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faebled-stories · 5 days ago

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Beneath Her Empire

Soloist IU (Lee Jieun) x Male reader

AN: Today is a CEO Double Header. First, it was Kinkvember with Miyeon, and now… it’s IU! 🎉

As promised, here’s the surprise I teased earlier to celebrate hitting 1K on one of my stories. Thank you all so much for your support—it means the world to me! I hope you enjoy this special treat. 💖

Happy reading! 😊

Jieun was a powerhouse. Her name commanded respect across industries, her reputation a flawless blend of ruthlessness and precision. In the sprawling glass tower that bore the insignia of her empire, her presence was omnipresent—etched into every polished surface, woven into every hushed whisper that echoed through the hallways. Her heels clicked against the marble floors like the tick of a clock, each step a deliberate reminder of the relentless drive that had built her kingdom brick by uncompromising brick.

The building itself mirrored her persona: a towering, modern monolith of steel and glass that loomed over the city like a sentinel. Inside, the air was sharp with the faint scent of expensive coffee and ozone from constantly running air purifiers. Every detail had been meticulously curated to exude authority and power—chrome fixtures that gleamed under sterile, white lights; floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of a city that bent to her will; and sleek, minimalist décor that refused to accommodate frivolity.

Her office was the crown jewel. It was a shrine to control and dominance: walls lined with perfectly organized bookshelves, black leather seating that offered no comfort, and a custom mahogany desk that seemed more like a throne than a workspace. It was a space that demanded deference from anyone who entered. The city stretched endlessly beyond her glass walls, sprawling out like a kingdom laid bare before its queen. To stand inside her domain was to feel dwarfed, insignificant—a single note in the cacophony of her power.

Everyone under her command scrambled to meet her impossible standards. Emails, reports, presentations—each was a gauntlet of scrutiny. A single misplaced decimal or poorly chosen word could summon her icy disdain, her criticism cutting and precise enough to leave even the most seasoned executives reeling. Entire departments moved like clockwork, their precision fueled by the fear of falling short of her expectations.

But amidst this kingdom of submission, one anomaly existed: you. Her assistant. The enigma.

Where others flinched under her cutting words or broke under the weight of her relentless demands, you remained unshakable. Orders that would send lesser employees into a tailspin were met with swift execution, often completed before she could even voice them fully. “Rewrite this report by midnight” or “Fix this mess before the meeting in an hour” were challenges you dispatched with quiet efficiency.

Her sharpest critiques, the verbal scalpel she wielded so effortlessly, glanced off you as though they were mere observations. Your calm unnerved her. It was maddening.

“You didn’t even flinch,” she remarked one late evening, the office silent save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint murmur of the city beyond. Her voice was velvet wrapped around steel, her gaze sharp as a knife as she leaned against her desk. The air between you crackled with tension. “Do you enjoy being impenetrable, or is it just your nature?”

You didn’t pause, your fingers moving fluidly across the keyboard as you adjusted her schedule. “I enjoy doing my job well,” you replied evenly, your tone polite yet distant, as though her words were just another task to process and file away.

Her jaw tightened. That calm—that maddening, unflinching calm—gnawed at her. Others stumbled, fumbled, groveled, but you… you stood like a mirror, reflecting her intensity without wavering. And she hated it—or so she told herself.

Because in truth, you fascinated her.

Her empire was built on control. Control over her competitors, her boardrooms, her subordinates. Every variable in her world bent to her will—except you. She couldn’t manipulate you. Couldn’t predict you. And that made you dangerous in a way no hostile takeover or market disruption ever had.

As she watched you work, her gaze softened despite herself. The glow of your computer screen cast a subtle light across your face, and for the first time, she noticed the details she’d overlooked: the faint shadow of your lashes against your cheek, the subtle curve of your lips as you focused, the quiet strength in the way your fingers moved with precision over the keys.

Her chest tightened. The sharp edges of her thoughts dulled into something unfamiliar, unsettling. You weren’t just efficient; you were graceful. And that grace, that quiet defiance of her expectations, made her pulse quicken in a way no competitor or hostile boardroom ever had.

“Is there anything else?” you asked, breaking the silence as you looked up, meeting her gaze. Your voice was steady, even, but there was something in your eyes—an unreadable flicker that made her breath hitch.

She straightened, brushing the moment aside like a stray thread. “That report for tomorrow’s investor meeting—have you double-checked the figures?”

“Triple-checked,” you replied without missing a beat. “It’s already in your inbox.”

For a moment, she felt the faintest flicker of satisfaction. But it wasn’t just your competence that stirred something inside her—it was the unspoken challenge. The quiet question that seemed to linger between every interaction: What will it take to crack you?

She didn’t just want your skill. She wanted your vulnerability. Wanted to see what lay beneath that impenetrable calm. And it terrified her as much as it intrigued her.

The office settled into silence again, the tension lingering like an unanswered question. Beyond the glass, the city pulsed with life, a sprawling testament to her dominance. But inside these walls, her thoughts were consumed by the one thing she couldn’t conquer.

You.

-----

The next day began like any other. You delivered her morning coffee—black, two sugars—and placed a stack of meticulously organized reports on her desk. The room was pristine, her fortress of control reflected in every gleaming surface, the faint hum of the air conditioning blending with the rhythmic clicks of her pen. Each detail in her office was an extension of her, an embodiment of her ruthless precision: the stark black-and-white palette, the pens aligned perfectly parallel, the faint scent of jasmine and amber that lingered in the air. Yet, despite the perfection, the tension was undeniable—thick and unspoken, crackling faintly like a distant storm.

Jieun glanced at the clock, her expression neutral, though the subtle tightening of her jaw betrayed her simmering irritation. Her fingers wrapped around the porcelain mug with just a touch more force than necessary, her knuckles whitening against the delicate surface. “You’re late,” she said, her tone clipped and precise, her eyes darting toward you briefly before returning to the reports. But you knew better—she wasn’t irritated by the time; she was irritated by you.

“Three minutes early,” you corrected, your voice smooth and calm, as unruffled as still water. The slight inflection, the subtle edge, carried a quiet defiance that danced on the line between professionalism and provocation.

Her fingers tightened further around the mug, her irritation bubbling beneath the surface. She looked up at you, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Cheeky, aren’t you?” she said, her voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “Maybe I should assign you an extra project—something to keep that sharp mouth of yours busy.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Instead, you met her gaze with the faintest flicker of a smirk—a silent challenge that made her pulse stutter, though she would never admit it. “I’m here to do whatever you need, ma’am.”

The words hung in the air, thick with an unspoken tension that neither of you acknowledged but both felt acutely. Her cheeks flushed faintly, a delicate bloom of color that she was quick to disguise by turning her attention back to the reports in front of her. She shuffled the papers with unnecessary force, the soft rustle filling the silence as though to drown out her own thoughts. But you saw through her; you always did. She wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all herself.

Her voice came sharper now, as though trying to reassert control. “Close the door.”

The soft click of the door shutting seemed louder in the stillness of the room, the final note of an unspoken symphony of tension. When you turned back, she was leaning against her desk, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. The faint gleam of the cityscape beyond her glass walls illuminated her features, casting a subtle glow that softened her otherwise hard expression. Yet there was something different about her—an almost imperceptible crack in her icy composure, a vulnerability she fought to keep buried.

“Do you enjoy being so… untouchable?” she asked, her tone sharp, her words biting, but beneath them was something else entirely. Curiosity? Longing? You couldn’t quite place it, but it was there, glinting faintly in her eyes.

“Untouchable?” you echoed, stepping closer, the faint scent of her perfume reaching you—a rich, heady blend of jasmine and amber that seemed to fill the space between you. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to respond, but the words faltered. Instead, she clenched her jaw, frustration mounting like a rising tide. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” she snapped, her voice sharper now, laced with irritation and something else—something she couldn’t name. “Always so composed. So… perfect.”

You moved closer still, your steps deliberate, your presence filling the space between you. Her back straightened instinctively, her breath catching, though she didn’t move away. Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythms, the subtle crack in her control widening.

“You’re the one always testing me,” you said softly, your tone steady, as calm as the eye of a storm. “Are you upset that I pass every time?”

Her hand twitched at her side, her knuckles brushing the edge of the desk as though seeking stability. For a moment, she looked ready to retort, her lips parting as sharp words formed on her tongue. But when you leaned in, the heat of your body brushing against hers without touching, she froze. The air between you grew heavy, charged with an electricity that seemed to hum in the silence.

“You think you can—” she began, her voice strained, caught somewhere between anger and uncertainty.

“I know I can,” you interrupted smoothly, your tone firm but calm, your words like a scalpel cutting through her defenses. Her eyes widened slightly, her breath hitching as you continued. “But let’s not pretend you’re helpless here. If you really want me gone, fire me.”

The suggestion landed like a challenge, and her breath faltered. For a split second, her composure cracked, her expression flickering between control and something raw, something vulnerable. “You think I won’t?” she shot back, her voice sharp but unsteady, her tone betraying her hesitation.

You tilted your head, studying her intently, your gaze unyielding. “Go ahead,” you said softly, your voice even but weighted. “But we both know that’s not what you want.”

Her back hit the edge of the desk as you stepped forward, your proximity dissolving the last remnants of her icy veneer. Her breaths came quicker now, the faintest quiver in her chest betraying her. “You’re insufferable,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, the words lacking their usual bite.

“And yet,” you countered, a faint smile tugging at your lips, your voice carrying quiet amusement, “you’re still here.”

Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk tightly, her knuckles whitening as though bracing against the weight of her own emotions. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she muttered, but even as she spoke, the quiver in her voice betrayed her, her gaze locked on yours as the tension between you reached a breaking point.

“You’re enjoying this,” you observed, your voice low and deliberate, like the steady tide lapping against her crumbling walls.

“I’m not,” she shot back quickly, her tone defensive, but the hitch in her breath and the faint flush creeping down her neck betrayed her.

You stepped closer, your presence overwhelming in the otherwise silent office. The warm scent of her jasmine and amber perfume mingled with the tension in the air as you leaned in, your lips stopping just a breath away from her ear. “Prove it,” you murmured, the words carrying the weight of both a command and a dare. “Lift your skirt.”

Her entire body went rigid, her sharp eyes narrowing as they locked onto yours. “Excuse me?” she demanded, her voice sharp and biting, though the faint waver beneath her words spoke of the battle raging within her.

“You heard me,” you replied, your voice calm but unyielding, the suggestion hanging in the air like a challenge she couldn’t ignore. “Unless, of course, you’re too scared.”

Her cheeks flamed, indignation and something deeper flashing across her expression. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared you down, her grip tightening on the edge of the desk behind her. For a moment, you thought she might unleash her infamous temper, driving you back with the full force of her authority. But then, after a tense pause, her breathing grew uneven. Slowly, reluctantly, her hands moved to the hem of her skirt. Her fingers trembled as she lifted it just enough to reveal the delicate lace of her panties.

A soft, almost inaudible chuckle escaped your lips, and her head snapped up, her glare fierce, though tinged with embarrassment. “What’s so funny?” she demanded, her voice shaking but still defiant.

“How easy that was,” you said, your tone a blend of mockery and quiet satisfaction. “For all your resistance, look where we are.”

Her glare burned brighter, her defiance a flickering flame against the onslaught of her own body’s betrayal. She tried to steel herself, but her knees quivered, and her breaths came faster, shallower. The flush creeping down her neck deepened, and her lips parted as if to retort, but the words never came.

You leaned in closer then, your face mere inches from hers, so close that she could feel the warmth of your breath against her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, her lips parted slightly, tilting toward yours in unconscious surrender, her body leaning forward as if seeking what she swore she didn’t want.

But you didn’t give her what she was hoping for. Instead, your hand moved deliberately, brushing over the damp fabric of her panties, the heat radiating through them impossible to miss. Her body jolted slightly at the touch, her breath catching audibly, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.

You withdrew your fingers, holding them between you both as you met her gaze. “Here,” you murmured, pressing your fingers lightly to her lips. “Taste what you’re feeling right now.”

Her eyes widened in shock, her lips parting instinctively as she stared at you, her expression a tumultuous mix of humiliation, arousal, and disbelief. Her body didn’t pull away, though. If anything, she froze, caught in the intensity of the moment.

“You’re losing control, Jieun,” you whispered, your tone steady, a quiet dominance threading through every word. “But don’t worry. I won’t take it all from you… not yet.”

Her response was immediate and raw—a sharp, trembling inhale as your words sent another wave of tension through her. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, the edges of her nails pressing into her palms as she fought to hold on to the frayed edges of her composure.

“Don’t act like you don’t want this,” you said, your voice calm, almost soothing, but heavy with authority as your hand returned to her waist, your grip firm but unhurried.

Her eyes flashed with defiance, even as her body betrayed her again—her breathing was shallow now, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms. “You’re insufferable,” she spat, though the tremor in her voice softened the bite of her words. “This—whatever you think this is—ends now.”

You tilted your head, studying her, your gaze steady and unyielding. “Then stop me,” you said softly, the calm power in your tone making her breath hitch again. “Push me away. Tell me to leave.”

Her lips parted, sharp words poised to cut, but they never left her tongue. Instead, silence filled the space between you, heavy and charged. The flush deepened in her cheeks, and her fingers twitched as though to shove you, but her hands hovered with uncertainty, suspended near your chest.

“Exactly,” you said, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “You don’t want me to stop.”

Her body tensed, her jaw tightening as though she were bracing herself for a fight she wasn’t sure she could win. “You’re so full of yourself,” she muttered, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her growing surrender.

“And you’re trembling again,” you replied smoothly, leaning closer, letting your breath tickle her ear. “Admit it.”

“I’m not—” Her protest dissolved into a strangled moan as your other hand moved lower, tracing the line of her hips before stopping just short of where she wanted you most. The shift in her stance, the faint quiver in her knees—every reaction spoke louder than words.

“You’re so tense,” you murmured, your tone teasing, as your fingers ghosted over her inner thigh. “Always in control. Always the one calling the shots. How does it feel to let someone else take over for once?”

Her jaw clenched, and for a moment, she looked as though she might fight back. But when your hand pressed closer, her body melted into something softer, more pliant. “This isn’t…” she started, her voice cracking slightly before trailing off into a strangled moan as your fingers finally brushed against the damp lace again, teasing with deliberate slowness.

You chuckled softly, the sound low and deliberate. “That’s all it took?” you teased, each word cutting through the haze between you both. “For all your fire, all your resistance…”

Her glare flickered weakly, but it was drowned out by the way her body leaned instinctively into your touch. Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, and her hands gripped the desk behind her as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Look at you,” you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement, your fingers moving deliberately slow, drawing shivers from her with every teasing motion. “All that power, all that fire… and yet here you are.”

Her lips parted again, a sharp retort dying on her tongue as a soft, desperate sound escaped her instead. She was trembling now, her knees threatening to buckle as your touch brought her closer to the edge.

And then, in one fluid motion, you slid her panties to the side and plunged a single finger inside her. The sharp gasp she released was almost a cry, her walls immediately clenching around you as if they had been waiting, anticipating. The heat and wetness that greeted you were overwhelming, her body responding to your touch as though it had been longing for this exact moment.

Your movements were deliberate, unhurried as you curled your finger against the perfect spot inside her, pressing firmly with an accuracy that made her entire body jolt. Her legs trembled, her back arching slightly, and the sound she made—a raw, guttural moan��was one you knew she hadn’t planned to release.

Her climax hit her like a wave, crashing over her with an intensity that seemed to ripple from her very core. Her cries were unrestrained, unguarded, each one tumbling from her lips in a way that seemed to shock even her. Her knees buckled beneath her, her grip on the desk the only thing keeping her from collapsing entirely.

You didn’t move your finger. Instead holding it there, pressed against her most sensitive spot, letting her ride the full force of her release. Her body pulsed around you, clenching and releasing in rhythm, and you stayed perfectly still, letting her shudders tell you just how devastatingly effective you had been.

“Perfect,” you murmured softly, your voice calm and deliberate, cutting through the haze of her climax. You felt every ripple, every quiver as though her body were speaking to you directly. “It’s like I’ve known you all along.”

Her head slumped forward, her forehead brushing against your shoulder, her entire frame leaning heavily against you as if her strength had been completely drained. Her breaths came in short, frantic bursts, her chest heaving as she tried to recover. Even now, her body trembled uncontrollably, the aftershocks of her release rippling through her with a relentless rhythm.

You stayed where you were, your finger still pressing lightly against her, not withdrawing, not relenting. Each faint motion, each slight tremor from you sent another shiver coursing through her body. Her hands clung to the desk, knuckles white as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality.

Her breathing began to even out, though the tremble in her frame remained. Slowly, shakily, she straightened, her hands still gripping the desk as she attempted to reclaim some semblance of control. Her legs felt weak beneath her, and her gaze stayed fixed downward for a moment, as if gathering herself.

When she finally spoke, her voice was shaky but carried a thread of defiance, that sharpness she clung to like armor. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered, the words almost bitten off, as if saying them would rebuild the walls that had so clearly shattered.

You chuckled softly, the sound low and intimate, letting the air between you grow heavy with unspoken understanding. Leaning in close, your lips brushed against her ear without touching, the heat of your breath making her shiver again. “You’re body’s seaking me out,” you murmured, your tone steady and deliberate, like a truth she couldn’t escape. “And we both know that doesn’t lie.”

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the desk as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her jaw set stubbornly, her breaths shallow and uneven. “You’re wrong,” she said, her voice strained, defiance dripping from every syllable, though the faint shivers running through her body betrayed her.

You tilted your head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Really?” you asked, your voice softening into something darker, more deliberate. Without warning, your finger moved, a quick series of three pumps, nothing more nothing less, curling expertly each time to press against the perfect spot inside her.

Her reaction was instant. A loud, raw moan tore from her lips, her head falling back as her knees buckled slightly. Her body clenched tightly around your finger, gripping you as though she couldn’t bear for you to stop. Her hands scrambled against the desk, her nails pressing into the smooth surface as if anchoring her against the force of her own response.

You stilled, watching her carefully, your gaze steady as her body continued to tremble. She didn’t try to pull away. If anything, her hips shifted slightly toward you, her walls fluttering against your finger with an unmistakable need she didn’t dare voice. The sight of her—weak, exposed, yet still trying to hold onto her pride—made your smirk deepen.

Slowly, deliberately, you withdrew your finger, letting her feel every inch as you pulled it free. The wetness clung to you, glistening in the dim light of the room. Holding your hand up, you let her see it, the evidence of her arousal undeniable as her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

“You’re not even trying to stop me,” you murmured, your voice low and steady, each word measured. “Do you know what that tells me?”

Her eyes followed your movement, wide and unblinking, as you brought your finger to your lips. With deliberate slowness, you licked it clean, your tongue dragging over your skin as her taste lingered—intoxicating, unmistakable. She inhaled sharply, her breath hitching audibly as she watched, her cheeks flushed with both humiliation and something far deeper.

“Delicious,” you said softly, your tone dripping with quiet dominance. The word lingered in the air, heavy and intimate, wrapping around her like a tether.

Your gaze flicked downward, drawn to the way her lower folds quivered, visibly pulsating with need. The sight made a soft chuckle escape your lips as you straightened, the sound low and intimate, meant only for her.

“You love the idea of me taking control, Jieun,” you said, your voice firm yet calm, the quiet authority in your tone slicing through the charged air between you. Leaning in, your breath brushed against her ear, the heat sending a visible shiver down her spine. “Keep telling yourself otherwise if it makes you feel better. But the way you’re holding onto that desk like it’s the only thing keeping you upright? The way you’re clenching and pulsing, even now?” You let the words hang, heavy with meaning, the unspoken truth settling between you.

Reaching out, you tilted her chin up with a gentle but unyielding grip, forcing her to meet your gaze. Her eyes burned with defiance, sharp and fiery, but it was the kind of fire that flickered, the kind that threatened to extinguish under the weight of her trembling body. Her lips parted slightly, her breathing uneven as though she wanted to speak, to fight back—but no words came. The tension in her body betrayed her, speaking louder than anything she could say.

“It’s all the proof I need,” you murmured, your voice like velvet over steel, unrelenting and sure.

Her gaze locked onto yours, and for a fleeting moment, the defiance cracked. Her body swayed slightly toward you, drawn in despite herself. Her lips moved, as if to form a retort, but silence claimed her, leaving only the faint tremble of her knees and the shallow rise and fall of her chest. She was exposed in every sense of the word, her usual armor shattered in the wake of your calm dominance.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached toward the hem of her skirt, lifting it slightly higher to see her soaked panties clinging to her. The evidence of her arousal was undeniable, a mark of surrender she couldn’t deny. You raised a brow, a faint smirk curving your lips as your fingers brushed lightly over the lace. She jolted slightly at the contact, her breath catching audibly.

“Take them off,” you said, your tone calm but commanding, the words hanging in the air like an inescapable truth.

Her eyes widened slightly, her breath quickening. “You can’t be serious,” she muttered, the faintest quiver in her voice betraying her.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, Jieun,” you replied smoothly, stepping back just enough to let your gaze sweep over her trembling form.

Her fingers tightened against the desk, knuckles whitening as she fought the impulse to push back. But after a moment of hesitation, her hands moved toward her waist. Slowly, shakily, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs. The lace slipped away, damp and glistening, and she stepped out of them with a soft, almost inaudible whimper.

Without breaking eye contact, you extended your hand toward her, the weight of your command leaving no room for argument. “Hand them to me.”

Her fingers hesitated, trembling slightly as she held the damp lace in her hand. Her gaze flicked to yours, her eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and resistance, but she didn’t dare refuse. Slowly, she extended the panties toward you, her lips pressing into a thin line as though holding back a protest.

You took them from her, your touch deliberate as your fingers brushed hers. The lace was damp and warm, and as you inspected it, the glistening evidence of her surrender was undeniable. The corner of your mouth tugged upward in a faint, knowing smirk.

“Open your mouth,” you said, your tone calm but firm, each word an unspoken challenge.

Her eyes widened slightly, her hesitation evident in the way her lips pressed together momentarily. “What?” she stammered, her voice cracking just slightly, a rare break in her usual composure.

“You heard me,” you replied, your voice unyielding as you stepped closer, towering over her as the weight of your presence filled the space between you. “Tilt your head back. Open your mouth.”

She froze for a moment, her pride warring with the command. But slowly, reluctantly, she obeyed. Her lips parted, and she tilted her head back slightly, her breath uneven as her chest rose and fell in shallow waves.

You held the soaked lace above her, the tension in the room thick enough to steal the air. Her lips parted slightly, her tongue peeking out in hesitant obedience, though her wide, uncertain eyes flicked between you and the fabric. Every movement, every unspoken word, heightened the weight of the moment.

With deliberate slowness, you brought the lace closer, the damp material glistening in the dim light. A single drop of her arousal clung to the edge, threatening to fall. Her breath hitched audibly, and though her body remained rigid, you could see the faintest tremble in her shoulders, her vulnerability laid bare.

“Keep your mouth open,” you murmured, your voice low but commanding.

She obeyed, tilting her head back slightly, her jaw tightening with the effort to maintain her composure. Her tongue twitched faintly, her breaths uneven as her chest rose and fell in shallow waves.

Your fingers pressed into the lace, a deliberate, controlled motion as you wrung it ever so slightly. The drop fell, cutting through the charged silence like a stone into still water, landing with precision on her tongue. The faint sound of her sharp inhale followed, her lips trembling as the unmistakable taste of herself spread across her senses.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and smooth as the corners of your mouth curled into a faint smirk. “Do you taste it? That’s all you. That’s what I bring out of you.”

Her cheeks burned a deep crimson, the flush spreading down her neck as her eyes darted away briefly before returning to yours, wide and uncertain. Her trembling lips remained parted as though she couldn’t decide whether to protest or remain silent.

You tucked the lace into your pocket as though it were the most natural thing in the world, the gesture deliberate and final. Reaching out, you brushed a finger under her chin, guiding her gaze back to yours. “Clean yourself up,” you instructed, your voice steady and authoritative. “I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.”

She blinked, her breath uneven as the weight of your command settled over her. For a moment, she didn’t move, as though her mind was still catching up to her body’s overwhelming reactions. Then, with trembling hands, she reached for a tissue from her desk, her movements slow and shaky as she dabbed at her thighs, avoiding your gaze all the while.

Satisfied, you straightened your sleeves, your posture immaculate as though the entire exchange had been just another task in your day. As you turned toward the door, you paused, glancing back over your shoulder one last time.

“Next time,” you said, your voice carrying quiet authority, “don’t hesitate when I give you an order.”

And with that, you stepped out, leaving her standing there, trembling and exposed, the faint taste of herself lingering on her lips and the weight of your dominance etched into her very being.

-----

The next day, Jieun entered the office like a storm wrapped in silk. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, their rhythm precise and unyielding. Her tailored suit fit like armor, her every movement calculated to command attention. Colleagues instinctively straightened as she passed, their murmured greetings met with curt nods. To the outside world, she was the same Jieun—immaculate, untouchable, and utterly in control.

Yet beneath the surface, the cracks were there. Her gaze lingered longer than it should have, catching on the way your shoulders moved as you bent over a file, the curve of your neck, the efficiency with which your hands moved as you typed. There was an intimacy to the way you worked—practiced, composed, deliberate. It made her pulse quicken in ways she couldn’t ignore.

When you handed her the morning coffee—black, two sugars—your fingers brushed hers. The contact was fleeting, but the heat of it jolted her like a live wire. She froze for half a second, her grip tightening on the porcelain cup. You stepped back, the perfect picture of professionalism, your tone smooth and detached as you said, “Your schedule’s clear until eleven.”

“Fine,” she replied curtly, her voice clipped, though her throat felt tight, her chest heavier than she would ever admit. She turned toward her desk, her back rigid, but her focus was elsewhere entirely. The memory of your touch, the way your voice had commanded her, the way her body had betrayed her that night—all of it played on a loop in her mind. Her knuckles whitened around the cup as she gritted her teeth, trying to banish the heat rising in her chest.

The tension between you was tangible, like an invisible string stretched taut. Jieun threw herself into her work with ferocity, her words sharper than ever as she snapped at her team for minor errors. Reports that would have been accepted with a terse nod now earned icy critiques. But no amount of work could distract her. Every glance your way, every quiet moment, only brought the memory of your hands, your voice, the devastating control you had over her.

That night, alone in her starkly minimalist penthouse, the ache became unbearable. The lights of the city twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but they offered no comfort as she lay in her immaculate bed, staring at the ceiling. Her fingers curled against the sheets, and her mind betrayed her again, replaying every word you had said, every touch, every look. She squeezed her thighs together, the tension unbearable.

Her hand drifted downward, her fingers brushing against her skin as she tried to mimic the way you had touched her. Her movements were hesitant at first, then desperate, but it wasn’t the same. Her breath hitched as she tried again, pressing harder, angling differently, searching for the precision you had wielded so effortlessly. But no matter how much she tried, the release she craved remained elusive. Her frustration bubbled over as she flung the covers off and stalked to the bathroom, glaring at her flushed, disheveled reflection in the mirror.

Pulling open a drawer, she retrieved a sleek, expensive toy. It gleamed under the bathroom light, a piece of technology she rarely used. She returned to the bed, her movements stiff with frustration. Pressing the toy against herself, she let out a shaky breath as the vibrations buzzed against her sensitive skin. She moved it in slow circles, mimicking the rhythm she remembered, trying to summon even a fraction of the sensation you had evoked.

It wasn’t enough.

Her jaw clenched as she pushed the toy deeper, angling it to mimic the way your fingers had curled inside her, pressing against her in ways that left her trembling. But this was hollow, mechanical, and the spark she craved was nowhere to be found. She threw the toy aside with a frustrated growl, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The ache remained, gnawing at her resolve, a constant reminder of what she couldn’t replicate.

The next night was no different. She tried again, her fingers this time, her movements more frantic. Then the toy. Then both. Still, nothing. The emptiness mocked her, her body betraying her again and again. She pressed harder, her breaths ragged, but the hollow frustration only grew. With a strangled noise, she shoved the covers away and stalked to the window, glaring at the city below as though it could offer her some answer.

By day, she tried to maintain her façade. Her heels clicked against the office floors, her commands sharp and efficient. But the cracks began to show. Her sharp retorts to her team lacked their usual edge, her words often trailing off mid-sentence as her mind wandered to you. She found herself stealing glances, her gaze lingering too long in meetings. The tilt of your head, the calm authority in your tone, the way your hands moved with steady confidence—it maddened her how unaffected you seemed. As if nothing had changed. As if she were the only one consumed by what had happened.

She stayed late at the office, hoping you might linger as you had that night. But you didn’t. The emptiness of the space only amplified the ache, the silence pressing against her as she stared out the window, her hands clenched into fists. The lights of the city blurred as her vision wavered, her breath uneven.

Even as she left the office, the echo of your voice followed her, filling every quiet moment, every still space. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, no matter how much she tried to distract herself, the truth gnawed at her with relentless persistence.

Then, one morning, you didn’t show up to work.

At first, Jieun dismissed it. Perhaps you were late, caught in traffic, or dealing with some mundane emergency. But as the hours ticked by, a strange unease began to curl in her chest. You were never late, never absent without notice. You were the definition of reliability—steady, unshakable, always one step ahead.

By mid-morning, her irritation had grown into something sharper. The absence of your calm efficiency left her world slightly off-kilter, like a watch with a missing gear. Tasks piled up on her desk, unanswered emails blinked back at her, and she found herself snapping at her team for minor mistakes. She couldn't focus, the edge in her voice cutting deeper with each passing hour.

Where were you? Why hadn’t you called or emailed?

By the time the afternoon sun cast long shadows across her office, she couldn’t take it anymore. She sat at her desk, fingers drumming against the sleek surface as she stared at her computer screen. Your name was highlighted in your employee file, the information a mere click away. For a moment, her hand hovered over the mouse, hesitation creeping in. What was she doing? This was unprofessional. Reckless.

But the need gnawed at her—the unanswered questions, the silence that amplified her already simmering frustration. She clicked. Your address filled the screen, a piece of information she had no business using. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she grabbed her coat and left the office without a word, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

The drive was a blur, her thoughts spiraling as she gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The logic she prided herself on, the control she wielded like a weapon, seemed to dissolve with each mile. What was she doing? Why did it matter so much?

When she arrived at your address, the reality of her actions hit her like a cold wind. Standing in front of your door, her confidence faltered. Her hand hovered over the handle as her breaths came uneven and shallow. What was she expecting? An explanation? A confrontation? An answer to the ache that had plagued her since the last night she saw you?

Her teeth clenched as she pushed the doubts aside. She didn’t chase after people. She didn’t lose control. And yet, here she was.

The door was unlocked.

Her heart jumped in her chest as she turned the handle and stepped inside. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of coffee and something distinctly, undeniably you. The space was quiet, calm—a blend of simplicity and understated authority that mirrored your demeanor perfectly. Every detail, from the neatly arranged bookshelves to the small but deliberate decorations, felt like an extension of you. It was intimate in a way that made her feel like an intruder.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice steady despite the way her pulse raced.

There was no answer.

She hesitated for a moment before stepping further inside, her heels muffled against the soft floor. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the small but significant signs of your presence. A book left open on the coffee table, a jacket draped neatly over a chair. It was so distinctly you that it made her chest tighten.

And then she heard it.

Soft, muffled cries coming from a room down the hall.

Jieun froze, her breath catching in her throat. The sound was faint, almost drowned out by the silence, but unmistakable. It was laced with desperation and something else she couldn’t quite place. Her pulse quickened as she took a step forward, then another, each movement feeling heavier than the last.

Her hand hesitated on the door handle. For a moment, the remnants of logic screamed at her to stop, to turn around and leave. This was a line she shouldn’t cross. But the sound—those muffled cries—pulled her forward, her curiosity and something far more visceral overriding her better judgment.

She pushed the door open.

What she saw made her breath hitch audibly, her chest tightening in a way that was equal parts shock and something darker, something she couldn’t yet name.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candles that cast dancing shadows across the walls. Racks of tools were arranged meticulously—a showcase of control and intent. Ropes coiled neatly, paddles hung like an artist's brushes, and cuffs gleamed under the faint light. The air was thick, carrying the intoxicating mix of leather and something deeper, more primal, that made IU’s chest tighten the moment she stepped inside.

Her breath hitched as her eyes landed on you. You stood in the center of the room, sleeves rolled up, the definition in your forearms catching the dim light as you gripped a paddle. Your posture was calm, exuding an effortless dominance that seemed to fill the space. Every movement you made was deliberate, a symphony of control that left no doubt as to who was in charge.

Bent over a padded bench was one of her coworkers—a junior team member, a woman Jieun recognized immediately. The coworker’s wrists were tied securely to the frame, her back arched, her body trembling. Her cries filled the room, raw and needy, echoing with every measured strike of the paddle. The resounding smack reverberated through the air, followed by a gasp that sent a jolt through Jieun’s chest.

“Please,” the coworker begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “More—please, Master.”

The word hit Jieun like a physical blow, her body tensing as an unfamiliar heat flooded her chest. She knew she should leave. This was private, intimate—a moment she had no right to witness. Her logical mind screamed at her to turn away, to back out of the room and forget she ever saw this.

But she didn’t.

Her feet stayed rooted to the spot, her gaze fixed on the scene unfolding before her. She watched, her breaths shallow, as you paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as though gauging every flicker of emotion, every tremor in the body before you. The paddle struck again, and the coworker cried out, her voice laced with pain and pleasure. It was impossible to ignore the authority you commanded, the calculated precision in every motion.

Jieun hated how her body betrayed her. Her breath caught involuntarily, her cheeks flushed with heat she couldn’t suppress. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the ache low in her abdomen building with every soft cry, every gasp that left your coworker’s lips. She clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms.

Why couldn’t she look away?

Her throat tightened as she stood there, watching the scene burning itself into her mind. The sound of the paddle striking flesh, the way your expression remained calm and deliberate as if nothing could rattle you, the way you exuded complete control—it all gnawed at her in ways she couldn’t name. The coworker’s cries of “Master” rang in her ears, and with each plea, a sharp, biting feeling twisted in her chest.

Jealousy.

The realization hit her hard, a visceral, raw sensation she didn’t want to acknowledge. Her fingers twitched as she clenched her fists tighter, her entire body stiffening as she fought to push down the wave of emotions. She couldn’t be jealous. She shouldn’t be jealous. Yet the feeling remained, simmering just beneath her skin.

Her gaze darted back to you. The way you leaned down slightly, whispering something inaudible to the coworker that made her body shudder with anticipation. The way you stepped back, your posture unshaken, as though every second was choreographed to perfection. It was maddening.

Why was she still here?

Her pulse quickened as her eyes flicked toward the coworker again, her body trembling, her cries growing louder as she strained against the bonds. Jieun’s hands shook faintly at her sides. She didn’t know why she stayed—why her feet refused to move, why she couldn’t tear her gaze away from you. But every second she lingered, the emotions grew stronger, more unbearable.

The coworker gasped again, her voice soft and breathless. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered, her tone dripping with surrender.

That was enough.

Forcing herself to take a step back, Jieun turned and slipped out of the room, her movements hurried and unsteady. Her heart pounded as she moved down the hall, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The sound felt deafening in the heavy silence. She didn’t stop until she reached the front door, her hand gripping the handle tightly as she drew in a shaky breath.

But even as she stepped outside, the scene played on a loop in her mind. The flickering candlelight, the raw cries, the way you had commanded every moment with such authority—it haunted her. Her hands trembled as she gripped the steering wheel on her drive home, her breaths uneven.

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

The ache in her chest remained, gnawing at her resolve. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw you. Saw the way you had dominated the room, the way the coworker had surrendered so completely, calling you “Master” as though it was the only name that mattered. She hated the way it lingered, the way her body burned with unrelenting need.

Her fingers curled into the sheets as she lay in bed, the tension unbearable. She tried to mimic what she had seen, pressing her hand between her thighs, but the movements felt empty. Her breath hitched as frustration built, and she flung the covers off with a growl, glaring at the ceiling as the memory of your calm, deliberate control consumed her.

No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t shake the thought that kept echoing in her mind.

That should have been me.

Her fingers twitched at her side as she lay in bed, the ache in her body impossible to ignore. She tried to imagine herself in that room, her wrists bound, her voice trembling as she begged for more. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated how much it aroused her.

She reached for her bedside drawer, pulling out the same sleek toy she had discarded nights ago. This time, she didn’t bother with slow circles or precision. She pressed it against herself with a desperate urgency, trying to recapture the intensity she had felt while watching you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Her frustration mounted as she adjusted the angle, increased the speed, but no matter what she did, the sensation felt empty. She threw the toy aside with a muffled curse, her breaths ragged as she pressed a hand to her forehead.

It wasn’t just the touch she craved—it was you. The control, the way you had commanded every second of that scene. No toy, no amount of imagination could replace that.

The jealousy lingered, sharp and bitter, even as exhaustion finally overtook her. She fell into a restless sleep, her dreams filled with flickering candlelight, muffled cries, and the sound of your calm, deliberate voice.

-----

When you didn’t show up again the next day, Jieun’s frustration reached a breaking point. The unanswered questions gnawed at her, the simmering jealousy flared hotter, and the aching memories of your touch refused to leave her alone. Her sharp temper lashed out at anyone who dared cross her path, her clipped words leaving stunned silence in their wake. By midday, she couldn’t concentrate, her carefully maintained composure unraveling piece by piece.

Enough was enough.

Her decision was swift, driven by desperation she refused to fully acknowledge. She grabbed her coat, her movements sharp and decisive, and left the office without a word. The city blurred around her as she made her way to your place, the familiar unease in her chest tightening with every step. By the time she reached your door, her mind was a whirl of justifications she didn’t fully believe.

Storming inside, she went straight for the room she had seen before, the memory of its dim glow and charged air etched into her thoughts. But this time, the space was silent, empty of the intimate scene she had stumbled upon. The candles were gone, the tools hung neatly in their places, and the padded bench sat undisturbed at the room’s center, a ghost of the moment that haunted her.

Her breath came uneven as she stopped in the middle of the room. A strange mix of relief and disappointment churned within her. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms as she scanned the quiet space. What was she even looking for? Why had she come?

“You came back,” your voice broke the silence, calm and deliberate, cutting through her thoughts like a blade.

She froze. The air seemed to shift, growing heavier as her heart leapt into her throat. Slowly, she turned, her breaths shallow as her gaze locked onto you.

You stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, leaning casually against the frame. There was an unmistakable ease in your posture, a quiet authority that commanded the room as naturally as the flickering candles once had. Your expression was unreadable, but a flicker of amusement danced in your eyes, sharp and knowing.

Her cheeks flushed with heat, a mix of anger and humiliation rising to meet the calm challenge in your gaze. “I—” she started, but the words faltered.

“Don’t bother lying,” you interrupted smoothly, your tone firm but laced with faint amusement. “I know you were here yesterday. I have cameras.”

Her eyes widened briefly, the flash of shock betraying her before she masked it with a glare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, her arms crossing defensively.

You stepped into the room, closing the door behind you with deliberate finality. Each step brought you closer, the space between you shrinking as your steady gaze pinned her in place. “You’ve been thinking about the office,” you said, your voice low, deliberate, each word a calculated stroke. “About how I made you feel. And now you’ve seen more. You’ve seen what I’m capable of.”

Her breath hitched at the accusation, her jaw tightening as she fought to maintain control. “You’re so full of yourself,” she spat, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“Am I?” you replied, arching a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You stopped just short of her, your presence filling the space between you. “Then tell me why you’re here, Jieun. If it’s not because of me, why didn’t you just stay away?”

Her mouth opened as if to fire back, but no words came. The heat in her cheeks deepened as she looked away briefly, only to find your gaze following hers. Memories of your voice, your touch, the way you had undone her so completely, crashed over her. Her breathing quickened, the tension in the room coiling tighter around her.

“You have two choices,” you said calmly, each word deliberate. “You can leave, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

The pause stretched between you, the weight of your ultimatum sinking in. “Or…” you added, your voice dipping, charged with quiet authority, “you’ll strip. Kneel. And let me finish what I started.”

The room felt impossibly still, every second drawn out. IU’s breath hitched, her hands clenching at her sides as she wrestled with herself. Her pride screamed at her to walk away, to turn and reclaim the control she had prided herself on. But her body betrayed her, the ache of need overwhelming the thin veneer of resistance.

Her trembling hands moved to the buttons of her blouse, her motions slow and hesitant at first. Each button she slipped free seemed louder in the silence, the sound echoing in the charged air. Her gaze remained fixed on yours, sharp and fiery, her defiance flickering even as her resolve crumbled.

The blouse slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet as she stood exposed, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

“Good,” you murmured, the satisfaction in your voice unmistakable. “Now, kneel.”

For a moment, her pride flared again, holding her in place. But the pull of your authority was undeniable. Slowly, she sank to her knees, her hands resting uncertainly on her thighs. Her head tilted upward slightly, her gaze locked onto yours with a mix of defiance and surrender.

You stepped closer, your presence towering over her as you looked down. The faintest hint of a smile curved your lips, and she shivered under the weight of it, knowing that this was her final undoing.

“Stand up,” you commanded, your voice steady and firm.

For a moment, she didn’t move, her lips pressing into a tight line as though she was deciding whether to resist outright. Her fingers flexed, and her jaw tightened, but then, with deliberate slowness, she rose to her feet. Every movement was a calculated effort to hold onto her composure, but her hesitation was unmistakable—the slight falter in her breath, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as she stood before you.

Her skin was warm, the faintest sheen of perspiration catching the dim light, and despite the heat in the room, goosebumps spread along her arms. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, though her sharp gaze tried to mask the undercurrent of vulnerability.

You gestured toward the wooden sign near the door. “Read it,” you instructed, your voice calm but imbued with a quiet authority that left no room for refusal.

Her eyes lingered on the sign, her posture stiffening as though weighing whether to comply. Finally, she spoke, her tone low but laced with a faint edge of defiance. “Red means stop.”

“Good,” you said, taking a deliberate step closer, the tension between you thickening. “That’s all you need to say. If you do, everything stops. No questions, no hesitation.”

Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and her lips pressed together in a thin line. Her gaze remained locked on yours, but the flicker of resistance was tempered by the faint quiver in her shoulders, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil.

“Say it again,” you pressed, your tone quiet but insistent.

“Understood,” she bit out curtly, her voice sharp.

You tilted your head, studying her for a moment before your lips curved into a faint smirk. “Not like that,” you murmured, stepping closer until the heat of your body brushed against hers, forcing her to tilt her head slightly to meet your eyes. “From now on, you’ll call me ‘Master.’ Do you understand?”

Her lips parted as though to argue, and her eyes flashed with a defiance that burned bright, but no words came. Instead, she exhaled shakily, her voice quieter now, tinged with reluctance. “Understood… Master.”

A satisfied hum escaped your lips. “Good girl,” you said, the approval in your tone soft but unmistakable. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up.”

You gestured toward the restraint frame mounted on the wall. She hesitated for a beat too long, her eyes darting to the frame and then back to you.

“Something wrong?” you asked, your tone calm but edged with a faint challenge.

“No,” she muttered under her breath, her pride flickering again before she added, quieter, “No, Master.”

Your smirk deepened. “Better.”

You guided her to the frame, her movements stiff with resistance even as she complied. Raising her arms, you secured her wrists into the padded cuffs at the top, her arms stretched taut above her head. She shifted slightly, testing the restraints, but her motions only highlighted the vulnerability of her exposed position. You stepped down to secure her ankles to a spreader bar, forcing her legs wide apart. The position left her completely open, her back pressed against the cool wall as her breathing quickened.

“You look tense,” you remarked, running your hand lightly down the length of her arm. “Feeling nervous?”

“No,” she replied quickly, too quickly, her voice sharper than intended.

You paused, raising a brow. “No… what?”

She clenched her jaw for a moment before muttering, “No, Master.”

“Good,” you murmured, stepping back to admire her. “Let’s see if you’re as brave as you think.”

From the rack, you selected a suede flogger, letting the soft tails trail over your palm as you turned back to her. Her body tensed as you approached, her eyes flicking between the tool and your calm expression.

“Relax,” you said evenly, brushing the tails lightly over her shoulders and down her arms. “This is just the beginning.”

The first strike was a gentle flick across her stomach, more of a tease than anything else. She inhaled sharply, her body flinching at the contact, but her gaze remained locked on yours, defiant. The next strike landed with more force across her ribs, the soft tails snapping against her skin and leaving faint red streaks in their wake. A soft gasp escaped her lips, unbidden.

You alternated strokes, trailing the flogger over her thighs, her hips, and up to her shoulders again. Each strike grew in intensity, the rhythm deliberate and unrelenting. Her breathing quickened with every hit, her body reacting involuntarily despite her efforts to remain composed.

“Still holding on?” you asked, your tone edged with amusement. The next strike landed across the curve of her breast, drawing a sharp cry that she bit down immediately, her lips pressing together as though to suppress the sound.

You leaned in slightly, brushing the tails of the flogger against her inner thighs before snapping them lightly over the sensitive skin. She jolted, her thighs trembling as she let out a shaky breath.

“Still defiant,” you murmured, striking her hips next with more precision. “But your body’s already telling a different story.”

She didn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she gripped the cuffs above her head. But the faint sheen of sweat on her skin and the way her thighs quivered betrayed her.

When you finally set the flogger aside, her skin was flushed, streaked with faint red marks that stood in stark contrast against her pale complexion. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, her body trembling slightly as the aftershocks lingered.

“You’re doing well,” you remarked, your voice calm but laced with challenge as you reached for the riding crop. The sleek leather gleamed faintly in the dim light as you tapped it lightly against your palm.

Her eyes flicked to the crop, her lips parting slightly as her breathing grew shallower.

“I can handle it,” she said quickly, the edge in her tone betraying her uncertainty.

“Yes, Master,” you corrected smoothly, trailing the crop lazily across her stomach.

She hesitated, her lips tightening before she repeated, “Yes, Master.”

“Good,” you said softly, the faintest smile tugging at your lips as you delivered the first strike. It landed sharply across her chest, just above her breast, drawing a loud gasp as her body jolted. You followed it with another, the sharp sound of leather meeting skin echoing in the room.

The rhythm was calculated, each strike building in intensity as you moved from her torso to her thighs, then back again. When you snapped the crop directly against her nipple, she let out a broken whimper, her back arching involuntarily. Her cries grew louder as you focused on her sensitive peaks, each strike deliberate, calculated to push her further.

“You’re a mess,” you said softly, trailing the crop down to the slickness glistening between her legs. Her hips strained against the restraints, her body trembling with need and frustration as the tip of the crop grazed her folds before delivering a sharp, precise smack.

Her cry was raw, her voice cracking as her body jolted. “Master,” she whimpered, her voice trembling with need, defiance, and surrender all at once.

You paused, watching her chest rise and fall, her breaths measured but strained, her body taut as if holding back the inevitable. Her lips pressed tightly together, and her fingers flexed faintly within the restraints, the only sign of the battle raging inside her. Even now, she clung to the veneer of control, refusing to let you see the cracks beneath her composed exterior.

You approached with a pair of metal clamps, the soft clink of the chain between them drawing her eyes. Her body stiffened, her breaths quickening ever so slightly as she tracked your movements.

“Breathe,” you murmured, your voice calm but edged with authority, a reminder more than an instruction.

Her lips parted, and she drew in a shaky breath, her hesitation clear. You attached the first clamp to her nipple with deliberate slowness, the sharp pinch drawing a high-pitched gasp that she couldn’t suppress. Her back arched reflexively, her body trembling against the restraints. The second clamp followed, the chain swaying lightly between them as she exhaled in shallow bursts.

“You’ll feel this with every move you make,” you murmured, tugging the chain gently to emphasize your point. Her body jolted at the sensation, another faint whimper escaping her lips despite her best efforts to stay silent.

Returning to the riding crop, you let its tip trail along the inside of her thigh, your movements unhurried, almost teasing. Her muscles quivered under the light contact, her breath catching as the crop hovered near her folds. Then, without warning, you delivered a sharp, precise strike.

The leather connected with her slick skin, the sound loud and sharp in the still room. She jolted, a choked sob breaking free as her body tensed violently. Her slickness made the crop gleam faintly in the dim light, a visceral reminder of how her body was betraying her.

Another strike landed, followed by another, each one deliberate and relentless. Her cries grew louder, raw and broken as she writhed against the restraints. You dragged the crop lightly over her folds, the touch featherlight before snapping it against her again.

“Please, Master,” she sobbed, her voice trembling, caught between desperation and defiance. “I—I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” you replied evenly, delivering another sharp strike. Your tone was steady, unyielding, each word punctuated by the sting of the crop. “Admit it.”

Her head shook faintly, her lips trembling as she clung to the last shreds of resistance. “I—I cant’t—” she whispered, her voice breaking under the strain.

The next strike landed harder, the sting radiating through her as a broken cry tore from her lips. “Admit it,” you growled, your tone sharper now, the command cutting through her defenses.

The crop hovered just above her slick folds, the leather tip angled with surgical precision. Jieun’s breath hitched, her body trembling in the bindings as anticipation coiled inside her, every nerve on edge. Without warning, you brought the crop down in a sharp, deliberate strike.

The leather snapped against her folds with precision, the sting radiating through her most sensitive area. Her reaction was instant—a strangled cry tore from her lips, her hips jerking violently against the ropes. Her body tensed, every muscle coiling tightly as the pain and pleasure fused into something overwhelming. Her head fell forward, and for a moment, it seemed like she might endure.

But as you raised the crop again, angling it for a second, more deliberate strike, the tension in her broke.

“Master, you’re right!” she cried out, her voice raw and trembling. “You’re in control—I’m yours!”

You paused, tilting your head as you studied her, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Keep going,” you urged softly, delivering a lighter spank that still drew a gasp.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts as she continued, her voice quieter now, tinged with submission. “I’m yours. Completely. I… I surrender.”

You slowed the strikes, letting her words settle between you, her trembling form a picture of surrender. But there was still something in her tone—a flicker of hesitation, as though she were saying what she thought you wanted to hear rather than what she truly felt.

Setting the crop aside, you stepped forward, beginning to undo the restraints with deliberate slowness. Her arms dropped as her wrists came free, her chest heaving with each shaky breath. Her legs quivered as you released the spreader bar, leaving her momentarily unbound. She shifted slightly, testing her freedom, her gaze wary as though expecting judgment.

Without a word, you turned back to the rack, retrieving a length of soft crimson rope. Its vibrant color stood out against her flushed, glistening skin. Her eyes followed your movements, a flicker of apprehension crossing her face as you approached.

“Please—” she started, her voice soft but uneven.

“Shh,” you murmured, your hands already guiding her wrists behind her back. Her body tensed faintly, the smallest resistance lingering before dissolving as you looped the rope around her wrists. Your movements were precise, each knot deliberate, the soft fibers pulling snug against her skin without causing discomfort.

You worked methodically, weaving the rope around her arms and torso, framing her chest with intricate knots that pressed lightly against her skin. Each loop was calculated, the tension just enough to hold her securely without pain. The crimson bands highlighted every curve, every tremble, her breaths shallow as she adjusted to the restraint.

“You’re safe,” you reminded her, your voice steady and commanding.

The rope coiled around her torso, framing her body with deliberate precision. Intricate knots traced the curves of her shoulders and crossed her chest, cinching her breasts upward. Each tug of the rope pressed the soft flesh outward, accentuating her sensitivity. Her breathing quickened as you worked, her body responding to the careful tension of the bindings.

“Master…” she whispered, her tone soft but uncertain as she tested the bonds.

“Don’t move,” you instructed calmly.

Guiding her toward the suspension frame, you positioned her carefully beneath the ceiling anchor. The room was quiet save for her shallow breaths as you worked, securing the ropes to the anchor point. Her feet remained firmly on the ground at first, her body tense as she glanced upward, realizing what was coming.

You began to hoist her slowly, her toes lifting off the ground as the ropes bore her weight. Her back arched slightly as the bindings cradled her torso and thighs, supporting her in perfect balance. She hung suspended, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her exposed body swayed faintly in the air.

Kneeling, you reached for her left leg, guiding it outward and securing it with more rope to the left side of the frame. The crimson rope pulled taut, holding her leg firmly in place. Then, moving to her right, you repeated the process, spreading her wide as you tied her right leg to the opposite side of the frame.

Each knot was deliberate, leaving no room for resistance. Her thighs were stretched open, her body now completely exposed in midair, vulnerable and helpless. The tension in the ropes framed her like an intricate work of art, every line emphasizing her submission.

You stepped back, surveying your work as she hung suspended, her body trembling faintly against the bindings. Her breathing was shallow, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she adjusted to the complete loss of control. The crimson ropes, contrasted against her bare skin, highlighted every curve, every quiver.

“Perfect,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. You stepped closer, letting your fingers trail lightly along the curve of her thigh, sending a shiver through her. “You look stunning like this.”

Your gaze shifted hardening as you stepped closer, the intensity of your presence making her shrink slightly in her bonds. Her lips trembled, and her head dropped lower, but you weren’t going to let her retreat. Not now.

“How dare you,” you said, your voice low and sharp, laced with a restrained anger that sent a shiver through her body. “How dare you try to lie to me.”

Her head lifted slightly at your words, her wide eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before dropping again, guilt flickering across her flushed face.

“You think I don’t know your body?” you pressed, stepping even closer, your hand grazing the ropes framing her thigh. The softness of your touch belied the steel in your tone. “Every twitch, every tremble—your body tells me everything, Jieun. And it’s telling me the truth, even when your mouth won’t.”

Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, the weights on her nipple clamps swaying slightly with each movement. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade, and she bit her lip, struggling to maintain her composure.

“Master, I—” she started, her voice faltering.

“Stop,” you interrupted, your tone cutting. Your hand reached up, fingers brushing her cheek, forcing her to meet your gaze. “Don’t insult me with empty words just because you think they’re what I want to hear. I don’t need your lies.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but she faltered, her body betraying her. The tension in her thighs, the slight quiver in her legs as she hung spread and bound, the slickness glistening between her folds—every detail betrayed her surrender.

“You’re mine,” you said firmly, your thumb brushing her cheek before trailing down her neck, over the ropes framing her chest. Your fingers tugged gently on the chain connecting the clamps, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips as the weights shifted. “Every inch of you belongs to me. Your body, your pleasure, your submission. All mine.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes glassy as the weight of your words settled over her. “Yes, Master,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

You didn’t let her off so easily. “Say it like you mean it,” you growled, stepping back slightly to retrieve the clitoral suction toy. Its faint hum filled the room, the sound alone making her thighs twitch against the ropes.

Her lips parted, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as you hovered the toy just above her aching clit. Her body strained instinctively toward the device, seeking relief, but you pulled back, the motion deliberate and taunting.

“Say it,” you commanded, your tone unrelenting.

“I… I’m yours,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible.

You narrowed your eyes, circling the toy teasingly close to her folds but never making contact. “Louder.”

“I’m yours, Master!” she cried, her voice cracking with desperation.

Satisfied for the moment, you leaned forward, pressing the toy lightly against her clit. Her reaction was immediate—her body jolted violently against the ropes, her hips straining as the suction sent waves of stimulation coursing through her. Her cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained.

But you weren’t done.

Your hand reached for the chain again, tugging firmly as the clamps bit deeper into her sensitive flesh. The added pressure sent her spiraling, her cries blending into soft, broken sobs. “You’ll take this for me,” you said softly, your voice calm but unyielding. “Because I said so.”

Her body trembled uncontrollably, the tension in the ropes accentuating every shiver, every desperate movement as she tried to hold on. The suction toy continued its relentless work, drawing her closer to the edge, her moans growing louder with every passing second.

“Master, please,” she sobbed, her voice breaking under the strain. “Please, I can’t—”

“You can,” you interrupted, increasing the intensity of the toy. “And you will.”

Her body convulsed against the bindings, her cries turning into incoherent pleas as you pushed her further, commanding every inch of her. This was no surrender forced by words—this was her body, her soul, bending completely to your will.

You pressed the toy harder against her clit, the suction drawing another strangled cry from her lips. Her body jolted violently in the ropes, the sensation relentless and devastating. The rhythmic tugging was precise, sending sharp waves of pleasure through her trembling frame.

Her moans grew louder, desperate and unrestrained, as you slid two fingers inside her. Her slick walls clenched immediately, gripping you tightly as though her body was trying to draw you deeper. The combination of the suction and your curling fingers was merciless, her back arching as she spiraled toward the edge once again.

“Master, please!” she sobbed, her voice trembling and raw. “I’m so close—please let me—”

Without hesitation, you withdrew your fingers and the suction toy at the same time, leaving her dangling in frustrated desperation. Her cry was loud, ragged, and broken, her head falling forward as her body trembled in the bindings.

“Not yet,” you said firmly, stepping closer. The calm authority in your voice was unshakable, cutting through the chaotic haze of her emotions. Leaning in, you brushed your lips close to her ear. “You don’t get to cum until I say. Not until you stop lying—to me, and to yourself.”

Her chest heaved, every breath labored, the weights on the clamps swaying with her trembling body. “Master… I can’t… I can’t take it anymore…” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, shaking with exhaustion and need.

“You can,” you countered, pressing the suction toy back against her clit. The rhythmic pulsing resumed instantly, and her body jolted as though shocked. Her cries were louder now, her head tossing weakly as her hips strained against the bindings, desperately seeking relief she knew you wouldn’t allow.

Sliding your fingers back inside her, you thrust slowly, curling deliberately to press against her most sensitive spot. Her walls fluttered, her arousal growing wetter with every motion. Each time her body tightened, every time she edged closer to the climax she craved, you stopped again.

Tears streaked her flushed cheeks, her sobs echoing through the room as she begged. “Master, please… I’ll do anything—please let me cum!”

You reached up, tugging sharply on the chain between her clamps. The sharp jolt drew a choked scream from her lips, her body jerking as the combination of pain and pleasure pushed her closer to breaking. Her thighs trembled violently, her slickness glistening under the low light.

“Admit it,” you said softly, your tone a low growl, increasing the intensity of the suction toy. “Stop pretending. Tell me who you really are.”

Her head shook weakly, a fresh sob escaping her lips as she stammered. “I… I can’t—”

You pulled your fingers away again, leaving the suction toy on its lowest setting. The gentle pulses teased her, enough to keep her simmering without granting release. Her body shuddered, her head hanging forward as her sobs grew louder.

“Admit it,” you growled, sharper now, your hand gripping her chin and tilting her head up to meet your gaze. “Stop lying, or this will never end.”

Her moans turned to frantic cries, her body writhing in the ropes as the suction toy teased her swollen clit, the clamps pulling with every movement. “Master, please—” she gasped, her voice breaking under the weight of her desperation. “You’re right—Master, you’re right!”

You didn’t relent, your fingers plunging back inside her with precision, curling against the spot that made her body seize. The suction toy pressed harder against her clit, the rhythmic pulsing relentless and exact. “Tell me everything,” you commanded, your voice firm and unwavering. “No lies this time.”

Her body jerked violently, the ropes tightening against her trembling limbs as she convulsed. Her sobs turned into raw, unrestrained cries, her head tilting back as her voice cracked. “I’m yours, Master!” she screamed, the words rushing out in a desperate, frantic confession. “You have all the control—I need you—I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore!”

Her walls clenched hard around your fingers, the first wave of her climax threatening to break, but you stilled your movements, holding her right on the edge. The suction toy pulsed mercilessly against her clit, her body trembling and writhing as she hung suspended in the intricate web of ropes.

“Do you want to cum?” you asked, your tone calm and deliberate, a stark contrast to her frenzied cries.

“Please, Master!” she sobbed, her voice breaking under the weight of her need. “Please—please let me!”

You paused, letting the silence hang between you, your fingers pressing just enough to keep her teetering. “Admit it,” you said, your voice low and steady. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“I’m yours!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate. “Only yours, Master! I need you—I can’t take it anymore!”

“Good girl,” you murmured, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. You leaned closer, your breath warm against her ear. “Now… cum for me.”

The permission was all she needed. Her body tensed for a heartbeat, every muscle seizing as if holding its breath, before releasing in an explosive wave of pleasure. Her scream ripped through the air, raw and primal, as her climax tore through her. Her back arched against the restraints, the ropes digging into her flushed skin as she convulsed uncontrollably. Her walls tighten around your fingers with a force that leaves no doubt about the intensity of her release, each pulse sending a ripple of wet heat against your hand.

The slickness of her arousal coated your fingers, a testament to how deeply she had succumbed. Her thighs quaked violently, the trembling so pronounced that the bindings holding her legs apart strained slightly. Her toes curled, her entire body caught in the throes of the orgasm that consumed her completely.

The suction toy added to the onslaught, the pulsing rhythm over her clit extending her release far beyond its natural limit. She jerked violently in the ropes, her cries turning into broken, breathless whimpers as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. Her head fell forward, her hair clinging to her sweat-slicked face, her lips parted as she gasped for air.

Wave after wave continued to ripple through her, her body quivering uncontrollably even as the climax began to subside. Her thighs twitched reflexively, her hips bucking weakly as if chasing sensations she could no longer endure. Each breath she took was shallow and uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the effort of catching her breath evident in every ragged exhale.

You withdrew your fingers slowly, the slick heat coating them glistening under the low light. She whimpered softly at the loss, her head lolling forward, too spent to protest. As you turned off the suction toy, the silence felt almost deafening, punctuated only by the faint sounds of her labored breathing.

But even now, her body betrayed her. As your fingers grazed her inner thigh, slick with the aftermath of her climax, a faint moan escaped her lips—soft, involuntary, and entirely revealing. Her thighs quivered again, a subtle tremor that spoke to the lingering echoes of her release.

“You’re still hungry for more, aren’t you?” you said softly, observing her closely. Her body jolted faintly at your words, and though her lips trembled as if to protest, no sound came. Instead, her head nodded weakly, her voice cracking as she whispered, “Yes… Master.”

You smirked, brushing a finger lightly over her still-sensitive clit, drawing a sharp gasp from her. “Even after all that,” you murmured, leaning closer, “you’re not done.”

Her body shuddered under your touch, her surrender absolute. “Good,” withdrawing your fingers again. Her cry of frustration was raw, her hips jerking futilely as she sought her next release. Instead of indulging her, you stepped back toward the rack, your movements deliberate as you selected the next tool.

Your gaze landed on the perfect choice: a sleek, polished butt plug adorned with a heart-shaped jewel at its base. Its elegance stood in sharp contrast to the raw, primal energy radiating from IU as she trembled in the suspension. Picking it up, you turned back to her, holding the plug up so the jewel caught the light.

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as her breath quickened. Even now, a faint flush spread across her chest and cheeks, and her body betrayed her further—a faint twitch, a pulsing tension that radiated from her most intimate places.

“Oh? Is that excitement I see?” you teased, your voice low and intimate as you knelt in front of her. The cool metal of the plug brushed lightly against her inner thigh, earning a sharp gasp and a shudder from her body.

Without a word, you spread her cheeks gently, exposing her fully to your touch. Her breaths came unevenly, her body tensing at the intimacy of the moment. Slowly, you pressed a finger against her tight ring, teasing the rim with deliberate circles before sliding inside.

She gasped sharply, her muscles clenching reflexively before gradually relaxing. “Breathe,” you murmured, your voice steady yet soothing. “Let your body take it.”

She whimpered as you worked her carefully, preparing her inch by inch until her body began to yield. Once you were satisfied, you withdrew your finger, wiping it clean before adding lube and pressing the tip of the plug against her entrance. She jolted at the cool touch of the metal, her breaths growing faster as you began to push it in.

The cool, polished head of the plug pressed against her hole, her body instinctively tightening in resistance. The tension was palpable, her ring clenching stubbornly as if defying the inevitable. You paused, letting her adjust, your hand steady and patient. Slowly, with deliberate pressure, you pressed again, coaxing her body to yield.

The resistance lingered, taut and unrelenting, until a soft, trembling moan escaped her lips. Gradually, her muscles gave way, her ring stretching wider, surrendering inch by inch. Her breaths grew shallow, each one hitching as the sensation built, the sharp edge of discomfort melting into something deeper, more consuming.

When the widest part of the plug finally slipped past the threshold, her body seemed to shudder in relief, the resistance fading as her ring closed around the narrow neck, swallowing the plug entirely. A low, quivering gasp broke from her as the snug fullness settled deep within her, the weight and pressure sending a visible tremor through her frame. The cool jewel at the base nestled perfectly against her, its presence both a reminder of her surrender and a promise of the sensations to come.

Stepping back slightly, you admired the sight before you. The polished jewel nestled between her cheeks glinted faintly in the dim light, a beautiful contrast to her flushed, glistening skin. “Beautiful,” you murmured, letting your fingers trail lightly over her hips and down her thighs.

“How does it feel?” you asked, your voice calm but laced with intent. The answer was evident in the tautness of her trembling body, the slick arousal dripping down her inner thighs betraying her overwhelming need.

“It’s…” she stammered, her breath hitching between syllables, her voice shaky and thin. “It’s so full…”

“Good,” you murmured, your hand gliding over her side, a deliberate contrast to the intensity she was feeling. Your other hand moved to the base of the plug, gripping it firmly. “Let it amplify everything.”

Without warning, you gave the plug a gentle tug, testing its resistance. Her gasp was sharp, her body jolting against the ropes. The snugness of the plug resisted at first, the tension building until it relented slightly, the motion sending a deep, jarring sensation through her core. The muscles of her entrance quivered around the intrusion, the combination of pressure and movement drawing a sharp moan from her lips.

“AGGH!” she cried out, the word leaving her as both a plea and a surrender, her voice trembling with the strain of holding herself together.

You chuckled, a low, deliberate sound, twisting the plug slightly. Her reaction was immediate—her hips bucked reflexively, and a louder, more guttural moan spilled from her lips. The sensation was maddening, the plug pressing firmly against her sensitive inner walls with every shift, each movement pushing her closer to unraveling.

With another slow, deliberate tug, you teased her further, letting the plug stretch and stimulate her before it settled back into place. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, her body writhing in the bindings as she whimpered. The snug fullness combined with the constant stimulation made every sensation feel sharper, deeper.

Your gaze shifted to the rack, landing on the wand vibrator. Its sleek design promised power, the hum of the motor filling the room as you turned it on. Even the sound made her tense, her head snapping up weakly as her eyes widened in alarm.

“Please, Master, no,” she whimpered, her voice raw and hoarse, the strain of her begging breaking through. Her thighs twitched as though trying to close, but the ropes kept her wide open, her vulnerability laid bare.

“Shh,” you said, stepping closer, your tone calm but unyielding. The wand hovered just above her swollen clit, the anticipation making her body quake. “You haven’t used the safe word, Jieun,” you reminded her, tilting her chin up gently with your hand. “You could stop this anytime. But you won’t. Will you?”

Her head dropped forward, a quiet, broken whimper escaping her lips as she shook her head faintly.

Without further hesitation, you pressed the wand firmly against her clit. The immediate pulse of vibrations ripped a strangled cry from her throat, her body arching violently against the ropes. The wand’s relentless rhythm sent sharp, focused waves of pleasure coursing through her, magnified by the plug nestled deep inside her. Every tremor of her hips caused the plug to shift slightly, the dual sensations amplifying each other until her sobs turned into breathless, incoherent gasps.

Her thighs trembled against the restraints, her body jerking as though trying to escape the overstimulation, but the bindings kept her perfectly in place. “Master… please!” she wailed, her voice trembling as fresh tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. “Please stop—I can’t—I can’t do this anymore!”

“Yes, you can,” you murmured softly, your tone steady as you pressed the wand harder. “You’ll take it for me. I know your body better than you do.”

Her stomach clenched visibly, her hips twitching violently as the wand assaulted her most sensitive spot. The vibrations, relentless and unyielding, dragged her closer to the edge. “Master!” she cried out, her voice cracking with desperation. “It’s yours—everything is yours! My body… my tits, my pussy, my ass—it’s all yours! Please, Master—I love being yours, but please, no more!”

Her words came in frantic sobs, each confession spilling from her lips in raw, unfiltered emotion. The plug, snug and unrelenting, seemed to vibrate in sync with the wand, the pressure inside her building to an unbearable crescendo. Her chest heaved as her hips jerked reflexively, her sobs dissolving into a broken chant of “Please, Master—please no more—I can’t cum again!”

Leaning in, you brushed her sweat-damp hair from her face, your voice soft but commanding. “One more,” you murmured against her ear, the words firm and deliberate. “Give me one more, Jieun, and then I’ll stop.”

She shook her head weakly, her sobs growing louder, but her body betrayed her. The relentless vibrations, the overwhelming fullness of the plug, and your fingers curling back inside her pushed her to the brink. Her cries turned desperate as the climax overtook her, the final release breaking her completely.

Her scream filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as her body convulsed violently in the suspension. Her thighs quivered uncontrollably, her walls clenching around the plug as wave after wave of overstimulation wracked her frame. Even as the climax faded, the wand continued to torment her, every shuddering aftershock heightened by the unrelenting vibrations.

Her head fell back, her cries tapering into soft, broken whimpers as her body sagged completely in the bindings. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the sound of her uneven breaths and the faint hum of the wand as you finally turned it off. You stepped back, watching as her trembling form hung limp in the ropes, every inch of her glistening with sweat and arousal.

The scene before you was one of complete surrender. Her flushed, tear-streaked face, her trembling thighs, and the faint quiver of her chest told you everything you needed to know. She was yours—utterly and completely.

You stepped closer, the slickness of her release coating her inner thighs as you gently removed the plug. A soft, almost inaudible whimper escaped her lips as her body shuddered one final time, her exhausted form limp in the bindings. She hung there, surrendered, her every breath a testament to the intensity she had endured.

“You did so well,” you murmured softly, brushing your fingers along her trembling thigh. “Every part of you is mine—and you love it.”

Carefully, you began undoing the ropes, each knot falling away as her exhausted body slumped further into your arms. When the bindings were completely removed, she collapsed against you, her legs too weak to support her.

Her head rested weakly on your chest, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her voice was too broken to speak, but the way she clung to you said everything—she was yours, completely and utterly.

By the time the final waves subsided, Jieun was utterly spent, her body sagging completely in the suspension ropes. Her head hung forward, her damp hair clinging to her flushed cheeks as shallow, uneven breaths escaped her parted lips. The delicate impressions of the ropes were etched into her skin, a testament to her surrender. Each faint line emphasized her vulnerability, the undeniable proof of how far she had let herself go for you.

Reaching over, you turned off the wand, the sudden silence almost deafening after the relentless hum. You set it aside, your gaze drifting to the jeweled plug nestled snugly within her. As you stepped closer, her head lifted weakly, her glassy eyes flickering with awareness as she saw your hand reaching toward her.

“No… please, Master,” she whimpered, her voice hoarse and trembling with exhaustion. “Don’t take it out. I… I want to keep it.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound low and indulgent as you trailed your fingers along her hip in reassurance. “It’s covered in too much of you,” you murmured gently, your tone soothing. “We’ll clean you up, and I’ll give you something fresh.”

She whined softly, a faint, needy sound as her hips twitched in protest. But she didn’t resist as you began to ease the plug out, the snug fit providing resistance that heightened her sensitivity. A low gasp escaped her lips as it slid free, the polished jewel glistening with the evidence of her arousal. The emptiness left her trembling, her body shifting slightly as she tried to adjust.

“You did so well,” you said, your voice warm with approval as you brushed a hand over her thigh. “Let me take care of you now, my good girl.”

“Yes, Master,” she whispered faintly, the words spilling out with automatic sincerity, her voice barely above a breath.

You began undoing the intricate knots with deliberate care, ensuring that each release was smooth and unhurried. As the ropes fell away, her body slumped further, her limbs trembling from the strain and exertion. When her wrists were freed, her arms dropped uselessly to her sides, her strength completely drained. You moved to unstrap her legs next, supporting her weight as her knees buckled the moment the bindings were removed.

Guiding her toward a nearby chair, you eased her down into the plush cushions. She melted into them, her body folding into the soft embrace as a quiet sigh escaped her lips. Her head fell back, her eyes fluttering closed, and for a moment, she seemed completely at peace.

You stepped away briefly, cleaning the used plug meticulously before retrieving a fresh one from a nearby drawer. The sleek, polished design matched the previous one, adorned with a delicate jewel at its base that shimmered faintly in the low light.

Returning to her, you knelt before the chair, the new plug resting in your hand. Her eyes drifted open, her gaze falling to the plug. Her thighs twitched instinctively, a soft, shaky breath escaping her as anticipation flickered across her expression.

“Ready?” you asked, your voice calm and steady.

“Yes, Master,” she murmured, her voice faint but unwavering, her trust in you palpable.

Parting her legs gently, you brushed your hand along her inner thigh, your touch slow and reassuring. As your finger pressed inside her, you prepared her carefully, her walls clenching briefly before relaxing under your guidance. Her soft whimper filled the air, a quiet sound of surrender as you withdrew your finger and positioned the cool tip of the new plug against her entrance.

The jewel slid inside slowly, her body resisting momentarily before yielding, the snug fullness making her hips shift instinctively. A soft, trembling moan escaped her lips as the plug settled firmly into place, the weight of it amplifying her awareness of her submission.

“How does it feel?” you asked, your voice low and intimate as your hand brushed lightly over her thigh.

“Full, Master,” she whispered, her tone faint but sure, a lingering shiver running through her body.

“Good,” you replied, your hand trailing up to cup her cheek briefly, your touch warm and grounding. “Let it remind you who you belong to.”

After securing the new plug in place, you carefully guide her into your arms as she collapses against your chest. “You’ve done so well, Jieun,” you murmured softly, your voice warm and soothing. “It’s time to rest now.”

She nodded faintly, her cheek pressing against your shoulder, her breaths shallow and uneven as her body tried to recover from the intensity of what she had endured. You lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward a nearby couch. The soft cushions enveloped her as you lowered her gently onto them, her body curling instinctively as she sought the comfort of your presence.

Stepping away briefly, you returned with a glass of cool water and a small lozenge. Setting them on the table beside her, you knelt down with a warm, damp cloth from a basin nearby. Brushing the cloth tenderly over her flushed skin, you wiped away the remnants of sweat and arousal. Every motion was deliberate, your touch careful and steady. She flinched faintly at the initial contact, her hypersensitivity evident, but as your gentle ministrations continued, her body began to relax.

“Breathe,” you reminded her, your tone calm. “You’re safe.”

She exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling in a more even rhythm. The cloth moved over her thighs, her arms, and finally her face, wiping away the streaks of tears that clung to her cheeks. Her body softened further under your care, surrendering fully to the nurturing calm you offered.

When you were finished, you set the cloth aside and wrapped a soft, plush blanket around her shoulders, cocooning her in warmth. Lifting the glass of water, you held it to her lips as she weakly reached for it. “Drink,” you instructed gently. “You need to rehydrate.”

Her trembling hands steadied as you helped guide the glass. The cool liquid slid down her throat, soothing the rawness left behind from her earlier cries. She let out a faint sigh of relief after a few sips, her lips parting to murmur, “Thank you, Master.”

You smiled softly, brushing her damp hair away from her face. “You’ve done more than enough for me,” you said quietly. “Now, let me take care of you.”

Picking up the lozenge, you pressed it into her palm. “This will help your throat,” you explained, your thumb brushing lightly over her fingers. She nodded, placing it in her mouth and leaning back against the cushions with a faint, contented sigh.

Her gaze met yours briefly, the vulnerability in her expression tempered by a quiet trust. You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, your hand stroking her hair in slow, soothing motions. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing deepening as exhaustion began to claim her.

As she drifted off, you stayed at her side, your hand resting lightly over hers. The room, once filled with raw intensity, now carried a profound calm—a sanctuary for her, where she could surrender completely, knowing she was safe and cherished.

-----

The following morning, Jieun strode into the office with her usual commanding presence. The sharp staccato of her heels against the polished floors echoed her precision and confidence, her posture straight, her gaze cold and assessing. Every detail of her appearance was immaculate—the crisp lines of her tailored suit, the glint of her polished watch. In meetings, her voice sliced through the air with crisp directives and sharp analysis, brooking no argument. No one dared to question her authority.

But beneath the surface, something was different.

Her legs, still unsteady from the previous night’s intensity, wavered faintly with each step. The residual ache in her thighs and core lingered, a reminder of her surrender. She moved with the same poise and precision, but her steps carried an almost imperceptible hesitance. Every shift of her body demanded a conscious effort to conceal the jelly-like weakness threatening to disrupt her perfect composure.

She refused to let it show.

Her head was high, her strides measured, her mask of control firmly in place. To anyone else, she was as composed and formidable as ever. Only you would have noticed the way her fingers flexed faintly at her sides or the brief pause as she adjusted her weight onto one leg at her desk, seeking reprieve from the strain.

When her gaze landed on you, though, there was no hiding the shift. It lingered a beat too long, her sharpness softening in a way imperceptible to anyone else but unmistakable to you. The sharp edge in her tone dulled slightly when she addressed you, her words still commanding but carrying a subtle warmth, almost deference. Every glance, every interaction betrayed an unspoken acknowledgment of something shared—a dynamic only the two of you understood.

For the rest of the office, Jieun was untouchable, an unyielding force of nature. But for you, the faintest flicker in her eyes and the carefully hidden tremor in her movements told the truth: beneath her flawless façade, she carried the quiet aftermath of surrender.

The day moved seamlessly until Jieun walked past the open door of the conference room. She paused mid-stride, her gaze flicking inside. At the table sat one of her female coworkers, her laugh light and easy as she gestured animatedly. It was the same woman she had seen that night in the private room, her voice etched into her memory alongside her cries and pleas.

The sight sent a jolt through her chest—sharp and visceral. A possessive heat flared within her, unbidden and irrational, twisting her thoughts into a tangle she couldn’t unravel. The coworker’s laughter carried softly into the hallway, her oblivious ease grating against the turmoil building within.

She forced herself to turn on her heel, her steps measured and deliberate, her head held high. But the tension in her shoulders betrayed her composure. The weight of that moment stayed with her, gnawing at her as she returned to her office. The door clicked shut behind her with uncharacteristic sharpness, the sound echoing through the quiet space.

Minutes later, a timid knock interrupted her thoughts. The intern stepped inside, carrying a stack of reports. Their hands shook slightly as they approached, the air thick with Jieun’s unspoken mood.

Her eyes scanned the reports quickly, catching a minor formatting error—something she would usually note quietly and set aside. Today, though, the simmering frustration boiling under her skin found its outlet.

“Did you even look at this before bringing it to me?” Her voice was icy, her words cutting with surgical precision.

The intern stammered, their cheeks flushing as they tried to form an excuse.

“This is unacceptable,” Jieun continued, her tone unwavering, her gaze sharp enough to draw blood. “If you can’t even deliver the basics correctly, why are you here?”

The intern stammered an apology, their voice trembling, but she dismissed them with a curt wave. The door closed behind them with a faint slam, doing nothing to alleviate the frustration twisting in her chest. Jieun leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply, her eyes falling to the stack of papers as though they were the source of all her irritation.

But no matter how she tried to push it aside, the image of that coworker lingered, feeding a jealousy she didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone understand.

Jieun stared at her phone, her finger hovering over the screen for a moment before she typed the message:

Come to my office. Now.

Moments later, you arrived, pushing the door open without hesitation. Jieun was seated behind her desk, her posture perfect, her expression unreadable. But the tension in the room was thick, hanging between you like an unspoken challenge.

She gestured for you to close the door. As the latch clicked, she stood, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made the air seem heavier. Slowly, deliberately, she stepped out from behind her desk. Without a word, she turned to face you and lifted her skirt.

The heart shaped jewel of the plug gleamed faintly in the warm light, snug and perfectly in place.

“Still in place, Master,” she said softly, her voice steady but laced with a faint vulnerability. Her gaze remained on yours, unwavering.

You stepped closer, your fingers grazing the curve of her hip as you studied her. “Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and warm. “Does it remind you who you belong to?”

“Yes, Master,” she replied, her tone quiet but resolute. “Every time I move, I feel it. It’s… grounding.”

“Grounding,” you repeated, tilting her chin upward to meet your gaze fully. “Then why are you distracted today, Jieun?”

Her composure faltered slightly, her lashes lowering as a flicker of hesitation crossed her features. “It’s nothing, Master,” she said quickly, though the faint quiver in her voice gave her away.

“Tell me,” you commanded, your tone calm but unyielding.

Her lips parted, and the truth spilled out in a rush. “It’s that coworker. The one from that day. Seeing her… I know it’s ridiculous, but it bothers me.”

You studied her for a moment, your thumb brushing lightly along her jawline. “You’re jealous,” you stated, your voice firm.

Her hesitation was brief before she nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Yes, Master. I know I shouldn’t be, but I can’t help it.”

You leaned closer, your breath brushing her ear as you spoke. “You have no reason to be. You’re mine, Jieun. Fully. And no one else will ever have what you do.”

Her shoulders relaxed, the tension visibly melting from her frame as your words sank in. “Yes, Master,” she whispered, her gaze steady and filled with quiet trust.

“Good,” you said, stepping back slightly. “Now lower your skirt and sit down. We’ll address this properly another time.”

Her fingers trembled faintly as she obeyed, smoothing her skirt before settling back into her chair. The fire in her gaze had returned, not in defiance but in renewed resolve.

-----

Later that day, Jieun sat in her office, her posture as precise and flawless as ever, a picture of control to anyone who might glance in. Yet beneath the composed exterior, tension simmered. Her gaze, fixed through the glass wall, betrayed the turmoil inside. The faint hum of the office—the murmur of voices, the rhythmic tapping of keyboards—blurred into the background. Her world had narrowed to you.

You stood among a small group of coworkers, the easy confidence in your demeanor commanding the space effortlessly. The faint smile on your lips as you responded to a comment drew their attention naturally, as it always did. Jieun’s eyes lingered on you, her focus unrelenting as she tracked your every movement.

And then, her gaze shifted to the woman standing closest to you. She laughed lightly at something you said, her voice lilting and cheerful. There was nothing overtly unusual about the sound, yet it grated against Jieun in a way she couldn’t explain. The tilt of the woman’s body, leaning toward you ever so slightly, struck Jieun as far too familiar.

Her fingers tightened subtly around the pen in her hand.

Another laugh followed, the woman’s body language relaxed and open as she turned toward you. Her hand, gesturing as she spoke, lingered briefly against your arm. The touch wasn’t blatant, yet the intimacy of the motion was unmistakable in Jieun’s eyes. Her breath hitched slightly, her chest tightening as jealousy surged despite her efforts to suppress it.

Her grip on the pen grew firmer, her knuckles whitening against the polished surface.

He told me not to be jealous, she thought bitterly, her jaw tightening as her eyes darted back to the scene. He said I had no reason to be. But reason had little bearing on the emotions that churned inside her. The logical part of her knew the interaction meant nothing. The woman’s laughter, the casual brush of her hand against your sleeve—it was all meaningless.

And yet, it wasn’t meaningless to Jieun.

Her gaze returned to you. The faint curve of your lips, the slight tilt of your head as you engaged with them, made her chest ache with something deeper than irritation. She clenched her jaw tighter, the control she prided herself on slipping further out of reach with every passing second.

The woman’s laugh rang out again, light and carefree, her body leaning just a fraction closer to you. It was casual. Innocuous. And infuriating.

The pen groaned faintly in her grasp, the sound lost in the din of her own thoughts.

When the woman’s fingers brushed your sleeve once more, lingering for just a moment too long, it shattered the last thread of Jieun’s composure. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her breathing shallow as her mind waged a losing battle against the heat rising in her chest.

Why am I like this? she thought, angered at herself as much as at the scene before her. Why can’t I just let it go?

With a sharp snap, the pen broke in her hand.

The sound, though soft, seemed deafening in the stillness of her office. She stared down at the two fractured pieces in her palm, her expression frozen, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. The sharp contrast of ink against her pale skin mirrored the turbulence roiling inside her.

Outside the glass, the group continued their conversation, your calm presence unchanged, the woman’s laughter carrying faintly into the room. They remained oblivious to the storm behind Jieun’s closed door, unaware of the fire they’d unknowingly stoked.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #reader insert #male reader #lee jieun #jieun #IU #lee jieun smut #jieun smut #iu smut #iu x reader #jieun x reader #lee jieun x reader

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creamflix · 1 month ago

Text

PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 1]

summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, angst, slow-burn, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto, choso kamo, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman!choso fanfic

word count: 6,203 words

notes: and the award of best liar goes to.....in my defense i needed a break from all the smut writing, so please! please, enjoy the first official chapter of an impulse project. there will be multiple parts to it, so worry not! and please, grill me in the comments. get as critical as you can get, i need the advice. thank you for reading!

masterlist

"you’re fuckin’ shit at your job! pathetic, you hear? if i see you here ever again, god so help me, you’ll never find another job again."

those words still echoed in your mind. sukuna's sneer, the disgust that dripped off every syllable. that day, three years ago, you were swiftly replaced, just another disposable pawn in his empire. it wasn’t that you lacked skills. in fact, you were precise, efficient — everything a good secretary should be. but no one could keep up with him. sukuna’s fiery temper was like a storm you never saw coming. always brewing, always on the verge of eruption. the minute you faltered, even slightly, he was there, leaning over your desk, barking down at you like you were nothing.

the flashbacks always left a sour taste in your mouth, but you weren’t the same cowering woman anymore. back then, the memory of his cruel words had left you teary-eyed in the restroom stalls, wiping away mascara smudges and biting back sobs. but after you left, you swore you’d prove him wrong. you refused to be just another forgotten casualty in sukuna’s warpath.

and now, you had your own wine company.

persephone.

sukuna found the name laughable at first, but the numbers? they didn’t lie. your brand was making waves, quickly becoming a sensation in the high-end wine scene. it wasn’t just some trendy label either — it had substance. the quality was undeniable, and the industry was taking note. especially his industry.

“fuckin’ ‘persephone,’ huh?” sukuna muttered under his breath, leaning back in his sleek office chair. he was alone, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, his expression unreadable. “she’s really givin’ me a run for my money now.” he chuckled, but it wasn’t from amusement. it was that low, dangerous sound he made when something — or someone — was starting to piss him off.

he was the king of the alcohol game, dammit. ryomen had become a powerhouse in just four years, dominating the market with everything from vodka to rum, sake to whiskey. his brand wasn’t just a name; it was a status symbol. people flaunted his bottles like designer bags. you had ryomen on your bar? you were in a different league.

but lately, his sales were dipping in a very specific category. wine. your wine.

“you’re tellin’ me,” he grumbled, looking at the sales report, “that some chick i fired is takin’ a bite outta my profits? unbelievable.”

his current secretary, a polished woman with the demeanor of a robot, stood nearby, silent. she knew better than to interject when sukuna was simmering like this.

“it’s just wine, boss. nothing we can’t —”

“shut the fuck up,” he snapped, cutting her off. “i’ll tell you when it’s ‘nothing.’ right now, it’s a goddamn problem.”

his thoughts raced. part of him hated the fact that you were even on his radar again. you, the same woman who used to flinch when he raised his voice, the one who could barely get out an apology without her hands trembling. he could still remember how you’d stammer through excuses when he’d tear into you for something as simple as a typo in an email.

“god, she was useless,” he muttered to himself, leaning forward and running a hand through his pink hair. but then, a frown crept across his face. useless… or just unlucky enough to work under him?

he shook his head. no, he wasn’t going down that road. feelings, regret, all that emotional bullshit — none of it mattered. it only got in the way of the goal. sukuna was focused, driven, and nothing could pull him off track.

except maybe you.

he hadn’t dwelled on it much back then, too busy building his empire. but now, here you were, with your fancy brand and your goddamn ‘persephone’ label, threatening the wine segment he’d dominated for years.

“she must think she’s somethin’ special,” sukuna muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips. “bet she’s struttin’ around now, huh? all high and mighty.”

he could imagine it — you, standing in front of a boardroom, confident, assured, looking down on everyone the way you probably thought he’d done to you. but that wasn’t going to last.

he rose from his chair, walking over to the window of his penthouse office that overlooked the city skyline. night was starting to fall, and the lights of the city below twinkled like stars.

“well, brat,” he said quietly to himself, voice low and dangerous, “you better enjoy it while it lasts. ‘cause when i’m done with you, you’ll wish i never fired you in the first place.”

he smirked at his own reflection in the glass. maybe he’d underestimated you back then. maybe he’d been too quick to write you off. but that didn’t change the fact that he was going to crush you now.

and this time, he wouldn’t even need to raise his voice.

saying that you were fucked was the understatement of the century.

the alcohol industry? you picked it on purpose — almost like tempting fate itself. it started innocently enough, with your last paycheck crumpled in your hand, drowning your sorrows in ryomen wine — the same wine you used to grab for sukuna when he’d bark orders at you. you swore you could still hear his voice every time you cracked open a bottle. the sharp aftertaste didn’t help, either. you switched to other brands when your wallet allowed: cloudy bay sauvignon blanc, stags' leap cabernet sauvignon, anything that felt like an escape from his shadow. but your funds ran dry faster than you expected, and soon enough, you found yourself back at your mother’s place, sulking like some NEET loser who couldn't face the real world.

and sukuna? that scumbag was true to his word. not only had he fired you with no remorse, but he made damn sure no one else would touch you with a ten-foot pole. rumors spread fast, and he made sure every single one painted you as the problem. you couldn’t get a job to save your life. so, you hustled. babysitting, tutoring, walking dogs — you did whatever you could just to scrape by. but it was humiliating, feeling like you were clawing at survival while your old boss sat on his throne, sipping his overpriced sake and not giving a second thought to you.

the worst part? you craved a drink. every time you got a little extra cash, you were tempted to blow it on just a bottle of something — anything — to numb the exhaustion. but your mother’s concerned eyes on your gaunt face made you stop. she was already worried enough.

then, one night, as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone in your cramped childhood bedroom, you stumbled across a buzzfeed article: "how to make your own wine in ten easy steps!"

it was absurd — who the hell makes wine from scratch? but you clicked it anyway. the gears in your brain started turning as you read it over. step by step, you memorized every detail. the next morning, you raided the supermarket like a woman possessed, stuffing your cart with grapes, yeast, and whatever else you could get your hands on. you were going to make your own wine, because if you couldn’t afford it anymore, then screw it — you’d just make the damn thing.

you spent hours in the kitchen, your hands moving frantically, following the recipe to the letter. and somehow, against all odds, the first batch tasted… good. like, really good. your mother, usually uptight about everything you did, even cracked a rare smile when she tasted it.

“this is actually delicious,” she admitted, setting the glass down. “you should bring some to my gardening club next week. the ladies would love this.”

it was a small suggestion, but it lit a fire in you. making those first few test bottles for her friends? it wasn’t just a distraction anymore. it was the first real sense of purpose you’d felt in months. and when they praised it — truly praised it — you realized this wasn’t just a hobby. this was your way out. your way to rewrite the script that sukuna had burned into your life. you weren’t just going to survive. you were going to live.

what you didn’t expect was for your little wine experiment to become such a big hit.

the ladies from your mom’s gardening club practically lost their minds over your creation. they praised your "natural talent" for winemaking, showering you with compliments and, more importantly, money. they insisted you make more, some even handing over cash in advance just to guarantee their next bottle. you were floored. you could practically hear the sound of money flowing in as you eagerly took order after order, working day and night in your makeshift wine lab — your old side hustles as a barista and a dog poop scooper long forgotten.

now? you were a businesswoman, and damn if you didn’t love saying it. your mom did too. she proudly bragged about you to anyone who would listen. whenever someone asked that tired, familiar question — "what’s your daughter been up to these days?" — your mom would light up, puffing her chest with pride as she told them all about her daughter’s successful wine venture.

time blurred as you threw yourself into your work, orders coming in steadily, and with them, a steady income. it wasn’t long before you had enough to take your mom out for a nice dinner — your treat. the look of pride on her face when the waiter handed you the bill? priceless. you didn’t even feel the pull to drown your sorrows in alcohol anymore. sukuna’s wine? fuck that. the high you got from creating something that people loved, the thrill of turning your passion into profit — that was better than any drink could ever be. but, of course, ambition is a funny thing. once you start getting a taste of success, you start wondering — what if i could get higher?

that’s when suguru geto crash-landed into your life. literally.

one day, his car broke down in front of your house, a random stroke of luck that led to something unexpected. what started as a quick fix turned into a fast friendship, and in just a week, you went from being casual acquaintances to best friends. turns out, suguru’s aunt was part of your mom’s gardening club, so you two started seeing each other more often, and he quickly became your biggest supporter.

“you know,” he said one afternoon, lounging on your couch, “you should make this a real thing.”

“it is a real thing,” you laughed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“no, i mean like — patent it. sell it in supermarkets. let the whole damn world know about you.”

his words struck a chord in you. you stared at him for a moment, your mind spinning with the possibilities. could you really do that? could you take persephone to the next level?

“i don’t know, sugu,” you murmured, biting your lip. “that’s a lot of pressure. i mean, i’m doing fine as is —”

“fine?” he cut you off, grinning. “you’re thriving. don’t sell yourself short. you’ve got something special here, and you know it.”

his confidence in you was almost overwhelming. it made you wonder — what if he was right? what if this little wine brand of yours wasn’t just a side gig anymore, but something bigger? something that could rival even the big names like… ryomen.

the thought sent a chill down your spine. sukuna.

no. this was your time. your success. and this time, it was on your terms.

your confidence, once sky-high, was quick to deflate as reality hit you like a brick wall. how the hell were you going to get the money to start? you weren’t exactly rolling in cash, and even with all the orders you had, it wasn’t enough to cover what you needed to expand. you were, in every sense of the word, still a nobody in the business world.

sitting on the couch, your mind raced, spiraling through all the worst-case scenarios. that’s when suguru, ever the calm one, leaned back casually and smirked.

“honey, you forget,” he said, shooting you a knowing look, “my talent is breathing money.”

your eyes widened. “you’re seriously gonna fund this?”

“why not?” he shrugged, the confidence in his voice unwavering. “i know you’re serious about this, and i’d rather bet my money on you than anyone else. plus,” he added with a grin, “this is gonna be fun.”

his belief in you left you speechless, and soon after, your mother chipped in too, offering up what she could. “you’ve got something special here,” she said softly, her eyes shining with pride. “we both believe in you, and you know what you’re doing.”

with their help, you pooled together just enough to get things rolling, investing everything accordingly. you finally gave your company a name — persephone. it felt like a declaration. this wasn’t just a passion project anymore; it was your shot at proving yourself, at rewriting the story that sukuna tried to burn into your life.

you managed to get your first stock sent out to the supermarket you used to work in, thanks to your old manager who, having tasted your wine himself, vouched for it without hesitation. he agreed to stock your goods on a trial basis, just to see how the public would respond. you sent the stock out tentatively, crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that you could sell out, just maybe.

you spent that afternoon waiting for a response, nerves gnawing at you, until exhaustion pulled you into sleep. you weren’t prepared for what you’d wake up to.

when you blinked awake, the first thing you saw was your phone screen flashing — seven missed calls from suguru and three from your manager. panic gripped you as the worst thoughts raced through your mind. what if something went wrong? what if people got sick from your wine? what if —

you quickly dialed suguru back, your heart hammering in your chest.

“y/n!” his voice came through, excited, breathless. “you’re not gonna believe this. your entire stock? sold out in four hours. people are demanding for more! even the other supermarkets are calling in, asking for you!”

you blinked, the words not fully sinking in. sold out? your whole stock? your mind spun as you processed what he was saying. a rush of disbelief and euphoria flooded your senses all at once.

“i — what? are you serious?”

“dead serious,” suguru chuckled. “this is just the beginning, y/n. your life’s about to change, and fast.”

and in that moment, you knew — this wasn’t just a lucky break. this was it. your life was about to change forever, and sukuna? he wasn’t looming over you anymore. you were about to loom over him.

all of this was just one year ago. persephone blew up like dynamite, becoming the “it” drink with gen z practically overnight. people everywhere dubbed it “the hot girl drink,” and it spread like wildfire on social media. celebs, influencers, and even rappers were endorsing it — rihanna, beyonce, hell, even international actors from countries you never thought would give you the time of day. your pet project had turned into a full-blown empire, something you never even dreamed of. the insane part? it wasn’t just a fad — it was here to stay. persephone was the new, unbeatable champion of the wine industry, holding the number one spot for the entire year. nothing — and no one — could touch you.

market experts were scrambling to crack the secret behind your success. every business magazine, blog, and analyst was pouring over the data, trying to figure out how the hell a tiny, unknown brand could rise to the top so quickly. when forbes asked you to explain it, your response had been simple:

"all you need is a little bit of love in the mix. that's why everyone loves us."

love? bullshit.

sukuna scoffed, slamming the magazine down on his desk as he glared at your interview in the newest issue of forbes. his eyes burned with frustration as he scanned the glossy page, your face plastered on the front cover — forbes, of all things. he remembered when he was the one on the cover. and now it was you, alongside some other guy, suguru geto, your so-called "business partner." his hands fisted the edges of the magazine as he forced himself to read through the article, bile rising in his throat.

"fuckin’ love," sukuna muttered under his breath. "what a load of crap."

what really pissed him off wasn't the fact that ryomen wines had dropped to number two in the market. no, they were still crushing it in vodka, rum, and sake — dominating, even. sukuna still smugly held onto that victory, and in truth, ryomen's other sectors were thriving. but it wasn’t about the numbers.

it was about you.

you, of all people, had stolen his top spot. the quiet, cowering secretary he’d dismissed without a second thought had somehow clawed her way up to rival him. beat him. and that, more than anything else, was what grated on his nerves. it was like a personal insult, like every bottle of persephone on the shelves was a slap to his face.

he didn’t understand it — couldn’t wrap his head around how you, someone he once considered nothing more than a weak, insignificant nuisance, had built something this big. this powerful. it was unthinkable.

but it didn’t matter. because if there was one thing sukuna hated more than losing, it was losing to you.

“get ready,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled magazine into the trash. “this ain’t over.”

he wasn’t about to let you bask in your victory for long. oh no, sukuna never did well with defeat, and you were about to learn exactly what that meant.

sukuna’s sundays were always a mixed bag when his brothers came over. on the one hand, he secretly enjoyed not being alone, the house filled with chatter and energy he rarely allowed himself to admit he missed. on the other hand… they had their quirks, quirks he didn’t always have the patience for.

today was no exception.

“oii, nii-chan!! is it true you’re cooked?” yuuji’s loud voice rang through the kitchen as he leaned over the counter, his face full of boyish excitement. at eighteen, fresh out of high school, yuuji was all energy and enthusiasm, completely missing the tension in sukuna’s glare.

“we are not cooked, brat. now scram!” sukuna growled, his patience already wearing thin. it wasn’t that he didn’t like yuuji; he loved the kid in his own harsh way. but today was not the day to bring up the one topic that had been gnawing at him for weeks now — persephone.

yuuji, of course, remained completely oblivious to his brother’s thinly veiled rage. “dude, we need to try it out — for sampling purposes, of course!” he corrected himself quickly when sukuna’s eyes darkened, the older man’s low growl sending a shiver down his spine. choso, standing quietly by the side, let out a silent sigh of exasperation that went unnoticed by both of them. as the eldest brother of the three, choso was used to playing mediator between sukuna and yuuji’s endless energy.

“talking about that cheap wine in front of your brother? seems like choso here isn’t teachin’ ya manners, brat,” sukuna scoffed, throwing a sharp glare at choso. but choso wasn’t fooled by the display — he knew sukuna well enough to recognize the silent plea in that look. sukuna wasn’t just angry; he was frustrated and on edge, and right now he needed choso’s help to avoid losing face in front of their younger brother.

choso, ever the calm and rational one, stepped in smoothly. “sukuna’s right, yuuji. why don’t we try some of his wine instead? ryomen’s pretty coveted, you know. you can even tell your friends you’ve got the inside scoop on the best stuff,” he suggested, his voice soft and persuasive. he knew yuuji’s weak spot — flexing on his friends — and wasn’t above playing that card to steer the conversation away from persephone.

yuuji’s eyes lit up at the mention of flexing to his friends. “yeah, that’d be awesome! ryomen’s, like, top-tier,” he agreed quickly, the previous excitement over persephone fading as he eagerly darted toward sukuna’s personal bar.

“but only a sip!” choso called after him, his tone firm but affectionate. yuuji grinned and gave a thumbs-up, too eager to care about the warning.

as soon as yuuji was out of earshot, sukuna’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his scowl remained. “thanks,” he muttered under his breath, leaning against the kitchen counter with a scowl that barely concealed his relief.

choso merely nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “you should really tell him what’s bothering you, sukuna. pretending it’s not a problem won’t make it go away.”

sukuna’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. “i’m not pretending anything,” he shot back. “just not giving that cheap wine any more attention than it deserves.”

choso didn’t argue — he knew better than to press sukuna when he was like this. but even as they heard yuuji clattering around in the bar, talking excitedly to himself about the bottles he found, choso couldn’t help but wonder how much longer sukuna could keep up this front before the tension snapped.

soon enough, sukuna bid choso and yuuji goodbye, grunting a half-hearted “good luck” to yuuji for his academics and giving a curt nod to choso. it was their silent agreement to continue taking care of yuuji, a bond forged through the ups and downs of their unconventional family. deep down, sukuna wished his brothers could stay longer, but he knew his work environment would be more chaotic than conducive to yuuji’s growth. the kid needed some normalcy, a chance to be a teenager without the weight of sukuna's world pressing down on him.

choso had that normalcy. he had a simple job and quiet life waiting for him back home, something that balanced him out in a way that sukuna hadn’t found in years. as he watched them leave, sukuna couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he hadn’t run off at twenty-seven, leaving his twenty-two-year-old brother to shoulder the burden of raising a thirteen-year-old yuuji all by himself. it felt like a dick move, something no older brother should do. but he’d made up for it in his own way — by rapidly building a name for himself in the alcohol industry, ensuring his brothers were taken care of.

the weight of those thoughts pressed on him as he closed the door behind them. he had sent ample money back to support choso and yuuji, ensuring they lived comfortably and never struggled. yuuji’s education had never been compromised, and sukuna took a twisted sense of pride in that. everything he did — every deal struck, every bottle sold — was silently for them, though he’d never admit it out loud. they knew, though. they understood the sacrifices he’d made and the lengths he’d go to protect them.

leaning against the closed door, sukuna let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. the house felt empty now, the echoes of yuuji's laughter fading away. but he was used to this emptiness. it was part of the job, part of the life he’d chosen. yet, as he glanced at the bottle of ryomen wine sitting on the counter, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind grew louder. persephone was thriving, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a business — it was a challenge, a direct competition that tugged at his pride.

he shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. no need to dwell on that right now. there would be time to strategize, to find a way to reclaim what he’d lost. for now, he had work to do, deals to make, and a reputation to maintain. but the tension lingered, a constant reminder that the game was far from over.

every business professional and their mother had heard of the forbes awards — one of the highest honors in the industry, recognizing outstanding achievements in categories like innovation, leadership, and entrepreneurship. it was a big deal, and of course, sukuna was invited. how could he not be? he was the face of ryomen, and ryomen was synonymous with him. it would have been a moral sin to overlook his presence.

but alongside him, in a stunning twist of fate, you were invited as well. your heart raced with excitement as you entered the grand hall, arm in arm with suguru, who wore his usual calm demeanor. the ambiance was electric, filled with murmurs of anticipation and the soft clinking of glasses. you felt like you were floating, clad in the prettiest gown you’d ever worn, the fabric hugging you in all the right places. your excitement bubbled over as you and suguru chatted animatedly, sharing whispers and laughter about the event.

sukuna sat a few seats ahead of you, his presence commanding attention even before the ceremony began. he glanced back at you and suguru, his brow twitching in annoyance. that bastard, he thought, irritation prickling at his nerves. was he annoyed because you were here, or because you were here with suguru? who the hell does he think he is, cozying up to you like that?

he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the stage as the lights dimmed. why the fuck does it matter? sukuna knew he should be above this, above whatever twisted emotions were gnawing at him. but it was hard to shake the feeling that your success was a direct challenge to him. persephone had blown up like a wildfire, and now here you were, practically glowing next to some random man.

the announcer’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall as the first award was presented. sukuna’s mind raced. everyone in this room is waiting to see me win. his heart pounded as he thought about the years of work, the sacrifices he made to build ryomen into what it was. these people need to remember who the real titan in the room is.

he couldn't help but steal glances at you, laughter dancing on your lips as you leaned into suguru’s space, that smile of yours bright enough to rival the stage lights. you think you’re some kind of star now, huh? the thought twisted in his gut. you don’t know what it took to get here.

as winners were announced, the crowd erupted in applause, and sukuna forced himself to smile politely, though inside he was a storm. you’ll never be more than a little brat who got lucky, he told himself. and yet, here you are, basking in the glory that should have been mine.

with every name called, the tension in sukuna grew. he could feel the eyes of the room shifting between him and you. they’re waiting to see what i do next, he mused, resentment and determination colliding within him. they think this is the peak. they have no idea what’s coming.

the night was still young, and the real competition was just beginning.

“and this year’s forbes most innovative company award goes to — y/n l/n & suguru geto for persephone!”

you sat there dumbfounded, too shocked to move, even as cheers erupted around you, your name being called echoing in your mind like a beautiful melody. suguru was beside you, his excitement contagious as he urged you on, “y/n, we won! go on, what are you waiting for?”

you won. you really won. the gravity of it settled in, and you felt a rush of emotions. you hoped your mother was tuned in tonight — oh, who were you kidding? your mother and every other mother in the room had tuned in, probably with their phones in hand, eagerly documenting the night. your mom's hourly reminders of “forbes award show tonight, my daughter is winning” played in your mind like a comforting mantra.

it took all your physical strength to push yourself up from your seat, legs trembling as you shakily walked toward the stage. the camera panned in on your nervous expression, capturing the moment for the world to see. when the award was handed to you, a giddy laugh escaped your lips, a blend of disbelief and joy.

“i — i don’t even know where to begin. i’m just… i’m just someone who started out in her mother’s kitchen.” the crowd chuckled, and you caught a glimpse of suguru, his face radiating pride. “and here i am, getting an award from forbes.” the room erupted into cheers, and you could feel the warmth of their applause wrapping around you.

“i….i made it, mom! i really did, i—” your eyes inadvertently wandered, locking onto sukuna, who was seated a few rows ahead. his expression was thunderous, livid anger practically radiating off him, his tattoos appearing to shift in the dim light as he stared you down. if looks could kill, you were certain you’d disintegrate on the spot.

for a fleeting moment, you felt like that meek little secretary from years ago — the girl who cowered at his angry words, whose confidence had crumbled under his disdain. your breath caught in your throat, palms clammy around the award that suddenly felt like a shackle, the blaring stage lights pressing down on you.

“t-thank you,” you mumbled quickly, and with that, you rushed off the stage, confusion buzzing in the air as people murmured about your abrupt exit. suguru’s brows furrowed with concern as you settled back into your seat beside him.

“hey, what’s wrong? talk to me,” he whispered, his hand finding yours beneath the table, offering a comforting squeeze.

“i saw him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the reality of your win overshadowed by the weight of sukuna’s gaze.

the moment hung in the air between you, an electric tension that made your heart race. you had won tonight, yet the thrill felt tainted, as if sukuna’s presence had darkened your moment. suguru's grip tightened, grounding you, but the storm brewing inside you was harder to quell. this victory should have felt like a celebration, but instead, it brought the ghosts of your past crashing back, threatening to overshadow everything you had worked so hard for.

you should be counting your lucky stars that you exited the stage as soon as possible because if you had stood there for even one more minute, holding the award and basking in the stage lights, sukuna would have popped a blood vessel.

how could you — of all people — have won the award? it felt like a cruel joke, a slap in the face to all the hard work ryomen had poured into every drink they crafted. sugary excuse of a wine — that’s what he thought of your creation. it didn’t matter that you had poured your heart into persephone; to him, it was a mere distraction, a gimmick that somehow managed to catch fire while he’d been left to stoke the flames of a legacy he had built with his own hands.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to reign in the rage bubbling beneath the surface. what the hell did you do to deserve this? it wasn’t fair. i revolutionized the industry, he thought bitterly, a storm brewing in his chest. i put everything into ryomen, and yet here you are, stealing the spotlight with your little pet project.

he couldn’t even pay attention to the next awards being given out; they were just a backdrop to the humiliation he felt. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. he scanned the room, trying to gauge the reactions of others. do they think this is a joke? he wanted to scream, to lash out at anyone who dared to think persephone was on his level. the mere thought of you being lauded for your success twisted in his gut like a knife.

you didn’t know the sacrifices it took to build an empire, he raged inwardly. you didn’t endure the sleepless nights, the harsh decisions, the pressure of making a brand that people could depend on. to sukuna, ryomen wasn’t just a company; it was an extension of himself, a representation of all he had sacrificed for his brothers, for his future. and now, you had waltzed in and claimed an accolade that felt undeserved.

every cheer from the crowd felt like a taunt, a reminder of how far you had come and how deeply he loathed that it was you who had taken this honor away from him. you’ll never be more than a flash in the pan, he promised himself, a mantra to ease the burning rage. i’ll make sure of that.

his mind raced, plotting and scheming as he gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles white. i need to show them who the real titan is. he had to reclaim his dominance, to put you in your place. it didn’t matter how many influencers endorsed you or how popular your product became; this was just the beginning, and he would not be overshadowed by someone he once considered insignificant.

as you settled back into your seat, a shaky smile still lighting up your face, sukuna's gaze hardened. this isn’t over, he vowed silently, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and resolve. you may have won tonight, but I’ll be damned if i let you steal my thunder.

days had passed since the forbes award show, but the victory felt hollow for sukuna. sure, he walked out with an armful of awards: the stevie awards, recognizing achievements in management and customer service; the international business awards, celebrating excellence in global innovation and leadership; and the business excellence awards, which honored outstanding performance across the board. it was a haul that solidified his status as a titan in the industry. but even with all that, his mind was consumed by the nagging echo of your name.

how the hell did you manage to steal that one award? it nagged at him like a splinter, refusing to be ignored. it didn’t make sense. even though your win seemed like a mere trinket compared to his accolades, it felt like a theft — a theft of something more precious than gold.

wasn’t it enough that i built this empire from the ground up? he thought, frustration simmering just below the surface. i sacrificed everything to get here, and you — of all people — come in and claim a piece of the pie? it infuriated him to think of you standing on that stage, giggling with disbelief, so carefree and unburdened by the weight of the industry that he had shouldered for years. i’ve earned this!

flashbacks from the award show rolled through his mind like a montage — standing on stage, the lights shining down on him as he accepted award after award. the applause ringing in his ears, the pride swelling in his chest as he shook hands with industry leaders, the kind of recognition that validated every sacrifice he had made.

“congratulations, sukuna,” one executive had said, clapping him on the back. “you’ve really outdone yourself this year.”

“what can i say?” he had replied with a smirk, “i’m just that good.”

yet, while those moments should have felt triumphant, all he could think about was you. that fleeting moment when you stood up there — why couldn’t he shake the image of your smile, your shocked expression? it stirred something within him, an unsettling mix of envy and anger.

you didn’t earn it, he seethed inwardly. you didn’t work your way through sleepless nights or the pressure of making decisions that could sink a company. you just made a drink and got lucky with some influencers.

he wanted to dismiss your success as a fluke, but something about it gnawed at him. why does it bother me so much? he questioned himself, feeling a surge of confusion mixed with annoyance. you weren’t a threat, you were an annoyance, a temporary blip in the industry. yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming something more — something significant.

the thought of you overshadowing his hard-earned victories was infuriating. i won’t let you steal my thunder, he promised himself, his resolve hardening with every passing day. he could not let the narrative shift. this isn’t over; i’ll make sure everyone knows that ryomen is the name that matters, not your little hobby.

but as the days turned into weeks, sukuna found it increasingly difficult to focus solely on his empire. every time he turned on the news or scrolled through social media, your name surfaced, wrapped in praise and admiration, while he was left wondering how you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, stirring up feelings he had long buried. it’s just a phase, he told himself, clenching his jaw. i’ll crush this little competition of yours. soon, no one will even remember your name.

but deep down, a flicker of doubt loomed. what if they do?

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