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peachycheeks14 · 22 days ago

Text

Birthday Sex

SINOPSE

Jaehyun comes back from the military on his birthday. And he’s not expecting just any kind of celebration.

WC: ~3k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

☆ Warnings: established couple, slow burn tension, oral (f ︎ m, m ︎ f), rough sex, dirty talk, multiple positions, creampie, praise & possessive kink, uniform kink, facial expressions kink, deep emotional aftercare, explicit language, intense sensuality, crying during sex, soft domination

English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes

(This is the longest text I've ever written, that's why it took so long 😅😅 I think it's also the dirtiest, that's why I had to be cute at the end, a little embarrassed too 😬😬😬)

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Jaehyun: —I’m out of the base. I’ll be there in 40 minutes. Open the door when I knock. And wear something that’ll drive me insane. I want you the moment I step in.

Nayara read the message with trembling fingers.

It was his birthday. But the one about to be unwrapped was her.

Forty minutes later, the knock on the door froze her in place. Three firm taps. She opened without thinking. He was there.

Full uniform. Jacket buttoned. Hair buzzed on the sides, heavy expression. But when he saw her, something in him softened. For a second, the soldier gave way to the man who had spent nights dreaming of this moment.

He pulled her in gently. His arms wrapped around her waist, and Nayara buried her face in his chest. The rough fabric of his uniform contrasted with the heat of the body underneath. He kissed the top of her head. Then her face. Her forehead. Her nose.

And then, her mouth.

It was a long kiss. Slow at first, but full of longing. His tongue found hers like he’d been dying of thirst. A thirst he’d carried for months. His body pressed against hers, his scent, his weight—everything about him overwhelmed her completely.

—You have no idea what ran through my head these past six months, he whispered against her lips. —And now that I’m here, you’re mine. All of you. No pause.

He leaned his forehead to hers for a moment. His breath warm. His hands slid down her back, gripping her waist, her ass—like he was confirming she was real.

—Show me you still know how to give me what’s mine.

Nayara dropped to her knees.

It was natural. Instinctive. Her body begged for the position, her desire already pleading to be claimed.

He looked down, eyes darkening with lust.

—Good girl.

Jaehyun slowly unbuckled his belt, still in uniform. He unzipped just enough to free his cock—already hard, thick, pulsing. Nayara looked up at him, licked her lips, then ran her tongue slowly over the tip. Tasted him. Hot, familiar, intoxicating.

She wrapped her lips around him and started sucking.

Slow at first, just her mouth working him, exploring. He groaned low, his hand in her hair, guiding the rhythm.

—Yeah… fuck. Just like that…

Nayara sped up. Her mouth hot, tongue swirling, sucking harder. He tilted his head back for a moment. His hips started to move, thrusting deeper into her throat.

—Look at me, he ordered.

She obeyed, eyes tearing up, locked on his.

He held her head steady. Started fucking her mouth with slow, deep strokes. His other hand cupped her face, thumb wiping the spit running down her chin.

—Fuck, I missed this, he whispered, voice rough. —You like this… on your knees, swallowing it all… like you were made for this.

Nayara moaned with him in her throat. He felt it. Lost it. The pace got rougher. The control vanished.

He thrust hard now, holding her in place, fucking her mouth like it was the only way to unload six months of caged hunger.

But just before finishing, he stopped. Yanked her back by the hair, breathing hard, eyes wild.

—Turn around. Now. I want to fuck you in this uniform. With your mouth still dirty from me.

Jaehyun grabbed Nayara by the hair with calculated force, guiding her to the couch. He threw her onto it like she belonged to him—because she did.

—On all fours, he growled. —Cross your legs.

Nayara obeyed. Propped on her elbows, knees pressed together, legs crossed just like he wanted. The position made her tighter, more sensitive. And he knew it. Fuck, he knew it.

Jaehyun knelt behind her. Uniform still intact. Boots firm on the floor. She heard his zipper opening more, his breathing heavy, and then… his tongue.

No warning.

He dove between her legs like a man unleashed. His tongue licked, pushed inside, circled violently. No tenderness. No mercy. He ate her out like he was trying to erase every second they’d been apart.

—Stay like that, he growled against her. —Tight and ready. Just the way I like it.

His hands spread her ass cheeks roughly, exposing everything. Nayara moaned loud. He just buried his tongue deeper. Sucked harder. Like he was addicted. Like her orgasm was his mission.

When she squirmed too much, he held her still. Bit her. Spanked her. Kept her locked in place—crossed, open, completely vulnerable.

—You gonna come just from my mouth? After six months, still that easy?

She could barely speak. Just moans, gasps, begging.

—Say it. Tell me it’s my pussy. No one else touched it.

—It’s yours… only yours, Jaehyun… it always was!

He sucked harder. His tongue vibrating against her clit with steady pressure. His fingers slid inside her, filling her, fucking her with his mouth.

And she exploded.

The orgasm tore through her. Hard. Hot. Almost painful. She screamed, her whole body shaking, thighs squeezing tight in the crossed position he commanded.

But he didn’t stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept finger-fucking. He wanted more. He wanted her broken. Shaking. Gone.

And when she tried to crawl away, he yanked her back by the waist.

—Don’t run. I waited six fucking months. You’re taking everything.

She was still shaking from the orgasm, her body arched, her legs crossed as he had told her to. But Jaehyun was nowhere near satisfied.

He spoke to himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze filled with fire.

“Stay like this.”

He opened his pants further, without taking anything off. He only left his cock free, hard, throbbing. His uniform hung open, but he was still wearing everything — and that only made everything dirtier.

He spat on his hand, supported himself by the base, and knelt behind her.

With one hand firmly on Nayara's waist and the other on her braids, he pulled her head back while the tip of his cock touched her hot, throbbing entrance.

“I'm going to fuck you until you forget your name.”

And he did.

Deep. All at once. Without mercy.

She clarified. The sound was muffled by his hand that touched her mouth next.

"Shhh… you're going to wake up the neighbors. Or do you want everyone to know that you're being fucked by your uniformed man, on the couch?"

The thrusts came hard, heavy. He pounded his entire body, each movement making the couch creak. His hand held Nayara's hips, pulling her against his brutal thrusts. The sound of their bodies colliding was loud, wet, animalistic.

"You're mine. Mine. Do you understand?"

"Yes, fuck, only yours!"

He let go of her braids forcefully, bending her spine, making Nayara look back as he fucked her. His eyes were wild. A sweaty uniform. His face red with tension.

He spat on her ass, running his finger along it, threatening to stick it in.

"You can handle it, right? You like it when I'm like this. Rough. No mercy."

And she moaned even more. She begged. She pleaded.

He threw her sideways on the couch, placed one leg on his shoulder, and came back at her. The new angle made him hit her hard. Nayara felt everything. And he moaned along with her—low, hoarse, as if he were fighting himself.

“You’re going to cum again for me,” he growled. “Now. Come with me.”

And she came.

The second time was even stronger. Her body locked up, her chest heaving, her legs trembling.

Jaehyun thrust a few more times, his movements becoming uncoordinated. He grunted deeply, dug his nails into her skin, and came hard—inside, deep, with her entire body trembling on top of his.

The silence afterward was heavy. They were both panting. Sweaty. Exhausted.

But he still hadn’t taken off his uniform. And Nayara knew: he wasn’t going to stop there.

Jaehyun fell on top of Nayara, panting, his sweaty chest pressed against her back. Their bodies were still throbbing, shaking. His uniform stuck to their skin — and the heat between them seemed to set the room on fire.

She turned her face and smiled, with that glint of challenge in her eyes.

“First round… and you’re already like this?”

He laughed. That low, hoarse laugh that made the hairs on her body stand on end.

“You don’t know what I brought in my backpack.”

He stood up, slowly taking off his jacket, then his t-shirt. His body was pure muscle and training marks — thick thighs, tense arms, sweat dripping between the abs. Nayara bit her lip.

He opened the backpack on the floor and pulled out two items: a small, discreet vibrator and a thick, black cock ring.

“I thought about you every time I jerked off. And I bought this thinking about when I came back. Now that I’m here… you’ll feel everything.”

She lay down on the couch, spreading her legs, her thighs wide and shining with desire. Her pussy was still wet, throbbing.

“Come on, then. Show me.”

Jaehyun knelt down. He placed the ring at the base of his already half-erect cock, which began to harden again just looking at her open like that.

He turned on the vibrator and passed it along the inside of her thighs first. Nayara shivered. She moaned softly.

“Not directly on the clitoris… Jaehyun…”

“Shh. Now it’s my way.”

He slid the vibrator over her clitoris, circling it with pressure. His fingers entered slowly as she moaned loudly, her whole body reacting. The vibrator was vibrating at the exact spot. He knew it.

She came again, lighter, more sensitive, but still hot. He then climbed on top of her, placed his cock between her legs and thrust slowly, with the ring vibrating along with it, increasing each sensation.

“Fuck, Nayara… you squeeze me in a way…”

They both moaned together. Now the rhythm was more controlled, but the pleasure was multiplied. The ring vibrated, her clitoris was touched by the toy, and Nayara was already at her limit.

“Get on top,” he asked, his voice choked.

She rode him firmly. Her hands on his chest, shaking hard. Her ass slapped against his thighs with dry pops. The vibrator stuck between them was still on, and he almost screamed with the doubled stimulation.

“Go… Nay… fuck me like that. That's it, fuck!”

She leaned forward and bit his shoulder. Her nails marked his abdomen. They were both sweaty, close together, wild.

And then they came together. Trembling. No sound. Just labored breathing, eyes closed, bodies collapsing.

Silence.

Then, only the sound of the vibrator being turned off, and her low laughter in his ear.

Nayara got off the couch limping slightly. Her legs were shaking. Her skin was still vibrating. She was heading towards the bathroom when she felt his gaze burning into her back.

She turned slowly.

Jaehyun was still naked, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on her as if he couldn't believe that all of this was real. His chest rose and fell slowly, but his dick… was still hard.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you going again?"

He took a step. Then another. Until his body was pressed against hers. Without a word, he ran his hand over her face, then down her throat, until he was holding the back of her neck.

"Shut up and lie down on the bed. Legs open. Hands up."

His voice left no room for argument.

She turned around without saying anything, feeling the air heat up again. She entered the room, climbed onto the bed and did exactly what he told her to do. Her body was limp, but her arousal was rekindling. Her thighs were throbbing. Her pussy was already starting to throb with anticipation alone.

Jaehyun came in soon after. He brought the vibrator back. And a Velcro handcuff that she didn't even know he had brought.

“I want you to surrender, Nay. No escape. You'll cum until you beg me to stop.”

She smiled mischievously. “I doubt it.”

He climbed onto the bed and tied her wrists together, above her head, using the headboard. He turned on the vibrator and placed it between her legs, without touching it directly. Just touching it there, teasing.

Meanwhile, he masturbated slowly. His cock was growing again. Firm. Throbbing. His jaw clenched. He seemed in destruction mode.

“Look how my cock gets just seeing your pussy open.”

She moaned. Her legs tried to close, but he pushed them with his knee. He opened them wider.

And he thrust.

All at once.

With no relief. No time to breathe.

She screamed. He thrust deep, hard. The vibrator stuck between them. Each thrust hit the exact spot. The cock ring was still there, vibrating along with it.

Her eyes rolled back.

“DON’T STOP, JAEEEH—”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “Shhh. I’m far from stopping.”

He took it out and put it back in. He took it out again. And thrust deeper, faster. Nayara screamed with her eyes, her body arching, trying to escape. But he kept her there. Trapped. Surrendered.

Her hands tied. Her soul wide open.

He bit her shoulder. He slapped her ass, pulled her hair, cursed softly:

“Holy shit… you were born for this. To be fucked by me. All over. Until you pass out.”

And she came.

Harshly. Almost painful. Almost suffocating. Her entire body shook. The orgasm tore through her. And he kept going.

She couldn’t speak anymore. Her hands were numb, her arms pinned above her head, her body sweating, vibrating, begging for the end and for more at the same time.

Jaehyun thrust as if he was on the verge of something that not even he knew how to control. His thrusts hit deep, more intense and more desperate. The vibrator was still vibrating between them, and Nayara was crying.

Tears were streaming from her eyes — not from pain, but from overwhelming pleasure. Pleasure so strong that her body didn't know what to do with it anymore. She was shaking. She was screaming. She was crying.

He saw it.

"Are you crying for me, love?" he whispered, his voice cracking with lust. "You're feeling everything, right? You're squeezing me so tight… fuck."

His cock was throbbing. Nayara was wrapping it around him so tightly that he could barely move.

"You're going to make me cum inside you. Do you want it? Do you want me to explode inside you."

She could only moan and shake her head, her face sweaty, her eyes wet.

That's when he bit her.

With his hand firmly holding her hip, he bent down and bit her shoulder hard — marking it, as if he wanted her to remember that moment for the rest of her life.

And then he came.

Jaehyun locked his entire body. A hoarse grunt came from his throat. His cock exploded inside her in hot, strong, endless jets. He came deep, feeling her tighten even more with each contraction, as if her body was sucking every drop.

“That's it… fuck, Nayara… swallow it all… all… fuck…”

She felt it.

The hot jets hitting the bottom. The heat invading. Her thighs trembling. Her body collapsing along with his.

He stayed inside her for a few seconds, still throbbing, still moaning softly in her ear.

When he finally pulled out, his cock slipped out slowly, glistening with cum, and he saw: his cum began to drip from her, white, thick, hot.

He didn't accept that.

“No… no. This is yours.”

And with his fingers, he tried to push it all back in. Gently, but obsessively. As if it was more than just cum. As if it was part of him that he didn't want to escape.

She moaned as she felt his fingers pushing the cum back inside.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, looking straight into her eyes.

And then, he bent down and kissed her.

A slow kiss. Wet. Deep. Full of surrender. A kiss of absolute love, sweaty, post-sex, post-orgy, post-chaos. A kiss that said more than any words.

He let go of her hands, but she didn't move.

She stayed there. Lying down. Destroyed. Loved. Marked.

He hugged her from behind, still inside the bed.

“I fucking love you, Nay.”

She smiled, her eyes closed and her soul satisfied.

“Happy birthday, Jaehyun.”

The room was silent.

Just the sound of the fan spinning on the ceiling and her breathing slowing down little by little. Nayara was still lying on her side, legs spread, her entire body relaxed and sensitive, with goosebumps on her skin in places he hadn’t even touched.

Jaehyun was kneeling beside the bed, his head resting on the mattress, observing her body as if he couldn’t believe she really existed.

He got up slowly, went to the bathroom, wet a towel with warm water and came back.

“Stay still, love,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. She only let out a sigh when she felt the warm touch between her legs.

Jaehyun cleaned her carefully. With reverence. He wiped the towel slowly, removing the traces of cum with care, without pressing. As if he was taking care of the most precious thing in the world. Every now and then, he would kiss her thigh. Or her belly.

When he was done, he threw the towel in the basket and came back with one of his t-shirts. He put it on her delicately, as if she were made of glass.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, arranging her hair with his fingers.

“Only you,” she murmured, with a lazy smile.

He laughed, but still took out his cell phone and ordered food. Then he lay down behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his nose touching her neck.

They stayed like that. Close together. In silence. His touch was different now—light, gentle. A finger tracing invisible lines on her arm. A kiss on the back of her neck every few minutes.

“You drive me completely crazy, you know?” he said, his voice low, almost choked. “When I was there… in the barracks… the only thing that kept me going was imagining you. Here. Waiting for me.”

She squeezed his hand between her fingers, her eyes still closed.

“And you came back. And you fucked me like the world was ending.”

“And after that, I just want to take care of you,” he whispered. “Bathe you, feed you, hold you in my arms. You are my love and my addiction.”

He kissed her shoulder. His breathing was already slower. And yet, the touch was still there. Endless affection.

Jaehyun was no longer the soldier who arrived breaking everything. Now, he was just the man. The boyfriend who cleaned, cared, loved.

A short time later, the intercom rang.

Jaehyun got up slowly, still naked, put on some random shorts and went to the door to get the order. Nayara stayed in bed, lying on her side, just watching. When he came back, he was carrying a tray with food and two glasses of juice, balancing everything with that smile of someone who is completely surrendered.

“Time to recharge, Mrs. Jeong,” he said, blinking.

She laughed, sitting up with effort on the bed, his shirt still half-up, her legs spread, red marks on her thighs. He helped her adjust the pillows, placed the tray on her lap, and sat next to her, close.

“You knew that fucking me like that would leave me without the strength to get up, right?”

“I knew. That was the plan,” he said, laughing.

They ate slowly, sharing the food with each smile. With each bite, he made sure to put it in her mouth, as if that were part of the care. She returned it with warm looks, but the mood was different now — calm, intimate, almost sacred.

When they finished, he collected everything, left it in the kitchen and went back to the bedroom. Nayara was already lying down again, with her eyes closed. But she opened them when she felt his arms wrap around her legs.

“What’s up…?”

“You’re going to take a shower. And I’m going to take you.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you.”

She smiled, surrendered.

In the bathroom, he sat her on the shower bench. He turned on the warm water, adjusted the temperature and got in with her. He took the soap, lathered his hands, and began to gently rub each part of her body.

First her shoulders. Then her neck. Her arms. Her chest. Her belly. Her thighs. And between her legs — with the utmost respect, but without stopping to smile at the memory of what they had just done there hours before.

She just sighed. Her eyes closed. Trusting. Surrendering even to the care.

Then he washed his own body quickly, turned off the shower and took the towel. He dried her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Every curve. Every fold.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

“I do. Because you remind me of that all the time.”

He laughed, wrapped her in the towel and picked her up again.

In the bedroom, he slowly placed her on the bed, lay down on her side, and pulled the sheet over them both. Their legs intertwined naturally. Their breathing began to align.

In the darkness, with only the low light from the window, he caressed her back with his fingertips. And he whispered:

“No matter how long I stay away again… I will always come back to you. Always.”

She turned her face, pressed her lips to his chest.

“And I will always be here. To be yours.”

He kissed the top of her head.

And finally, they slept.

Exhausted and Satisfied

144 notes · View notes

peachycheeks14 · 22 days ago

Note

Hello, I was wondering if u could wrote something really intimate with a possessive Jaehyun ? Miss him so much 🖤

Back to sleep (M)

Word count: 2,2k

Warnings: sexual content, oral (fem receiving), big dick jaehyun, the use of the word 'daddy' once (pls don't cringe it just felt right), unprotected sex, breeding kink

A/N: def enjoyed writing this req cuz I miss his fine ass too. Hope you enjoy 🤍🤍

Jaehyun kisses your neck, hands snaking around your waist underneath the white covers. The sunlight peaks through the blinds, hitting your face in the most perfect manner. You still smell like flowers from the night before, the scent of your perfume mixing with the salty ocean air flowing through the windows.

He feels like he could melt into your skin. You're as soft as a pillow, he just can't help but grip your skin a little tight, but not too tight. His lips linger on every spot he kisses for just a few seconds, soaking in every bit before he moves on. He doesn't know it, but you're already half awake enjoying every moment of this silently.

He slowly slips his hands up your chest, fondling your breast all while leaving wet kisses along your shoulder, his pretty soft moans escaping on your skin. “Y/N, wake up,” he whispers.

You let out a soft laugh, making him smile on your skin. “Good morning,” he whispers in your ear. “You look so pretty when you sleep.”

You lift your hand, placing it on top of his already touching your chest. Jaehyun bites his lip softly, feeling you push your ass in his hips, furthermore smothering his hard on. The man feels like he's in a dream, the way you turn, eyes half open as you stare at him still trying to fully wake yourself. He just can't help himself, immediately lifting himself off your shoulder and onto your lips, kissing you in the softest most sensual way possible.

“Good morning,” you said, voice groggy. “At least let me brush first.”

Jaehyun shakes his head. He's got that look in his eyes that means he's not planning on letting you get up from the bed for a while. You feel him move his hand from your chest silently, finger tracing down your stomach all the way between your legs.

You don't stop him when he dips a finger into your pussy, lips grazing your ear. “I'm sorry, I just can't help myself,” he mumbles. You're not looking at him but you can tell he's smiling.

You place your hand over his, pressing your back onto his naked chest, his rapid heartbeat on your back. Jaehyun rubs your clit slowly, pressing his fingers into you. You turn your head, brows slightly furrowed at the butterflies in your stomach. He wastes no time capturing your lips in a deep kiss, tongue instantly on yours. You remove your hand from his, reaching back, wanting to jerk him off, but he shook his head.

“Don't worry about me,” he said almost in a whisper. “You'll get that soon I promise.” He kisses you one more time before going back to your neck. Jaehyun kisses down your body slowly, wet kisses trailing down your side until he moves you, laying you on your back. You can tell where this was headed just by how he stared at you through his bangs.

“Baby please,” you sighed softly. “Let me shower.”

“Fuck no.” Jaehyun kisses your stomach, licking the skin as he prys your legs open. “God you're so perfect.” His body towers above yours, eyes blown with desire as he licks your chest, nipples in his mouth almost instantly. Jaehyun is so lost in your body, eyes closed as he flicks his tongue on the soft bud.

“That feels good hm?” Jaehyun stares up at you, your expressions and noises making him melt in your skin. “Keep making those noises for me princess.”

You felt like you were being punished and rewarded all the same time. He knows your body better than you do, knows what you want to hear, what you want to feel. He's your soulmate and you wouldn't have it any other way.

He moves down your body, shifting under the covers in the king-size bed. You watch as he disappears between your legs. Jaehyun kisses the inside of your thighs, nipping at the skin making you jump. “God I missed this so much,” he mumbled on your skin.

“You ate me out last night,” you giggle softly.

"And I couldn't wait to do it again." He kisses your clit, licking the bud of nerves right after. Jaehyun wrapped his lips around the bud, sucking it. His eyes were piercing as he stared at yours, your body immediately beginning to tremble from the intense pressure. Releasing your clit with a small pop, he guides the hot muscle along your pussy, licking a long stripe collecting your slick on his tongue.

He feels your hands move the blanket from his head, allowing you to see more of his beautiful face. He continues to lick you all over, making you moan more and more. He's so obsessed with you, the way you lay there sleepily eyes still droopy from waking up. Jaehyun knows no one will ever make you feel as good as he does even when he's not even trying.

“My pretty girl,” he mumbles. He reaches up, your hand instantly interlocking with his.

“Jaehyun, it feels so good,” you whimper softly. Your other hand ends up on his head, pushing it forward as you begin to move your hips. Jaehyun is staring at you, almost intoxicated on you, enjoying every moment of being at your mercy.

He keeps his tongue on your clit, moving his other hand between your legs. Jaehyun easily slips two fingers in you, your pussy squeezing around the digits. “Fuck,” you gasp.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers. “My pretty girl. All mine, right?”

“Yes baby,” you moan softly. Jaehyun fingers you slowly but that only amplifies the pressure building in your stomach.

“And this pussy belongs to me right?” You nod fast, whining louder when he fingers you faster. Jaehyun redirects his attention to your clit, tongue flicking the bud with a smirk on his face.

The air blowing in from the ocean mixed with the air in the room, the smell of salt and sex mixed hitting your nose sending a nice zing up your spine. He pounds his fingers into you, every ounce of self control beginning to disappear with every whine and whimper you let out.

“Oh my God,” you moan, throwing your head back. “Feels so fucking good. Keep going, just like that.”

Jaehyun kept his same pace, lips locked around the sensitive bud sucking softly. He could feel your walls behind him tightening around his digits, body beginning to tremble under his touch. Jaehyun knows your body too well, knows you're about to cum right on his fingers.

He feels your hands rake through this hair, a strong grip on the brown locks as you hold his other hand tight. Jaehyun fingers piston in you, the sound of your pussy squelching loud in his ears. “Keep grinding baby, you can do it. Cum for me,” he says softly, eyes locked on yours.

Your hips are moving on their own, jaw dropped as soft moans and whines fall from your mouth. “Fuck, oh my god…” The grip on his hand tightens when your orgasm hits you. That euphoric feeling filling your body. Jaehyun pulls his fingers out, staring at them with stars in his eyes.

You watch him suck his fingers cleans then immediately moving on to your soaking wet cunt, lapping up your cum like it's the last time he'll taste you.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles. “I am so lucky to have you.” Jaehyun lifts himself up, crawling on top of you. You look so pretty under him, the thin layer of sweat on your face, lips wet and bruised from both you and him biting them.

His cock is hard, thick and long against his stomach. The tip is angry and red dripping with precum, contrast to his soft words and touches. Jaehyun loves the way you gawk. You've been with him for so long, but it still makes you excited and nervous. But aside from your lustful expression, a drained expression consumes you.

“Are you tired princess?”

You nod, lids low in lust. “If you loved me, you'd fuck me back to sleep.”

You didn't have to tell him twice. Jaehyun climbs onto you, falling onto his side. You turn your body to face him, breast pressed against his chest when he wrapped his arms around your waist. His breath is ragged, too gone to reel himself back in.

“Gonna fuck this pussy good, don't worry,” he mumbles, words almost slurred fighting against his excitement. Jaehyun lifts your leg, throwing it over his body. You're impatient and too tired to want to take things slow, so you reach between your bodies, taking his cock and lining it with you. Jaehyun pushes his tip in, a gasp leaving his lips.

“Jesus,” he moaned breathlessly. “You're all mine. All mine baby.”

“All yours.” You cup his cheek, kissing his face while he bottoms in you, splitting you open. Jaehyun thrust in you slowly, too afraid of cumming too early.

He's so deep inside you, his cock rubbing against every ridge inside you making your head spin. You kiss him soft, lips lingering on him as you breath heavily. Jaehyun's hand is tight on your waist, trembling with energy as he drags his cock in and out of you. But his self control can only last so long. He begins to thrust faster, the need for more friction starting to take over.

“Jae,” you whine softly, brows furrowing. “So deep..”

“I know baby, I know,” he coos. His deep voice rings through your ears. The slow pace feels good, too good, but you need more and he could tell. Without a word he pulls out, leaving you empty for a second before he gets in front of you. Jaehyun sheaths himself inside you quickly, pushing your legs up knees to your chest.

The sensation is too great to even make a noise, the moment he begins to drill into you, you go slack jawed. Your hands hold the back of your knees accompanying his hands on your thighs. He pounds into you, the sound of your wet cunt hits his ears making him grin.

“You like my cock so much don't you?” His voice is rough and raspy, breath staggered.

A feeble “Uh huh” is all you could let out, not being able to form the proper words. “Just like that, fuck,” you whimper.

“Anything for you baby. My pretty baby. You're made for me, just for me.. Shit, oh my gosh.” Jaehyun can't stop rambling. He's completely fucked out of his mind. The sensation of your tight wet pussy has him lost, the pleasure fogging his brain a bit too much for his comfort. But he likes feeling lost in you.

“Come here, kiss me daddy.”

Jaehyun lets his body fall, one arm holding himself up, the other wrapping around your waist. Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him deep and hard, your moans spilling into his mouth every time he hits your sweet spot. You held onto him like your life depended on it, nails starting to dig into the back of his neck.

“Who do you belong to,” he says between gritted teeth.

“You.”

“Good girl. Fuck baby I'm so close,” he groans. “Gonna cum so deep in this pussy. You'd like that wouldn't you?”

You nod fast, whimpers being the only sound you can make at this point. Jaehyun watches your eyes roll back, head slowly falling back as you let out a guttural moan. “I'm cumming Jaehyun.”

“Let go for me babygirl, cum all over this dick.” Jaehyun keeps pounding you, your walls getting tighter and tighter around him. He loves watching you cum, the way your body trembles and the cries you let out are like heaven to him, but he can't stop. He has to cum, he has to breed you. Jaehyun thrust even faster, chasing the high he's been waiting for since the moment he woke up.

“Gonna breed this pussy, gonna make you mine.” Jaehyun's eyes are screwed shut now, fucking you so deep the only thing you can see is stars. You've gone from quiet moans to loud, tired whimpers, begging for more but overstimulated at the same time. “Gonna put a baby inside you princess. You want that?”

“Y-yes put a baby in me,” you whine in his neck.

His grip on your waist gets more intense, shaky groans pouring into your ears when he cums deep inside you. The warm feeling fills you up, providing both of you with a sense of relief. And you kiss him, deep and hard the taste of his sweat hitting your lips onto your tongue.

Jaehyun fully collapsed on top of you, heaving as he buried his face in your neck. He lets a moment of silence pass, taking in the moment appreciating the closeness of your hot bodies. That's when he remembers where exactly you two are. In a beach house, windows open, the smell of the ocean hitting his nose once again mixed with the smell of both your bodies intertwined.

“I love you so much,” he whispers, listing his head when faced with your peaceful expression. You fell asleep. Your pretty lips slightly parted, face still glistening with sweat, arms still around his neck, and cock still inside you. And he could lay with you like this for ages.

The man chuckles softly, trying not to wake you from your slumber, but that's easy because soon enough he passes out right along with you.

599 notes · View notes

peachycheeks14 · 24 days ago

Text

CRE·SCEN·DO

MDNI

MINORS GO AWAY

Pairing: Pianist!Jaehyun x reader

Synopsis: quiet, haunting, and dangerously talented. a man carved from silence and precision. Jeong Jaehyun, the world-renowned pianist, lived by structure. Lived by discipline.

loud in all the ways that mattered. She played like she was trying to bleed. A mess of passion, pain, and poetry. No titles. No training. Just the ache of a girl who used music to escape. To survive.

They were a slow-burning harmony of restraint and desire, grasping onto the black and white keys...trying not to unravel. Every note pulled them closer and closer until they reached their climax. The crescendo.

Word count: 8.5k

WARNING: Smut, angst, yearning, mentions of abuse and scars, mentions of death and grief, choking, spitting, hair pulling, he eats her out on top of the piano, crying, begging, literal definition of until the paint starts to peel off the wall.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This work contains guide songs. Basically, songs I use to set the tone for a scene. You don't have to listen to them, but the experience would definitely be better if you listen as you read for each specific part. Enjoy!!! @andysorbit @sharonxdevi @calibabii21

A piano is an extension of the pianist.How you play it reflects how you feel about your music and the relationship you have with it.

Your grandfather was a talent his generation both mocked and adored. They praised him for his brilliance but laughed at his outlandish way of playing.

A sudden pianissimo where it didn’t belong. A staccato attack on notes meant to be tied. He had a habit of doing things suddenly. He liked the attention. He liked the shock.

So imagine no one’s surprise when He suddenly died at his old piano. Well… no one’s but yours.

A stress-induced heart attack, the doctors had said.

“Hmph,” you huffed, as tears stung the back of your eyes. Of course the only family you ever truly had would go out like that. And deep down, you knew… he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

He died doing what he loved—Playing. Composing. Being unapologetically himself.

His funeral was today

And you couldn’t even bring yourself to sit at the church piano when the priest asked you to.

But here you stood now, alone in his studio. Staring at the last piece he played before he died.

Beethoven’s Für Elise.

A lump formed in your throat. He hated that piece. But you loved it.

“You’re a child prodigy, sweetheart!” he’d always say. Lies. At seven, you were a terrible player. But he’d clap like you’d just performed at Carnegie Hall.

It was the first piece you ever played together.

“Two on a bench, one heart between the notes.” He’d say.

You ran your hand along the worn wood of the piano. Something heavy settled in your stomach.

You never handled strong emotions well.

“Most gifted people don’t.” His eyes would twinkle with understanding.

But now, you took a seat at the bench and inhaled.

“Go on, sweetheart. You can do it,” he’d whisper every time you sat down to play something new.

Your fingers twitched. Für Elise stared back at you. The memory of his voice echoed:

“It doesn’t matter if the piece is happy, sweetheart. If you play it with sadness, people will feel it. It’s not about the notes. It’s about what you pour into them. Feel it. Then play it.”

So what were you feeling?

Grief. Sadness. Anger. Loneliness. Desperation.

Could Für Elise carry all that?

You didn’t know.

But your fingers moved on their own. And for the first time in almost two months…you let the first tear fall.

It hurt. it hurt so fucking bad.

He was gone. The only one who ever truly cared for you… was gone. And your only release? The music that killed him.

“I assume you’re the granddaughter he liked to brag about?”

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice. You hadn’t even realized someone else was in the room.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded.

Standing there was a tall, posh-looking man— Black turtleneck, black slacks, and leather shoes. Too polished for a place this sacred and raw.

“I’m Jaehyun, a friend of your grandfather” he stretched his hand offering a handshake

You stood up form the bench and shook his hand

“I know who you are” Your voice came out scratchy and strained.

Everyone who was interested in classical music and pianos knew who The Jeong Jaehyun was.

He was an actual child prodigy who actually played at Carnegie hall.

His name was worth more than gold in the industry.

But-

“Good. I heard your playing out there, and I know it is not the most appropriate time to say this, but your attempt at Für Elise was horrible.”

-Everyone also knew he was a conceited little prick.

Too prim and far too proper.

Which is why it surprised you when he said He was a ‘friend’ of your grandfather.

“I’m not a professional” You informed him

He nodded as if grateful that you really weren’t

“Grandpa taught me how to play”

He paused for a moment and his gaze shifted to the piano behind you.

He clenched his jaw and whispered “I can tell”

But it wasn’t in a rude tone…it sounded almost

Envious.

A Few Months Later

Grief had stopped screaming.

It just sat with you now—quiet and heavy—like a coat you didn’t take off, even in the heat.

You didn’t go back to the piano much.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because it still smelled like him. Sounded like him. It felt like holding hands with a ghost.

You stood in front of your mirror, smoothing out your dress and releasing a big breath.

Your friend’s voice had been light when she invited you.

“It’s just a community fundraiser. Small, casual. They’ll have music, snacks, people who don’t take themselves too seriously.”

You almost said no. But then she added:

“They’re naming the practice room after your grandpa.”

So you said yes. For him. Because he would’ve liked that.

The room was cramped but warm. People laughed, bumped shoulders, sipped boxed juice and clapped after every shaky performance.

The piano was far too close to the speakers and had three sticky keys.

It was perfect.

You stood near the back, arms folded, letting the noise wrap around your silence.

“We’ve got a final performance tonight,” the MC said, with a lilt of surprise. “Please welcome… Jeong Jaehyun?”

Your blood ran cold.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Still pristine. Still poised. Still unreadable.

His eyes met yours across the room. Just once.

No smile. No nod. Just that silent look that said I remember you.

He sat.

You didn’t breathe.

His fingers moved like water—every note clean, every phrase controlled.

And then you recognized it.

Your grandfather’s piece.

Your lungs tightened.

It was the one he never finished. The one he used to hum around the house with a pencil between his teeth. The one he said would never be “perfect,” and didn’t need to be.

But Jaehyun’s version… was perfect.

Painfully so.

Polished into something unrecognizable. All the grief sanded away.

It was beautiful. But it wasn’t your grandfather.

It wasn’t messy. It didn’t stumble. It didn’t cry.

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. The ache came rushing back, not loud, but raw.

Your fingers twitched. You could almost hear your grandfather’s voice:

“Feel it first, sweetheart. Then play it.”

But Jaehyun hadn’t felt it.

He had played it like it was a performance.

Not a memory.

When he finished, the crowd clapped softly. Grateful. Polite.

You didn’t move.

He looked at you again.

Longer this time.

There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Not regret. Not pride.

Just… silence.

Almost like he knew he’d played it wrong.

Not technically, But emotionally.

And that was worse.

Jaehyun rose smoothly from the piano bench, his expression unreadable as he nodded once toward the crowd. No flourish, no bow…just quiet, controlled grace. He disappeared backstage before anyone could ask for an encore.

You stood frozen for a moment, chest tight, eyes burning.

How could he play it so… pristine? So distant? Like it was just another song to master, not a heart laid bare?

Your friends approached softly, sensing the storm behind your silence.

“You okay?” Joy asked gently.

You forced a smile, nodding as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you said quietly.

“if you don’t see me come back, I’m gone”

They nodded, understanding.

You said your goodbyes, voice steady but your mind racing with a tangle of grief and anger.

Walking out of the room, the weight of the music pressed down on you—beautiful, but empty.

Outside, the night air hit your face.

You breathed it in.

You didn’t know when the grief would loosen its grip. But tonight… tonight it was louder than ever.

Jaehyun stepped into the night, his movements measured, almost detached. He saw you standing there, tense and tight.

He stopped a few feet away. His voice was low, clipped. “You’re angry.”

You didn’t turn. “Why do you play it like that? So perfect. So cold.”

He said nothing for a beat. Then, without looking at you, “Because that’s how it’s done.”

Your voice rose, sharp with grief and rage. “It’s not just about the music. It’s about him. About what he meant.”

Jaehyun’s jaw tightened. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked toward you for a moment — no warmth, no softness. “I’m not here to comfort you.”

You finally faced him, bitterness raw. “Then why’re you here?”

“Because I feel like I need to be.” His tone was flat, dismissive. “I’m not here to play for your feelings.”

You clenched your fists, pain and envy mixing in your chest. “I’m starting to hate you.”

He gave a short, humourless laugh. “Good.”

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the cold night and your anger swirling behind him.

TWO WEEKS LATER

One of the scariest things about being a celebrity was that people always kept tabs on you. Your meals, your latest purchases, your favourite stores... even your current location.

“OMG!! I just saw Jaehyun entering Smith’s Hall… he must be practicing for a concert or something 😭😭😭” — Twitter user @yuno_wifey, 12 minutes ago

You hadn’t meant to care. But something about the way he played music rubbed you the wrong way.

Too perfect, too calculated. It didn’t sit right with you.

So here you were, standing in front of Smith’s Hall, determined to figure out the truth. Because there was no way in hell he’d had a real friendship with your grandfather. Not with the way he played.

You stepped through the massive double doors and froze. It smelled like polished wood and silence — heavy, suffocating. It didn’t feel like a space made for passion or practice. It felt like a performance prison.

The velvet chairs and glossy décor practically screamed no mistakes and no funny business.

“Grandpa would’ve hated this,” you muttered.

“He did.” The voice cut through the quiet, sharp and unmistakable.

You turned — and there he was. Jaehyun. The man claiming to be your grandfather’s friend.

He looked at you for a long moment. “How did you know I was here?”

He wasn’t surprised you were here.

Like he’d been waiting for you to show up.

How odd.

“Twitter,” you said simply.

He gave a small nod — and in true Jaehyun fashion, just turned and walked into a smaller room off to the side.

Naturally, you followed. Why? Because you needed to know. Something.

The room was small and stripped of pretense — cold, but more real than the grand hall. It suited him more than the main stage ever could.

You lingered in the doorway. “I have a question for you.”

He didn’t respond. So you asked it anyway.

“Why do you even play?”

The door closed softly behind you.

Jaehyun sat at the grand piano, back to you, fingers lightly resting on the keys, his posture infuriatingly perfect.

For weeks, ever since he played your grandfather’s piece with that cold, surgical precision, you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. About the way his music felt like a fortress. And what it would mean if someone broke through.

“Let me play for you,” you said. Quiet. Steady. But your heart pounded hard.

Still, he didn’t turn. Just the faint shift of his clothes — a barely-there movement.

You stepped closer. “I want to show you how it feels. The way I feel.”

Nothing.

But you still moved towards him.

You sat beside him. The bench was cold. He was close — closer than you expected — and his cologne lingered in the air between you. You could feel his attention, even if he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You placed your fingers on the keys. They trembled.

Then, slowly, painfully, you began to play.

It wasn’t smooth. You cracked, faltered, stumbled. But this wasn’t about perfection. It was about everything inside you that hurt and screamed and longed.

The tension in the room grew thick, electric. Jaehyun’s hands twitched. His jaw clenched.

Then, for the briefest moment, his eyes flicked toward you — sharp, unreadable. You caught it. Or maybe you imagined it.

Still, you played on. Grief. Anger. Yearning. You poured it all into the notes.

When you finally stopped, the silence was deafening.

He stood and moved behind you.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t say a word. But as he walked away, something shifted.

Like gravity had changed. Like he’d noticed.

Like he saw you.

“Well then…”

You stood, brushing invisible dust from your jeans, the ache in your chest blooming wider now that it was quiet again. The room, dim and cold, suddenly felt too still.

You turned toward the door, ready to leave it all behind — him, the questions, the music that wouldn’t stop following you.

But then you heard it. Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate.

You froze.

Jaehyun stepped back into the room, his expression unreadable, but his hand — his hand clutched a sheet of music, crisp and marked with notes like scars.

He didn’t speak right away. Just walked past you, calm and silent, and set the paper on the music stand.

Then he turned to you, eyes meeting yours. For once, he didn’t look through you — he looked at you.

“Play this,” he said. His voice was low, but there was something sharp beneath it. A dare. A demand.

You blinked at the sheet. It was unfamiliar — complex, full of unexpected pauses, chaotic chords, and moments of painful softness.

“Did you write this?” you asked cautiously.

His eyes didn’t flinch. “Play it. As is.”

You hesitated. “What even is this?”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes shining with just enough vulnerability for you believe him. “It’s how I feel.”

Your heart dropped a little.

It wasn’t just notes. It was his grief. His confusion. The storm beneath that polished surface.

You glanced at the sheet again. “No changes?”

“No changes.”

The piano waited, sleek and heavy like a secret. You sat slowly, eyes scanning the first few bars. It wasn’t easy. It wasn't pretty. It wasn’t supposed to be.

You exhaled.

Then you played.

The first few measures stuttered under your fingers, awkward and sharp. But then something shifted — the music pulled you in, unfamiliar yet familiar, like reading someone’s diary and realizing it’s written in your own handwriting.

Anger laced the rhythm. Grief haunted the rests. And in the middle of it all was longing — raw and so loud it nearly drowned you.

When you stopped, the silence hit like a wave. You didn’t dare look up.

But then Jaehyun spoke — quiet, almost gentle.

“You didn’t change a single note.”

You looked at him. His expression had softened, but barely.

“Neither did you,” you said softly.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes — pride? Sadness? Relief?

He nodded once, and this time, when he turned to leave, he paused at the door.

“Come back tomorrow.”

You didn’t answer. But he already knew you would.

THE NEXT DAY

The cramped practice room smelled faintly of old wood and cold metal. A step down from the hall — smaller, rougher — but more honest. The kind of space where truth had nowhere to hide.

The low hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows on the dusty floor. You sat at the grand piano, Jaehyun’s sheet music in front of you — a different one from the night before. Your fingers hovered above the keys, eyes closed, breath held, as the final note died in the air.

Behind you, Jaehyun stood still — tall, silent, watching.

Then his voice sliced through the quiet. Smooth. Controlled. But heavy, like a cello bow drawn too tightly.

“Is that all you’ve got to give me?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a judgment.

You didn’t turn around. The words burned into your back.

“You play with no respect,” he continued. “You fumble around and play what you feel is right. Music is about structure. Discipline. Intent.”

You rose slowly, spine straightening, turning to face him. The air between you grew hotter — too close, too charged.

“And yet…” you said softly, your voice holding steel, “Beethoven was deaf.”

He blinked.

“He couldn’t hear a single note, but he composed music that made the world feel everything.”

You took a step closer, the distance shrinking. “I play by feel because music is meant to feel. It’s meant to speak the things we’re too afraid to say out loud.”

He scoffed — short, sharp, dismissive.

But you weren’t done.

“I feel sorry for you,” you whispered, your voice dipped in sorrow, not spite. “Your musicality must be like a sheet filled with long rests and pianissimo… so quiet, so careful, it forgets how to breathe.”

You turned back to the piano. Your fingers hovered, not yet touching, but longing.

“How can I play in a way that doesn’t speak to the audience?” “Music is memory. It’s future. It’s pain and love and grief — all tangled in the silence between notes.”

Your voice cracked slightly, a fracture in your otherwise defiant melody.

“We feel when the music is void. So how can I give them a pianissimo when what they need is a fortissimo?”

The air stilled. Heavy. A long silence. Four silent beats.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Then, Jaehyun’s voice struck, hard — sharp like staccato.

“You don’t decide what they need,” he snapped, eyes narrowing.

“Beethoven does. Chopin. Schumann.” “You didn’t write it. Play it as written.”

He stepped forward, shoulders tense, fists clenched.

“Your stubbornness is the reason you cannot play like you’re supposed to.”

His voice cracked — just a hairline fracture, but it was there. The first real break.

“All that bleeding,” he bit out, breathing shallow now, “makes it hard to see the notes.”

You froze.

His chest rose and fell faster. And just for a second — a sliver of time — you saw it.

His eyes glistened.

Not with anger.

But with grief.

Real. Raw. Human.

“Now sit,” he said, barely above a whisper, “and play it. As is.”

It wasn’t a shout. But it roared through the room louder than any crescendo.

And for that one fleeting moment — like a grace note buried in the melody — you saw what he’d tried so hard to bury:

He understood you. He was grieving, too. And somewhere along the way, he’d been taught that emotions had no place in the music. That only the notes mattered. Not the story. Not the ache. Not the fire building in his chest.

But you saw it now — loud and clear — A crescendo, rising. Raging. Waiting for someone to call it music.

The silence after his words lingered, draping itself over the room like one of the velvet curtains in the main hall.

Your hands clenched at your sides. The weight of his command hung heavy in your chest.

You sat down again, jaw tight. The same sheet music stared up at you — perfectly aligned notes that felt like shackles. You hated how beautiful it was. Hated how it demanded order when all you had left was chaos.

Then... you heard him move.

Soft footsteps on the old wood floor.

He didn't leave.

Jaehyun came around the bench — slowly, deliberately — and placed something on the music stand.

Another page. Another song.

His fingers lingered at the edge of the paper for a beat too long. You glanced up. He was already watching you.

Something swirling in his eyes,

Was that…desire?

What could he possibly want?

Waltz No. 2.

“Play this,” he said, low and breathless, like it had taken something out of him.

Your eyes widened just slightly. The piece was infamous. Beautiful. Torturous.

Without waiting for your response, he moved beside you and slid onto the bench — too close. The space between your bodies vanished like a held breath.

Your arm brushed his, and it was electricity — but no one flinched.

“Start with the left hand,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would break the spell. “I’ll take the right.”

The waltz began — slowly, cautiously — your fingers pressing the minor notes, his dancing on top with aching grace. The melody curled around the room, haunted and wistful, like a memory trying to return.

Your hands moved like shadows across the keys — almost touching, almost crossing.

But not yet.

You could feel him beside you. The heat radiating off his skin. The way he breathed like the music was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then...

His pinky grazed yours.

Barely a brush. But it sent a jolt through you — like the music had turned to fire.

He didn’t look at you.

He just played on, like nothing happened. But his playing changed — just slightly.

It grew heavier. Slower. Seductive. Like he was daring you to feel it too.

Your fingers stumbled for half a beat. He noticed. You knew he did.

Still, you didn’t stop.

You found the rhythm again — swaying in time with him, with the pulse of the song, with the growing storm between you.

Then his hand crossed over yours — reaching for the high notes.

His wrist brushed the back of your palm, deliberately slow. The friction seared.

And still, he didn’t look.

He didn't have to.

The air between you buzzed with the kind of tension that only silence and sound together could make. Like restraint holding back something wild.

You kept playing.

And then — he moved his hand beneath yours this time, supporting the chord as your fingers floated above his.

You felt his knuckles. Warm. Calloused. Real.

“Stop trying to outrun the song,” he said softly. “Let it catch you.”

Your breath hitched.

His hand lingered under yours, just long enough to make you forget what you were playing.

“Do you feel it now?” he asked softly, his breath tickling your ear.

You clenched your thighsand nodded, eyes still on the keys.

“I do.”

And when your pinky brushed his again — this time, you didn’t pull away.

The music slowed. Grew heavier. Every note was an inhale. Every rest, an exhale. And in the space between it all — where no sound lived — something bloomed.

Want. Restraint. Fear. Longing.

You didn’t speak.

Because the waltz said everything.

And somewhere between your fingers grazing and the swell of the final note — you realized:

Jaehyun hadn’t just come to play. He’d come to bleed, too.

Together.

You could see it clearly now.

He was caged.

He was messy.

And he was wounded.

Your hands were still resting together on the keys, breath shallow, hearts louder than the silence.

Jaehyun pulled away first — but not far.

He stood slowly, like something heavy was coming undone in him. His jaw flexed, the way it always did when he was trying to stay cold.

But he wasn’t cold anymore.

Not after that.

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he murmured, eyes not quite meeting yours.

You didn’t answer.

He turned his back to you, fingers flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t hiding him anymore.

“I…” His voice caught, like he hadn’t spoken a real feeling in years. “I was taught that if you let the music feel too much… it’ll destroy you.”

Your breath hitched — barely. But he heard it.

He kept going.

“My first teacher…” He laughed, hollow and without humor. “He believed expression was filth. That it distracted from purity.”

He looked down at his hands — beautiful, scarred hands.

“I used to think he was right. That control was everything. That perfection was the only thing worth reaching for.”

“and then I met your grandfather and…”

He finally looked at you.

“he showed me what it was like to be free again.”

His eyes pooled with unshed tears.

Tears of grief.

Of guilt.

“And then I heard you playing after his burial…it sounded so much like him. And it made me angry.”

You stiffened, but he stepped closer, slowly.

“It made me angry because I remembered.”

His voice was raw now, stripped of all polish.

“I remembered what it felt like to love a piece. To lose yourself in it. To want to scream through the keys. To want to play until your fingers bled because it was the only way to get it all out.”

He was in front of you now. His hair slightly covering his eyes, cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted.

He was close.

So fucking close your skin felt hot.

You craved him— You knew you did.

He was close enough for his voice to be a vibration in your ribcage.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Not just for the words. Not just for the coldness.

But for every time he tried to crush the thing that made you… you.

“For the first time in years,” he said, voice trembling, “I heard music again. Not notes. Not time signatures. Music.”

His hand lifted — hesitated — then brushed your cheek. Featherlight. Like he wasn’t sure he had permission to touch something so alive.

“You made me feel something I wasn’t ready for.”

A pause.

His voice dropped to almost nothing.

“And I think that terrifies me.”

The room was quiet. But not empty.

It was full of unsaid things. Of years lost. Of notes held too long and silences that finally cracked.

You could still feel the echo of the waltz between your ribs. You knew he could too.

And when his forehead rested lightly against yours — not a kiss, not yet — just the soft ache of closeness…You realized he wasn’t asking for forgiveness.

He was offering surrender.

“The way you played…It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t clean. But it… ached in all the right places. I could feel the grief in the minor shifts. The joy in the accidentals. The love in the spaces you let breathe.”

His brows furrowed, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying aloud.

“That kind of playing—what you did—it takes more courage than anything I’ve ever learned. And I was too much of a coward to say that.”

He looked down, then up again, slowly.

“I’m sorry, not just for the things I said in that room. I’m sorry for not respecting what he taught you. For thinking that kind of music was less than.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, barely hanging in the air between you.

“I think your grandfather would’ve been proud.”

You blinked — once, twice — but the sting was there.

And Jaehyun saw it.

He didn’t move closer this time. He let the silence settle, let your heart catch up.

But then, when your gaze didn’t waver… he did.

He reached out, carefully, fingers ghosting over yours on the piano — like he was asking to join your world, not take it.

And when your pinkies brushed — barely there, but electric — his voice came again.

“I don’t want to be the reason your music hesitates.”

Another beat.

“I want to learn how to feel again.”

His voice cracked like an old string pulled too tight.

“And if you’ll let me… I want to learn from you.”

You stared at him — this man made of marble and bruised melody — and for the first time, you saw the boy beneath the training.

The man who never got to cry when the music begged him to.

You took his fully in yours and gave a tight reassuring squeeze

“Okay”

LESSONS: FEELING IN MUSIC

Week One - Touch

He sat beside you stiffly, spine straight, jaw locked. His eyes kept flicking down to his hands like they were foreign to him. You watched the tension crawl across his shoulders — the way his fingers hovered just above the keys, twitching, uncertain. Like pressing a note might make something inside him snap.

“Don’t think,” you whispered. “Just play.”

His breath hitched. He glanced at you, wide-eyed — like he wanted to believe you, but didn’t know how.

“I don’t know how to not think.”

You placed your hand over his. His entire body stilled. Your touch was soft — but it landed like lightning. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, hard.

“Then stop trying to get it right. Start trying to feel it.”

You guided his hand down, gently. His fingers pressed the chord, trembling slightly beneath yours.

“You’re trembling,” you said softly.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

“I’m not used to this,” he breathed, voice rough.

You tilted your head.

“To being… touched like this.”

There it was — vulnerability cracked open on his face. His brows drew in, lashes fluttering once before he looked at you with an expression that sat somewhere between awe and fear.

You smiled gently. Too gently.

“Like what?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Like you want me to unravel.”

Week Two - Language of the Hands

You stood behind him now, your presence warm against his back. Your fingers rested lightly on his shoulders — grounding, not gripping. And still — he flinched. Shoulders tensed. Breath caught.

“Relax.”

“I can’t,” he said, barely above a whisper.

His voice trembled — not from fear, but restraint. Like he knew that if he let go even an inch, everything would spill.

So you let your hands drift downward. Slowly. Deliberately. Over his arms. Over every ridge of muscle that tightened beneath your fingers. He inhaled sharply through his nose — a quiet sound, but telling.

Then you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

“You don’t have to earn softness. Just accept it.”

He shuddered. Not from cold. From you.

His eyes squeezed shut, expression flickering into something raw.

“You do that on purpose,” he muttered, jaw clenched.

“What?”

He turned just enough for you to see his face in profile — the flush creeping up his neck, the storm in his eyes.

“Say things like that. Touch me like that. And then act like you didn’t just ruin me.”

Week Three - Eye Contact

You were across the room demonstrating something — posture, maybe. Dynamics. You weren’t even playing anything difficult.

But when you glanced back—

He wasn’t watching your hands.

His eyes were locked on your mouth. His lips parted, slightly, like the sight alone had undone him.

“What?”

He blinked. Slow. Like he hadn’t even realized he’d been caught.

And then — a faint, knowing smirk.

“You teach like you kiss.”

You froze mid-gesture. The corner of your mouth twitched upward in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

His gaze dropped to your mouth again — deliberately.

“With intention,” he said. “But like you don’t even realize it’s seductive.”

You dropped a chord. He chuckled — low, amused, infatuated.

Month Two - Composition and Confession

He handed you the sheet. His fingers brushed yours, and you felt the heat from his skin even after he pulled away. You skimmed the notes. Your brows lifted.

“You wrote this?” you asked, tone soft.

He nodded once, but didn’t speak.

“It sounds… alive.”

Still, silence.

You looked up.

He was already looking at you — not nervous, but exposed. Like he was waiting for you to see him between the lines.

“Did you write it thinking of something?” you asked.

His throat moved. He clenched his jaw before answering.

“Someone.”

You blinked.

Then carefully, you pressed your fingers to the keys. The melody bloomed into the air — vulnerable, tender, aching.

And when you glanced up mid-phrase — he was watching you with his whole chest open. Eyes wide. Hands in his lap. Breathing shallow.

“Is this how you see me?”

His voice broke when he answered.

“No,” he said. “That’s how you make me feel.”

Month Three — Practicing in the Dark

The room was quiet — save for the faint hum of city noise outside and the distant ticking of the wall clock. The glow from the lamp painted the walls in soft gold. Shadows flickered like breath.

Your knees brushed. Neither of you moved.

He leaned forward to turn the page, and your hands collided.

He didn’t pull away.

“You ruin me a little more every time you touch the keys.”

You turned your head slowly.

He was already watching you.

His eyes were shadowed, not just by the low lamplight, but by something deeper. Something breaking. Something baring its teeth and begging.

“I want to know what your music would sound like,” he murmured, voice frayed at the edges, “if you played it for me. Just me. Like I was your secret.”

Your breath stilled in your throat.

You tried to speak, but all you managed was a dry whisper. “Why?”

He leaned closer

So close his words trembled against your lips like a prayer he was too afraid to finish.

“Because I think…” He swallowed. “I think I’d finally understand how love sounds.”

You blinked. “W-what?”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at you like he was standing on the edge of something high and holy.

“I want you,” he said, and it wasn’t a confession… it was a surrender.

“Not just the way you play. Not just the way you look at me when I finally get it right.”

His voice cracked and he didn’t try to hide it.

“I want every version of you. Every messy, brilliant, soft, cruel, breathtaking part.”

He looked down, like the words were too heavy to carry while meeting your eyes.

Then, barely above a whisper

“Please…” His hand hovered near yours, not touching. “Use me however you want. Ruin me. Teach me. Just… need me. Like I need you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

The air between you was thick… like if you moved too fast, you’d tear straight through the tension and unravel both of you.

Exposing you and how you really felt about him.

He’d said it.

Not just the words, but everything underneath them.

The need.

The ache.

The silent confession he’d been wearing like a second skin since the first time you touched his hand on the keys.

And you couldn’t look away.

His eyes were still cast down, like he regretted giving himself away. Like he was bracing for rejection.

you couldn’t let him sit in that.

Not when you felt it too.

Even if it meant he was going to find about the times you climaxed thinking of how his fingers would feel inside you.

How he would feel inside you.

You couldn’t just sit and watch him like this…

Not when you’d been pretending it was just practice when your hands lingered too long, when your voice dipped low, when your eyes met his and stayed there.

You stood slowly.

His gaze flicked up — hopeful, hesitant.

You walked to the piano, heart hammering, then looked over your shoulder.

“Come here,” you whispered desperately

He didn’t move at first, just stared like he didn’t trust what he heard.

“I want to show you,” you said again, quieter this time. “How you make me feel.”

That made him rise…slow, reverent — like he was walking toward a chapel instead of a girl who made his hands shake just by speaking.

You turned away from him, not because you were unsure — but because you felt everything too much. His gaze. His nearness. The promise you were about to make with no sheet music in front of you.

You slid onto the top of the piano, legs crossed delicately at the ankles, dress slipping up as you shifted — not indecent, not bold — but intentional. A silent statement: look at me. really look.

Your hands trembled slightly as they came to rest on your lap.

You still didn’t look at him.

Couldn’t.

The air was molasses — thick, slow, heavy with things unsaid.

You heard the way his breath hitched.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asked, voice rough and strained, like he knew what was about to happen.

“Because if I do,” you whispered, “I’ll forget how to speak in music. And that’s the only language I’m brave in right now.”

A pause.

Then his steps, soft, but as he came closer you realize they were also sure.

You felt his fingers brush your ankle. Just a ghost of a touch. Reverent. Worshipful.

Your breath stuttered.

“Then play,” he murmured, eyes now level with yours, “and let me hear what you can’t say, baby.”

And you did.

Not with the piano.

But with the way your knees parted — just enough for him to step into the space that had always belonged to him.

The way your trembling fingers found his chest — the place where sound lived when he didn’t know how to speak.

A composition of silence.

A symphony of skin and want and reverence.

And when your eyes met his — wide, glassy, burning with something too big for language — he looked at you like a man who had just found God in a song he never knew he needed.

Slowly, your hand reached for his.

Guided it.

Brought it to the place where your heart was beating the loudest…not in your chest, but between your hips.

“Feel it,” you breathed, voice breaking. “Feel what you do to me.”

His fingers trembled.

So did yours.

“I don’t just want you, Jae.” Your voice cracked like a confession in a church pew. “I crave you.”

You blinked, and tears clung to your lashes.

Because you’d never said anything more honest in your life.

He leaned in closer as his fingers circled your clothed clit painfully slow

He didn’t take his eyes away from your face…not even when you started to move your hips in a way to give you more pleasure.

It was like he wanted this specific version of you permanently painted in the forefront and back of his mind.

Eyes memorizing every curve, scar and feature of your face.

The way our lips parted as you let out short gasps and whines

The quiet “Please” that left you mouth more than once

And he definitely didn’t look away when you took his other scarred hand and kissed his scars.

His eyes widened a fraction…like he wanted to see all of you before you disappeared

Poor thing…

You weren’t going anywhere…not anymore

You were done running.

You saw the moment his eyes flicked to something more darker

Sinister almost…

You swirled your tongue around his finger painting it with your saliva

Your licked right down to the web of his fingers before you flattened your tongue licking all the way back up to his finger tip.

You rubbed his finger all over you lips and chin.

He quickly grabbed your chin hooking his wet index under and pressing his thumb against your bottom lip

Forcing you to really look at him

“You’re playing a very dangerous fucking chord Y/n” his voice ripped from his chest

Brutish

animalistic

His breath ghosted your lips — close enough to taste, far enough to ache.

You could feel the war in him. The pull. The restraint. The part of him that wanted to devour you... and the part that refused to touch what he didn’t think he deserved.

So you leaned in first.

Not a kiss.

Just a brush.

Your nose to his. Your lips barely grazing — just enough to feel how soft his were.

Is it possible to be addicted to something you never had?

He exhaled like you’d punched the air out of him. A shaky, broken sound.

“Don’t,” he begged, voice wrecked. “Don’t kiss me unless you mean it.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes — and God, he looked destroyed. Brows drawn. Lips parted. Eyes glassy, like he was holding back an ocean.

You wanted to drown in it.

“I do,” you whispered. “I’ve never meant anything more.”

And then you kissed him.

Fully.

Softly.

Like you weren’t afraid of his edges.

His hand shot to your waist — not possessive, just desperate — as if he needed to hold you there or he’d fall. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair like it was instinct.

He kissed you like a secret he’d kept his whole life.

Like he was scared you’d disappear if he opened his eyes.

You felt it in every tremble of his mouth,

Every exhale into your skin Every barely-there whimper he didn’t mean to make.

And when he finally pulled back, breathless, lips swollen and pink from the pressure, his forehead dropped to yours again.

Eyes still closed.

“You feel like music,” he rasped. “And I’ve been deaf my whole damn life.”

Desperate. Consuming. Worshipful.

He kissed like the hunger had been building for weeks and this was his first taste of relief. Except… it wasn’t relief. It was ignition. A match to every unspoken need that had ever passed between you.

You felt it in your spine.

The fire.

Like a burning Symphony

The kiss wasn’t perfect. It was too open, too wet, too full of gasped breaths and shaken moans. But God, it was real.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

You blinked, dazed, flushed. “What?”

His eyes were shining — not with tears, but with something deeper. A soul cracked open.

“You’ve already ruined me for anything and anyone else.”

He choked on his breath. One hand gripped your waist. The other cradled your jaw like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

“And I let you in. I wanted you to fucking wreck me…Because for the first time in my life, breaking doesn’t feel like the end.”

You inhaled sharply, heart pounding like a warning you were ready to ignore.

“It feels like becoming.”

Your mouth parted — a whimper barely forming.

He leaned closer.

“So let me become yours.” “Let me fall apart in your hands, and I swear—” “I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to make you feel wanted.”

His lips brushed yours again, softer this time. Torturous.

“Say yes,” he whispered. “Say yes, and I’ll worship every inch of you like you’re the only thing that’s ever saved me.”

Yes.

But you didn’t just want to say it

You wanted to scream it

To breathe it

To become it

You wanted him to wreck you. To pull you apart and break you into pieces

You wanted him to use you as the ink to write his new piece.

You wanted him to touch you like you were fragile, then love you like you’d be the easiest thing to break again.

You didn’t want his tenderness...not now

You wanted truth.

All of it.

His hands. His mouth. His heart. His need

You wanted him to transform you.

Your hands trembled as they slid down his chest, fisting in the fabric of his shirt like you

Could anchor yourself to the heat of him.

“Please…” Your voice craked

Not for fear.

From need

“Please don’t hold back.”

He stilled.

Brows drawn tight. Jaw clenched so hard you hear the pressure an building crescendo in his silence. His eyes searched yours, as if he was waiting for some signal- some final permission to let go of the restraint that chained him.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and whispered like a vow

“I want you to ruin me.”

His breath hitched

A gasp disguised as a growl.

“I want you to use me. However you need, however you ache to.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him

“I don’t want soft.”

“I don’t want careful.”

A tear spilled over, warm and desperate as it slipped down your cheek.

“I want to feel everything you’ve been holding back.”

Your hands guided his to your waist.

“I want to feel how much you’ve wanted me.”

“I want you to lose yourself in me.”

You exhaled, trembling.

“Please…let me be the thing that unravels you.”

That undid him.

Because that was the truth wasn’t it?

You wanted the storm inside him. The part he tried to cage. The part that wanted to leave bruises in the shape of worship.

“Touch me like I’m the only thing that’s ever made you feel alive.”

You watched his pupils blow wide—lust, reverence, wreckage.

And then, in a voice that sounded more like a promise than a plea:

“Break me, Jae.”

In a flash he pushed to you down to lay you flat on top of the piano.

Feet still dangling at the end…with him standing in between

In slow torturous movements he lowered his body and knelt between your legs

You felt his hot breath on your inner thighs.

He knelt between your thighs like a sinner before an altar — except this time, you were the god he worshipped.

His breath kissed your skin, hot and reverent, leaving goosebumps. His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, slow, certain, like he’d imagined this a thousand times and didn’t rush now that it was real.

You whimpered — not from impatience, but from the unbearable pressure of being seen.

He looked up at you.

Not just your body. You.

And what you saw in his eyes nearly unravelled you:

Hunger. Need. A kind of awe that felt like it could swallow you whole.

“You really want to be the thing that breaks me?” he rasped, voice shredded by emotion. “Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

You nodded, lips parted, barely breathing.

He pressed his forehead to your stomach. Exhaled like he was praying. Or trying not to fall apart.

“Then let me fall apart in your hands,” he murmured. “Let me give you everything. All of me.”

You reached for him, shaking, desperate.

“Then take it,” you whispered. “Take all of me.”

He hooked his fingers on the waistband of your panties and pulled them down.

“Keep your legs open and your eyes on me.” Simple instructions that you knew would be hard to follow.

Wasting no time his mouth was on you, licking and sucking where he needed to

Your hand gripped his hair pulling and tugging causing his to moan and groan.

You felt dazed.

Your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck Jae” You bawled--tears freely running down your cheeks

His hands hooked under your thighs and dragged you closer, even as your body instinctively tried to flee the overwhelming pleasure.

He detached his lips form you momentarily and looked up.

Eyes wild , hair tussled and lips glistening.

“Don’t fucking move” His eyes pierced yours.

You let out a breathy cry.

“Do you fucking hear me y/n? don’t fucking move”

You simply nodded. Too dizzy to use your voice.

Satisfied with your answer he continued to devour you

Piece by fucking piece

But even after you came

Even after you kept your eyes on him and your legs open-- though difficult

Even after your juices were dripping of the edge of the piano onto the keys

Even after your pussy was too sensitive and swollen , he still wasn’t satsifed.

“Jae, please…can’t… take anymore” you could barley speak above a whisper,

Your throat was raw from the constant screaming he caused.

“I know you’re tired baby but I’m not done” His voice was so gentle as if he was sympathizing with you. But his eyes didn’t dim a bit.

Still dark

Still needing

Still hungry.

Slowly, he stood and helped you sit up. His hand found your cheek, stroking it with a tenderness that made you lean into his touch. Your eyes fluttered shut, breath catching — you were exactly where you wanted to be.

Then you felt it. The warmth of his lips leaving soft, reverent kisses — from your forehead, to your nose, down to your chin. Each one a vow, a worship, a claim.

His voice came next, low and sinful against your ear.

“How many do you think you can take?”

You kept your eyes closed, body humming, head spinning. “…Huh?” you breathed, already half undone.

Suddenly his hand gripped your neck slightly choking you

“How many more orgasms can you give me baby?”

Your eyes popped open at the change in his tone. From gentle… to commanding. From worship… to something animalistic. Something feral.

His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw as he spoke.

“You begged me to ruin you,” he rasped. His voice was dark, low, wrecked with restraint. “So tell me—how far are you willing to break for me?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out—just a desperate, choked sound that only made him smirk. A sound that told him everything he needed to know.

“You want my tenderness?” He dragged his thumb across your bottom lip. “Or do you want to feel what it’s like when I lose control?”

You whimpered.

“I’ll give you both,” he whispered like a vow. “But once I start—there’s no going back.”

His unoccupied hand massages your breast

“how many more”

Your eyes roll and you moan as he pinches your nipple

“Y/N!” His voice snaps you out of your trance

“Open your fucking mouth and answer me”

Your breath ragged “I—I’m not sure.”

His hand left your breast and travelled downward to your still swollen and sensitive pussy

Fingers dancing around your entrance

He leaned towards your lips and whispered

“Then let’s find out”

In one swift motion two of his fingers push into you at an achingly slow pace

Your hips buck trying to draw more pleasure from him

“More” you whimpered

You knew your body was crashing but you were greedy.

So fucking greedy

His fingers start to over at a faster pace curling just right making you feel like falling

“Fuckkk” Jaehyun moaned looking down at his fingers.

You were dripping around them, slick coating his fingers and falling in soft drops onto the floor.

“You’re fucking perfect” He says in admiration

His eyes were on you now, still hungry but glistening with so much awe it made you feel overwhelmed

Everything felt heightened

And he still didn’t let up

Fingers still drawing all he can out of you

“Jae, I’m gonna cum” you gripped his arm trying to slow his pace

“Cum then” he stilled pummelled his finger into you over and over

You grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into you

“Slow downnn” you begged as hot tears streamed down your cheeks

“One more” He says

“Just one more baby…then I can fuck you to sleep” He looks up at you and smiles, popping his dimple.

You let out a broken, shameless moan—raw, wrecked, and real

“Jae! Pleaseee” You moan

Your scream split the air—loud enough to leave your ears ringing, your body shaking under the force of it

“Let it all go baby”

And you did.

All over his hand and shirt…

All over the sheets of music

All over the fucking piano

Your chest heaved as you took quick breaths

Slowly Jaehyun pulls his fingers out of you making you flinch at the loss of contact

He bites his lip as he stares at you raising his wet fingers to your mouth

“Open up for me”

You open your mouth and wait

Shockingly, he does something unexpected

Something that makes you feel feral

He spat into your waiting mouth, watching with dark hunger as you took it—no hesitation, no shame.

“Swallow” he says

And you did. Licking your lips after.

He smiles revealing his dimple.

You could tell he liked what he told you…no questions asked.

“Good fucking girl” he praises.

“Now get on your knees for me baby.”

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peachycheeks14 · 25 days ago