. i wouldn’t really call that inspiration if you just take the sentences and literally put them in your fic. would you? :)

(mind you, this is my first time dealing with things like this, which is not an excuse, bur rather an explanation as to why i handled this situation poorly at first.)

now, with these out of the way, let’s discuss what i talked about with the owner of the @/okwonyo, or “jiah”. i sent an ask since i didn’t follow her and couldn’t message her, and we had a civil conversation about these works. i’m sorry i don’t have screenshots but it’s because the chat is no longer available to me(she blocked me from her sideblog which she used for chat with me @okwonyos).

she did apologise and offered to link the fics(or even take them down!) but i, admittedly, was a bit distracted with in real life issues and dismissed by saying that she could just tag me, which of course was my fault. when i said that i thought she would say “inspired by bla bla bla” but she just literally tagged me in the end of posts(mind you, there were 4 posts and she tagged me only in these 2 hah) and when i noticed and decided to ask her to take the posts down like she offered in the beginning because it would just be easier and would make me comfortable enough. she insisted that she likes those works a lot and me, being the pushover i am, relented and thought “well alright at least her readers will stay happy” and allowed her to link my stuff in her post, although she again mentioned me only at the end when i asked her to do it in the beginning of the post. i didn’t really care that her notes were in the end, not really.

come to find our, there were another 2 fics, that i didn’t know about until she mentioned me.

oblivious and promises, which are “inspired” again by my fics: oblivious reader and beauty marks.

was she gonna mention these if i hadn’t texted her again a while later about her poor credit giving style? i don’t think so, buddy. anyways, i read the fics briefly and was baffled by the similarities i saw. granted, i will mention that the “oblivious” fic by her resembles an “inspiration” a lot more than other fics since there are added elements like the characters being childhood friends and confession scene and all that — but still, there is whole beginning of the fic that she basically reworded from mine(was it necessary to even use the message with emoji thing…):

for the “promises” fic… bruh, the pacing, the whole dialogue, the similarities, literally whatever happens between the reader and that male character are taken from my fic and reworded and posted as original before i dm’ed the author. which pisses me off, because if she had mentioned me from the beginning and if i considered it plagiarism it just would have been a lot more telling about this author’s intentions — they wouldn’t have been able to act nonchalantly, you know what i mean?

now, eventually, i sent the author some texts about how just taking paragraphs and changing them a little doesn’t look much like an inspiration and asked to take the posts down(if i remember correctly) and she went defence mode and me? i was too tired with my irl issues to attempt anything more after a string of messages pointing out that she didn’t “copy and paste” and she added her own details and plots to the fic. so i went with something like okay whatever i hope you learn from your mistake and bye and she happily replied “feel free to block me” which irked me.

it irked me to the point that after blocking her i didn’t feel relief or like a “winner” but more like i played right into her hand, which should have been the signs that this was not the right way to end things.

now, jiah, did you think it was over? i did think i’d just be mulling over this for a while and hoping other people don’t steal my stuff, but see it’s not me who noticed it, i was unaware — it was other people, several people, who noticed you just taking writing as your own and ignoring being “inspired” by me until you were reminded that yes, you did it wrong. and you have to understand what you did was wrong and accept it.

and you had to be the one to address it to your readers because me, i did address it and i asked my readers and followers to not even say anything to you and not go into your inbox — but something tells me you would have just ignored them and turned off anon asks.

you may ask: tori, why are you posting this almost a week later? well, i’m not gonna lie i have been thinking about this whole situation a lot and how i didn’t do it right and didn’t feel satisfied. and thanks to my beautiful readers and anons who felt injustice and confirmed my thoughts i have been finally pushed to act on this.

look, i have nothing to gain from this… i don’t need like the undying love of enhypen fans or to turn anyone against her, but jiah, gotta respect me, no? do i really need your credits after you posted your post like 10 days ago and was going to act like nothing happened until confronted? i really don’t lol, i just want to have peace and i want every anon and every person who sent me an ask about it and showed me immense support to be relieved that kpop community knows what’s going on.

and i’m bringing awareness to this because i am sure that plagiarism here is really common and i have been lucky to be struck by it only for the first time.

now, do what you will with all of this info.

thank you for reading this and have a good rest of your day!!

[wonbyyou]

here to say hi to the queen

coming from the queen herself, i feel honored! it's always so nice to have you here lovely

(Also, I’m very curious about your gallery now because I don’t think I’ve ever seen that picture in my life 😭😭)

[wonbyyou]

Hey so first I wanted to know if you are comfortable with me sending a request that I already sent to someone but it seems that they aren’t coming back. So instead I want to give the idea to you

hey anon, I’m not uncomfortable with the idea but why don’t you try waiting a little longer before sending it? I’m sure they’re either working on it or a little busy with other projects! If they weren’t going to write your request, I’m sure they would have told you. Thank you for asking

[wonbyyou]

this is us btw

AWWW AREN'T WE JUST THE CUTEST!!

[wonbyyou]

hi i miss you :(

STOPPP I WAS JUST ABOUT TO REPLY TO YOUR MESSAGES <333333 i miss you even more!!!

[wonbyyou]

The jay fic was GORJUS

ALL PRAISE ANIN WHO ASKED AND FALL IN THIER KNEES FOR YOU.

You ain't pregnant but god you delivered.

I LIVE FOR A GSTY JAY YOU WRITE IT SO WELL TOOOO

KSHKS CHER!! i'm so glad you liked it. anon did their big one with the request. i enjoy writing angst so much now, ya'll should watch out.

[wonbyyou]

nom nom nom .

hey cutie, thanks for stopping by to take more bites <3

also, so happy you're feeling better!!!

[wonbyyou]

Hey wanted to ask if you take requests at the moment? And if the ask can be a bit long

hey anon, i'm taking requests and they can be quite long, the more detailed the better. thank you and i'm looking forward to your request

[wonbyyou]

Do you write fluff/angst without smut or should i back off 😞😞🧎🏻‍♀️

Hey anon, I can absolutely write fluff/angst without any smut! You can request anything you want and I’ll be sure to write it for you.

[wonbyyou]

double trouble | heeki

synopsis: heeseung notices how niki looks at you

this is part 2. you can read part one here

-

Niki didn’t waste time. The second he had you bare beneath him, he tore at his own clothes with frantic, graceless movements. His jeans hit the floor, boxers following. His cock sprang free, thick and already flushed dark, rigid with an urgency that bordered on painful.

He didn’t even bother positioning himself carefully. Kneeling between your thighs, he grasped his length in one trembling hand, rubbing the swollen head through your soaked folds, gathering your wetness with a groan that sounded torn from his chest.

"You... fuck... always..." he panted, his eyes wild, locked onto yours. He moved the blunt tip at your entrance, pressing in with a sharp thrust of his hips that made you cry out. "Always... looking at you... coming around... smelling so good..." He sank deeper, a deep groan ripping from him as your tight pussy enveloped him inch by inch. "Wanted... wanted this... fuck... wanted to be here..."

He bottomed out with a final, forceful shove that rocked your body up the mattress. His breath came in ragged gasps against your neck as he paused, buried to the hilt, shuddering. "So tight... dreamed about this... dreamt about being right here... between these legs..." His hands clamped onto your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he started to move. Short, sharp pulls back followed by punishing drives forward. "Wanted to fuck you... just like this... ruin you..."

Heeseung had silently moved to the simple desk chair by the window. He sat now, leaned back but far from relaxed. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped loosely together, his gaze unwavering and intense as it tracked every movement on the bed. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, steady thrum that cut through Niki's panting. "Show her how bad you wanted it. Fuck her like you mean it. Don't hold back."

Niki growled in response, low and feral. Fueled by Heeseung’s words, he snapped his hips harder, faster. The rhythm became brutal, relentless. The slap of his skin against yours filled the room, punctuated by his choked gasps and your own ragged cries. The bed frame groaned in protest.

He leaned down over you, bracing himself on one forearm beside your head, his sweat dripping onto your collarbone. His other hand fisted in your hair, not painfully, but possessively, anchoring you as he moved into you.

"Feel it?" he demanded, his voice raw and wrecked. His cock plunged deep, hitting a spot that made you arch off the bed with a strangled scream. "Feel how hard I wanted you? How long I waited?" His thrusts turned erratic, frantic. The slick sounds of your bodies joining were obscenely loud. "Wanted to wreck this pretty pussy... claim it... fucking destroy you with it..." His eyes were glazed, consumed by lust and the overwhelming reality of finally being inside you.

The intensity was overwhelming. You were cock drunk—lost in the brutal rhythm, the searing stretch of him, the raw heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly with every deep, claiming thrust. Pleasure built like a physical pressure, threatening to shatter you. Niki’s pace grew even more frantic, his breathing becoming desperate, broken gasps.

"Can I–" he choked out, his hips stuttering violently. "Can I come? Please... need to... need to come inside you..." His voice cracked with the sheer force of his impending release.

Your gaze, dazed and overwhelmed, flew to Heeseung. He was still seated, still watching with that unnerving focus. His knuckles were white where he gripped his own hands now. You managed a ragged whisper: "Heeseung...?"

He didn't hesitate. His dark eyes met yours, then flicked to Niki’s straining back. The command was absolute, delivered in that same low, steady tone that brooked no argument. "Do it, Niki. Fill her up. Come deep inside her"

Niki’s control snapped. A raw cry tore from his throat as he slammed into you one final time, burying himself impossibly deep. You felt the hot, thick pulse deep inside you as he emptied himself with violent shudders. His body locked rigid over yours for an eternal moment, every muscle corded tight before collapsing heavily on top of you.

His breath came in hot, wet pants against your neck, his cock still twitching and pulsing within you, spilling wave after wave of his release. Heeseung watched from the chair, his gaze heavy-lidded and dark with satisfaction as he witnessed Niki claim you completely.

The only sounds in the dim room were the harsh rasp of Niki’s breathing against your neck and the frantic hammering of your own heart. You both lay tangled, slick with sweat, the musky scent of sex thick in the air. Niki’s weight was heavy, grounding, his softening cock still nestled deep inside you, a warm, intimate anchor. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you both turned your heads towards the desk chair.

Heeseung hadn’t moved. He sat like a dark idol carved from shadow and intent, elbows still resting on his knees, fingers now steepled thoughtfully. His gaze swept over you both—Niki sprawled atop you, his face buried in your hair, your limbs intertwined—with an unnerving stillness.

That heavy-lidded focus had intensified, sharpened into something possessive and demanding. The air crackled again, thick with a new tension—submission awaiting command.

"Alright now," Heeseung murmured, his voice a low purr that nonetheless carried the weight of absolute authority. "That was a fine start." He unfolded himself smoothly from the chair. "But you aren't done." He walked towards the desk, his movements deliberate and unhurried, each step echoing.

He perched himself on the edge of the sturdy wooden surface, spreading his legs slightly.

"Come here," he commanded softly. It wasn't a request. It was a summons.

Niki stirred first, pushing himself up on shaky arms, his expression dazed but immediately obedient. He pulled out of you slowly, a slick sound accompanying the separation that made you both gasp softly. You sat up as well, feeling boneless yet wired, the sticky evidence of Niki’s release cooling on your inner thighs.

You exchanged a glance with Niki—his eyes wide, pupils blown, a flicker of that earlier defiance now entirely replaced by eager submission under Heeseung’s gaze.

You slid off the bed together, your legs trembling slightly. Niki reached for your hand instinctively, his fingers tangling with yours, seeking comfort or solidarity in the face of Heeseung’s overwhelming presence.

You walked the few steps to the desk and sank to your knees on the cool wooden floor before him without needing further instruction. You knelt side by side, looking up at him as he loomed above you on the desk’s edge.

Heeseung’s gaze slid down to Niki, a slow, appraising sweep. "Ni-ki," he said, the name drawn out like honey dripping from a spoon. "Be a good boy. Take them off."

Niki’s breath hitched. His hands, still gripping yours, trembled visibly. He let go of you to fumble with the button and zipper of Heeseung’s dark jeans. His movements were clumsy, hampered by residual shakiness and the sheer intensity of the moment.

Heeseung remained perfectly still, watching him struggle with an expression of indulgent patience that held an edge of something darker beneath. Finally, Niki managed to tug the jeans and boxers down over Heeseung’s hips just enough.

Heeseung’s cock sprang free, already thick and half-hard, resting heavily against his lower abdomen. The sight—its impressive length and girth, the dark veins standing out against flushed skin—sent a fresh jolt of heat through you. Niki stared at it, mesmerized, his lips slightly parted.

"Now," Heeseung murmured, his voice thick with command and barely leashed desire. He looked from Niki to you and back again. His large hands settled gently but firmly on each of your heads, his fingers threading through your hair, not pulling yet, just guiding. "Suck me. Both of you. Show me how grateful you are."

The command hung in the air. You leaned in first, drawn by the primal magnetism of him, by the sheer need to please. Your lips parted, tongue flicking out tentatively to taste the salty bead of pre-come already glistening at his tip. The musk of him filled your senses.

At the same time, Niki leaned forward, his movements less hesitant now, driven by the same desperate need to obey and serve. His mouth closed over the thick shaft just below the head where your tongue had touched, sucking tentatively.

A low groan rumbled in Heeseung’s chest. "Good... yeah... just like that." His fingers tightened fractionally in your hair. "Take turns now. Nice and easy. Cover every inch."

You pulled back slightly, letting Niki slide his mouth upwards, his lips stretching wide to take more of Heeseung into the wet heat of his mouth. You saw Heeseung’s thighs tense beneath his bunched jeans as Niki’s tongue swirled around the crown.

Then you leaned in again, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up the underside of his shaft while Niki focused on the head. It was an intimate dance, coordinated by Heeseung’s soft commands and the subtle pressure of his hands guiding your movements.

"That's my girl," he sighed. "Such a sweet mouth... taking it so well." He shifted his attention to Niki, who was bobbing his head with increasing confidence, a muffled whimper vibrating against Heeseung’s skin as he took him deep.

"And you... fuck... look at you go. Never knew you had such a greedy throat on you." His praise was like molten honey, pouring over both of you, stoking the fire of your shared purpose.

Heeseung was lost in sensation. The sight alone—the two of you, flushed and eager on their knees before him, mouths working devotedly on his cock—was almost unbearably erotic. But the feeling... The contrasting textures: your soft, deliberate licks and sucks exploring his length, alternating with Niki’s hotter, more desperate hunger as he tried to swallow him whole.

The wet heat engulfing him from both angles, the flickering touches of tongues, the scrape of teeth just this side of pain—it was exquisite torture. His breath grew ragged, his abs clenching.

The dominant control he wielded was heady, watching them compete for his pleasure, seeing their utter surrender reflected in their dazed eyes whenever they glanced up at him through their lashes. His own release coiled tight in his belly, a pressure building with each synchronized pull of their mouths.

"Getting close..." he warned, his voice gravelly and strained. "So damn close." His grip tightened significantly in both your hair now, not pulling away, but anchoring you both firmly in place. "Gonna mark you both... gonna cover those pretty faces..."

He didn't give you time to react or prepare. With a groan that sounded ripped from his soul, Heeseung’s hips jerked forward once, twice. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted from him. The first pulse splashed across your cheekbone and temple, startlingly hot and viscous.

The next hit Niki’s lower lip and chin, pearly white against his flushed skin. More followed in thick spurts, painting stripes across your foreheads and cheeks, catching in your lashes and Niki’s dark hair.

He groaned deeply through it all, his head thrown back slightly, riding the intense waves of his climax. You both stayed frozen on your knees beneath him, mouths open and glistening from their earlier work, faces painted with his release as he spent himself utterly onto you.

The warm streaks felt primal, claiming. Niki panted softly beside you, eyes wide as he felt it land on him. You kept your lips parted slightly, tasting the faint salt tang in the air.

As the last pulses faded into trembling aftershocks, Heeseung looked down at you both through hooded eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily. A low hum of profound satisfaction vibrated in his chest as he surveyed his handiwork—the two of you before him, marked and glistening with his pleasure. "Beautiful," he breathed, the word thick with spent lust and absolute possession.

[wonbyyou]

hi new mootie !! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) i saw you recommended me as a writer and im sososoosos honored. hhhhh. thank you, thank you ! your words are so good by the way. literally drooled at the sugar daddy jay fic.

hey lovely, thank you for stopping by. i absolutely adore your work, it makes me smile so much reading it, it's adorable. you're so kind, i'm happy you enjoy my work, it makes me proud.

[wonbyyou]

hiiiii :3333 dropping by to say I LOVE your writings. hitting all the good and deep spots (pun intended) as always omg.

could i please request toxic fwb with jay where it gets really angsty because reader catches feelings only for him to realised he has feelings for her as well?

thank you!!! take care and stay safe :3

hey anon, thank you so much for your sweet words. i'm so happy you enjoy my work, i hope you'll enjoy this as well. thank you so much for the request.

-

The third time he showed up unannounced past midnight, reeking of someone else’s perfume and cheap beer, you knew you should have slammed the door in his face.

But Jay leaned against your doorframe, that familiar, reckless glint in his dark eyes, a lazy smirk playing on lips you knew too well. "Missed you," he murmured, the words thick and meaningless, yet still they sent a jolt straight to your core.

You let him in. You always did. The lock clicked shut behind him, sealing you both in the dim, cluttered sanctuary of your apartment. His hand was already sliding possessively around your waist, pulling you flush against him before you could protest.

You felt the hard muscle beneath his thin t-shirt, smelled the lingering smoke and the sharp tang of whiskey on his breath. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, his stubble scraping your skin. "Thought about you all night," he breathed, his voice rough, hypnotic. "How good you feel."

It was a lie. A beautiful, seductive lie you craved more than truth. You knew he’d been at that downtown bar he loved, the one crawling with girls who looked at him like he was a god fallen to earth. You knew he’d probably flirted with half of them, maybe kissed one in a shadowed corner, maybe more.

But here he was, in your space, his hands already mapping the curve of your hip through your sleep shorts, his erection pressing insistently against your stomach. The possessiveness in his touch felt like a brand, a temporary claim that dissolved the second he walked out your door. Yet, against all reason, you melted into him, your own body betraying your bruised heart.

"You reek of strangers," you managed, turning your face slightly, though your hands were already fisting in the back of his shirt.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through you. "Jealous?" His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending sparks down your spine. He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth crashed down on yours, hot and demanding, swallowing any feeble protest. It was a claiming kiss, fierce and deep, tasting of stolen moments and other people’s lipstick.

His tongue invaded your mouth with practiced ease, a familiar dance that always made your knees weak. You kissed him back with a desperation that shamed you, pouring every ounce of your unspoken longing into the contact, hoping maybe this time he’d taste it, this time he’d understand the difference between this and whatever cheap thrill he’d chased earlier.

He walked you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your unmade bed. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed you down onto the tangled sheets. His hands were everywhere—yanking your shorts and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion, then tugging impatiently at his own jeans.

The sight of him, stripped bare above you, all lean muscle and dark intensity under the faint light filtering through the blinds, stole your breath. He knelt between your legs, spreading them wide with hands on your inner thighs.

His gaze raked over you, hot and predatory. "So fucking pretty," he rasped, but the words felt hollow, tossed out like spare change. He wasn't looking at you; he was looking at the warm, willing body offering him oblivion.

His fingers found your slick heat without preamble, testing, teasing for only a moment before sliding deep inside. You gasped, arching off the bed, your body instantly clenching around his intrusion. He knew exactly how to touch you—the rough pad of his thumb circling your clit with bruising pressure while his fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

Pleasure ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming, tangled with the bitter ache in your chest. You cried out, a broken sound muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. Reluctantly, you met his eyes. They were dark pools of desire, yes, but distant. Focused on the physical mechanics, not on you. He lined himself up at your entrance, the thick head pressing against your slick opening.

"Been thinking about this tight pussy," he groaned, pushing forward slowly, stretching you wide. The exquisite burn of him filling you chased away thought for a moment. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him deeper with a needy whimper.

He set a punishing rhythm from the start, each deep thrust driving the air from your lungs. The slap of skin on skin filled the small room, punctuated by his low grunts and your ragged breaths. He braced one hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints.

Every plunge buried him to the hilt, the angle hitting your deepest places, forcing ragged cries from your throat with every stroke. Your climax built rapidly, coiling tight under his relentless assault on your senses. The friction was divine torture; his heavy weight pinning you down felt like both imprisonment and salvation.

"Jay… please…" you gasped, unsure if you were begging for mercy or for him to shatter you completely.

"That's it," he growled, hips pistoning faster. "Take it. Take all of me." His eyes were squeezed shut now, lost in his own pleasure. He leaned down, capturing your mouth again in a sloppy kiss that tasted of sweat and desperation—his desperation for release, not connection.

You came hard beneath him, body convulsing around his cock in pulsing waves that made you sob his name. Your orgasm felt like falling apart.

He followed moments later with a groan that sounded almost pained, burying himself impossibly deep as he pulsed inside you, filling you with his heat. He collapsed onto you afterward, chest heaving against yours, his sweat-slick skin sticking to you.

Silence descended, thick and suffocating. The frantic energy evaporated, leaving only the sticky aftermath and the familiar chasm between what your body had experienced and what your heart needed. He didn't kiss you gently. He didn't hold you. He rolled off you after a minute, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back to you. You watched the strong line of his spine, the tousled dark hair at his nape.

He stood up without a word and walked naked to your bathroom. You heard the shower turn on. You lay there amidst the wrecked sheets, feeling the cool air prickle your damp skin where he’d been pressed against you moments before. Your inner thighs were sticky with sweat and him.

Your core still throbbed with the aftershocks of pleasure that now felt like phantom pains. The sharp pang of humiliation followed close behind—humiliation at your own weakness, at how easily you surrendered to him, at how much you craved scraps of affection he never intended to give.

He emerged ten minutes later, steam curling around him as he toweled his hair dry. He was already pulling his clothes back on—the same jeans, the same t-shirt smelling faintly of bar smoke. He avoided looking directly at you as he hunted for his discarded boots.

"I gotta bounce," he said, finally meeting your eyes as he stood by the door. His expression was shuttered again, the vulnerable intensity of moments before locked away tight. "Got shit to do early." It was a flimsy excuse. He always had somewhere else to be.

You nodded, pulling the sheet up over your bare breasts, a flimsy shield against his indifference. "Right."

He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering over you curled up in the bed he’d just vacated. Something unreadable passed over his features—maybe regret, maybe annoyance. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar, cool detachment. "See ya."

The door clicked shut behind him. The silence roared back in, louder than before, filled only with the phantom echo of his groans and the crushing weight of knowing that for him, it was just another fuck. For you? It was another piece of your heart ground into dust beneath his boots as he walked away without a backward glance.

You traced the fading red mark his fingers had left on your hip—the only evidence he’d ever been there at all—and let the hot tears finally fall.

He showed up again exactly a week later. Same time. Same predatory lean against your doorframe. Same faint scent of cheap beer and smoke clinging to his worn leather jacket. "Hey," Jay drawled, that familiar smirk already curling his lips, his dark eyes already scanning your body, assessing his welcome. He moved to step inside, expecting you to melt against him like always.

You didn’t move from the doorway. You kept your arms crossed tightly over your chest, a fragile barrier against the magnetic pull of him. The sight of him, looking so effortlessly desirable, still sent a treacherous warmth pooling low in your belly, but tonight, it was overshadowed by a heavy, cold dread. The memory of his silent departure last time, the taste of your own tears, was still raw.

"Not tonight, Jay," you said, your voice surprisingly steady despite the frantic drumming of your heart against your ribs.

He froze, mid-step. The smirk faltered, replaced by genuine confusion that knit his brows together. He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he couldn't quite decipher. "What?" He chuckled, low and disbelieving. "Come on. You're kidding." He tried to push past you gently, his hand reaching out to brush your arm.

You flinched back sharply. The contact, usually electric, felt like a brand now. "I said not tonight." Your voice hardened, fueled by the hurt simmering beneath the surface. "I'm not kidding."

His hand dropped. He stood fully in the hallway now, the dim light casting shadows across the sharp angles of his face. The playful confusion vanished, replaced by a wary irritation.

"Okay… what the hell's the problem?" he demanded, his voice losing its usual lazy drawl, turning sharper. "Did I do something?" He raked a hand through his dark hair, genuinely perplexed. In his world, the rules were simple: he showed up, you welcomed him, you both took what you needed. Any deviation was an affront.

The question hung in the air between you. Did he do something? The sheer obliviousness of it, the confirmation of how little he truly saw you, ignited something brittle and desperate inside you. The dam holding back weeks, months, of swallowed words finally cracked.

"The problem," you started, your voice trembling now, betraying the storm inside, "is that I like you, Jay." The words felt foreign and terrifying on your tongue. "I like you. More than… this." You gestured vaguely between you, encompassing the late-night visits, the hurried fucks, the crushing emptiness afterward.

His reaction was instantaneous. His eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across his features. It wasn't a pleasant surprise. His jaw tightened visibly, the muscle ticking in his cheek. He stared at you, speechless for a long, suspended moment. The familiar, confident Jay was gone, replaced by someone momentarily stripped bare, caught completely off guard.

The raw shock on his face gave you a horrible, fleeting sense of vindication before the crushing weight of vulnerability slammed down. You pushed on, the words tumbling out now, fueled by adrenaline and heartache.

"And I know you don't… you can't… feel the same way. Not really. Not about me. I'm just convenient." You swallowed hard, forcing the next words past the lump in your throat. "So… I can't keep doing this. It hurts too much." You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. "You need to go. Please, Jay. Just… leave."

Silence crashed down, heavier and more suffocating than any before. The hallway air felt thick and charged. He didn't argue. He didn't try to placate you with lies. He didn't even try to touch you again. He just… stared. His dark eyes held yours for an agonizing beat, filled with that stunned confusion, perhaps a flicker of something else—discomfort, maybe even a hint of regret?

But it was gone before you could decipher it, replaced by a familiar, cold shutters falling into place. The Jay who needed nothing and offered less.

Without a single word, he turned. Just like that. He didn't look back. He walked down the dimly lit hallway, his boots echoing on the worn linoleum—a sound that would forever be tied to this moment of utter devastation. The sound faded. You heard the distant groan of the building's main door opening and closing with finality.

You stood frozen in your own doorway, staring at the empty space where he’d been. The silence roared in your ears. The courage that had propelled you moments ago evaporated, leaving a cavernous void of raw, exposed pain. You slowly pushed your own door shut, the soft click of the latch sounding deafeningly loud in the stillness. As the lock slid home, the dam truly broke.

A ragged sob tore from your throat. Then another. You slid down the door, your back hitting the wood with a dull thud, collapsing onto the cold floor. Tremors wracked your body as the full force of it hit you—the confession, his silent departure, the finality of ending the only connection you had to him, however toxic.

Great, heaving sobs shook you, tears streaming hot and unchecked down your face. You buried your head in your knees, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to hold the shattered pieces together. The taste of salt filled your mouth. The ache in your chest was physical, a deep, grinding wound where hope had briefly flared and died.

You cried for the loss of him, for the humiliation of your unrequited feelings laid bare, for the terrifying emptiness of a future without the painful, addictive chaos he brought. Alone on the floor, the echo of his footsteps long gone, you broke down completely, drowning in the wreckage of your own brave, foolish heart.

Two weeks crawled by like tar. You functioned. You went to work, answered texts, even managed drinks with your friend one Thursday night. But your chest felt permanently hollowed, filled with cold, heavy stones that shifted painfully with every breath.

Jay’s absence was a constant, throbbing ache beneath the surface numbness. You’d see a leather jacket like his in a crowd, hear a low laugh that echoed his, and the ground would tilt. You’d deleted his number, but it was etched onto your heart in acid.

Your friend, bless her relentlessly optimistic heart, wouldn’t let you wallow. "Enough, sweetie," she declared over cold margaritas, slamming her hand on the sticky table. "You need a reset. A nice, normal guy. Someone who doesn't treat your apartment like a drive-thru window." You tried protesting, the words tasting like ash, but she steamrolled you. "Friday night. Hansol. He’s cute, he’s funny, he actually reads. Be ready at seven."

Friday arrived. You put on the dress your friend insisted on—soft blue, flattering, nothing like the deliberately provocative things you used to wear hoping Jay would notice. You fixed your hair, applied makeup that felt like a mask.

Hansol picked you up promptly. He was cute. Sandy hair, kind eyes, a gentle smile that didn’t hold a fraction of the dangerous magnetism Jay possessed. He took you to a cozy Italian place, made easy conversation about books and travel and his job restoring old furniture. He was attentive, respectful, genuinely interesting.

And you felt… nothing.

You smiled. You laughed in the right places. You asked questions. But it was like watching yourself from underwater. Every joke landed softly, muffled by the thick layer of grief wrapped around your heart. The food tasted bland. The candlelight felt clinical. Hansol’s hand brushing yours as he passed the bread basket sparked no warmth, only a vague sense of guilt.

You were performing a pantomime of moving on, trapped inside a glass box while your soul screamed silently for the jagged, broken piece it had lost.

He drove you home afterward, the easy chatter dwindling into a comfortable silence as he pulled up to your building. He turned off the engine, the sudden quiet amplifying the frantic beat of your own pulse against your ribs. He turned to you, his expression hopeful, earnest in the dim dashboard light. "I had a really great time tonight," he said softly.

"I did too," you lied, the words scraping your throat. "Thank you, Hansol."

He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to turn away. The decent thing would have been to stop him. But part of you was desperate for proof—proof that you could feel something, anything, for someone else. Proof that Jay hadn’t completely ruined you. So you closed your eyes and let his lips touch yours.

It was… pleasant. Soft. Undemanding. Completely devoid of fire or desperation or the soul-shattering intensity you craved. You kissed him back mechanically, a hollow mimicry of affection. As you pulled away, offering a small, apologetic smile, your gaze drifted past Hansol’s shoulder.

And froze.

Leaning against the brick wall beside the entrance to your building, half-shrouded in shadow but unmistakable, stood Jay.

He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t wearing that lazy confidence. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders rigid. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated fury carved from stone. His dark eyes, fixed on you with laser intensity, burned with a cold fire that sucked the air from your lungs. He’d seen everything.

A wave of icy dread washed over you, followed immediately by a surge of hot shame. "Hansol," you choked out, your voice barely audible. "You should… you should go home now. Please."

Hansol followed your terrified gaze, spotting Jay. Confusion flickered across his face, then concern as he saw your expression. "Is everything okay? Who is that?"

"Please," you repeated, fumbling for the door handle. "Just go." Your hand trembled violently.

He hesitated, clearly uneasy, but nodded slowly. "Okay… call me? If you need anything?" He waited until you’d practically tumbled out of the car before driving off slowly, casting worried glances in the rearview mirror.

You didn’t look at Jay as you walked towards the building entrance on wooden legs. You could feel his gaze boring into your back like hot coals. Your fingers fumbled with the key, shaking so badly you dropped it.

As you bent to pick it up, he was suddenly there, looming over you, radiating menace and cheap whiskey. He didn’t speak. He just watched you retrieve the key with predatory stillness.

Somehow, you got the door open. You stepped into the dim lobby, desperate for the fragile barrier of your apartment door upstairs. You didn’t make it two steps inside before Jay shoved past you, following close on your heels as you headed for the stairs. His presence was a suffocating pressure at your back.

"You didn't waste any fucking time, did you?" His voice was low, venomous, dripping with a sarcasm so sharp it could draw blood.

You kept walking, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Ignore him. Just get inside. You reached your apartment door, key shaking in the lock.

"One little tantrum," he hissed, crowding you against the doorframe now, his breath hot and laced with alcohol against your ear. "One little 'I like you' pity party, and you're already spreading your legs for the first decent-looking idiot who takes you out?"

The crude insult landed like a physical blow. It wasn't just cruel; it was a deliberate desecration of the fragile hope you'd confessed to him, a deliberate attempt to drag you down into his own toxic misery. The raw hurt ignited something primal inside you—not fear, but pure, white-hot rage.

You finally got the door unlocked and shoved it open, stumbling inside. He followed, slamming it shut behind him with a force that rattled the pictures on the wall. The familiar space suddenly felt like a cage.

"Couldn't stand being alone?" he sneered, advancing on you in the darkness of your living room. "Needed someone to warm your bed? That why you threw yourself at him on the sidewalk like a cheap—"

You whirled around before he could finish the word.

The sound was sharp as a gunshot in the small room. Your palm connected with his cheek with all the force of your pent-up anguish—the heartbreak, the humiliation, the weeks of aching emptiness, his vicious words striking the match. The slap echoed.

His head snapped sideways from the impact. The sneer vanished instantly, replaced by utter shock. A stark red mark bloomed across his cheekbone in the dim light filtering through the window. He slowly brought a hand up to his face, fingertips grazing the heated skin, his dark eyes wide and disbelieving as they locked onto yours.

Silence descended again, heavier and more charged than ever before. The air crackled with violence and shattered tension. He stared at you, stunned into silence by the force of your blow—the first tangible resistance you'd ever offered him.

Your own hand throbbed fiercely, echoing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. You stood frozen inches apart in the wreckage of whatever fragile, poisonous thing had existed between you, both breathing hard, both bleeding in ways only the other could truly understand. The only sound was the ragged gasp tearing from your throat and the furious drumming of your own heart against your ribs.

You could feel the sting in your palm, a fierce echo of the rage and pain that had propelled it. Jay’s fingers lingered on the reddened mark blooming on his cheekbone, his dark eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something else—something raw and unfamiliar that stripped away his usual armor of indifference. He lowered his hand slowly.

"Shit," he breathed, the word rough, scraped raw. "I... I shouldn't have said that." His voice was lower, stripped of its venom, laced instead with a dawning horror at his own words. "What I said... about you... it was..." He swallowed hard, the muscle in his jaw working. "It was cruel. And wrong."

You took a step back, putting precious distance between you, your own breath coming in shallow gasps. The fury that had fueled the slap was already ebbing, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion and a fresh wave of betrayal so deep it made you sway. You raised your hand again, not to strike, but to ward him off, a trembling shield against any more words.

"Don't," you choked out, the sound ragged. "Just... don't apologize now. You used it, Jay. You took what I gave you... what I felt for you... and you twisted it. You made it into a weapon to hurt me with." Tears blurred your vision, hot and shameful. "You saw me trying... trying to just breathe after you..." Your voice broke. "And you spit on it. Get out. I don't want to see you."

He flinched as if struck again, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he took a hesitant step forward, his hand lifting once more, reaching for yours this time. "Please..." The word was almost a whisper, filled with a desperation you’d never heard from him.

You slapped his hand away sharply. "No! Don't touch me!" The rejection was instinctive, a defense against the dangerous pull he still exerted.

But Jay didn't stop. He surged forward, ignoring your flinch, ignoring your raised hands. He wrapped his arms around you in a sudden, crushing embrace. It wasn't the possessive, demanding hold you knew; it was fierce, almost desperate, like a drowning man clinging. You stiffened, every muscle locked tight against him, your face pressed against the worn leather of his jacket smelling of night air and whiskey and him.

"I know," he rasped into your hair, his voice thick with emotion you couldn't decipher. "I know I did. I'm an idiot. A goddamn coward." His arms tightened impossibly. "Seeing you with him... seeing you kiss him... it burned a hole through me. I was angry... so fucking angry... but it wasn't at you." He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands sliding up to cradle your face with a startling tenderness. His thumbs brushed away the tears spilling down your cheeks, the calloused pads surprisingly gentle.

"Angry at myself," he continued hoarsely, his gaze searching yours, dark and turbulent. He pushed a strand of hair back from your damp temple, his touch lingering. Then he leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a second as if gathering courage. The intimacy of the gesture—the warmth of his skin pressed to yours, the shared breath—was utterly disarming.

"It scared me," he whispered, the confession raw and vulnerable against your skin. "What you said... how you felt... it terrified the living shit out of me." He opened his eyes, holding your gaze captive. "Because I don't do feelings. I run from them. I fuck them away or drown them in whiskey." A harsh breath escaped him. "But with you... it wasn't just sex. It never was."

He paused, his thumbs tracing the curve of your cheekbones, his gaze intense, almost pleading. "Every time I walked out that door... it got harder. Every time I smelled someone else's perfume and knew I was coming here anyway... it made me sick. Because all I could think about was you." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "The way you see me... really see me... even the fucked-up parts." He swallowed hard. "And that scares me more than anything."

He leaned back slightly, just enough to look at you fully, his hands still framing your face, his eyes blazing with an intensity that stole your breath. "So yeah, I lashed out tonight. Like a cornered animal. Because seeing you move on? Seeing you let someone else touch you? It felt like getting gutted." His voice cracked. "Because I do feel it too. This... whatever this fucked-up mess is between us... it’s not just yours. It’s mine too. And I’ve been too much of a goddamn coward to say it."

He searched your eyes, his own filled with a terrifying mixture of fear and hope and raw, unvarnished need. "I like you. More than like you. More than I've ever liked anyone. And I know I've fucked it up. Royally. But please... please don't tell me it's too late."

Your reaction was immediate and visceral. A sob tore from your throat, a different kind this time—born of shock, disbelief, and the terrifying surge of fragile hope cracking through the ice around your heart. Your knees felt weak. You stared up at him, searching his face—the earnestness in his dark eyes, the vulnerability stripping away his usual cool facade, the faint red mark on his cheekbone where your hand had connected.

"You... what?" you whispered, the sound barely audible over the frantic pounding of your pulse in your ears. Your hands, trapped against his chest where he held you, instinctively curled into fists against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, not pushing away this time, but anchoring yourself against the dizzying revelation.

Tears streamed freely now, hot and unchecked, tracing paths down your cheeks onto the hands that still cradled your face with such desperate tenderness. The world tilted on its axis. The man who built walls for a living, who treated intimacy like a transaction, who walked away without a backward glance... was standing here shattered before you, confessing he felt the same terrifying storm of emotions you’d drowned in for months.

It wasn't neat. It wasn't simple. It was jagged and raw and stained with the toxic history between you. But it was real. And for the first time since he’d walked out of your apartment weeks ago, leaving your confession hanging in the air like smoke, something deep inside you—something bruised but not broken—began to tentatively unfurl.

The raw vulnerability in his confession hung thick in the air, a tangible force between you. Your trembling hands against his chest, the tears cooling on your skin—it all coalesced into a suspended moment charged with terrifying possibility. His dark eyes searched yours, desperate for understanding, for forgiveness, for something beyond the wreckage he’d created.

Then, slowly, his gaze shifted. Not away, but deeper. The desperation softened into something infinitely more potent: a profound tenderness that stole your breath. His thumbs traced the tear tracks on your cheeks once more, his touch impossibly gentle, reverent almost.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice rough velvet, thick with emotion. "Don't cry, baby. Not anymore." He leaned in again, not claiming your lips immediately, but pressing soft, lingering kisses to your damp eyelids, the corner of your mouth, the sensitive curve of your jaw.

Each kiss was a whispered apology, a balm on the wounds his words had inflicted. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, pushing it back from your face with a care he’d never shown before. He rested his forehead against yours again, breathing deeply, his breath mingling with yours.

"I don't deserve this," he breathed against your skin. "Don't deserve you looking at me like that." His hands slid down, skimming your shoulders, your arms, until they settled lightly on your waist, pulling you fractionally closer. "But I'm gonna spend every damn day trying to earn it. Starting right now."

He simply looked at you, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a silent plea, a promise, and an unmistakable invitation woven together.

The frantic energy of before had vanished, replaced by a deep, resonant calm, a focus entirely on you. He lifted one hand, tracing the line of your collarbone beneath the strap of your dress with just the tip of his finger, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

His touch was different. Gone was the predatory urgency, the calculated moves designed for quick ignition. Instead, his hands moved over you like he was rediscovering sacred ground, mapping the familiar curves and hollows with a newfound wonder.

He slipped the strap of your dress down your shoulder, his lips following the path his fingers traced, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His breath was hot, his movements deliberate, savoring.

"Jay..." you breathed, your voice trembling.

"Just feel," he murmured against the sensitive skin below your ear, his voice vibrating through you. "Just feel me loving you." His hands found the zipper of your dress, lowering it with painstaking slowness.

The fabric whispered as it pooled at your feet, leaving you bare before him in the dim light. His gaze travelled over your body, not with the hungry appraisal of before, but with a deep, aching appreciation that brought fresh heat to your cheeks. "Christ, you're beautiful," he rasped, the words filled with awe. "Always were. Just... never let myself really see it before. See you."

He guided you gently backwards towards the bed, his steps slow, his eyes never leaving yours. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, he sank down with you, pulling you onto his lap so you straddled him. His large hands spanned your waist, steadying you. He looked up at you, his expression open, vulnerable, utterly captivated. He reached up, cradling your face again, his thumb brushing your lower lip.

"Let me," he whispered, the plea barely audible. "Let me show you."

You nodded, words failing you, lost in the storm of emotions swirling within—disbelief warring with blossoming hope, residual hurt yielding to the overwhelming tenderness radiating from him. You leaned down, meeting his lips this time.

The kiss was deep, slow, searching. It wasn't about possession, but connection. A profound joining that echoed the confession he’d poured out moments before. His tongue explored yours with deliberate, unhurried sweetness, a silent conversation replacing the toxic exchanges of the past.

His hands moved over your back, down to the swell of your hips, kneading gently. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, across your collarbones, his breath hot and damp. When he reached your breasts, he worshipped them. Not with frantic hunger, but with deep, reverent attention.

His mouth closed over one peak, suckling softly, his tongue swirling with a maddeningly tender rhythm that drew a low moan from your throat. His hand cupped the other, his thumb circling the hardened peak with exquisite, focused pressure. Every touch, every kiss, felt like an act of devotion, a deliberate dismantling of the defenses you’d built against him.

He laid you back on the cool sheets, his body following yours, settling carefully between your thighs. His eyes, dark pools of liquid warmth, held yours captive as he leaned down, kissing you again, deeply, while his hand drifted lower. His fingers traced the inside of your thigh, feather-light, maddening, before finally finding your slick, aching core.

He groaned against your lips as he felt your readiness, your wetness coating his fingertips. "So soft," he murmured, the words vibrating against your mouth. "So ready for me."

He touched you with a reverence you’d never experienced. His fingers explored the swollen, sensitive folds, circling your entrance before sliding slowly, deeply inside you. He watched your face, gauging your reactions, his movements slow and purposeful, curling his fingers to stroke that hidden place that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

The pleasure wasn't sharp and frantic; it was a deep, spreading warmth that built steadily, relentlessly, centered low in your belly. He kissed you through it, swallowing your gasps and moans, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When he finally, achingly slowly, sheathed himself inside you, it wasn't a claiming thrust. It was a deep, deliberate joining. He filled you completely, stretching you with a fullness that transcended the physical. He stilled for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes squeezed shut as if absorbing the sheer magnitude of the connection. "God..." he breathed, the word thick with feeling. "Feels like coming home."

He began to move. Not the hard, driving rhythm designed for quick release. This was slow, deep rolls of his hips, a grinding intensity that connected your bodies profoundly. Each measured withdrawal felt like a sweet torment, each slow, deep penetration a reaffirmation of his presence, his promise. He kissed you constantly—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—murmuring broken endearments against your skin. "My girl... sweetheart... never gonna let you go..."

The friction was exquisite, a slow-burning fire stoked with every deliberate thrust. His hands roamed your body, worshipping every inch—tracing the curve of your waist, palming your breast, tangling in your hair. He kept his gaze locked on yours, his dark eyes reflecting the depth of his feeling, the fear replaced by a profound, possessive tenderness. "Look at me," he rasped. "Look at me while I love you."

The pleasure built differently. It wasn't a frantic climb, but a deep, inexorable wave rising from your core, spreading outwards, warming every cell. It was tied intrinsically to the look in his eyes, the weight of his confession, the sheer rightness of his body moving inside yours with such deliberate care.

When your climax finally broke, it crashed over you with overwhelming intensity, a deep, shuddering release that tore a long, ragged cry from your throat. Your inner muscles clenched around him desperately, pulling him deeper still.

Feeling you convulse around him shattered his control. His rhythm faltered, then surged. A deep, guttural groan tore from his chest as he thrust deep one final time, his body locking against yours. You felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside you, a visceral proof of his surrender.

He collapsed onto you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your damp skin. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you impossibly close, anchoring you both in the aftermath.

For long moments, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing and the frantic drumming of your hearts slowly calming. He didn't pull away. He stayed buried deep inside you, his weight a comforting anchor, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses against your shoulder, your neck. His hand stroked your hair, your back, a continuous, soothing caress.

He finally lifted his head, propping himself up slightly on his elbows to look down at you. His dark eyes were soft, luminous in the dim light, filled with a tenderness that stole your breath anew. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. A small, genuine smile touched his lips—hesitant, hopeful, utterly unlike his usual smirk.

"Stay?" he murmured, the single word loaded with meaning far beyond the night. It was a plea, a promise, a fragile hope offered in the quiet sanctuary they’d just forged. His gaze held yours, vulnerable and raw, waiting. And nestled in the warmth of his arms, the lingering echoes of pleasure thrumming through your body, your own answer felt inevitable, whispered against his skin: "Always."

[wonbyyou]

Thank you so much for writing the niki request!!!it was so good it exceeded my expectations and my imagination 🫶🏻💗💗

hey anon, thank you so much <3. I’m really glad you enjoyed it and thank you for the feedback, it always makes me happy

[wonbyyou]

loyalty test pt2…..girl……what the hell was that…..I WAS ON MY DAMN KNEES OMG???? THE TENSION??? THE CHEMISTRY???? THE “i’m fucking dying over you” LINE????? I CANTTT LIKE I PHYSICALLY STOPPED FUNCTIONING AND WHEN JISOO WALKED IN I WAS LIKE ?!?!?!!!!?! BUT THEN THE TWIST AT THE END???? Have mercy 😭

+ unrelated but i saw you were doing emoji anons, can i be 🫧 hehe

KSHKA ANON, THIS HAS MADE ME DAY!! thank you so much for the feedback, i was a little worried that part 2 wouldn't live up to part 1 but this has put my mind at ease. I JUST HAD TO TELL MY GIRL JISOO,, like she deserved to know that sunghoon is a piece of shit!!!

and of course you can be 🫧 anon, thank you so much!!! you're so cute and you've put such a big smile on my face. thank you <3

[wonbyyou]

HELLO i just saw that u tagged me as a moot you’d like to get closer to and u also tagged me as a writer u recommend and A A AAAAA im gonna run into a wall wtf you’re so sweet and ily 🥹 you’re a phenomenal writer and any compliment coming from you means more than u even know and i Know for certain we’ll get closer queen omg *kneels at ur feet*

HEY!! please don't run into a wall, you're so cute. i'd love to get closer to you and of course i'd recommend your work, you're so talented. i know i keep saying that but it's so true, like thank you for blessing us with your work. KSHKS NOT THE KNEELING,, imma kneel with you then

[wonbyyou]

OHW STAWP YOU SAYING MY WORK IS GOOD MAKES ME DROP ON ONE KNEE FOR YOU MISS MAAM😭

of course i was going to recommend your work cher,, it's amazing!!

[wonbyyou]

Hiiiiiii!!!! I just LOVED YOUR STORIES SO MUCH,YOU WRITE THE INTENSE MOMENTS SO GOOD ,I FELT EVERY WORD RESONATE WHITIN MY BODY. I wanted to know if it's okay to ask you to write a story about riki and yn being roommates and can you make it fluff and have smut at the end only ,but before there is sexual tension of course building up,ONLY IF YOU CAN AND IF YOU WANT TO ,DONT FEEL LIKE I AM PRESSURING YOU 💗💗💗🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

hey anon, thank you so much for your sweet words. i hope you'll enjoy this, thank you for the request and i hope i've done it justice.

-

The clatter of rain against your third-floor apartment window provided the soundtrack to your Sunday afternoon ritual—laundry day with Niki. He stood across from you at the folding table you’d dragged into the cramped living room, both of you surrounded by warm, clean-smelling piles of clothes. A fluffy green towel tumbled from his grip as he attempted a complicated origami fold. You laughed, reaching out to rescue it.

"Here," you said, your fingers brushing his as you took the towel. A tiny spark, like static electricity, seemed to zip up your arm. "Just do it the normal way, you show-off." You demonstrated the simple trifold method.

Niki grinned, that familiar smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "But where’s the fun in normal?" He snatched one of your softest hoodies instead, holding it up. "This needs the premium fold. It’s too cozy not to deserve extra effort." He meticulously smoothed the sleeves, his long fingers working with unexpected delicacy on the worn fabric.

Living with Niki had turned out to be nothing like the roommate horror stories you’d braced yourself for. When you’d answered his ad on the university housing board six months ago, desperate to escape your noisy, mold-prone dorm, you’d expected awkward silences, territorial disputes over fridge space, and maybe passive-aggressive sticky notes.

Instead, you found someone who wiped down the counters without being asked, whose idea of a perfect Friday night involved ordering too much pizza and arguing good-naturedly about the best Marvel movie and who always remembered to buy your favorite kind of coffee pods.

He’d fixed your laptop when it crashed the night before your big presentation, patiently guiding you through the recovery process.

You’d listened patiently, if not entirely helpfully, as he practiced English vocabulary late into the night. A comfortable, easy rhythm had developed between you—a rhythm built on shared takeout containers, borrowed textbooks, and the quiet understanding that came from coexisting peacefully in a small space.

Now, as you watched him focus intently on folding your hoodie—tucking the sleeves just so, patting down the front—something shifted. The mundane act suddenly felt… intimate. The low hum of the dryer in the background faded. Your gaze lingered on the curve of his neck as he bent over the table, on the way a stray lock of dark hair fell over his forehead.

He was wearing his own faded band t-shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms flexing slightly with each movement. You noticed the faint freckles scattered across his cheekbones, something you’d never really paid attention to before.

Your heart gave a sudden, hard thump against your ribs. It wasn't just appreciation for a helpful roommate anymore. It was… more. The air felt thicker, warmer. The scent of fabric softener seemed to mingle with the clean, subtle citrus smell of his cologne. A flush crept up your neck, inexplicable and warm.

He looked up then, catching you staring. His eyes—warm and always holding a hint of playful curiosity—met yours. Your breath hitched. There was a beat of silence, filled only by the drumming rain. A faint, questioning smile touched his lips. "What? Did I fold it wrong again?"

You blinked, scrambling internally. "N-no," you managed, your voice sounding slightly breathless even to your own ears. "It’s perfect." You quickly grabbed another shirt from your pile, focusing intensely on smoothing non-existent wrinkles. "Just… zoning out for a second. Laundry hypnosis."

Niki chuckled softly, a warm, familiar sound that usually made you smile. This time, it sent a different kind of warmth cascading through you, pooling low in your belly. He resumed folding, but you could feel his gaze linger on you for a moment longer before he turned back to his own pile—a stack of neatly folded black t-shirts.

For the rest of the folding session, your hands moved automatically, but your mind was racing. Every shared glance felt amplified. The casual brush of his arm against yours as you both reached for the same basket sent a jolt through you.

When his fingers accidentally tangled with yours while separating socks—warm skin against yours for a fleeting second—you nearly dropped the whole pile. That simple touch ignited a spark that crackled beneath your skin, leaving you hyper-aware of his presence beside you.

Later, as you both sat on the worn sofa surrounded by towers of folded clothes, pretending to watch a predictable rom-com neither of you was invested in, the realization settled over you like a warm blanket.

It wasn't just comfort anymore. It wasn't just easy coexistence. That inexplicable flutter in your chest, the way your skin tingled where he’d touched you, the way you couldn't seem to look away from his profile in the dim light… Living with Niki wasn't just good anymore.

It was becoming something else entirely, something sweet and terrifying and utterly new. You pulled your knees to your chest, burying your warming face in the perfectly folded hoodie that still carried the faintest trace of his touch. Your heart hadn’t slowed down since that moment at the folding table. It hammered a relentless rhythm against your ribs: Like him. Like him. Like him.

-

The teasing started innocently enough a few nights later. You’d borrowed Niki’s phone charger—again—and noticed his lock screen lighting up with an incoming text notification. The image beneath was unmistakable: a slightly blurry, selfie-angle shot of him making a truly ridiculous, cross-eyed face at what looked like a practice room mirror, tongue poking out. It was pure, unadulterated dorkiness.

A giggle escaped you before you could stop it. He was sprawled on the living room floor, textbooks spread around him, brow furrowed in concentration over a calculus problem. The contrast between his current studious intensity and that utterly goofy photo was too much.

"Niki," you snorted, unable to contain yourself. "Is this… really you?" You held up his phone, the incriminating image displayed proudly.

His head snapped up. A flicker of horror crossed his features before morphing into playful indignation. "Hey! Give that back!" He scrambled to his feet, abandoning his homework entirely.

"No way!" you laughed, dancing backward, holding the phone high above your head. "This is gold! Absolute, undeniable proof that you have a secret life as a certified goober!" You were beaming, the laughter bubbling out of you freely. It felt good, this easy, silly camaraderie.

He lunged, tall frame closing the distance quickly. "Give it back!" His eyes sparkled with matching mirth, a wide grin splitting his face. He reached for the phone, but you twisted away, keeping it just out of reach, your other hand coming up instinctively to brace against his chest as he pressed forward.

"Not a chance!" you declared, still laughing. "This needs documentation! Maybe I should set it as my background?" You pushed lightly against the solid warmth of his chest through his thin t-shirt, trying to maintain the small distance. He was strong—you knew he trained constantly—but in this playful tussle, it felt different. Your palm registered the firm muscle beneath the fabric, the steady thud of his heartbeat against your fingertips.

"Over my dead body!" he countered, feigning outrage but still grinning. He grabbed for your wrist holding the phone. You twisted again, but he was faster this time. Instead of just grabbing your wrist, his other arm snaked firmly around your waist.

In one swift, effortless motion that stole your breath, he lifted you clean off your feet. There was no strain, no hesitation—just pure power as he hoisted you easily. Your laughter died in a gasp of shock.

The sensation of being completely lifted, your feet dangling, your body pressed flush against his side… it was startling and undeniably thrilling. Before you could fully process it, he gently but decisively deposited you backwards onto the plush cushions of the sofa.

You landed with a soft oof, the phone tumbling from your grasp onto the cushion beside you. You stared up at him, wide-eyed, your pulse hammering in your ears. That display of casual strength sent an unexpected jolt straight through you, a hot shiver of arousal coiling low in your belly. He’d handled you like you weighed nothing.

Niki leaned over you, one hand planted on the sofa back beside your head, his other hand reaching past your hip to snag his reclaimed phone. Triumph lit his face for a split second as he clutched it. "Ha! Victory is—"

His words trailed off as he finally looked down at you properly. You were sprawled on your back, hair slightly mussed from the tussle, cheeks flushed pink from laughter and… something else entirely now.

Your lips were parted slightly, breaths coming quicker than they should be just from the playful scuffle. His gaze locked onto yours, and the playful light in his eyes shifted, deepened. The air in the small apartment suddenly felt thick and charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

You saw his own breath catch. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a fleeting, electric second before snapping back to your eyes. The triumph faded, replaced by an intensity that made your stomach flip. He was braced over you, his body heat radiating against you, the line of his lean torso tantalizingly close.

The silence stretched, taut and humming. Your earlier amusement was entirely gone, replaced by a sharp, aching awareness of every point where his proximity warmed your skin.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he leaned down. His free hand came up, not towards the phone anymore, but hovering near your cheek.

You felt yourself instinctively tilting your chin up towards him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze, the unspoken promise hanging heavy between you. Your lips tingled in anticipation. His face was mere inches away now. You could see the faint stubble along his jawline, the dark fringe of his lashes as his eyes drifted shut…

BRRRRING! BRRRRING!

The shrill, insistent ringtone of his phone—the very phone still clutched in his hand—shattered the fragile silence like glass. It vibrated violently.

Both of you jolted as if electrocuted. Niki froze for a heartbeat, his eyes flying open wide, filled with a mixture of shock and frustrated disbelief. The spell was irrevocably broken. He pushed himself upright abruptly, putting a foot of space between you in one jerky movement. He looked down at the phone buzzing in his hand as if it had personally betrayed him.

Your own heart was pounding against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat of interrupted desire and sheer embarrassment. You scrambled to sit up properly, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to hide the flush you knew was spreading across your neck and chest.

Niki cleared his throat roughly, staring at the caller ID without really seeing it. "Uh… I should…" he mumbled, his voice slightly hoarse. He didn't move.

"Yeah," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. You couldn't look directly at him. The phantom warmth of his body over yours lingered, making the sudden absence feel stark and cold. The air still crackled with unsaid words and a kiss that had almost happened. The interruption was a physical ache, a sharp twist of unfulfilled want that left you both breathless and suspended in the charged aftermath.

He finally answered the phone with a gruff "Hello?", turning slightly away from you, but the tension remained thick in the room—a palpable current of what might have been vibrating between you on the quiet sofa. You hugged your knees tighter, feeling the echo of his strength holding you aloft and the devastating nearness of his lips. The interruption was agony, but it also left an undeniable spark smoldering in the silence.

-

The week after the couch incident, on the surface, nothing changed. Niki still offered you the last slice of pizza. You still bickered good-naturedly over whose turn it was to take out the overflowing recycling bin. He helped you debug a stubborn coding error; you proofread his English essay. The familiar rhythm of shared existence continued, a comfortable beat you both knew by heart.

But beneath the surface? The air hummed. Every accidental brush of hands reaching for the same cereal box felt loaded. Silences during movie nights stretched just a fraction longer, thick with unspoken words. The memory of his body over yours on the sofa, the nearness of his lips, replayed in your mind like a forbidden highlight reel, sending warmth flooding your cheeks at the most inopportune moments.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes when he thought you weren’t looking, a thoughtful, almost yearning expression in his dark eyes that vanished the instant you turned your head.

Tonight, at Mina’s off-campus house party, the tension felt particularly potent. The bass thumped through the floorboards, bodies swayed in the dim, colored lights, and laughter echoed off the walls. You were perched on a slightly sticky sofa next to your best friend, nursing a lukewarm soda.

Niki was across the crowded room, leaning against a doorframe talking to some guys from his dance crew. He looked effortlessly cool in jeans and a simple black sweater, but your gaze kept snagging on him.

"Okay, spill," your friend said, leaning in conspiratorially, her voice barely audible over the music. "You’ve been radiating ‘I have a massive crush on my roommate’ energy. And don’t deny it. I saw the way you practically short-circuited when he grabbed the remote from behind you yesterday."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to your incredibly observant best friend," she grinned. "So? Details! Did something happen?"

You gave her a quick recap and her eyes widened with each word. "He picked you up? And then almost kissed you? Girl! That’s not just ‘roommate vibes’! That’s full-blown ‘I want to devour you’ vibes!"

A fresh wave of heat washed over you. "Maybe… but then his stupid phone rang. And now it’s just… weird tension. What if I read it wrong? What if he was just messing around?"

She scoffed. "Doubtful. Look at him." She subtly nodded towards Niki. He was still talking to his friends, but his gaze had drifted across the room… and landed squarely on you. He looked away quickly when he saw you looking, taking a sudden, deep sip from his red cup. "He can’t keep his eyes off you. Classic sign."

"But how do I know?" you whispered, the uncertainty gnawing at you.

A mischievous glint lit your friend's eyes. "Test him."

"No way!" you hissed, horrified. "That’s… manipulative!"

"Is it? Or is it just gathering intel?" she countered smoothly. "Look, see that guy by the snack table? Ben? He’s in our Poli Sci class. Harmless. Go talk to him. Flirt a little. Nothing crazy. Just… be friendly and close. See how Roommate reacts."

"It’s a terrible idea," you protested weakly, even as a treacherous spark of curiosity ignited. What would Niki do?

"Go on," she nudged you off the sofa with her foot. "For science! And your sanity."

Heart hammering against your ribs, you made your way towards Ben, who was indeed standing alone near a bowl of suspicious-looking chips. He looked up as you approached, offering a friendly, slightly surprised smile.

"Hey," you said, forcing a casual tone that felt brittle. "You’re in my Poli Sci class, right? That 8 AM with Professor Davies?"

Ben brightened. "Yeah! Brutal time slot, right? But Davies is actually pretty engaging once you’re caffeinated enough to process words."

You laughed, a bit too loudly. "Tell me about it. I practically mainline coffee those mornings." You took a step closer, as your friend instructed. Close enough to smell his faint cologne—pleasant, but entirely unfamiliar and wrong compared to Niki's scent. You leaned in slightly as the music swelled, your arm brushing against his as you gestured vaguely towards the speakers. "Do you know who this is playing? It's catchy."

Ben seemed pleasantly surprised by your attention. "Uh, I think it's that new B-side from... wait..." He started explaining the song, and you nodded along, trying to look engaged while your entire focus was hyper-aware of the space behind you.

You touched his forearm lightly as you laughed at something he said, feeling awkward and performative. Please notice, please notice, you silently willed towards Niki's general direction.

Suddenly, the air shifted. The hair on the back of your neck prickled. Ben stopped mid-sentence, his smile faltering as his gaze flickered over your shoulder, his expression shifting to something resembling respectful caution mixed with mild alarm.

Before you could turn, a large, warm hand settled firmly on your waist—possessive, grounding. You knew that touch instantly.

You turned your head slowly. Niki stood right behind you, his body angled close, radiating heat. He wasn't looking at Ben. His dark eyes were fixed solely on you, intense and unreadable beneath the pulsing party lights. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Can I talk to you?" His voice was low, quiet, but it cut through the music with a force that made your stomach clench. There was an edge to it you rarely heard—not anger, exactly, but something taut and controlled.

"Uh… sure?" you managed, your voice suddenly small.

Niki didn't wait for Ben’s response or your further agreement. His hand slid from your waist to grasp your hand firmly, lacing his fingers through yours with a grip that was surprisingly tight. He pulled you gently but insistently away from Ben and the snack table, weaving through the crowd with purpose, ignoring the curious glances.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, away from the main throng of the party, and pushed open the first door he found—a small, cluttered home office filled with bookshelves and a desk. He shut the door firmly behind you both, muffling the music to a dull throb.

The sudden quiet was jarring. He leaned back against the door, still holding your hand loosely now, his chest rising and falling a little faster than usual as he looked at you.

"What was that about?" he asked directly, his voice still holding that low intensity.

"Talking?" you offered weakly, your own heart pounding so hard you felt lightheaded. "Just… talking to Ben."

"You were close," he stated, his gaze unwavering. "Touching his arm." There was no accusation in his tone, just… observation. A sharp observation.

You swallowed, summoning a courage you didn't feel. "So? What's it to you, Niki?"

The question hung in the quiet room. For a long moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable in the shadows. Then, something shifted. The controlled tension seemed to crackle and fracture. He pushed himself off the door, taking a step closer, invading your space just like he had on the sofa. His gaze searched yours, raw and open.

"It matters," he said, his voice dropping even lower, rougher now. "Because I like you." The words spilled out, simple and devastatingly clear. "I have for… for a long time." He paused, his throat working as if the admission cost him something vital. "Seeing you flirt with him… seeing you touch him…" He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, a flicker of frustration and vulnerability crossing his features. "I couldn't stand it."

Your breath caught. Stunned silence stretched between you. All the tension, the stolen glances, the electric near-misses… it hadn't been one-sided. He felt it too. The confirmation was like sunlight bursting through clouds.

Niki misinterpreted your silence. His shoulders slumped. A shadow of resignation crossed his face. "Look," he started, his voice thick now, laced with regret as he took a small step back, releasing your hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have dragged you in here. I probably just ruined—"

You didn't let him finish the word 'friendship'. The apology, the sudden retreat—it shattered your paralysis. Before he could step fully away, before he could rebuild that careful wall between you, you surged forward.

One hand flew to cradle the side of his face—warm skin, faint stubble scraping your palm. The other fisted in the soft fabric of his sweater at his chest. You stretched up on your toes and pressed your lips firmly against his.

It was a small kiss at first—just a soft, deliberate press of your mouth to his, a silent answer to his confession, a denial of his apology. It was affirmation.

Then Niki froze for a fraction of a second—shocked by your initiative—before reality crashed over him. A low groan rumbled deep in his chest as his arms came around you instantly, crushing you against him. The tentative kiss exploded.

His mouth slanted over yours with sudden, desperate hunger. His lips were soft yet demanding, moving against yours with an intensity that stole your breath and set every nerve ending ablaze. One hand tangled fiercely in your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss; the other splayed possessively across your lower back, holding you impossibly close.

The taste of him flooded your senses. The world outside the door ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his body pressed flush against yours, the insistent pressure of his mouth, the dizzying sensation of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before sliding inside to meet yours in a deep, claiming caress that sent liquid fire pooling low in your belly. It was everything—desperate need and tender revelation crashing together.

He kissed like he danced: with breathtaking precision and passionate intensity that left you utterly breathless and clinging to him.

The kiss broke only when the need for air became critical. You gasped against his lips, your body trembling in his arms. Before you could fully register the loss of contact, Niki slid his hands down to your thighs. With that same effortless strength that had stunned you on before, he lifted you clean off your feet.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he carried you the few steps across the small room and pressed your back firmly against the cool drywall beside the desk. Your party dress rode up high on your thighs with the motion, exposing smooth skin that now pressed against the denim of his jeans. His arousal was unmistakable against your core, even through the layers of fabric—hard and insistent.

He buried his face in the curve of your neck for a moment, breathing raggedly against your skin before lifting his head to capture your mouth again in another searing kiss. His hips pressed forward instinctively against yours where you straddled him against the wall, creating delicious friction that made you whimper into his mouth.

The noise seemed to jolt him slightly. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark pools of desire and lingering disbelief, his lips kiss-swollen.

"Y/N..." he breathed, his voice ragged.

You met his gaze, every nerve alight with the intensity of his kiss and the feel of him holding you pinned against the wall. Your fingers tightened in his hair. The party outside felt like a distant planet.

"Take me home, Niki," you whispered urgently against his lips, your voice thick with wanting him. "Right now."

-

The frantic energy of the party hallway dissolved the moment Niki slammed their apartment door shut behind them. The familiar space was instantly transformed into a charged sanctuary. There was no more waiting. The journey home had been a blur of tangled hands on thighs as he drove, stolen kisses at red lights that tasted of desperation and promise.

As soon as the lock clicked, he spun you around, pressing your back against the cool wood of the door. His mouth crashed down on yours again, a hungry echo of the party kiss, but deeper now, unleashed. Your hands scrabbled at the hem of his sweater, pulling it upwards.

He broke the kiss only long enough to yank it over his head, revealing the smooth, sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen you’d only ever caught glimpses of. His breath hitched as your fingers traced the defined lines, skimming over warm skin and taut muscle.

He returned the favor with agonizing slowness. His fingers found the zipper at the back of your dress. The rasp of it lowering felt deafening in the sudden quiet of the apartment. Cool air brushed your spine as he pushed the straps off your shoulders. The fabric pooled around your waist, then slid down your hips to puddle at your feet.

He stepped back slightly, his dark eyes raking over you in nothing but your bra and panties, his gaze was pure fire.

"God, Y/N," he breathed, reverence thick in his voice. "You have no idea... how long I've imagined this." He stepped close again, his hands hovering just above your skin before they finally settled on your bare waist. His touch was electrifying. Slowly, deliberately, he traced the curve of your hip bone with his thumbs, his eyes locked on yours. "So fucking beautiful."

His hands moved upwards, skimming your ribs, the sides of your breasts still confined by lace. He unhooked your bra with surprising dexterity, letting it fall away. His breath stuttered as he looked at you fully bare before him. His palms cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, sending jolts straight to your core.

A soft whimper escaped you as he leaned down, replacing his thumb with his mouth, swirling his tongue around one peak before drawing it deep between his lips. The wet heat, the gentle suction, the scrape of his teeth—it was overwhelming. You arched into him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as he lavished attention on one breast, then the other.

His hands slid lower, tracing the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, before finally slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. He paused, fingers splayed over the curve of your ass, holding you possessively as he kissed a trail down your sternum, over your trembling belly.

He knelt before you, hooking his fingers into the sides of your panties and drawing them down your legs. You stepped out of them, utterly exposed, trembling under his intense scrutiny.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice husky as his gaze devoured you. He placed a single, searing kiss just above your navel, then lower, along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His large hands smoothed up your legs, urging them slightly apart. The cool air kissed your slick folds, making you gasp.

He didn't dive in immediately. He worshipped. His lips traced patterns on your inner thighs, nipping lightly, making you squirm. His thumbs gently parted you, exposing your glistening core to his heated gaze. He blew softly, the cool rush of air over your heated flesh drawing a sharp cry from your lips. Then, finally, slowly, he leaned in and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked center.

You cried out, knees buckling slightly. He held you steady with strong hands on your hips as his tongue swept through your folds with torturous deliberation. He explored every sensitive fold, lapping at your entrance before circling your swollen clit with firm, relentless strokes.

The sensation was excruciatingly perfect—slow, deep laps alternated with focused flicks that sent shockwaves radiating through your entire body. Your moans filled the apartment, echoing off the walls as he feasted on you, his tongue delving deeper with each stroke. He slid one finger inside you, then a second, crooking them upwards as his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit.

"Oh god... Niki... please..." you begged, hips rocking helplessly against his face.

He hummed against you, the vibration nearly pushing you over the edge right then. He added a third finger, stretching you gently as he pumped them in and out in a slow rhythm that matched the circles his tongue was tracing. The fullness inside and the relentless pressure outside built a coil of pleasure so tight it felt unbearable.

"That's it," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick. "Let go for me. Come on my tongue." He sucked your clit firmly between his lips.

It detonated. Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, blinding and all-consuming. You arched hard against the door, a guttural cry tearing from your throat as pleasure pulsed through you in hot waves. He held you through it, licking and sucking gently now, drawing out every last shuddering tremor until you were limp against the door, breathing raggedly.

He rose slowly, kissing his way back up your trembling body—thighs, belly, between your breasts—before claiming your mouth again. You could taste yourself on his lips, a musky sweetness that only intensified the dizzying haze of pleasure.

He scooped you up effortlessly—that strength again making your stomach flip—and carried you to his bedroom. He laid you down gently on his familiar comforter before quickly shedding his jeans and boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, curving upwards against his abdomen, glistening at the tip. He knelt between your spread legs, his eyes dark with desire.

"I need to be inside you," he rasped, running his cockhead through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. "Need to feel you." He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head nudging against you. "Okay?"

"Yes," you breathed, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please."

He pushed in slowly. Inch by agonizing inch, stretching you deliciously around his thickness. You both groaned as he seated himself fully inside you, hips flush against yours. He paused there for a moment, buried deep, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily. The feeling of him filling you completely was indescribable—hot velvet steel sheathed in your wet heat.

He began to move. Slow, deep thrusts that dragged every nerve ending along his length on the way out before sinking back in with deliberate force. His eyes never left yours.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice strained with control. "So tight... so perfect... Been dreaming about this... how good you'd feel..." He leaned down to capture a nipple between his teeth, tugging gently as he continued that slow, devastating rhythm.

Each deep stroke hit places inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath smooth skin as he moved over you. The friction was exquisite—not frantic, but deep and purposeful. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next thrust brushed directly over that sensitive spot deep inside.

"Oh! There!" you gasped.

"Here?" he murmured, repeating the angle with pinpoint accuracy.

"Yes! Just... like that... don't stop..."

He didn't. He maintained that perfect angle and slow pace, each thrust sending jolts of electric pleasure radiating outwards from your core. Your body was still sensitive from your first climax, making every sensation amplified, almost unbearably intense. He watched your face intently, reading every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids.

"Look at you," he groaned, his own control fraying as sweat beaded on his brow. "So beautiful taking my cock... Making those sounds... Feels incredible... So wet for me..."

His words stoked the fire inside you again. The coil began tightening once more, deeper this time, anchored by his fullness and the relentless pressure against that perfect spot.

"Niki..." you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure spiraled higher and higher.

"Are you going to cum again?" he asked roughly, his thrusts deepening even further, grinding his pelvis against yours with each inward stroke to stimulate your clit.

"Yes... oh god... close..."

"Come on me," he commanded softly, kissing your jawline. "Come all over my cock." He reached between your bodies, finding your clit with slick fingers and adding firm circles to the rhythm of his thrusts.

It was too much. The slow drag inside you, the pressure on your clit, his deep voice praising you—it shattered you completely. Your second orgasm hit with seismic force. You clenched around him violently, crying out his name as pure ecstasy ripped through you. Wave after wave crashed over you, pulling you under as you trembled and shuddered beneath him.

Feeling you clamp down on him so tightly pushed him over the edge instantly. With a groan that sounded like it was torn from his soul, he drove deep one final time and held himself there as he pulsed inside you. Hot jets of release flooded into you as he shuddered through his own climax, his hips jerking erratically against yours as he emptied himself completely.

He collapsed onto his elbows above you, breathing harshly against your neck. You both lay tangled together for long moments, drenched in sweat, hearts pounding against each other's chests in a frantic rhythm that gradually slowed.

Finally, he shifted slightly, pulling out with a soft sigh that made you wince at the sudden emptiness. He rolled to his side beside you on the narrow bed but immediately pulled you close against him, tucking your head under his chin. One arm wrapped securely around your waist; the other hand idly traced patterns on your bare shoulder.

Silence settled over the room, thick with contentment and the lingering scent of sex. Your body felt deliciously heavy and sated.

"You okay?" he murmured after a while, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Mmm," you sighed against his chest, nuzzling closer. "More than okay." You felt a warm trickle escape between your thighs and winced slightly.

He felt it too and chuckled softly, a warm rumble in his chest. "Messy," he observed without judgment. He kissed your temple. "I'll run us a shower in a minute." His fingers trailed down your spine possessively. "Clean you up properly."

You hummed in agreement, already half-asleep against the familiar comfort of his body and the unfamiliar intimacy of this new closeness.

His hand drifted lower again, cupping your ass lightly. "Maybe..." he began, his voice dropping to that low timbre that already sparked fresh heat in your belly. "...afterwards... we could maybe... see about round two?" There was a playful hope in his tone.

You tilted your head back to look at him, a tired but genuine laugh escaping you at his audacity... and at how instantly your traitorous body responded to the mere suggestion.

Despite the lingering ache between your thighs and the deep exhaustion settling in your bones, a fresh pulse of desire flickered low inside you at the thought of him moving over you again.

"We literally just finished," you pointed out weakly.

He grinned and kissed you softly on the lips. "So? Doesn't mean I'm done wanting you." His thumb brushed over your hip bone suggestively. "But shower first," he conceded gently. "Promise."

You nestled back against him, closing your eyes. The warm water sounded heavenly... and the promise of what might come after it was already making anticipation curl sweetly in your core once more. You were exhausted... but for Niki? You were already ready for it.