you didn’t expect him to look at you like that. not tonight.

the low thrum of music hums through the dim room, shadows kissing the walls as you lean back against the couch, glass loose in your fingers. jungwon is across from you, half-lidded eyes trained on you like he’s been waiting. like he’s been watching. the others laugh and talk around you both, but he doesn’t move. he just stares.

you feel it — the shift. the weight of his gaze crawling up your legs, dragging slow over your chest, settling hot on your neck. your breath catches.

you don’t remember how you ended up in his room. only that his hand found yours, and you followed without question.

the door clicks shut behind him. silence, but not the empty kind. this is thick, charged. jungwon walks to you with steady steps, and you can’t look away. he doesn’t speak, just touches — a slow brush of fingers over your jaw, tilting your chin up.

“you know what you do to me?” his voice is rough silk, low and close. you nod. he smiles, dark and soft. “good.”

his lips are on you before you can answer — slow, deliberate, like he’s got all the time in the world. like he’s waited for this. he kisses you like you’re something fragile and wicked all at once.

his hands explore with reverence, skimming the line of your waist, the dip of your spine. every touch feels earned — like you’ve been patient, like he’s been holding back, and now, finally, he doesn’t have to.

“look at you,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to see your face. his thumb traces your bottom lip. “you don’t even know how good you are, do you?”

you shiver. you do. or maybe you don’t—not until now, not until jungwon says it like a prayer and a promise.

his lips find your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder — slow trails of heat sinking into your skin. he undresses you like he’s unwrapping something sacred. not rushed, not greedy. just thorough.

“you’re perfect like this,” he whispers against your skin, voice thick with awe. “you’ve earned every second of this.”

his words burn more than his hands.

when he finally lays you down, his touch is careful, but firm — like he wants to prove something. that he’s thought about this, about you. that he’s imagined the way you’d fall apart under him.

and you do. slowly. beautifully. every sound you make draws another from him. every moan, a reward. every arch of your back, a gift he unwraps with his mouth, his hands, his voice.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, kissing down your ribs. “don’t hide from me. you’re mine tonight.”

and you are. utterly. completely.

you’ve never been worshipped like this before. you’ve never felt deserved.

but jungwon? he makes you feel like a sin he’s proud to commit.

like you’ve earned it. and so has he.