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hoonieangel · 2 days ago

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i forgot they were in her bed…

—PROVE ME WRONG 18+

Yang Jungwon x Female!Reader

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, soft dom!jungwon, needy!reader, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, praising, teasing, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, p in v, squirting, crying, confessing, reader is so down bad for him loool

♡ you swore you hated him, until he made you feel everything you tried to deny.

w/c: 6.5k

You’ve been in the same friend group as Jungwon for almost a year now. It wasn’t a choice, really, he just came with the package. A friend of a friend who started showing up to things so regularly it was impossible to avoid him. House parties, movie nights, random hangouts at someone’s apartment. He’d be there, always leaning against a wall or sunk into a couch, quiet and sharp-eyed like he was waiting for something to irritate him. And for some reason, that something is always you. You’re not sure when it started. The bickering, the looks, the weird tension that’s too constant to be harmless. Sometimes you think he enjoys getting under your skin. Sometimes you’re afraid you do, too. It’s not like you’re friends. You talk, but only to annoy each other. You stand near each other, but never too close. He’ll brush your arm when passing behind you, or press a hand to your waist like he’s just trying to get by, but you know it lingers longer than it should. He knows it, too.

He’s cocky. Always calm. The type who never has to raise his voice to make you feel like you’re losing. And you—you act tough. You roll your eyes, talk back, call him names that make your friends laugh. But it’s a mask. Because deep down, your stomach flips every time he looks at you. Your mouth dries up when he stands too close. Your brain scrambles when his voice drops too low. You pretend it’s nothing. That it doesn’t matter. That you don’t go home after nights out and touch yourself to the thought of him—his face, his voice, his fingers on your skin, telling you you’re doing so good for him. You hate him. You want him. You don’t know the difference anymore. And tonight, it’s getting harder to hide.

You stand in front of your mirror, twisting the strap of your top around your finger like it’s a lifeline. The room’s warm, but your skin feels electric—like you’re waiting for something you can’t say out loud. You’re not sure why tonight feels different. It’s just a party. Maybe it’s the way your heart races when you think about him. Maybe it’s the way your hands tremble just a little when you smooth your hair one last time. Or maybe it’s the faint hope that he’ll actually notice you tonight. Not the usual glare or sharp glance, but something else. Something softer. Something real. You pull on your jacket, catch your reflection again, and force yourself to stop overthinking. You’re not the shy girl everyone thinks you are. You’re the one who talks back, who laughs too loud, who acts like she doesn’t care. Right?

You step inside, weaving through the crowd with your friends close behind, the heavy bass reverberating through the floor. The house is packed, voices mixing with laughter and the clinking of bottles. The smell of sweat, perfume, and something faintly like alcohol fills the air. Your eyes scan automatically, and there he is—Jungwon, standing near the far wall, one foot propped against it casually. His dark eyes lock onto yours immediately, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips like he knows exactly the effect he has on you. For a second, it feels like the room shrinks around you. The noise dulls. Your heart kicks a little harder in your chest, but you refuse to let it show. You adjust your skirt and pretend not to notice the way his eyes are still on you. Pretend your breath isn’t catching and your skin isn’t buzzing just from the sight of him, leaned back like he owns the whole place. Your friends disappear into the crowd ahead of you, heading for the drinks table, but you linger, like you always do. Like you can’t help yourself. And of course, it only takes him a few steps to close the distance. He always does this—finds you. He just appears, quiet and intentional. “Wow,” he says, low and slow, voice brushing against your skin like velvet. “You actually made an effort tonight.” You roll your eyes, but your heart stutters. “Is that your idea of a compliment?” He shrugs, looking amused. “Take it however you want.”

You huff, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “Don’t worry. I won’t start dressing up just for you.” His eyes flick down your figure, slow and obvious. “Shame.” You scoff, turning your head so he doesn’t see the way your face warms, but his hand brushes against your waist as someone passes behind you, and again, it lingers. Barely a second too long. “Watch it,” you mutter. He leans a fraction closer. “You didn’t move.” You open your mouth to fire back, but before you can say anything, someone calls your name from across the room. “Guys come sit with us!” Jungwon smirks at you one last time, then walks off without another word, hands tucked in his pockets like he’s not leaving you absolutely burning. The group’s gathered in the living room now—bodies crammed onto couches and sprawled on the carpet with drinks in hand. The lights are dimmed and colorful. You’re curled up between your friends on one of the couches, legs crossed, a drink balanced in your hand. The music has softened a little now that everyone’s packed into the living room, cushions stolen off the couch and dragged to the floor. Jungwon’s across the room, lounging half-sunk into the armchair with a half-empty red cup in one hand and his other arm draped lazily over the back of the seat. He looks calm, bored even, but you know him well enough to catch the spark behind that disinterested expression. He’s watching. Waiting. You try not to let your eyes linger.

Someone suggests Truth or Dare, and it only takes a few cheers and clinks of drinks for it to begin. It starts light, somebody takes a shot, another confesses a secret crush on someone’s older brother, and then someone gets dared to kiss the person to their left, and the room tips into something more teasing and charged. You’re half-laughing at that when someone goes, “Okay—your turn,” and points to one of the girls across the circle. She looks around, eyes sparkling, clearly scheming. She hums, then smirks. “I’ve got one. For you—” she says, eyes landing directly on Jungwon. “And you,” she adds, turning to you. Immediately, the room perks up. Jungwon raises an eyebrow, not moving, but you can feel the attention shift. Your spine straightens slightly. “I dare you two,” the girl says, grinning now, “to sit in front of each other and hold eye contact for a minute. No breaking it. No laughing.” Groans and excited gasps ripple through the circle. “Yes. Yes. That’s so them,” someone says. “Bro, no way,” you say quickly, but there’s already movement in the room. Someone scoots a pillow onto the floor between the couch and the armchair. “Scared?” Jungwon’s voice cuts through the chatter. His tone is calm, as always, but there’s a flicker of challenge under it. His eyes meet yours, unreadable. “You don’t have to if you’re already feeling weak.” You roll your eyes. “You’re not that intimidating, Jungwon.” “Prove it,” he says.

Your heart knocks against your ribs, but you don’t let it show. With a dramatic sigh, you uncross your legs and push yourself off the couch, brushing invisible lint off your skirt like this is no big deal. It is. But you won’t let him know that. The circle shifts slightly to make room as you move toward the center, sitting cross-legged on the pillow they placed, facing Jungwon. He’s already there, sitting lazy and cool on the floor like he’s got all the time in the world. His knee brushes against yours when he adjusts his posture, and you resist the urge to pull back. Someone sets a timer. “Sixty seconds,” they say. “Starting now.” The room quiets into a low hum as your eyes meet his. He’s close, closer than he usually allows himself to be in front of others. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze is steady, intense, locked on you like it’s a test and he’s already sure he’ll win. At first, it’s just kind of funny. You raise a brow, challenge him silently. His lip quirks, like he’s daring you to break. You don’t. But as the seconds pass, something shifts. His stare sharpens. Not cruel. Just focused. Curious, even. Like he’s studying you. You don’t blink. You try not to squirm. But there’s heat crawling up your neck, prickling under your skin. The sound of your own breathing starts to feel too loud. You’re aware of everything—how close his knees are to yours, how heavy his gaze feels, how your hands are clenched in your lap to keep from fidgeting. “Thirty seconds,” someone mutters. Halfway.

You swallow, and his eyes follow the movement of your throat. You can tell. You hate that you can tell. “Didn’t think it’d be this easy to shut you up,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for you to hear. Your breath hitches, but you don’t answer. “Your cheeks are red.” “They’re not.” “They are.” He leans in a little—not enough for the others to notice, but enough for you to feel his breath on your face. “It’s cute,” he says. You almost flinch. Almost. But you force yourself to stay still. “You talk too much.” “And you stare too much.” You go rigid, caught. His smile widens slightly, lazy and infuriating. “Ten seconds,” someone calls out. You’re barely breathing. His eyes haven’t left yours for a second, and you swear something in your chest is about to combust. The final seconds pass in silence, and when someone finally yells, “Time!” you tear your eyes away like you’ve been slapped. People cheer, laugh, someone throws a pillow, but you don’t say anything. You just rise to your feet quickly, brushing your hands against your thighs. Your skin feels too hot, like the air around you is thicker than it was before. Jungwon doesn’t stand up right away. He just looks at you from where he’s still seated, that smirk back on his face. You return to your seat between your friends, trying to act like you’re totally fine, like your heart isn’t racing and your thighs aren’t pressed together tightly. The game keeps going, but your mind is still tangled in that look, his voice, the heat in your cheeks. Eventually, the game peters out into casual conversation, music growing a little louder again as people get distracted. Some are passing around a joint, others talking over one another, half-curled up on couches or the floor.

You laugh at someone’s joke. Sip from your cup. Try to shake it off. But you can still feel him, like his gaze hasn’t left you all night. After a while, you decide to get some air—or something to drink. Anything to ground yourself. You slip away from the group after a while, mumbling something about needing a drink. No one really notices. The kitchen is quieter, the thrum of music muffled through the walls. You open the fridge, grabbing the juice bottle and pouring it into a red plastic cup with shaky fingers. You don’t know why your hands are trembling. You blame the heat. The alcohol. Him. You’re halfway through your drink when you hear footsteps behind you. “You always run off when I show up.” You don’t have to turn to know it’s Jungwon. You stare down into your cup and exhale through your nose before speaking. “You’re not that important.” He scoffs from behind you. “Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m near you?” You spin, eyes narrowed. “Why are you even here? Are you following me now?” “I came for a drink,” he says, tone clipped. “Didn’t realize I’d find you hiding in here like a coward.” Your mouth drops open. “A coward?” “You heard me.” “You’re unbelievable,” you snap, setting your cup down harder than necessary. “You show up to everything I’m at, pick fights for no reason, and then act like I’m the problem.” “Maybe you are.” That stuns you into silence for a second. You blink at him, your chest tightening. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He steps closer, not quite yelling, but louder than you’ve ever heard him. “You act like nothing matters. Like you’re too good to care. But you do. You care so much it makes you fucking twitchy every time I walk into the room.” You laugh bitterly. “You’re projecting.” He doesn’t smile. “You act like you don’t see me. Like I’m not in the room unless you want someone to argue with. And the second I push back, you act like I’ve done something wrong.” “Because you’re mean,” you hiss. “You look at me like you hate me. You talk to me like you hate me.” “Maybe I do,” he says—fast, harsh.

The words hit like a slap. You stare at him. Something cracks under your ribs, and before you can stop it, you feel it—anger rushing up, quick and sharp and choking.“Then stay the fuck away from me.” You shove past him, shoulder catching his as you storm down the hall and up the stairs, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the music. You don’t stop until you’re in your friend’s room, door shut behind you, and you collapse on the bed. Your chest heaves. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold it together. You’re lying on your back, arms spread, staring blankly at the ceiling of your friend’s room. The pillow underneath you smells faintly like her perfume, soft and familiar, but it doesn’t help. You’re hot with frustration, and your chest still feels too tight. You’ve been up here for twenty minutes now, shoes kicked off, makeup probably smudged from pressing your hands over your face. You’re angry—at him, at yourself, at how everything with Jungwon always seems to spiral out of control. You don’t realize you’re about to fall asleep until you hear the knock. A soft, single tap on the door. Then a pause. And a quiet creak as it opens. You blink hard, sitting up just slightly. And of course—it’s him. Jungwon slips inside without asking, one hand still on the door like he’s giving you a chance to kick him out. You just stare, lips parted, unsure what to say. He closes it behind him. For a second, he just stands there, watching you.

Then, in that maddeningly even voice of his, he says, “I don’t actually hate you, you know.” You blink again. “Could’ve fooled me.” His mouth quirks. “You’re the only person I fight with like this.” “Wow. I feel special.” He walks closer, slow and steady, until he’s standing at the edge of the bed. Then he sits, not touching you, just leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You can feel the warmth of him, though his presence too loud in the quiet room. A beat passes. He turns his head to look at you, that unreadable glint in his eyes again. “You looked pissed earlier.” “You were yelling at me—” “You were yelling first.” You don’t know what to say. The silence stretches between you, thick with something neither of you wants to name. You’re perched at the edge of the bed now, knees brushing, and he’s just sitting there like he owns the room, like he’s not making your heart slam behind your ribs. “You’re quiet,” he says, voice low, amused. You glare, weakly. “You’re annoying.” He hums. “You’ve said that before.” “Because it’s true.” His lips twitch, barely hiding his smirk. “You always get so defensive when I get too close.” You freeze. He leans in a little—barely—but it’s enough to make you sit back slightly, even as your breath catches in your throat. “You act tough,” Jungwon murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth for just a second. “But you’re not. Not with me.” Your chest tightens. “You don’t know me.” “I know enough.” His voice dips. “I know you get shy when I touch you. I know you stare when you think I’m not looking. And I know,” he says, gaze holding yours like a challenge, “that there’s someone you’re trying really hard not to say.” Your breath stutters. He smiles, slow and dangerous. “Am I wrong?” You don’t answer, you can’t. Your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

He leans in and kisses you—finally, finally—and it’s not soft. It’s confident, cocky. His lips press to yours with just the right pressure, coaxing you to melt into him, and you do, before you even realize it. Your hands fumble to grab onto something—his sleeve, the bedsheets, anything to ground yourself as your head spins. Your lips part instinctively, and he deepens the kiss with a soft, satisfied groan against your mouth. It’s overwhelming and hot. Way too much and still not enough. He pulls back grinning—smug and gorgeous and utterly infuriating. “See?” he says quietly, breath brushing your lips. “Not so tough now, are you?” Your cheeks burn. You blink at him, lips tingling, heart thudding, completely thrown off by how effortlessly he’s unraveled you in seconds. “I—shut up,” you mumble, voice unsteady. He chuckles, and it’s low and knowing. “Didn’t think you’d get all shy on me. Kinda cute, though.” “Jungwon—“ “Yeah?” He leans closer again, his knee brushing yours, hand resting beside your thigh like he’s giving you the option to push him away. You don’t. You can’t. Your eyes flick to his mouth, just once, but he catches it immediately. The smirk returns. “You wanna kiss me again?” he asks, soft and smug and stupidly hot. You hesitate, only for a second, but it’s all he needs to see it on your face. The wanting. The need. His eyes darken. And then—it’s you who kisses him. Messy and urgent. Less about proving something and more about needing him. Your fingers tangle into the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer like you can’t stand another inch between you. He hums into it, pleased, letting you take control for just a second, but when he kisses you back, it’s rougher, deeper, like he’s been starving. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tips your head for a better angle, and you melt into him with a quiet whimper that makes him smirk against your lips. “Good girl,” he mutters when you break for air, forehead resting against his, your breath shaky and skin burning. You make a soft noise in response, and he grins like he owns you now. And maybe he does. because you already want more.

You kiss him again, quick and desperate. His mouth firmly moves against yours, savoring how soft you’ve gotten in his hands. You shift, trying to get closer, your legs brushing his—until you end up in his lap, straddling him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The moment you realize, your breath catches. Your hands freeze on his shoulders. But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t flinch. He just looks up at you with that unreadable gaze and runs his hands down your thighs, slow and confident. “Mmh” he hums, fingers tightening slightly. “Didn’t think you’d get this needy for me.” “I’m not—” you start, but your voice comes out breathy, weak, embarrassingly close to a whine. He smirks. “You sure? You kissed me twice.” Your cheeks burn. You try to avoid his gaze, but his hand finds your jaw, fingers tilting your face back toward him. His thumb brushes over your lower lip. “Say it,” he says softly. “Say you want me.” You shake your head, just barely. “I—Jungwon…” “Say it,” he repeats, his tone makes you squirm in his lap. “Be good for me.” Something in you crumbles. “…I want you,” you whisper, small and shaky. His grip on your waist tightens, and he pulls you down flush against him—just enough for you to feel the shape of him through his jeans. Your breath catches, and your hips stutter forward instinctively. “Oh?” he breathes out, grin turning sharper. “There’s my good girl.” You whimper. He kisses you again, rough, tongue slipping past your lips with an ease making your stomach flip. Your hands fist in his hoodie as your hips start to move on their own, grinding down against him through your clothes, desperate for friction, anything to ease the ache building in your core and he lets you. He hust watches you fall apart, his hands steady on your hips, guiding your movements lazily as he kisses the breath from your lungs.

“You’re soaked through.” he whispers against your mouth, voice thick. “All from kissing me?” You nod, helpless. “Thought you hated me,” he adds, dragging his lips down to your neck. “But you’re so fucking desperate, baby.” “W-Wonnie,” you breathe, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please…” He groans at the nickname as his dick twitches under you, his hips shifting up to meet yours. “You don’t get to act all mean with me anymore,” he murmurs, lips hot against your skin. “Not when you’re whimpering in my lap like this.” You let out a shaky moan, biting your lip, and he catches it with a kiss again, messy and deep and completely undoing you. Your hips rock forward again—slow at first, like you’re testing the waters, and then again, needier this time, like your body’s stopped listening to your brain altogether. “Fuck,” you whisper, jaw going slack as the friction hits just right. Your forehead drops to his shoulder, breath hot against his neck. Jungwon just exhales a quiet laugh, one hand trailing up your back beneath your shirt, warm against your spine. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs. “You like it, baby?” You nod fast. “Use your words, baby,” he says, voice almost amused. “Don’t go all quiet on me now.” You don’t mean to say it, not like this, not all breathy and fucked-out and vulnerable, but it tumbles out anyway, “W-Wonnie, please,” you whine, rolling your hips down again. “M’so wet…need you.” His grip on your waist tightens instantly. His head drops back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut for a beat as he groans. “Shit, you’re unreal,” he breathes, looking at you again, trying to memorize the exact way you look on top of him, all messy and needy and soft. “You’re fucking soaked, huh?” You nod again, face buried in his neck. “Feels s’good… need more.” you whisper, barely holding yourself together.

“I know you do,” he whispers, voice dark and coaxing. “My good girl’s been waiting for this, haven’t you?” Your hips stutter again, and a tiny moan escapes your lips. “You pretend so hard,” he goes on, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your neck, lazy and warm. “But the second I touch you like this, you just melt.” He guides you then—strong hands moving your hips in a rhythm that has you gasping, grinding down against the thick bulge in his jeans. His voice stays low, steady in your ear. “You like it when I take control, don’t you?” “Y-Yeah,” you admit in a whisper, trembling in his lap. Your head tips back as his lips trail along your neck, hot and open-mouthed, dragging a whimper out of you when he starts to suck at a spot just beneath your ear. He hums in satisfaction, lips latching on harder until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. Then his hands are under your shirt, impatient. You inhale sharply as he tugs it up, his fingers brushing your bare skin, making you shiver. “This okay?” he asks suddenly, voice low but serious. You nod. “Yes.” He pulls your shirt over your head and lets it fall somewhere on the floor. The cool air hits your bare chest for half a second before his hands are on you again—firm and warm. His thumbs swipe over the curve of your breasts before he leans in and wraps his mouth around one nipple, sucking slow and deep, tongue flicking against the sensitive peak. You gasp, your back arching, fingers threading through his hair.

“Mmm—Wonnie,” you breathe, voice breaking. His grip on your waist tightens. He switches to your other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention while his free hand moves to cup the one he just left, squeezing gently like he can’t get enough. When he finally pulls back, your chest is flushed, marked with faint red patches and the start of bruises. Then he dips down to your neck again, peppering kisses over your throat, your collarbones, and down the curve of your shoulder. “Gonna leave you covered,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, “So fucking pretty like this. All mine.” You moan softly when his hand trails lower, resting between your legs under the fabric of your skirt. He firmly presses his palm against your heat. You whimper at the friction, hips twitching. His eyes are dark when they meet yours again, and he smirks like he knows exactly how far gone you are “Need my fingers in you, baby?” he asks, rubbing slow circles over your clothed pussy. “Want me to stretch you out nice and slow?” “Please,” you whisper, almost shaking. He grins satisfied, hungry. “Good girl.” You let him slip your skirt off, hips lifting to help him, and then you’re left in just your underwear. He takes a second to look at you spread out for him, flushed and trembling, before leaning in to kiss you again. Your hands fumble at the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently, and he chuckles against your mouth. “Can’t wait, huh?” “Shut up,” you whine. But he obeys. He pulls away just long enough to strip it off, revealing his toned body, the lines of his stomach flexing as he tosses the shirt aside. Then he’s back on you, kissing you again like a starved man. And when his hand finally slips past the waistband of your underwear and touches you, you nearly sob.

He groans into your mouth when his fingers find how soaked you are—slick and warm and dripping for him. “Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his fingers through your folds slowly, teasing your clit with the lightest pressure that has you twitching under his touch. “All this for me? You can barely nod, whimpering as he circles your clit, lazy, torturous strokes that make your hips jerk up. You’re breathing hard, face flushed, and your hands clutch at his shoulders, his hair, anything to anchor you while he keeps pushing you higher with maddening patience. Then without warning, he pulls your panties to the side and slides two fingers into you, slow and deliberate. You choke on a moan, your entire body going tense for a second before melting into the sensation. “W-Wonnie—” your voice breaks on his name, thighs shaking as he starts to move them, curling just right. He watches your face as he pumps his fingers in and out, finding that spot that makes you gasp and clench around him. “Gripping me so good, baby. Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, hm?” His tone is low and thick with lust. Your hips move on instinct, chasing his fingers, chasing the high he’s building inside you. And all the while, his mouth is on your chest again—hot, wet kisses trailing across your skin as he sucks your nipples, one after the other, his free hand squeezing your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. It’s too much. It’s perfect. It’s everything. Your head falls back, lips parted in a soft cry. “Feels so good—don’t stop—please don’t stop…”

He chuckles against your skin, fingers curling just right again, dragging another broken moan from your throat. “Not gonna stop, baby. Not when you’re being so fucking good for me.” His thumb joins in, rubbing slow, tight circles over your clit while his fingers keep thrusting deep inside you. Your legs tremble, your body clenching around him. “W-Wonnie, I—I think—” You can’t finish. You can’t even think. Everything’s too much, building fast, burning hot behind your eyes. He kisses your throat, voice ragged. “Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby? Show me how bad you need it.” He picks up the pace, precise and relentless, and the pleasure finally crashes over you—white-hot and all-consuming. You cry out, legs trembling around him as your orgasm hits, soaking his fingers as you clamp down hard around him. He works you through it, soft praises in your ear, “That’s it, baby, that’s my girl… fuck, you’re perfect…”—until your body finally relaxes, slumping into his chest, breathless and buzzing. But the need doesn’t fade. If anything, it gets worse. Your hand drifts down, slow and uncertain, until your palm presses over the thick bulge in his sweatpants. He sucks in a breath, hips twitching at the contact. You look up at him through your lashes, eyes wide and glassy, still dazed from your orgasm. “Please, Wonnie…” you whisper, fingers curling slightly over him, rubbing just enough to make him hiss. “Want you in me. Pretty please…”

His jaw clenches, and for a second he just stares at you—like he’s trying to hold himself together, like he’s fighting every instinct not to just take you right then and there. Then he groans, low and wrecked, and leans down to kiss you hard. “You’re killing me,” he mutters against your lips, voice rough. “You know that?” You nod, breath hitching. “Need you.” That’s all it takes. In the next second, he flips you over gently, laying you flat on your back. The shift knocks the air from your lungs, you barely have time to gasp before he’s on top of you, kissing down your body with open-mouthed, desperate kisses, like he can’t get enough of you. Your panties are the first to go, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and slowly drags them down your thighs, eyes drinking in every inch of skin he reveals. “So fucking pretty,” he breathes, mostly to himself. “All this just for me.” Then he sits back just long enough to strip for you, tugging his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion. His cock springs free, flushed and hard and leaking, and your breath catches. You don’t even realize you’re staring until his voice cuts through the haze. “You ready for me, baby?” he asks softly, climbing back between your legs, hand stroking himself slowly. You nod, legs parting instinctively. “Please,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Need to feel you.” He leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, sweet—and positions himself at your entrance, one hand steady on your thigh. “I got you, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

He pushes in slow, agonizingly slow, giving you every inch, every second to feel him stretch you open. The burn makes your breath catch, and your fingers clutch at the sheets beside you, back arching as he sinks deeper. “F-Fuck,” he breathes, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. “You’re so tight, baby… fuck, you’re perfect.” Your walls flutter around him, trying to adjust, and he stills once he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush to yours. One hand strokes over your thigh, soft and grounding, while the other settles against your waist, holding you like you might disappear. “You okay?” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours. You nod fast, already trembling beneath him, lips parted, eyes glassy. “Y-Yeah… just—feels so full.” He leans in and kisses you, slow, deep, and tender. Not teasing this time, not smug. His hips start to move in slow, shallow thrusts, easing you into the rhythm. Every drag of him inside you makes your body shiver, your breath coming in short, broken pants. He groans quietly against your mouth with each roll of his hips, savoring the way you cling to him. “You feel so good, baby,” he murmurs between kisses, voice low and wrecked. “Taking me so well.” Your fingers thread through his hair again, pulling him closer, clinging. “Wonnie…” you breathe, completely undone. “You feel so good…”He picks up the pace just slightly, the sound of skin on skin soft but filthy in the quiet room. His hands caress your thighs, your hips, your waist—anywhere he can touch, needing to feel every part of you under him. “Wanted you like this for so long,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “Always acting like you hate me… but you’re mine now, yeah?”

You moan, nodding helplessly. “Y-Yeah—‘m yours, Wonnie…” His rhythm stutters for a second at that, a quiet growl rumbling in his throat. He kisses you again, harder, hips rocking into yours with a little more force. “Say it again,” he murmurs, voice tight. “I’m yours,” you whimper, clinging to him. His hand slips under your back, holding you tighter as he buries himself in you again, hitting just right. You cry out, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure builds all over again. And above you, Jungwon just watches—drunk on you, completely wrecked, and totally, hopelessly in love. He keeps moving inside you, steady and deep, dragging soft whimpers and breathy moans from your lips every time his hips press into yours. The way he’s looking at you—like he’s obsessed, like he can’t believe you’re real—makes your heart ache in the best way. “You’re doing so good f’me,” he murmurs, hips rolling in a perfect rhythm. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, trying to keep him close, but the pressure’s building again, hot and tight and overwhelming, and he can tell. Your walls flutter around him, and he groans into your neck, breath ragged. You’re gonna cum again f’me?” he pants, thrusts getting a little rougher now. “Shit… you’re close, baby?” You nod, completely breathless. “Y-Yeah, ‘m close—please, don’t stop—” “I won’t,” he promises, kissing your cheek as his hips slam into yours. “Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Wanna feel you squeeze me again.” You fall apart a moment later, legs trembling, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes through you. You sob his name, eyes wet and hazy, and he fucks you through it—deep, slow thrusts that make the pleasure stretch out endlessly.

He groans, hips stuttering, and presses his forehead to your shoulder, voice tight. “Fuck—you feel so good when you cum…” And then, before you can fully catch your breath, he pulls out. “J-Jungwon?” you gasp, blinking up at him, dazed. “Turn over for me,” he pants, eyes dark and wild. You obey instantly, shaky limbs moving to prop yourself up on your elbows, your chest against the sheets and your ass in the air for him. You don’t even have time to feel embarrassed. “Fuck… look at you,” he murmurs, running his hands down your back to your hips. “God, you’re perfect like this.” You let out a tiny moan, hips shifting instinctively, and then he’s back inside you—deeper this time, the angle making you cry out. He gives you a second to adjust before he starts to move again, hands gripping your waist, his thighs smacking against the backs of yours with every thrust. You bury your face into the sheets, moaning with every stroke. “Wonnie—f-fuck! it’s so deep—s’too much.” “I know,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts, your ass bouncing back against him with each thrust. “You’re taking it so fucking well.” His hand slides up your spine, pressing down gently between your shoulder blades until your back arches more, hips tilted perfectly for him. The new angle makes you sob. “Oh my god—Jungwon—please—” He groans at the sound of your voice, snapping his hips harder, faster now. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.” You can barely think, barely breathe—just the sound of his skin against yours, your gasps and his low, broken groans echoing through the room.

He leans over you, one hand tangled in your hair as he presses kisses along your shoulder. “I could fuck you like this forever,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You were made for me.” You nod frantically, tears in your eyes from how good it feels. “Y-Yeah—made for you, Wonnie—only you…” He grins, wicked and breathless, hips still slamming into you. “Good fucking girl.” He pulls you enough to drag your trembling body flush against his chest. You whimper as he presses his chest to your spine, his other arm wrapping around your waist, holding you there, completely under his control as he thrusts up into you with deep, punishing strokes. “Fuck,” he breathes against your ear, voice shaking. “You feel so good—can’t get enough of you—” He buries his face in your neck, groaning raggedly as he pounds into you. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.” The words hit you like a wave—raw and unexpected, spoken like he’s been holding them in for far too long, and something inside you just breaks. Your breath catches, eyes stinging with tears. “W-Wonnie…” your voice cracks as you cry out, overwhelmed. “I—I love you too. So much.” His rhythm falters for a beat at the sound of your voice breaking, at the way your body shakes beneath his, but then he holds you tighter, hips snapping harder. “That’s it, baby—say it again,” he pants, thrusting deep and slow now, grinding against your sweet spot with every movement. “Say it for me.” “I love you,” you sob, head dropping back against his shoulder as the pleasure builds into something devastating. “Love you so much, Jungwon—fuck—” And then you break. Your whole body seizes, legs shaking uncontrollably as you cry out his name, and you squirt, unexpectedly, violently, soaking both of you.

Your thighs tremble around him, your entire body going limp in his arms as pleasure crashes over you in a wave so intense it makes your vision go white. “Holy fuck,” Jungwon groans, stunned, still holding you close as your release coats his thighs and stomach, soaking the sheets below. “You’re so fucking unreal—look at what I do to you…” You’re still shaking when he pulls out with a curse, jerking himself quickly with one hand while keeping the other around your waist to hold you upright. “Fuck—gonna cum—gonna cum all over you, baby—” And then he does, hot and thick and messy, spilling across your ass and the small of your back with a sharp groan. He pants your name like a prayer as his hips twitch forward once more, squeezing your waist as he rides it out. After a few seconds, the room goes quiet. Just your shaky breaths and his heart racing against your back. He leans forward and presses soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder, your spine, your neck. “You okay?” he whispers, breath still ragged. You nod, face buried in the pillow, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you murmur, voice hoarse but full of warmth. “More than okay.” He kisses your shoulder one last time before pulling back, still breathless, still smiling like you’ve ruined him in the best possible way. Then he lets out a small laugh, eyes scanning the room and the obvious mess you two have made, “Shit,” he murmurs. “We really did that in her bed.”

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