hesitation — part four. (m)
pairing: yang jungwon x reader
genre: university au, smut
word count: 6.8k
warnings: smut (mdni), swearing, age gap (jungwon is 3 years younger than the reader), a mirror, the word noona makes an appearance again
note: Hesitation jungwon aka the gift that keeps on giving. This is very smutty very sweet VERY intimate and very, in my opinion, them. You can read this alone but the other parts add context! For the timeline, I’d say this comes after part 2 but before part 3 (aka they haven’t had the Relationship Talk yet). AND finally shoutout to the hesitation girlies who come to my inbox and my comments to tell me all about your hesitation jungwon thoughts. You guys are the reason why I keep writing more for him and I love you. This one is for YOU. Enjoy!!
masterlist | part one | part two | part three
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
As with most things in your life, when it comes to your morning routine, you’re rather particular. And that’s the nice way of putting it. If you weren’t being considerate, you’d label it something more along the lines of: obsessive. Type A to a fault.
You know exactly where all of your favorite products have been tucked away into their rightful places on your vanity. You’ve trialed three different lightbulb temperatures just to find the one that gives you the best morning glow, and now you keep a stock of spares just for the lamp you do your makeup under every morning.
You know the exact order of your skincare routine—morning and evening, because they are different—and the makeup that follows. Hell, you even have a rotation of playlists that match every possible mood you could wake up with.
Such attention to detail, such specificity, simply cannot be transported. After all, there’s only enough space in your travel bag for one shade of blush, and what if you decide the next day that plum would suit you better than the peach color you decided to pack? It’s just too risky. Which is why you always make sure you wake up at home.
Well, almost always. Whatever dark magic Jungwon can apparently wield with his eyes and a solid three minutes of begging is all it takes to crumble your resolve and your well kept routine, apparently.
At least, you suppose, he can entertain himself well enough while you debate lip gloss shades.
You’ve known guys before that got… weird whenever you got ready in their vicinity. As if mere proximity to mascara would threaten their thinly shielded masculinity or whatever they wanted to call it. As if something about you putting effort into your appearance rubbed them the wrong way.
Jungwon, for all his faults and flaws, just melts back against his pillows wordlessly, scrolling through his phone and casting occasional comments in your direction whenever something particularly absurd crosses his feed.
For the last twenty-odd minutes, he’s been happy to do it. Content. You’ve received exactly zero impatient huffs or snide comments about how long you’re taking.
In fact, the second he saw you covertly pull out your makeup bag after waking up on your side of his bed this morning, Jungwon didn’t say much of anything. He just swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded over to his desk across the room. You watched, brow furrowed in confusion, as he reached wordlessly into the bottom drawer.
“Here,” he turned to you, an easy smile like the gesture was nothing out of the ordinary. “I thought you might feel kind of awkward getting ready in the bathroom since Sunoo shares it, too.” His roommate isn’t here now, but that’s not the point. Jungwon nods back towards his desk, towards the object he’s just placed on it. Then, as if it explains everything, he adds, “This had good reviews.”
For a moment, all you can do is look at him, trying not to let your jaw fall open in shock. And then at the perfectly sized, round, tabletop mirror he’s just placed gently on the middle of his bedroom desk.
“Oh,” he adds a moment later, tone still casual. “I almost forgot.” All you can do is watch as he reaches around to the back, flipping a tiny switch that has the perimeter of the mirror lightning up with warm-toned LEDs. “You can change the light, too, if you don’t like this one.” He demonstrates by flicking the switch again, and the lights obey his command, shifting to a cooler shade. “I think there are maybe five or so options.”
You think of the last boy you let waste your time, the way he groaned every time you asked for five minutes to freshen up before heading out to dinner. You think of every other boy before that, all of which you’re sure would never even think to do something so considerate.
You’ve never said anything to Jungwon, after all, not about your morning routine or your dedication to it. You’ve never once mentioned your apprehension about waking up somewhere that isn’t your own apartment.
He just… noticed. Thought you might appreciate having your own little space in his room to call yours. A peaceful place to gather your thoughts and put yourself together for the day.
Like he knew there would come a day when waking up in his room became routine instead of a once-off. Like he hoped for it and made all the necessary arrangements.
“I…” you trail off, lost for words. The gesture, however simple it may seem to him, isn’t lost on you. “You bought that for me?”
“Yeah,” Jungwon shrugs. Smiles again like it’s easy, like reading your needs and anticipating your wants is all just second nature to him. But then, he frowns. “Why? Do you not like it? You can still use the bathroom if you want. I just thought—”
“Jungwon,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s perfect. I… Thank you,” you finally tell him, because you’re not sure what else to say. Because you’re afraid that if you think about it too long, you might actually get emotional.
Ridiculous, you tell yourself. He’s probably just had other girlfriends that liked something similar, you think.
But the thought, the gratitude, the slight discomfort of realizing just how completely and fully you’ve been seen, lingers. Even now, twenty minutes later, after you’ve finished two thirds of your routine and have discovered that light setting number three is your favorite, the sentiment still rings true.
Jungwon’s thoughtfulness is something you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get used to. Even now, after almost two months of whatever the hell this is between the two of you, he finds new ways to catch you off guard.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into? You can’t help but sneak glances back at him through the mirror, just to make sure he’s really there. That all of this isn’t some wild, wine-induced stress dream you’ve been hallucinating since that day in the parking lot.
But every time you look back, he’s still there. More solid and real than any figment of your imagination could ever be.
You’re not quite sure when it happens—somewhere between concealer and setting powder, maybe—but eventually, Jungwon starts to lose interest in his algorithm. The next time you glance back at him, your eyes meet his in the mirror.
He’s still sprawled out across the sheets, propped up with his elbows against the pillows under him, but the sharpness in his gaze, the focus, is unmistakable where it lands right on you.
Doing your best to ignore the second set of eyes on you, you shift slightly against the solid surface of his desk chair. A mistake, and one that you pay for dearly.
Adjusting your hips again, you do your best to keep your expression neutral, your reaction tethered. But it’s nearly impossible.
You’re sore, sensitive. It might have taken him longer than you expected to touch you that handful of weeks ago, but now that the boundary has been crossed, it seems to be all you two do these days. In plain terms, Jungwon has decided that rearranging your guts on the regular is his new favorite hobby, and it’s like this every time. Every morning after. You swear you can still feel him, everywhere where he was inside of you, for days.
Behind you, Jungwon tilts his head, considering. His eyes narrow slightly, and it really shouldn’t have you squirming the way it does, but it isn’t your fault.
He’s wearing that same damn fitted black t-shirt he picked you up from your apartment in last night. The one that makes you think all the gym selfies he sends you aren’t just for show.
You hear the rustle of sheets as he sits up in bed behind you, eyes meeting yours in the reflection as you dust a thin layer of your favorite blush over your cheekbones. His gaze narrows in on the movement of your right hand.
He has that look in his eyes, the one he gets when you well and truly have his full focus. It makes you want to flush for reasons entirely unrelated to the makeup you’re currently applying.
Phone forgotten on the bed next to him, Jungwon just watches. Eyes focused, gaze open. For another long minute, until—
“That’s blush, right?” he finally asks.
Your eyes flicker to his in the mirror. You nod, return to your makeup. Pretend you don’t feel the weight of his stare.
Behind you, Jungwon hums. Leaning forward, his elbows come to rest on his knees, his chin in his palm. You can still feel his eyes on you in the reflection of the mirror.
“I like it,” he murmurs. “It’s pretty. Makes you look…” he trails off.
“Alive?” you offer, something slightly sarcastic and self-deprecating there, too. To lighten it, you add, teasing, “Radiant? Glowing?”
Despite the easy cadence in your tone, Jungwon’s gaze doesn’t soften. “You could call it that,” he concedes.
“What?” This time, the mirror isn’t enough. You turn back halfway, glancing at him, the real him, over your shoulder.
Jungwon just shakes his head. “I don’t think you want me to tell you,” he warns, something edging into his voice even as he treads with caution.
You don’t think he means anything by it, but the familiar shadow of insecurity begins to bite at your heels regardless. Does he think it’s too much? Has he, like every other boy, been annoyed this whole time? Is he waiting for you to finally finish so he can kick you out and move on to the rest of his day?
It’s a Saturday, so you’re sure he doesn’t have classes. But he could have plans, you suppose. Friends to meet. A girl, even. Maybe you’re imposing without even meaning to.
As if he can sense your spiraling, Jungwon offers you an out. “You really want to know?”
Do you? You haven’t entirely decided, but you watch from your periphery as your reflection nods anyway.
Jungwon exhales, eyes falling from yours to trace the curve of your cheekbone, the length of your neck. “You always get like that, all pretty and flushed, whenever we’re…”
He trails off, lets the silence and the slight smirk that tugs at his lips fill in all the blank spaces for you.
Oh. Oh.
He’s not trying to kick you out or insinuate anything about your makeup. Well, anything other than the fact that it reminds him of the previous night, that it.
You’re sure he’s right, too. Despite the chill in the air, the lingering remnants of winter, you had been positively sweltering last night.
It wasn’t your fault. It was just that by the time Jungwon’s hand started tracing patterns against the curve of your hip, already spent and slightly sticky in the afterglow of the previous two times he’d had his way with you, your skin was starting to warm.
Heat built and had nowhere to go but across your cheeks, down your neck, as he rolled you beneath him under the cover of his surprisingly soft duvet.
The third time in the span of hours, there was nothing frantic about the way he touched you, about the way he covered your body completely with his, scattering sweet nothings against your jaw while you sighed beneath him, hands pressed flush to his chest.
He was gentle inside you this time, a contrast to the rapid build from before when he had you on your stomach, chest pressed tight to your spine.
But it was deeper this time. Slower, warmer. Like he wanted to make sure you would still feel him on you, in you, the next morning. Both of you had been wrung dry from every earlier orgasm and he had nothing left to give you but the feeling of heated skin against yours.
He was quieter this time, too. As if the words had been stolen right from his mouth and the only thing left to drip from his swollen lips were sighs. Whines as he came close to his own undoing for the third time.
Above you, Jungwon was no better. The heat surrounded him too, consumed him as his nose brushed against yours, lips touching but only to trade whimpers that melted into lazy, wet kisses.
You could see it, when he finally found the words to beg you to open your eyes, to look at him, the deep, pink flush that had begun to spread across his familiar features, down the expanse of his broad chest.
You followed the color’s path as far as your eyes would take you, but there wasn’t much to give. His hand slipped into the space between your body and the bedsheets, where sweat had begun to gather at the base of your spine, as he pulled you closer to him. Suddenly, there was no room in your mind for anything but the way he started whining as the angle shifted. Deepened.
You had nowhere to look but his eyes, even when he brought you back to that familiar edge, shuddering around him as your body slackened in his grip.
Warm. It was so warm, too warm, and the water he offered you after felt like an oasis in the desert.
Now, the morning after, sat at his desk with your makeup brush limp in your hand, memory serves you well and has another spark of heat dancing under your skin.
“Jungwon,” you whine. To spur his actions or put them to rest, it’s difficult to be sure.
He doesn’t seem to mind either way. And now he’s thinking about it too. Expression unreadable, the only offered glimpse into his thoughts comes from the heat in his eyes as he stands from his seat on the bed.
As he walks, slowly but surely, until he’s standing just behind you.
“Come on,” he urges, one hand falling to your shoulder, fingers splaying over the collarbone that’s been left bare by the thin straps of your sleep shirt. Gentle, but commanding. “Up.”
You stand, and he takes advantage of the newly afforded space by sliding down into the chair you’d been occupying only moments ago.
Then, he pulls you back down, this time onto his lap. If you were squirming before on just the surface of his desk chair, you’re positively restless now.
Jungwon is warm beneath you, around you, another reminder of last night. His skin heats where it presses against yours. You sigh, relaxing back into his hold, his touch, even now.
One of his hands comes to curve around your chin. Angling it to his liking, he guides you to meet your own gaze in the mirror’s reflection.
“See?” He whispers, words lost somewhere along the shell of your ear. “So flushed already. So pretty.”
“That’s the makeup,” you try to defend.
“No, sweet girl,” Jungwon shakes his head. “That’s all you.” And then, because he hasn’t had his fill of you yet, not anywhere near it, he instructs, “Watch.”
Eyes locked on the mirror, you jolt in his hold as his other hand traces its way across your shoulder, skimming your bare arm, all the way until his fingertips brush against yours. He interlaces them, your hand in his.
Quietly, he presses a kiss to the side of your throat. And then he drags your joined hands across your upper thigh, all the way until they rest just between them.
There’s no pressure, no friction. Nothing but the promise of both that has you sighing a long exhale as you squirm in his lap again.
In the mirror, his eyes meet yours.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. In the light of morning, the urgency of the evening stripped away, it feels rawer than ever. His nose drags along the column of your throat, the sensation sparking a shudder that spans the length of your spine. “And you smell so sweet.”
The truth of your own reflection suddenly feels like too much to bear. It’s so much, it’s too much, and you try to avert your gaze but Jungwon’s hand against your chin keeps it steady.
“Jungwon,” you whine. In protest or encouragement, you’re not entirely sure. But if his goal was to have you flushed, then he’s more than succeeded it.
He doesn’t take pity on you. Instead, he presses another kiss against you, this one to the top of your shoulder. Then, he gently disentangles your fingers. Free from restraint, his hand dips lower, searching, testing.
Finally, it comes to rest against you, just hovering. Hesitating.
“This okay?” he asks.
Already clenching around nothing but the reminders of last night and the promise of what will follow, all you can do is nod. Your own glassy, wide-eyed gaze follows the motion in the mirror.
“Good,” Jungwon hums in approval. Then, testing the waters, he tries, “good girl.” You shudder again, and this time it comes from even deeper. His smile sharpens. “Want you to watch.”
But Jungwon doesn’t direct your eyes to where his hands starts to work at you through layers of clothing. Instead, he keeps your chin angled towards the mirror, eyes on your own reflection.
You do as he requests. You watch, lips parting as he zeroes in on the right pressure almost immediately, the exact spot that gets you squirming even through your sleep shorts. It’s insane, how after only a couple of short months, a handful of nights like this, he’s already learned how to unravel you in the span of seconds.
Eyelids fluttering, your hips start to shift on their own accord in a rhythm that compliments his perfectly. Already lost to sensation, the next sound from your throat is a whimper. Long, drawn out, far too helpless for what he’s done so far. Jungwon zeroes in on it immediately.
“You’re sensitive,” he notes, something akin to wonder in his voice. Like he’s just discovered his new favorite thing. “I just started and you sound like that?” This time, it’s him that shudders against you. “Fuck.”
He’s right. You are sensitive. It’s different like this, sat in his lap, forced to watch your own expression twisting in the mirror. His touch from last night lingers like a promise and the more insistent his fingers become against you, the more antsy you get.
“Jungwon,” you whine again.
“Shh,” he hushes. “It’s okay.” And then, considering, “You’re not done yet, right?”
“Done?” You echo.
“With your makeup.”
You’re not. But sat in his lap, it’s the last thing on your mind. Perfect routine be damned, the only thing you’re thinking about now is having his hands on you. “I just have mascara left.”
Jungwon hums, fingers still working against you, but the pressure is different now. Slower, less deliberate. And then he stops completely, hand just resting where you want him most.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“Jungwon,” you start, already thinking of a million excuses.
But he won’t hear them. “Come on,” he encourages, nose finding your throat again. In the mirror, you watch as he traces a line from the dip above your collarbone all the way to the hollow just beneath your jaw. Against your earlobe, he whispers, “Wanna watch.”
At this point, you’ve been in his bed more times than you could count on both hands, and he’s found his way into yours even more. But nothing, you think, has ever felt quite so intimate as the weight of his gaze when you acquiesce, reaching for the tube of mascara at the bottom of your makeup bag.
Jungwon’s hand leaves your jaw, brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before it comes to rest at the base of your throat, thumb stroking gentle patterns just over your pulse point.
His other hand leaves the space between your thighs completely as his fingers find your opposite hip, arm splayed low across your stomach.
The attention, the pure, unrestrained need in his gaze is evidence enough, but you can’t help but shift your hips slightly, just to be sure. The motion confirms your suspicions. He’s hard beneath you, painfully so. But the only response your movement gets is a heavy exhale.
With his arm low on your waist, Jungwon keeps you there, pressed against him. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, eyes raking over your features in the mirror.
Pulling the wand from the tube, you lean forward slightly, craning your neck for a better angle. Pausing, you ask, “Why do you want me to finish my makeup? You’re just gonna ruin it, anyway.”
It’s almost instantaneous, the way you feel him twitch beneath you at your words.
“I’m not,” he shakes his head, even as his hips press more firmly against you. “I’ll be good, I promise.” And then, eyes locked on yours, he swears, “I’ll take care of you.”
You know better than to believe it, but resistance is a losing game where Jungwon is concerned. Cheeks warm, skin sensitive everywhere his touch lingers, you meet your own gaze in the mirror, eyelids fluttering as you swipe a generous layer of mascara through your lashes.
“There,” you tell him, replacing the wand in the tube and setting it back in your makeup bag. “All done.”
“What about that?” he asks, nodding towards the tube of lip gloss you’d set on his desk earlier.
“Lip gloss?” You frown. Even if he manages to leave your mascara intact, you’re sure there’s no way lip gloss will survive.
Jungwon doesn’t seem to have the same worries. Instead, he lets his hand fall away from your throat, reaching for the small, pink tube instead. Twisting it between his fingers for a moment, his eyes find yours in the mirror.
“Can I?” he asks.
The insinuation is obvious, but the question still catches you off guard. Has another flush of heat staining your cheeks.
Afraid words won’t quite come out the way you want them to, you nod your permission instead.
Jungwon smiles, presses another small kiss to the side of your throat. Then, he requests, “Turn around for me, angel.”
Slowly, reluctant to leave the warmth of his embrace for even a moment, you stand. Above him, your gaze locks on his eyes, his eyelids dropping, gaze heavy lidded as it rakes over your features again.
His hand wraps around you, finds the small of your back, fingers dipping dangerously low against the base of your spine.
“Come here,” he pleads, voice low as he pulls you back into his lap. This time, you’re facing him, legs splayed on either side as you sit across his thighs.
Hand reaching up, his fingers once again smooth hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ears.
Behind you, his hand finds the tiny strip of skin between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your shorts. Thumb tracing it, he lingers for a moment before he starts to tease just beneath the fabric of your top. Skin against skin, as he traces the space around your spine.
Unwilling to break contact for even a moment, Jungwon uses his other hand to hold up your tube of lip gloss. “Help me?” he requests.
Taking it from him, you twist the wand away from the tube before placing it back in his outstretched hand.
With the focus of an artist and the touch of a lover, Jungwon leans forward, eyes narrowed in concentration as he brings the gloss to your lips. Slowly, he wipes a thin layer across your bottom lip. Pauses before doing the same to the top.
In his lap, you hold as still as possible, hardly daring even to breathe as he puts the finishing touches on his work.
Satisfied, Jungwon leans back again. Wordlessly, he hands you both pieces of your lip gloss again, quiet as you twist the lid back into place. Then, he reaches behind you to place it back on the desk.
“There,” he whispers, eyes finding yours. “There’s my pretty girl.”
You must be insane, must well and truly be under some kind of spell, because it feels only natural when you offer him a small smile and a quiet, “Only for you.”
Your confession seems to spark something in him, as if his affections need more encouragement. True to his word, he steers clear of the work you’ve just finished when he leans in once again.
Instead, his lips come back to your throat, this time with more insistence than the lazy, sparse kisses he pressed against you earlier.
“Yeah?” he asks, mouth still on your skin, tongue just beginning to trace the same path as his lips. There’s an edge to his voice now, a veiled layer of restraint that becomes thinner with each passing second. “My noona likes getting all pretty for me?”
You nod, suddenly shy even as his mouth moves against your neck with more insistence, teeth scraping over the skin he covers with wet kisses, sighing as your hands splay against his chest, tangle in the hair that falls just over his nape. “I like it when you call me that,” you admit. Bravery comes easier like this. In his lap, without the weight of his eyes on you. “When you tell me I’m pretty.”
“Yeah?” He hums against you, vibrations singing somewhere deep. In the mix of it all, your hips start to move again, encouraged by the hand on your back that’s begun to trail further up the length of your spine. “I’ll have to do it more, then,” he vows. “I’ll tell you every day. The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Fuck,” he swears as your hips find him again, just as hard and wanting as he was with your eyes on the mirror. “Still can’t believe you let me touch you like this.”
There’s wonder in his voice as he says it, like the way he unravels you down to your barest self is a gift, a blessing he’ll atone and beg and worship for as long as you’ll let him, in all the ways you ask for.
“Jungwon,” you whine, because you’re not sure what else to say, because the sensation of his lips on your neck and his body beneath you is enough to reduce you to little more than whimpers. Because you already know it won’t be enough.
He looks up at you then, hips moving with yours even as he tries to put all his attention on your words.
With his eyes on you, you know the battle is already half lost. Even if it’s hard to admit, even if you feel like you’ll never be able to say it out loud, you know exactly what you want from him.
For now, you’ll settle with one thing at a time.
So despite your earlier efforts and the mirror he bought just for you, you plead with him, “Kiss me.”
A flash of something agonized flashes through his gaze, brow slackening as he works you over his lap. He wants it, he does, but he’s trying so hard to be good. “But I promised—“
“Please,” you beg. You can’t tell where it comes from, but it sings with something honest when you admit, “I need it.”
I need you. You don’t say it, but the words linger in the air all the same.
That does it. Jungwon is a man of his word, but the sight of you, eyelids fluttering as your hips struggle to find a rhythm with his through your layers of clothing, sitting in his lap, flushed and begging, is enough to undo any remaining knots of resistance.
His hand finds your jaw, cradling it before he pulls you down to him, lips hungry against yours. His hips roll with you, catching against a spot that has you moaning into his mouth, the tiny sound half stuck in your throat.
He swallows it down like a man starved, his answering groan pulling from somewhere deep.
Breaking for air, Jungwon pulls away, gaze heavy lidded where it finds yours, the rise and fall of his chest rapid beneath your splayed palms.
His lips are covered with the sheer, sweet flavored sheen of your favorite lip gloss. Thumb coming to his mouth, you watch his lips part beneath your touch, pliant under you as you wipe away the excess.
His own eyes land on the evidence of ruin on your own lips, mouth messy in the aftermath of his actions.
Something in him flares, deep and possessive, at being the only one that gets to have you like this, see you like this. At being the only man allowed to put your lip gloss on for you and ruin it in the same breath.
He’s already hard, painfully so where he strains in his sweatpants beneath you. But the thoughts that rush through his mind—a more or less coherent chant of something that begins and ends with mine, mine, mine—is enough to have him desperate for more.
Lucky for him, you’re on the same page. Hand coming to curve around the back of his neck, threading through the thick, dark hair that lies just above it, you press your forehead to his. Your hips begin to move again, slower this time, with more intention.
Jungwon thinks you must be trying to send him to an early grave when you bend, press your forehead against him, and whisper, “I can still feel you inside me.”
“Fuck.” It’s hardly a response, but he doesn’t have any more dignified words to give you as he twitches in his boxers.
He must be the luckiest man on the planet, he’s sure, to have had you three times in the previous night alone. To hold you in his lap now, sensitive and swollen and begging for it all over again.
You’re so good, he thinks. So sweet, so fucking perfect. And he still can’t believe that it’s all for him, just for him.
He knows you’re sensitive, can feel it in the way you jolt in his hold when he finally gets you out of your sleep shorts. When his hand comes to press up beneath the front of your skimpy little top, curving around your chest and nearly losing his mind at the way you whine into his mouth when he rolls his thumb against you.
You’re so responsive. It sends his mind reeling.
Jungwon isn’t entirely sure about your past relationships or the extent of your experience. You haven’t brought it up and he hasn’t pushed even when his own masochistic curiosity threatens to get the best of him. Logically, he knows that it’s normal, that you're both adults and it’s expected, but the thought of anyone that isn't him ever getting to see you like this, touch you like this, lights a neon green flare of jealousy in him like nothing ever has.
He does his best not to make it your problem, but when he has you like this, part of him sets with the determination to erase any touch that’s ever come before him.
It flares now, as his fingers meet you where you're most sensitive. He’s rewarded as your lips go slack against his mouth, unable to keep up with the deep, slow pace he’s set as pleasure begins to wipe your mind.
A wave of self-satisfaction crests through him at your response, at the breathy little moan you sigh into his mouth.
But Jungwon’s the one who starts to lose his grip on coherent thought when he feels your hand start to trace the skin about his waistband, dipping beneath it.
“Want you,” you plead against his lips.
Jungwon screws his eyes shut, twitching against your touch.
“Have me,” he finally manages, thumb stroking along your jaw as his nose brushes yours. He means it. He’ll give you anything you ask for. He’ll hope, desperately, that it’s enough. “Take what you need.”
It’s warm, so fucking warm, just like it was last night. Jungwon’s box of condoms gathers dust in his bedside table, forgotten at this point. You whimper, exhale breathy as you sink down onto him, and he presses his forehead against yours.
It’s intense for you, he can tell as he feels you tense around him, even more so than usual. From a combination of things, he suspects—the angle, the moment, the lingering reminders of the previous night.
You’re so sensitive, so worked up already, practically shaking in his lap as he holds you still, flush to his chest as you adjust.
Pressing a kiss against your overly warm forehead, your eyelid, Jungwon asks, still trying to maintain a steady grip on his own sanity, “You okay?”
It takes a moment for your response to come, but when it does, you nod. “Yeah,” you assure him, voice airy, strained as your breath becomes shallow in your chest. “It just,” your brow creases and his jaw tightens, trying not to lose his last threads of coherence when he feels you clench around him, “feels different like this. I’ve never…”
You trail off, and Jungwon’s brain is still working a beat behind the rest of him. It takes him a moment, longer than it should, to put the pieces together.
“You’ve never…” he also loses his train of thought for a minute, trying to find words that don’t burn with vulgarity. Eventually, he settles with, “been on top?”
The flush is back, spreading rapidly across your cheekbones and threatening to spill down your throat, dip beneath your neckline. Jungwon wants to follow it with his eyes and then his touch. His mouth, even, if he’s lucky.
You’re so shy. He wants to coo at you, to pull you to his chest and baby you like a skittish kitten.
“No,” you eventually manage, voice small. You duck your chin like you want to hide from him. So sweet, he thinks. Buried to the hilt and you still won’t look him in the eye when you admit quietly, “Not like this.”
But then, the gravity, the implication, of your words well and truly settles.
This time, it’s Jungwon that twitches involuntarily inside you where you still sit motionless, flush to his lap. The sudden sensation has you shifting, whimpering in response.
And Jungwon… Jungwon is doing his very best not to let his thoughts play out across his features. He’s not sure what would happen if you knew, if you had any idea what knowing that he’s the first man to ever have you like this, is doing to him.
It’s archaic, it’s possessive, he feels fucking insane, but you’re sitting on his lap and he’s buried inside of you and you’ve just told him that you’ve never ridden a man before.
That he’s about to be the first man, the only man, to ever have you like this.
His hands come to settle on your hips. His thoughts are still hazy, words rough around the edges. “Can I,” he starts to ask, trying to make sure that he’s searching for your comfort, your pleasure, in all of this. That it doesn’t become something that’s just for him. “Can I help you?”
Eyes meeting his, you bite at the inside of your lip.
So shy, he thinks. So fucking sweet.
You nod slowly, and he does his best not to lose his mind right then and there.
Hands guiding gently, he starts to encourage motion. “You can move like this,” he whispers, eyes watching every micro expression that crosses your features. “Back and forth. Slowly.”
He hums when you start to find your rhythm, eyes fluttering shut as your brow creases, beginnings of pleasure starting to ebb.
“Yeah,” he encourages, watching the way your lips part, “just like that.”
His hands linger, more for contact than instruction as your confidence starts to grow, rhythm becoming stronger the longer you keep at it.
Hands still braced to his chest, Jungwon’s visions nearly whites out when you raise just a fraction of an inch before sitting down fully again. This time, it’s you that searches his face, watching the way Jungwon’s eyelids screw shut, expression almost pained as you repeat the motion.
“Fuck,” he groans, syllable ending in a whine that has you sure you want to earn it again.
Pace building, you ignore the burn in your thighs as his hands tighten around your hips again, guiding your motion as his brow starts to go slack. Jungwon is moving now too, motion building beneath you as his hips move with yours, rising to meet you every time you settle back down against him.
“Feels so good,” he whines on a particularly sharp uptake, and something deep within you shudders at the way his brow slackens.
You thought by now you’d had Jungwon in all the ways you could. It’s a range, but one that exists within a realm of set possibilities. There were nights where he talked you through it, lips brushing against your ear as he pressed his back flush to the length of your spine. You’ve also had him silent, nothing but a mix of lingering sighs and breathy exhales as his fingers interlaced with yours, gaze locked on you, begging silently for you to look at him as he worked you though it.
But you’ve never had him like this, begging, whining, whimpering beneath you as his hands help your hips find the perfect cadence.
It’s different for you too. The angle has him pressing deeper, pushing against places that make breathy little sounds spill from your throat every time your hips are flush to his again. Already sensitive, it doesn’t take long for a familiar pressure to build deep within you, pulling at your nerves.
“Jungwon,” you manage, his name hardly more than a breath. “I’m—I’m going to…”
He doesn’t need to hear you say it. Jungwon’s memorized you. He knows the way it feels when you're close, the way you start to pulse around him, muscles tightening in anticipation.
Always a considerate lover, the spur to action is immediate. One hand leaves your hip to dip between your thighs instead, just above the place where you’re connected.
The added pleasure makes you whimper, and he can’t help himself. Drunk on sensation, the words spill without gaining his full permission. “Yeah?” He can hardly believe it. “God, you’re fucking perfect. Just learned to ride me and you’re already gonna come from it.”
“Jungwon—“
“Do it.” He’s hardly coherent now. Rambling and half insane. “Wanna feel it. Wanna feel you come all over me. Please, baby.”
It doesn’t take much more than that, the sound of him practically begging for it. With the pressure of his thumb against you and one final push of your hips, you bury your face in his neck, sound muffled as you fall apart on top of him, pulsing around him.
Jungwon groans, and after another half voluntary press of his hips, follows you over the edge.
A minute passes, another, and he’s still buried inside you. It takes a moment for either of you to come back to yourselves, to regain coherent thought. Hands coming to your head, Jungwon smoothes hair away from your face as you lean back, meeting his eye.
You can feel the warmth on your cheeks again, and you know you must be terribly flushed. When you finally find it in yourself to sneak a glance at him, Jungwon is already looking at you, adoration plain and so potent it aches. Then, the longer the moment settles, it softens. Into a quiet kind of contentment, of true, deep satisfaction.
You wince when you do finally pull away from him fully, the sensitivity overshadowed only by the sudden, aching sensation of emptiness as you stand from his lap, fingers interlaced with his, legs slightly wobbly beneath you.
Moments later, you catch your own reflection in the mirror once again. A quick glance has you wanting to cover your face with your hands.
You look, in plain terms, exactly as you are. Fresh off of Jungwon’s lap, you’re just as flushed as you feared, and your lip gloss isn’t the only thing that’s been ruined.
Behind you, Jungwon’s reflection smirks, lips tugging upward in an entirely too self-satisfied manner as a flare of something possessive enters his gaze.
You sigh, a complaint on your lips that holds no real regret and even less blame. “I’m going to have to redo my makeup,” you whine.
“Mm,” Jungwon hums. But his hand is already wrapping around your upper thigh, lips pressing gently against your spine as he starts to scatter kisses down the length of it.
One last time, he catches your gaze in the mirror. There’s heat in his eyes, and despite it all, the way you feel yourself tighten in response is undeniable.
Holding your gaze with a promise in his, Jungwon has only one last suggestion. “Maybe wait a little longer.”
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
hesitation masterlist