Feel what you do to me - Myung Jae Hyun (명재현) x f!reader
“Think about it,” she murmured. “You poke the bear,” Your stomach twisted not in fear, but anticipation. “He won’t be gentle after that,” she added, standing. “He’ll make sure you learn your lesson.”
content warning : sexting, video recording, fingering, oral (m!receiving), hair pulling, kissing, cream pie and it starting with second thoughts and finishing like you’d do it again without blinking.
word count : 2.5k
“Send him a sexy picture.” Jisoo didn’t even look up when she said it, scrolling through her phone like she hadn’t just dropped a verbal grenade onto the table. You stiffened. “Excuse me?” She finally glanced up, unimpressed. “I’m tired of hearing about how Jaehyun is gentle like he’s afraid you’ll break.” Your hand flew over her mouth. “Lower your voice,” you snapped. The guy behind her raised an eyebrow. You smiled sweetly. He looked away immediately.
Jisoo pried your fingers off and leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Think about it,” she murmured. “You poke the bear,” your stomach twisted not in fear, but anticipation. “He won’t be gentle after that,” she added, standing. “He’ll make sure you learn your lesson.” She walked away, heels clicking like a countdown. You sat frozen, pulse racing, already wondering what color lingerie would drive him insane.
Red. Obviously. If you were going to do this, you were going to commit. The two-piece stared back at you like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment and honestly, so had you. You’d always been too shy to wear it around him, but alone in your room with Jisoo’s encouragement haunting your conscience? Different story. You snapped pictures in the mirror, angling just right, blocking your face like a criminal protecting her identity. Sultry but mysterious. Confident but casual like this wasn’t absolutely terrifying. You changed poses, laughed at yourself, deleted half of them, then sat down on the floor with your legs up, scrolling through your favorites with a grin that felt dangerous.
You typed the message fast, before doubt could tackle you to the ground. I can’t wait for you to rip this off me tonight. Your finger hesitated for half a second. Then you hit send like you were jumping off a cliff. The phone went face down. Your body buzzed, excitement crawling up your spine as you lay there wondering how long it would take before he saw it. It took two minutes.
Your phone buzzed, the sound sharp and insistent in the quiet of your bedroom. You snatched it up so fast the screen glowed with his name and a simple, tantalizing opener: Oh, love. You bit down on your lip, a smile already tugging at the corners. The little text bubble pulsed, a mischievous ellipsis of promise. Here it comes, you thought, sinking back into the ground. Did you buy that for me? Your breath hitched. A warm, slick heat instantly pooled low in your belly. Damn him for knowing exactly what that question did to you.
Yes, baby. You typed back, the admission feeling like a secret passed in a crowded room. His reply was almost immediate. Now this is a surprise. You waited, holding the phone, the silence stretching just long enough for you to wonder. Then, another buzz. Touch yourself for me. You blinked. A startled, breathy laugh escaped me. What? Did he just…?
What, You sent back, playing dumb, your heart doing a chaotic salsa against your ribs. The next message didn’t hesitate. You know what I mean. Touch yourself. Before you could even process the command, another text lit up the screen, the words bold and utterly shameless. Go sit in front of the mirror. Spread those pretty legs of yours and play with yourself. And make sure you send me the video.
Heat flooded your cheeks, a delicious contradiction to the throbbing ache between your thighs. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered into the empty room, but you were already sitting in front of the mirror. Ridiculous. And utterly, completely perfect. With a carefree shake of your head and a thrill zipping through your veins. Well, if he wanted a show, who was you to deny your favorite audience?
The phone was a cold and hard in your fist, the only solid thing in a world tilting on its axis. You braced the heel of your foot against the floor, a lone point of stability, and tapped the red record button. The lens focused on the evidence the dark, damp bloom spreading against scarlet lace. Your finger, when it came, was a traitor. It traced the swollen seam of your slit through the soaked fabric, a slow, torturous drag. A full-body shiver racked you, and a moan, raw and helpless, tore from your throat as your head fell back. The lace was a flimsy barrier, a joke. You hooked a thumb into the side, pulling it away, exposing the slick, needy flesh beneath.
The first slide of your finger inside was a revelation, a stolen gasp. Then another. your body took over, hips lifting off the ground’s cool surface to meet the thrust of your own fingers. The sound was obscene a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed in the tiled room, pornographic and perfect. You fucked yourself with a frantic, building pace, the coil in your gut winding tighter, tighter. The only words your brain could stitch together were a broken mantra. Fuck. Jaehyun. Fuck.
It shattered you. Pleasure erupted, white-hot and vicious, wringing a choked scream from your lungs. your body convulsed around your fingers, waves of sensation pulling you under. For long moments, there was only the ragged sound of your own breathing, sawing in and out of your chest. Trembling, You hit stop. The video was a raw, graphic confession. You sent it without a second thought.
The response was immediate. A photo flooded your screen. The thick, hard line of him straining against the dark wool of his suit pants, the outline unmistakable, demanding. your mouth watered. Beneath it, the text: I’m on my way home. I want you on your knees when I get there. A fresh, dizzying rush of heat pulsed through you. You typed back, your fingers clumsy. Yes, Jaehyun. His reply was instant. Good girl.
You were on your knees, the plush carpet a faint pressure against your skin, when Jaehyun came through the bedroom door. He didn’t pause. Didn’t speak. Time seemed to bend around his entrance, the air cracking with a sudden, static charge. One second you were kneeling, the next his hand was fisted in your hair, wrenching you up to meet him halfway. His kiss wasn’t a greeting, it was a consumption. The taste of him winter mint and pure, unadulterated want flooded your senses as his mouth moved over yours with the desperation of a man starved.
When he broke away, panting, the look in his eyes was feral. All dark pupil, a hunger so profound it stripped everything else away. “Take my belt off,” he growled against your swollen lips, the words a hot, rough command. Your hands flew to his waist, fingers trembling but efficient. You never broke eye contact, that searing tether holding you captive as you found the cold buckle. The leather slid free with a sharp, definitive hiss. Your gaze remained locked on his as you unzipped his pants, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down.
His cock sprang free, heavy and already fully hard, and the flushed tip landed a deliberate, claiming tap against your parted lips. A soft gasp escaped you, your mouth falling open in instinctive invitation. That was all he needed. His grip in your hair tightened to the point of sweet, sharp pain, anchoring you. There was no gentle preamble, no soft, whispering Jaehyun. That man was gone, vanished behind this primal, demanding force. He fed himself into your mouth, not with a thrust, but with a relentless, conquering push, filling you, stretching you. A choked sound vibrated in your throat, and he swallowed it with a dark groan of his own. Then he began to move.
He fucked your mouth with a hard, rough rhythm, his hips pistoling, setting a pace that was merciless and absolute. Each deep drive brushed the back of your throat, each withdrawal a slick, lewd promise of more. Your eyes watered, tears blurring the viciously beautiful sight of him above you, jaw clenched, watching himself disappear between your lips. The sounds were filthy wet, gasping, the soft slap of skin, his ragged curses raining down on you like blessings.
One of your hands clutched at his thigh, the muscle iron-hard beneath your palm, the only anchor in the storm he was wreaking upon you. The other hand, you slipped between your own legs, finding the desperate, throbbing heat there, already soaked. You moaned around him, the vibration pulling a ragged snarl from his chest. “That’s it,” he gritted out, his pace never faltering. “Feel what you do to me. Take it. All of it.” And you did, drowning in the taste of him, the feel of him, the beautiful, brutal ruin of his control as he used your mouth for his pleasure, turning you into nothing but a willing, desperate vessel for his need. And that’s what you wanted.
You pull back, a slow, slick glide that makes his hips jerk, and wrap your fingers around the base of him. You don’t break eye contact, watching his beautiful face fracture as you stroke him slowly, a rough twist of your wrist at the top that pulls a ragged sound from his chest. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is pure gravel, a broken prayer in the dim light. “Jaehyun.” Your own voice is a desperate whine, soaked in need. “Please fuck me.”
It’s the ‘please’ that does it. You see the last thread of his control snap, his pretty eyes going dark and wild. He folds for you, utterly and completely. In one fluid motion, he pulls you to your feet, his hands burning brands on your hips. His thumb hooks into the waistband of those same red lace panties, the ones that started this whole dizzying spiral. His gaze, heavy-lidded and molten, flicks up to yours. “Can I?” he whispers, the question a formality, a dark, sweet courtesy before the storm.
“Yes, baby.” The permission is barely out of your mouth before he obeys the unspoken violence in both of you. A sharp tear of lace, the sound obscene in the quiet room. Then his hands are under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back.
He doesn’t fumble. He reaches between you, his fingers guiding the thick, hot crown of his cock through your drenched folds, notching himself at your entrance. He holds you there, suspended, just for a heartbeat a torturous, perfect pause where you feel every frantic beat of your own heart against his. Then he sinks in. A slow, relentless, claiming slide that steals the air from your lungs. You cry out, a shattered sound, as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly it borders on pain. The moment he’s fully in, a groan rips from him, deep and visceral.
His arm bands around your back, a steel brace, and the hand under your thigh tightens, shifting you just so. And then he moves. He fucks up into you, hard and deep, each powerful drive of his hips punching a gasping moan from your throat. Your hands fly to his neck, clinging to steady yourself against the brutal, perfect rhythm. You meet him thrust for thrust, rocking down onto him, taking him even deeper, chasing the delicious friction that’s already coiling your insides tight. “That’s it,” he grunts against your ear, his breath scalding. “Take it. Fuck yourself on my cock. Just like that.” It’s filthy. It’s perfect. You’re both a mess of skin and sweat and shattered sounds, and you are so, so fucked in the best way possible.
You’re a whimpering, trembling mess on his cock, each raw, deep thrust scraping a broken sound from your throat. “Keep fucking me, baby,” you beg, the words a whining plea, your eyes glazed and unfocused as you look up at him. A dark, breathless laugh rumbles from his chest. “This is what you wanted, huh, baby?” he grunts, the muscles in his arms corded tight as he holds you, drives into you. “All that pretty teasing. Just to get ruined.” “Yes, fuck,” you gasp, arching to take him deeper, a delirious giggle bubbling up. “I wanted you to fuck me crazy.” His smile is a feral, beautiful thing. “Your wish,” he pants, snapping his hips up with a brutal new intensity, “is my fucking command.”
The world dissolves into pure sensation. “Ahh, shit, fuck!” you cry out, the coil inside you pulled impossibly taut. Desperate, you drag yourself up his body, your mouth finding his in a sloppy, frantic kiss. Your hands tighten around his neck, nails biting into his skin, as his arms become iron bands around you, crushing you to him, owning every inch of space between you. The rhythm turns punishing, primal. You can feel the tell-tale, frantic pulse of him deep inside you, the way his control is shattering. He breaks the kiss, his forehead dropping to yours, his breaths ragged gusts against your lips.
“Where…” he pants, the shyness in the question a stark, sweet contrast to the carnal act. “Where should I cum?” You pull back just enough to see the desperate need in his pretty, darkened eyes. Your answer is a low whisper. “In me.” A guttural, shattered “Fuck” is all he manages. His thrusts become erratic, a frantic, deep pounding. “I’m—I’m cumming, baby…” It’s the trigger that snaps your own restraint. “Fuck, me too, shit—” You clench around him, a vicious, pulsing tightness, and the feeling of him surrendering, spilling hot and deep inside you, drags your own climax screaming from your core. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure whites out your vision, your cries muffled against the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder.
For long, suspended seconds, you stay like that locked together, shuddering, the only sound your ragged, mingling breaths. Slowly, gently, he pulls out, a slow glide that makes you whimper at the loss, and lowers you until your feet find the floor. Your legs nearly buckle, but he holds you steady, his hands framing your face. He kisses you, slow and deep and devastatingly tender. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, the words a raw truth in the aftermath. A slow, sated smile curves your mouth. You lean into his touch. “As you should,” you whisper back.