#Thanks for sending this in Chrome!

[cxpperhead]

"Icons only" Copperhead eating food Eddie cooked for him @question-marked

Send "Icons only" and something for my muse to react to And I will show my muse's reaction using only icons (1-5) and no text

[chiropterx]

☕ - get coffee with, go out to dinner with, steal their food. (Eddie, Copperhead, Roman)

THREE (3) CHOICES

Send an emoji below + three (3) different characters / muses that my muse must pick from! Some choices are considered ns / fw

Ouch, this was a tough one. Kirk chewed his lip apprehensively as he considered his options... Eddie wasn't so bad, he'd learned in time and had moved on from his past to become a better man. Now he was a detective, Edward was a changed man, but Kirk wasn't so sure about the other two. He'd heard... things about Roman Sionis, that he wasn't a very nice man and as for Copperhead, wasn't he a serial killer?

Not exactly company Kirk Langstrom was keen to rub shoulders with. He quite liked them being where they currently were.

"You know, that Roman Sionis... he's a business man, isn't he? I suppose... it couldn't hurt to go to dinner with him, maybe." Could the businessman be interested in looking into genetic cures? He might have the wealth to fund research but there'd have to be something in it for him, and Kirk wasn't so sure the man would be as approachable as Bruce Wayne if it even got as far as dinner. If he was rich though, it could be a nice meal at the very least. That left Copperhead, and Kirk was even less sure about the man than he ever was about Roman Sionis. He'd heard whispers that Copperhead wasn't even human but instead a monster, but... rumors were just that, weren't they? And hadn't he learned that Croc was a good man despite his intimidating appearance? Still, Kirk wasn't so sure what Copperhead even ate, if he was human or indeed different like Croc. Kirk frowned. No, he couldn't judge anybody else, not after what he'd done, what he'd become in his goal to cure deafness!

"Maybe I'd get a coffee with this Copperhead fellow. Worst comes to worst, we could always get something else which means... I'd be stealing your food, Eddie. Sorry about that." Well he wasn't really sorry. Eddie seemed like the safest bet out of the bunch and besides, the man had good tastes. Kirk's stomach rumbled. Man, he was hungry just thinking about it-!

[evilvvithin]

I really enjoy firefox. It's ad blocking extension is free and hasn't failed me yet, plus it runs faster than Chrome. It does occasionally glitch out my screen, but it takes but a mouse flick to put it back to right. I've like Opera, Chrome, Microsoft Edge, etc but only Firefox has impressed me.

I have such bad memories on Firefox but everyone talks about it so nice lately to the point I think it'd be the best option to switch to from chrome

As long as it takes less memory with multiple tabs opened and has adblock it sounds amazing

[queenharumiura]

A string of 'kufufufu''s can be heard before Chrome asks "What is 'gap moe'?" Maybe it's something she should ask Mukuro...

From template meme: [x] ||Accepting|| ((Huhu thanks for sending in! Most of these are what she looks for in friends- because after all, she is a 'I married one of my best friends!' kinda gal. Kekekeke))

"Hahi! So many filled squares!" She's not surprised, but still! "It looks like... you forgot to fill in [cool]," Chrome-chan is very cool, thank you. "Let's see what else...?"

"Hm? Gap Moe? Mmmnnn how to explain it? It's like... someonew whose appearance, behavior, interests and/or lifestyle contrasts with how they seem on the surface level. If you know what a Tsundere is, they fall under that category. Or... if you saw a yankee who holds an umbrella for a cat in the rain, revealing their softer-side."

If Haru had to say, Chrome could fall under 'Gap Moe' as well when you look at it from a visuals standpoint. Her style would maybe lead you to believe that she's cold or aloof. A very mysterious person who sometimes is carrying around a trident. Though she is still mysterious, she is also one of the kindest and cutest people Haru knew!

"Let's also put you down as 'Gap Moe,' okay?" Now with the updated chart... she starts drawing imaginary lines with her finger. "You have a 7-bingo! You have two horizontals, two verticals, a diagonal, and what mun-san explained to me as 'the 4 corners', and postage stamp."

"Do you know what that means, that means we were meant to be really great friends! Most excellent-desu~"

[mbrine]

I have hacked the mainframe (Inspect Element) (UPDATED FOR HALLOWEEN BOOP WAR)

MAX - 1000

LOL - 1500

OMG - 2000

WOW - 4000

*-* - 5000

WHY - 6000

PLZ - 7000

AAA - 7500

;_; - 8000

0_0 - 8500

T_T - 9000

MAX - ~9200? (Hard to tell, I've overshot this twice already)

BOO - 9500

TUM - 10000 given

BLR - 10000 received

How to Super Boop

On desktop, hover your mouse over the Boop button for around 5 seconds, and it will do 2 spins.

Once the button is done spinning, click on it and you can send a Super Boop!

EVIL BOOPS can be accessed by allowing the animation to play 3 times before clicking

One way to get Super Boops on mobile is using a web browser to access tumblr. Use "Desktop Site"/"Desktop Mode", then click and hold the button to send the boop. That'll convert it to a Super Boop button. It seems pretty inconsistent though.

For all clicking enthusiasts, do click this too, trust me, it's just as satisfying

Omg thanks everyone for the boops, I've been butterfly clicking the boop button for so many different people for the past 6 hours and I'm exhausted

I'm pretty sure this is also my most engaged post on any platform I've ever used, thanks for all the RBs and likes <3 <3 <3

If anyone's crazy enough to try reaching 10k without an autoclicker, here's what I did

Ok, one more tutorial for the boops before I go to bed for real.

How do I check my exact given and received boop count?

NOTE: You'll need to refresh the page to update the counters, unless there's another method to check the live count

Chrome

Go to your dash ("home" tab).

Press f12, or right click and select "Inspect Element"

In the window that pops up, click on "Sources" then "dashboard" under "www.tumblr.com" (Pic below for reference)

In the window showing the code, press Ctrl+F and type in either "givenCount" or "receivedCount".

Ta da! (Pic below for reference)

Firefox

Go to your dash ("home" tab).

Press f12, or right click and select "Inspect Element (Q)"

In the window that pops up, click on "Debugger", then "Sources" and "dashboard" under "www.tumblr.com" (Pic below for reference)

In the window showing the code, press Ctrl+F and type in either "givenCount" or "receivedCount".

Enjoy formatting (Pic below for reference)

Gonna take a break from Tumblr for now, my fingers are in shambles and I'm pretty sure I can hear the mouse clicks echoing around inside my skull. Thanks to everyone for making this random Singaporean guy's day, mbrine signing out! ❤

Here's a link to A vetted Palestinian family fundraiser masterpost by @/el-shab-hussein and A masterpost on how you can help Palestine

Happy April Fool's Day!

October 31st changelog:

Removed "bait links", now the link actually says where it directs to

Updated some info regarding tiers

[caleignii]

Gamer!Caleb/Fan!Reader

mentions of: smut, fingering, pussy eating lol, p in v, possessive behavior, creampie, jealousy, cumming, breeding, masturbation, rough sex, orgasm, praising kink, sexual overstimulation, caleb is totally a pervert.

summary: as he came to your coffee shop one day, you never thought that you'll meet your favorite streamer caleb?!

a/n: LOLOLOL, OMG HAPPY JUNELEBBB. I've been lazy for almost twoo weeks WHAAAT??? UGHH idek what to do neext. This one is my longest fic so faarr so have fun readingg! Might post the part two of PossessiveMechanic!Caleb tomorrow lolll, stay tuned!!!

A soft ding was heard on your phone.

As you are currently in the kitchen looking for some snacks, you turned to check your phone. A “Mid night stream since y'all fav streamer had been busy from Cappleb” was shown on the notifications not long ago.

Since your favorite streamer, Caleb, or should we call him Cappleb, hasn't been online for nearly four days, you're thrilled and your excitement is visible on your face.

Before you knew his page, you were busy scrolling into Chrome, when the phone suddenly jumped on your hands landing towards your face.

His adorable face, which nearly looked like a puppy due to his eyes, was what drew your attention when you unintentionally clicked on a few tabs and found his page.

At first, you enjoyed watching him stream about his gaming activities. It was clear that he loved airplanes so much that he occasionally even makes replicas of little aircraft instead of his usual gaming streams. Some airplanes on a shelf that can be seen in his background were precisely aligned and appeared to have been well-maintained.

After you become comfy with him, as you haven't missed any of his streams, you began interacting with him in his comments by asking, "How are uuuuu??” or occasionally making remarks about how accurate and skilled he is when playing Valorant.

Feeling flustered when he notices your little comment, “Doin' pretty well angel, how 'boutcha?”

After awhile, you came to the position of one of his most top fans, and a badge next to your name that notifies him anytime you sign up for his streams. Sometimes if your wallet is feeling a bit too full, you'd send him some stars to fund his streams.

cutiaples [Top Fan 🍎]: sent 1000 stars! ⭐⭐⭐

“WHAT IN THE HOLY GYAAAAT! That's a lottt.” he stopped in his game to look in the comments.

cutiaples [Top Fan 🍎]: you've been playing nonstop for 4 hours, thought this would make u smile cute boy ;3

“Wait-wait-wait, my mind's still processing... Thank you so much baby!!!” you were stunned when he called you baby, blood immediately rising to your cheeks.

The look on his face is everything, slightly widened eyes, corner of his lips turning upwards, and the way he giggles. It made you feel like your stomach was moving around.

Right now, when you clicked on the notifications that directed you to his stream, you saw him wearing a black sweatshirt that fits him perfectly and headphones resting around his neck. You observed him as he is presently working on finishing his desktop so that his game may be seen.

You can't help but be impressed by his features, including his fluffy hair, the way his brows move unintentionally, and the way his Adams apple rises and falls with each swallow. The fact that he looks so good without even trying makes you blush.

The whole time you just watch him playing some silly game, laughing off when he does something funny.

Saying farewell to his viewers as he stopped his stream at around 4:00 AM, and you forgot that you still had work to do in the morning.

“Y'aaall don't miss me muuch! Bye-byeee!” his smile is clearly warming, along with his eyes that threaten to close in any second.

You were clearly sleep deprived after staying up all night, as evidenced by your drooping eyes and distracted thoughts. You have repeatedly tried blinking forcefully in the hopes that it might reduce your drowsiness, but it has didn't worked.

“A cup of large iced-americano and a slice of apple-pie, order coming up!” you came back to your senses hearing your manager's instruction.

As you brew the coffee yourself you can't help but to yawn.

“Didn't sleep much huh? Who kept you up all night? Wish that was me tho” your coworker Frank commented.

“None of your business, get back to work we aren't supposed to be chatting, do you want us to get scolded or what.” you shot him back clearly annoyed.

“Jeeezz calm down, here's the apple-pie by the way. Serve it to table fourteen.”

When you reached the designated table, dropping the tray onto the table to a man wearing a cap looking slightly suspicious by how cautious he is acting.

“Here's your large iced-americano along with an apple-pie lemme know if you need something else, enjoy your order!”

“Excuse me, Miss? I think there's something missing in my order.”

As you turn back, you can't help but feel a sense of familiarity against him.

“May I see your receipt please?” when he handed the slightly crumbled paper, you caught a glimpse of his face under the cap he was wearing.

CALEB!?

IS IT REALLY HIM?

“S-sure, it seems like the Lemon chiffon cake is missing. Let me get it for you right ahead” When you returned to the kitchen you tried to think of something else. What if he just looks like him? It'll be embarrassing if I straight up greet him, right?

“Im sorry for our mistake, here's your Lemon chiffon cake Sir. Is there anything else you need?”

“Nopee but thanks anyway!”

You swore share the same voice!

“Clean up table six!” as you came back to your senses you proceeded to go back working.

Following a long day, you were left to clear the final two tables. As you reached to pick it up, you noticed something gleaming beneath the table that definitely drew your attention. Someone appears to have dropped this wallet. A brown pocketbook with blue and orange accents on the edges, as well as the tiny apple charm that had been shining from the earlier sunlight.

You opened it to check for identification or documentation pertaining to the owner. When you opened it, there was $248 inside, along with a piece of lemon-flavored candy. Going on to eventually locate an ID.

Caleb Xia, 25 Years Old, Registered Pilot in the Deepspace Aviation Administration.

Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.

Caleb? It is him.

You stared at the ID, unable to look away. That soft smile in the picture, the same one you’d seen countless times during his streams, made everything click into place. Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the wallet. What were the odds?

The wallet felt warm in your hands, still echoing traces of its owner.

Caleb.

Your breath caught when you saw his name—just a thin layer of leather and circumstance separating you from a person you’d admired for so long.

A streamer you watched religiously, heart fluttering at every “hey angel” typed to someone you assumed he'd never meet.

But now, he was here.

In your café.

Ordering lemon chiffon cake and smiling with those same crescent-moon eyes that used to light up your screen at 2 AM.

You didn’t say anything. How could you?

How could you tell him that the barista who brought his coffee was the same person who sent him stars with whispered admiration behind every coin?

That the girl wiping tables and yawning at dawn was the same voice that told him he was doing great mid-Valo match?

No.

You kept it to yourself.

You tucked his wallet safely into a sealed bag, placed it beneath the counter, and watched as the night slipped away like steam off hot coffee.

He came back the next morning, this time with his cap gone and a quiet confidence in his step.

“I think I left something behind,” he said.

You didn’t meet his eyes at first. You were afraid he’d see too much in yours.

“A brown wallet with a little apple charm, have you guys perhaps seen it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, retrieving it for him. “We held it for you. Thought you might come back.”

“Thanks,” he said, eyes soft with gratitude. “Would’ve been a disaster if I lost it.”

You handed it over, your fingers brushing for a moment. He smiled, and something in your chest lurched.

He started showing up more often after that.

Sometimes for the lemon chiffon. Sometimes for the espresso.

But after a while, you noticed—he didn’t even pretend to look at the menu anymore.

He came to talk.

"Rough night?" he'd ask, noticing your eye bags.

"Yeah, just… couldn’t sleep."

Couldn't? No, you wouldn't sleep cuz he was streaming til 3AM.

"You too, huh?"

He’d sit by the window while the sun stretched across the floor like golden thread. You’d steal glances while pouring milk, wiping counters, pretending not to notice how the light caught in his hair.

You learned things.

He loved planes—real ones.

Not just models. Not just flight sims. He had studied aviation since he was sixteen. He told you about his training, the nights he’d sleep under textbooks, the mornings he’d wake up with paper cuts and dreams of blue skies.

“I wanted to fly away from everything back then,” he admitted once, eyes far away.

You wanted to ask what he was flying from—but you didn’t. Some silences are more sacred than sound.

He became a part of the place. A low hum in your routine.

Sometimes you’d sit across from him after your shift, swapping stories over lukewarm pastries.

You'd tell him about your dream to study design, about how this café was only a stepping stone. He listened, chin in his hand, like every word you spoke mattered.

But still, he didn’t know.

Didn’t know that after your shifts, you raced home, slipped into your blanket cocoon, and waited for his stream to go live.

Didn’t know you still logged in as cutiaples, heart skipping when he read comments, even if they weren’t yours.

You were greedy for the version of him that was just yours, outside the glowing screen.

Then one night, it happened.

He mentioned you on stream.

“There’s this girl,” he said suddenly, eyes flicking nervously to the side of the camera. “She works at this café I go to. She's… cool. Funny. And she listens.”

The chat lit up instantly.

BabyzAyneee: OHHHH HE’S IN LOVE

ladsADICTS [Top Fan 🍎]: SHE BETTER NOT HURT U CAP

calebxsmuncherr: drop the @ drop the @ drop the @

He chuckled, rubbing his neck.

“I dunno. It’s weird. She has no idea who I am, which is kinda… nice.”

You froze.

He didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t.

You didn’t comment.

You didn’t even log in.

You just watched. Quietly.

Because he wasn’t talking to cutiaples anymore. He was talking about you.

The real you.

The one with frizzy hair after a twelve-hour shift. The one who spilled oat milk once on his sleeve. The one who laughed a little too hard at his dumb plane puns.

The next day, you found him waiting before your shift even started.

“Hey,” he said, holding something behind his back.

“What’s that?”

He revealed a small gift bag. “Don’t get excited, it’s dumb. But I found this apple that reminded me of you.”

You peeked inside.

Green apple.

You stared up at him, and in your chest, something cracked open.

“Do you believe in coincidences?” you asked softly.

He tilted his head. “Like... destiny wearing a fake mustache?”

You laughed, even though your heart was pounding.

“I have something to tell you,” you said.

And there, beneath the humming of espresso machines and clink of ceramic mugs, you told him.

“I know you” you blabbered.

You told him everything.

That you were cutiaples. That you’d been watching since before you met. That you were terrified of how real this all became.

He was quiet.

Then he smiled. Slowly. Softly. Like sunrise after a storm.

“No wonder your username felt... familiar.”

“You’re not mad?”

He shook his head. “Mad? No. Just kinda stunned.”

You both sat there, letting the world fall away.

Then he added, “So… my top fan’s the same girl I’ve been falling for. That’s kinda poetic, don’t you think?”

After bumping into each other again—this time intentionally, as he started frequenting the café “for the pie”—you exchanged numbers. Conversations grew from small talk into long, late-night texts. He’d occasionally send you a meme or a blurry pic of the model airplane he was working on with the caption:

“Don’t laugh at its nose 😤”

You’d tease him playfully and call him “Captain Puppyboy” just to fluster him. Eventually, he invited you to co-stream with him—just for fun. Nervous, you agreed.

The chat exploded when you appeared on stream beside him for the first time, cozy on his couch.

OrbitingYourHeart: cutiaples in the flesh???

GalaxyGf4Hire: WAIT THEY���RE SITTING SO CLOSE

Iwmiwmeow: SHIP CONFIRMED??

giDIEon [Top Fan 🍎]: IM JEALOUS BROOO

You both laughed it off, but neither of you denied anything.

As you both play, currently focused on delivering content in real time while managing interactions. Caleb noticed some comments.

frankieer: YOOOOOO, remember that time we almost dated? Wild days. Didn't know yer meeting w some guy now.

He read it aloud, which caused him to lose focus on the game. You, however, forced you to look at what he was reading.

“Who was that?” you paused the game.

“I dunno, i guess some random dude. D'you know him?”

“Lemme see... frankiee?? Frank? The hell are you saying?” the annoyance in your voice alarmed his mind.

“Who's that babe?” he automatically raises an eyebrow, as you've never mentioned someone naming 'Frank' before.

“He's my coworker, flirting with me at any chance he gets.” his head turned back to the screen as his eyebrows knitted together.

“Yeah right.” you couldn't tell the expression on his face,

He turned off his screen so fast, livestream off, tabs off, mic muted, everything, leaving the viewers dumbfounded and shocked.

“Baby—” you were interrupted when he abruptly jolted you into his arms and took you to your shared bedroom.

“Caleb, baby I swear that wasn't true. Please don't believe him. Babe I'm sorryyyy.” while he laid you down on the bed, attempting to coo him.

“You know that you're mine right?” as you nodded to his response.

“Then allow me to further claim you.” as he smashed his soft lips with yours, calloused fingers roaming around the curves of your body. Caleb lifted you up, legs wrapping around his waist.

The kiss went deeply, his fingers tangling in your hair. He could taste himself on your lips, could feel your breath against his skin.

He unclasped youe bra, his mouth capturing one nipple. He sucked and licked, his hand teasing the other. Your breathing quickened, hands tangling in his hair.

“Caleb I want more, please” as the heat in your inner thighs began throbbing.

“And who am I to decline? My pretty baby wants more hmmm?” smirk showing on his lips. “Yes, yes pleasee?”

Caleb complied, his other hand slipping under her skirt to find you wet and ready. He groaned as his fingers slipped inside, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

Your hips bucked against his hand, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Caleb," you moaned, head falling back. "You feel so good."

Caleb's fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "You're so wet," he growled. "I can't wait to taste you."

As your eyes flew open, gaze locked onto Caleb's. "Yes," you breathed, voice filled with desperation. "Please."

Caleb withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking on them slowly. Eyes darkened with desire as you watched him, body aching for his touch.

Caleb leaned down, his mouth finding her wetness. He licked slowly, his tongue exploring every inch of your gummy walls. You gasped, hands fisting in his hair as you ground herself against his face.

"Oh God, Caleb," you moaned, hips moving in time with his tongue. "Right... ngghhh there, yes."

Caleb sucked on your clit, his fingers sliding back inside of you. Fingers moving in and out, his thumb pressing against your g-spot. Your body tensed, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Caleb," your cried out, orgasm crashing over like a wave. "Yes, yes, yes."

Caleb didn't stop, his mouth and fingers continuing to work until you were boneless and panting. He kissed his way back up to your body, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss.

When you wrapped your legs around him, hands working at his belt. "I want you inside me," you murmured against his lips.

He groaned, his cock hard and aching. As he pushed the skirt up, his fingers finding the wetness once again. He slipped two fingers inside, thumb rubbing your little button that has a bundle of nerves.

"You're ready for me," he growled, voice thick with desire. "You're so ready for my cock."

As you nodded, eyes locked onto his. "Yes, I am," you whispered. "Give it to me, Caleb."

Caleb withdrew his fingers, his cock taking their place. He pushed inside slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Haaaah... baby so biigg nghhh” nails digging into his back as you adjusted to his size.

“You feel so good,” Caleb murmured, his hips moving in slow, shallow thrusts.

”So tight and wet.”

You wrapped your legs around him tighter, hips moving in time with his. "Harder," you whispered, voice filled with desperation. "Fuck me harder, Caleb."

His hips moving faster, his cock slamming into your walls with force.

“Fuuuuckk” body moving in time with his.

"Yes, yes," you cried out, head falling back. "Right there, don't stop."

Caleb's hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies slapping together, moans and groans echoing through the apartment.

"You feel so good," Caleb growled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Your pussy is so tight around my cock."

His thrusts becoming faster, deeper. Your moans were louder now, body writhing beneath him. He could feel her getting closer, could feel her muscles tightening around him.

"Caleb," you gasped, "I'm close."

Your body is moving again, orgasm building once again. "Caleb," you cried out, body convulsing as you came. "Yes, yes, yes."

Caleb leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce kiss. He could feel her orgasm, could feel her body convulsing against his. He thrust into her a few more times before he came, his body shuddering with pleasure.

His hips slamming into yours. The bed creaked beneath them, bodies moving in perfect sync. "Fuck, yes," you cried, nails raking down Caleb's back.

Caleb's cock swelled inside you, his body tensing. "Baby ngggh," he groaned, his hips stuttering. You felt him pulse inside, his cock filling your pussy completely. Your own orgasm crashing over. Both of your bodies shook together, breaths ragged. When Caleb collapsed on top of fragile form, bodies slick with sweat.

Both lay together, bodies still joined. His cock softened inside, cum dripping out of your swelling cunt. You smiled, eyes locked on Caleb's. "Are you jellyy because of that??," you murmured. Caleb grinned, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "Hmmmp!" he pouted, his voice soft. Both stayed like that for a while, bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one.

You were no longer just cutiaples, his top fan.

You were his favorite person.

In every timeline.

On every stream.

And in every quiet, ordinary moment in between.

[amirasainz]

What about biker Oscar, who takes his girlfriend for a ride and she is like his adorable backpack and he loves riding his bike with her. Thx 😊

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Ride or Die

The rumble of Oscar's bike echoed through the quiet suburban street as he rolled into the driveway. The sleek black motorcycle gleamed under the evening light, its chrome parts catching the golden hues of the setting sun. He parked, pulling off his helmet, running a hand through his slightly messy hair. Oscar loved his bike. The freedom it gave him, the power it commanded—it was all exhilarating. But tonight, something was different. Tonight, it wasn’t just about the ride.

Tonight, Yn would finally ride with him.

As he walked into the house, he found Yn pacing the living room. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her oversized hoodie, her brows furrowed in thought.

“Hey, babe,” Oscar greeted, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “You ready?”

Yn froze, spinning on her heel to face him. “Uh… yeah. I think.”

Oscar chuckled, setting his helmet on the counter. “You think?” He stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Yn said, biting her lip. “It’s just… you drive so fast, Oscar. And what if I fall off? Or what if—”

“Whoa, whoa,” he interrupted, tilting her chin up so their eyes met. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then trust that I’d never let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction. “You’ve been my girl for three years, Yn. I wouldn’t risk a scratch on you.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Oscar’s grin widened. “That’s my girl.”

---

They stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against Yn’s skin. Oscar handed her a sleek black helmet.

“It’s a little big, but it’ll do for now,” he said, helping her adjust the straps.

She looked at the bike, her stomach twisting with both excitement and apprehension. “So… where do I sit?”

Oscar laughed. “Right behind me. You’ll be my ‘backpack.’”

“Backpack?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’ll wrap your arms around me and hold on tight. Easy.”

She climbed onto the bike, hesitating as she tried to find her balance. Oscar steadied her with a firm hand on her knee.

“Relax,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

Once she was seated, she wrapped her arms tentatively around his waist.

“Tighter,” he instructed.

Yn tightened her grip, and he chuckled. “That’s better. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” she mumbled.

Oscar started the engine, and the bike roared to life. Yn squeaked, burying her face against his back.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he called over the sound of the engine. “You’re gonna love this.”

---

At first, the bike’s speed was overwhelming. The wind whipped past Yn’s face, and the vibrations beneath her were unlike anything she’d ever experienced. But as they sped down the open road, something shifted. The fear melted away, replaced by a sense of freedom she hadn’t expected.

The world blurred around her—streetlights streaked into golden lines, and the city buzzed faintly in the background. Yn tightened her arms around Oscar, pressing closer to him.

“You okay back there?” he shouted.

“Yeah!” she called back. “This is amazing!”

“Told you!”

They hit a red light, and Oscar slowed to a stop. He reached down, gently pulling her arms even tighter around his waist. His hand lingered for a moment, caressing her forearm.

“You’re doing great,” he said, glancing back with a soft smile.

Yn’s heart fluttered, and she smiled back. “Thanks.”

When the light turned green, they were off again, this time heading out of the city and toward quieter roads.

---

Oscar finally pulled over at a scenic overlook, the city lights twinkling like stars in the distance. The engine cut off, leaving a peaceful silence.

“How was it?” he asked, turning to look at her.

Yn pulled off her helmet, her hair slightly messy but her smile radiant. “It was incredible. I don’t know why I was so scared.”

Oscar smirked. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

He gestured for her to climb off the bike, then patted the seat in front of him. “Come here.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Sit here,” he said, patting the space again.

Curious, Yn climbed onto the bike, straddling the seat and facing him. Oscar’s hands came up to rest on her hips, pulling her closer.

“This is the best seat in the house,” he said, nodding toward the view.

Yn turned to look, and her breath caught. The sprawling city stretched out before them, glittering under the night sky.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“So are you,” Oscar said, his voice soft.

She turned back to him, her cheeks warming. “Stop it.”

“I mean it,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re my girl, Yn. And I’m glad I finally got to share this with you.”

Yn smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Never,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “You’re my ride or die.”

They stayed like that for a while, Yn sitting in front of him, their arms wrapped around each other as they watched the city lights. The night was quiet, but the moment was electric, filled with the kind of love and trust that only grows stronger with time.

[megacarapa]

(<previous)

OH MY GOD....

holy shit this is adorable. i feel like i dont deserve her bc im actually still an anime only /SHOT

BUT I WILL TAKE GOOD CARE OF HER😭❤️❤️

THATS MY FUCKING GUY CHROMEEEEEEE AAAAAAA i love how these kinda go together like he went looking for rocks and found them AVDJFMFL

HOLY SHIT THATS ME?!?!? ASGFFJAAA TY RAM YIPPIEEEEEE🤎🤎🤎🤎 I KNOW THAT GUY👆

YOU GUYS IT LITERALLY SAYS "YOU ARE SUS" LIKE THE VIDEO GAME SUS EVERYBODY IN THE VIDEO GAME USES THE WORD SUS... AND AMONG US? SUS? THAT CONNECTS - AND WE JUST GOT BACK FROM MCDONALDS IT HAS TO BE THE EMPLOYEES OR RAICHU

😲😲 send me sth if you want! 🐢❤️

[faebled-stories]

Beneath Her Empire

Soloist IU (Lee Jieun) x Male reader

17.8k words

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.

[movingmusically]

Hello, dear!! I hope you’ve been good. I have an Austin x gf!reader request for you: reader surprises Austin with a motorcycle for his birthday, or maybe their anniversary? I know nothing about motorcycles lmao, I just watched Bikeriders the other day and the idea popped into my head. Thank you if you get to this!!

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

Gifted

It started with Austin talking about the bikes.

You were curled up together on the sofa, your legs tangled, the end of some documentary playing in the background. You couldn’t remember what it was about — something moody and black-and-white — but Austin’s attention had drifted, and so had yours. His fingers traced lazy patterns over your arm, and his voice had gone soft in that way it always did when he was remembering something he loved.

“You know, the riding ended up being my favourite part of filming The Bikeriders,” he said. “Jeff had us on everything — Harleys, Triumphs, some old weird things I’d never even heard of. He made us ride them all. Said we had to earn the right bike.”

You glanced at him, smiling. “And did you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. By the end of it, I was pretty damn good. Jeff said I picked it up fast. I think I surprised myself a little.”

You could hear the fondness in his voice — not just for the riding, but for the whole experience. It had stayed with him, left a mark deeper than most projects ever did.

“Did you ride before that?” you asked.

He nodded again. “My dad taught me when I was fifteen. Just us and this parking lot in our neighbourhood. He let me stall out a hundred times, never rushed me. Just said to listen to the engine. Said the bike’ll tell you everything if you treat it right.”

There was something about the way he said it — the memory softening his features, the nostalgia wrapped around every word. You loved listening to him when he got like this, words tumbling out, heart wide open.

“I forgot how much I loved it,” he said quietly. “That feeling of moving forward. Wind in your face. Just... freedom.”

You didn’t say much. Just reached over, laced your fingers with his, and let him keep talking, every now and then glancing over to see that same smile tug at the corners of his mouth — the kind you didn’t see every day.

Later that night, long after he’d fallen asleep beside you, you lay awake thinking about the way he’d looked when he talked about it — relaxed, bright-eyed, like some part of him had clicked back into place just remembering.

The idea didn’t come all at once. It started as a what-if. Then it wouldn’t let go.

What if you got him his own bike?

A real one. Vintage. Something that felt like that road. That freedom. That moment with his dad.

You had no idea how. But you knew what you wanted.

The idea doesn’t go away.

It lingers for a few days — while you’re doing the washing up, scrolling through your phone, lying in bed next to Austin and pretending to watch something. It settles in the back of your mind like a stuck song lyric, except instead of a chorus, it’s just: Get him a bike. Get him a bike. Get him a bike.

There’s only one problem. Well, two.

You know absolutely nothing about motorcycles.

And you have no idea how to buy one, let alone a vintage one.

But you do know someone who might.

Jeff Milburn.

You remember Austin mentioning him more than once — how he trained the actors himself, rode with them between takes, picked out the bikes like they were rescue animals he knew how to match with their forever humans. He trusted him. A lot.

So one night, while Austin’s in the shower and humming something unidentifiable but enthusiastic, you make your move.

You grab his phone, open contacts, and scroll until you find Jeff Milburn.

Send the number to yourself.

Lock the phone.

Casually toss it back on the sofa like you didn’t just commit a mild act of relationship espionage.

It feels a little sneaky.

But also — extremely noble. You’re on a mission. A heartfelt, chrome-coated, vroom-vroom kind of mission.

The next day, you stare at the number in your messages like it might bite. You open the text window. Close it. Open it again. Type half a message. Delete it. Type it again.

Finally, you send:

Hi Jeff, I hope you don’t mind me reaching out. I’m Austin Butler’s girlfriend, Y/N, and I have an idea I could use your help with. It’s about a bike.

You immediately regret every word. You pace your flat like you’ve just texted Beyoncé. You throw your phone on the bed and walk away dramatically, as if that’ll make it respond faster.

It buzzes a few minutes later.

Say no more. I already know which one you’re thinking about.

You blink at the screen. Then blink again.

What.

You message back a cautious question mark, and he replies:

The ’66 FLH. Harley. He loved that bike. Told me it reminded him of riding with his dad. Watched him fall in love with it in real time. If that’s what you’re doing — I’m in.

And just like that, it stops being a what-if.

Jeff tells you he’ll start reaching out to his contacts — bike guys, swap meet regulars, collectors with barns full of forgotten magic. He says he’ll handle everything technical: the search, the restoration, making sure it’s safe and gorgeous and ready to ride. You won’t have to lift a wrench.

You’re equal parts relieved and overwhelmed. There’s still a lot to figure out — when it’ll be ready, how you’ll give it to Austin, how to casually explain your mysterious texts if he happens to look over your shoulder.

But you’re doing this.

It’s real.

You’ve got Jeff on board.

You’ve got a plan.

You just need the perfect moment to hand Austin the keys.

Jeff did not waste time.

The morning after you texted him, your phone lit up with a message:

Already made a few calls. We’re hunting.

And just like that, you were in it. No turning back. No pretending it was just a passing idea. You were now officially involved in the world of vintage motorcycle acquisition — a sentence your past self would absolutely not understand.

Jeff sent updates like it was his full-time job. Pictures, voice notes, the occasional all-caps ALMOST PERFECT followed by a video of him pacing around someone’s garage.

You tried to play it cool, like you weren’t hanging onto every message. You failed miserably.

One afternoon, he sent a video of a dusty old Harley with a rusted-out headlamp and a note that read:

She’s got character. And probably tetanus.

Then a different one with half the engine already removed:

Promise I’m being picky. Not putting Austin on anything that might spontaneously combust.

You had no idea what you were looking at most of the time — every part looked either suspiciously greasy or like it belonged in a museum. You responded with things like:

This one looks… round? Is that… a seat? Shiny. Love it.

You got a voice note back where Jeff just laughed and said, “Yeah, we’re definitely keeping you off the tools.”

Occasionally, Austin would catch you grinning at your phone and narrow his eyes like he was trying to read your brain through your forehead.

Once, he walked into the living room just as you were zooming in on a close-up of a chrome-plated fuel tank.

You panicked. Threw your phone screen-down on the couch.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine! Totally normal. Memes.”

“Memes?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as he flopped down beside you.

You nodded with the kind of enthusiasm that makes you look deeply suspicious. “So many memes.”

He leaned in, kissed your cheek, and muttered, “Weird,” before stealing the blanket and getting comfortable.

You renamed Jeff in your phone to Jess M. that night. Close enough to feel familiar, ordinary enough to pass unnoticed. The perfect cover.

Then one evening, Jeff sent a photo with no caption.

It was a Harley — gleaming black frame, clean lines, and something about it that felt… right. Even to you, even through a screen.

A second later, your phone buzzed again.

This is it. ’66 FLH. She’s solid. Almost all original, barely needs anything. Just a little polish, some upgrades. We’ll swap the pipes, throw in a Springer front end, black out the detailing. Trust me.

You stared at the photo, heartbeat in your throat.

It was happening.

Over the next couple weeks, Jeff sent you videos of the process — swapping out the front end, cleaning up the engine, tweaking the seat. The man worked fast and clean. Every detail was chosen with care, every change done with Austin in mind.

No chrome overload, Jeff texted at one point. He likes things with a little grit.

You asked if you could add something personal — something small, just for Austin.

Jeff didn’t even hesitate.

Got a leather pouch under the saddle that zips shut. Send me whatever you want to go in it.

Also — the keyring’s all yours.

You spent a whole evening agonising over what to include. Eventually, you settled on two things. A pair of black leather riding gloves, tucked into the saddlebag. Not too new, not too worn. Just right. And a keychain — smooth, round metal, stamped with two quiet words: Cream Puff.

Anyone else would think it was a joke.

But Austin would know exactly what it meant. The name of his bike from the movie.

When Jeff sent the final photo, you had to sit down.

The bike looked like something you’d only ever see in old photographs or dreams. Something Austin would walk past, stop in his tracks, and fall in love with.

It was his. Already.

She’s ready, Jeff wrote. I’ll bring her in whenever you say the word.

You stared at the message for a long time, grinning like a maniac.

His birthday was coming up — just a couple of weeks away.

You hadn’t planned it that way, but now it felt like the universe had lined everything up for you.

So you texted Jeff back:

Can you bring it to the house on the 17th? I want it to be a birthday surprise.

No problem, he replied. I’ll keep her under wraps until then.

The plan was simple. Keep it casual. Play it cool. Let him think breakfast and a few small gifts were all he was getting. And then… let the rumble of an engine do the rest.

All that was left was the moment.

And now you knew exactly when that would be.

Austin was still asleep when you woke up — face buried in the pillow, one arm thrown across your waist, the covers tangled somewhere between your knees. He looked peaceful. Rumpled. Gorgeous.

You lay there for a while, just watching him breathe, smiling to yourself like an idiot. Then you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. Then his cheek. His jaw. The slope of his shoulder.

“Happy birthday,” you whispered, just above a murmur, and kissed him again, this time at the corner of his mouth.

He stirred, brow scrunching in that soft, sleepy way you loved. “Hmm?” His voice was gravelly and half-muffled in the pillow. “Already?”

“You’re officially one year hotter,” you said, grinning as he blinked his eyes open.

He groaned dramatically and dragged you closer, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him until you were half on top of him, your legs tangled, your hand pressed to his chest.

“I was gonna say we could stay here all day,” he murmured, voice low against your ear. “But didn't you promise me pancakes?"

You laughed softly against his skin. “I’m right here and you’re thinking about pancakes?”

He hummed like he was considering it.

You kissed him again, smiling against his mouth, and you stayed like that for a while. Not rushing. Letting the warmth of the blankets and the quiet of the morning stretch around you like a secret.

Eventually, you managed to slip out of bed — though not without protest — and padded into the kitchen to start breakfast, determined to make it all seem like this was the highlight.

A few minutes in, you felt his arms slide around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder, eyes still a little squinty with sleep.

“You’re making everything,” he mumbled into your neck.

“Yes,” you said, flipping a pancake. “Because I love you and I’m very extra. Don’t fight it.”

He didn’t. He stayed pressed against your back, swaying gently with you while you cooked. Occasionally stealing bits of fruit or bacon when he thought you weren’t looking. Whispering things like, “This is the best day of my life,” when you passed him a fresh cup of coffee.

By the time you sat down together, you’d made enough food for a small film crew. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, fruit, toast, even hash browns you didn’t technically know how to make but attempted anyway. He looked at the table, then at you, grinning like he’d just witnessed some kind of breakfast miracle.

You ate slowly, your legs brushing under the table, conversation moving easily between childhood birthdays and what kind of cake you might have hidden somewhere.

After breakfast, you handed over a couple of small gifts you’d tucked under the sideboard.

He opened a vintage record he’d mentioned in passing months ago and immediately beamed. Then a soft grey hoodie from his favourite brand — the one he always reached for when he got home from set but had somehow managed to wear into the ground. And finally, a tiny leather-bound notebook with the words “For the good stuff” embossed on the front.

He turned it over in his hands, smiling. “What kind of good stuff?”

You shrugged. “Quotes. Ideas. Lyrics. Things I say that you find unbelievably charming.”

He laughed, pulled you in for a kiss. “I thought we were keeping it chill this year?”

“We are,” you said, far too quickly.

He narrowed his eyes. “There’s not, like... a surprise dinner with fifty people?”

You laughed. “No. Just a small dinner tonight. Close friends. Chill vibes. I promise.”

He relaxed. “Okay. ’Cause honestly? This was perfect. I don’t need anything else.”

You smiled sweetly. “Good to know.”

A little while later, once the kitchen was semi-tidied and he was curled up on the sofa scrolling through birthday messages, you leaned over the back of the couch and said, “Hey, can you help me with something outside?”

He looked up, suspicious. “Now?”

You nodded. “Just real quick.”

He followed you without question — barefoot, still scratching his neck sleepily as you walked toward the front door. You were already pulling your phone out of your pocket, thumb hovering over Jeff’s name.

You’ve already coordinated everything — Jeff’s towed the bike over in his truck and parked just around the corner. He’s waiting for your text.

Ready when you are.

Jeff replied almost immediately.

Rolling up. One minute.

Austin was still halfway through stretching when you opened the door. “What are we doing?” he asked, following you outside.

You shrugged, trying to look casual. “You’ll see.”

And then — there it was.

That low, familiar rumble in the distance. Steady and rich, carrying through the quiet late morning air.

Austin stopped walking.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stared.

The sound grew louder, closer, until Jeff rolled into view astride the Harley. Black frame, chrome details catching the late sun, engine purring like it had been born to move.

Austin straightened beside you, squinting toward the drive. “Wait… is that—? Is that Jeff?”

You just shrugged, feigning casual, even as your heart pounded. “Maybe.”

He stared, frozen for a second. His brain visibly trying to catch up.

Jeff swung the bike to an easy stop in front of the house, cut the engine, and hopped off, tossing a quick wave. “Mornin’.”

Austin blinked, grinning in disbelief as he walked over. “Dude—what the hell? What are you doing here?”

They hugged — one of those quick, back-slap greetings that spoke to real affection. “You didn’t tell me you were in town.”

Jeff just smirked. “Didn’t need to. I brought company.”

And that’s when Austin really saw the bike.

His gaze dropped, then lingered. Shifted slowly from Jeff to the Harley. Then back again, like he was trying to reframe the moment.

His gaze snapped to you — and that’s when it landed.

You watched it happen — the moment it clicked. The widening of his eyes. The sudden, almost physical stillness that took over his whole body.

He stepped forward, slow, like if he moved too fast the whole thing might vanish.

“You’re kidding me,” he said, voice low and stunned. He looked back at you, eyes searching, almost disbelieving. “No way. No way.”

You smiled, unable to hold it back anymore. “Happy birthday.”

He shook his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “You got me a motorcycle?” He laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “You got me this motorcycle?”

“She’s yours now,” Jeff said, grinning as he clapped Austin on the shoulder. “Full custom. Swapped the front end, blacked out the pipes, tuned her up. She’s ready to roll.”

Austin still hadn’t moved beyond a slow circle around the bike, fingers trailing lightly over the handlebars, the seat, the fuel tank. Like he was convincing himself it was real by touch alone.

Jeff nodded toward the saddlebag. “There’s something extra in there too. Courtesy of your girl.”

You could feel Austin glance back at you, something too big for words shining in his eyes.

Jeff adjusted his cap. “I’ll leave you to it. See you both at dinner later — don’t be late. Or if you are, at least show up loud.”

He threw you a wink, headed back down the drive, and climbed into his truck. A few seconds later, he was gone, leaving you and Austin and the bike and a bubble of stunned, humming silence.

Austin finally reached for the saddlebag, flipped it open.

The gloves were the first thing he saw — soft black leather, broken in just enough to fit him without needing time. He pulled them out carefully, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Then he found the keychain.

Just a small, round tag, simple and unassuming — but when he turned it over and saw the words stamped into the metal, he let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Cream Puff,” he read aloud, shaking his head. He looked up at you, grinning like a kid. “No way you remembered that.”

You lifted a shoulder. “Seemed fitting.”

He crossed the space between you in three strides and pulled you into his arms — tight and sure, like he was grounding himself in you. You wrapped your arms around him, laughing breathlessly into his chest.

“You’re insane,” he said against your ear, but there was no heat in it. Only wonder.

You leaned back enough to see his face. “You’re welcome.”

He kissed you then — slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that said thank you and I love you and I missed this all wrapped up into one.

When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t even realise how much I missed it,” he said softly. “Until now.”

You smiled, running your hands lightly over his back. “Thought you could use a little freedom.”

He laughed again, breathless. “You’re dangerous.”

“I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

He glanced back at the bike, still looking half in awe. Then down at his bare feet and pyjama bottoms. “I feel like I should ride it right now, but...”

You smirked. “Yeah, no. Full respect for the vibe, but I’m not spending your birthday in the emergency room.”

He grinned, catching your hand in his. “Later. After dinner. Proper gear. Helmet and everything.”

“And me?”

He squeezed your hand. “You and me. First ride’s ours.”

You felt a flush of happiness warm your chest, quiet and full.

He glanced at the bike again, hesitation flickering across his face. “We should move her into the garage, though. Can’t just leave her out here.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “Go ahead. I’ll open it up.”

It only took a minute — you pushing the side door open, him carefully walking the bike inside like it was made of glass.

When he finally set the kickstand down and stepped back, he just stood there for a second, taking it all in.

Like he couldn’t believe it was real.

Then he turned back to you, smile slow and soft, and reached for your hand again.

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your knuckles as he led you back inside, the door swinging shut behind you.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of syrup and coffee.

The morning’s chaos forgotten in the slow, golden stretch toward midday.

Austin set the keys carefully on the counter, like they were something sacred.

Then he pulled you down onto the sofa, wrapping himself around you — arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder, the low steady rhythm of his breathing against your back.

“You know,” he said quietly, his voice brushing the shell of your ear, “this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

You tilted your head back to smile at him.

“You say that now,” you teased. “Wait till you see the cake.”

He chuckled, low and warm, and pressed another kiss to your hair.

But even without the cake, without the dinner, without anything else —

You knew you’d already given him exactly what he needed.

And he’d just given you the same thing in return.

Taglist:

@thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @butlerrizz @myradiaz @chocolatetree222

[vivienne-charm]

Dr. Stone Headcanons

x Texts with them Pt. 2 x

Part 1 here!

Part 2 bc part 1 reached 100 notes. Tysm !!! ♡

Stanley Snyder

⋆ he's an asshole

⋆ but a very cool asshole

⋆ the way he talks, the way he carries himself, even the way he texts, it's so suave

⋆ god forbid you ask for his opinion on something... it's always MEAN AF

⋆ "Stanley, which pic should I post on my socials?"

⋆ "whichever makes you look less ugly"

⋆ "...wtf?"

⋆ "so neither"

⋆ he enjoys being playfully mean to you to gauze your reaction

⋆ but if he senses you're genuinely hurt by his comment, the blondie will attempt to soothe you in his own way

⋆ "don't worry, being ugly means less creeps around you"

⋆ "stfu, stanley"

⋆ "yes, ma'am" / "yes, sir"

⋆ as you guys grow closer, this non-chalant man finds himself looking for ways to make you even more embarrassed and flustered

⋆ so sometimes he would randomly text you with sweet nicknames

⋆ oh don't ever let him know that you fw being called a good girl/good boy

⋆ if you did then uh oh, pack it up, its so over for you. he's going to ABUSE that phrase. you just handed him your leash with that one.

⋆ since he's a military man he can't be with you all the time to banter with you and all... that's why the texts between you guys mean alot to him so he makes sure to keep a backup of them just in case something happens to his phone

⋆ yk those group of people who sing happy birthday and dance around with a pic of the said person if you pay them...

⋆ for your birthday, stanley motherfuckin' snyder sends them the most embarrassing, most hideous candid picture of you which he sneakily clicked so he can send you a vid of them wishing you a happy birthday

⋆ he knows how to piss you off

⋆ and....he knows how to make it up to you as well ;)

⋆ either way, texts between you and stanley can get intense real quick. whether its from an intense banter or other stuff, it is upon you guys.

Xeno Houston Wingfield

⋆ apart from being a goofy disney villain....ok sorry sorry, apart from being a cruel dicktator, he's a sweet loverboy at heart

⋆ "Good morning, sweets! Good Night, Lovey! Have you eaten yet? Oh, did you enjoy your hiking trip?"

⋆ proper grammar, no spelling error, formal greeting, detailed interrogation

⋆ you almost concluded that this man cannot distinguish between an email and a normal text

⋆ but you were wrong

⋆ because to him texting each other is like being a PEN PAL with him, far from an e-mail...

⋆ but he's so sweet, you dont have the heart to tell him that he doesn't have to end his texts with "Yours elegantly, Xeno"

⋆ btw, if he ever sees some acronyms/slangs he doesn't understand, he immediately texts you to ask you it's meaning 🥹

⋆ some kid once commented "sybau" under his social media post explaining about some scientific phenomena

⋆ you didn't have the heart to tell him what it really means so you....

⋆ "The kid's telling you to Stay Young, Beautiful, and Unique, Xen."

⋆ he ALMOST replied back the kid with a hearty thank you but you thankfully stopped him. bless his soul.

⋆ he's the kind of fella to reply back to your texts as soon as he can

⋆ he also treasures your kind messages alot. they move him to tears sometimes.

⋆ when he complained about his ideas being rejected and you soothed him with your texts, he couldn't stop crying like a baby that day.

⋆ stanley keeps noticing his bestie being progressively more occupied with his phone

⋆ xeno doesn't realize how cute he looks replying to your texts with a big smile

⋆ he is so precious

⋆ you're winning

Bonus

Chrome

⋆ "so you're telling me, if i write something here, it'll show up in your device all the way to wherever you are?"

⋆ "yup"

⋆ he then runs away from you as far as he can

⋆ types "science is damn AWESOME"

⋆ runs all the way back to you to check if its delivered

⋆ starts shouting in amazement after he sees that you did actually receive it lmao

[cxpperhead]

❤️ for my favorite icon of my muse

what icon? ask meme.

Okay, it's a hard pick as there's a few but this is probably one of my favourite icons for him? It's close up, the colours are bold and striking, there's nice lighting going on and it's a neutral talking expression, it really shows off his nice cheekbones and peculiar anatomy going on around the mouth. Also nice snek pecs!

[nishayuro]

Dr.Stone Stanley Snyder’s S/O getting harassed by Ibara

A/N: I am back…? Idk i’m trying to get out of a writer’s block again. Been playing a LOT of Minecraft! Me and my friends made a Dr.Stone realms and I’m playing as Xeno lmaoo, we are recreating KoS and the American colony’s base (its big as fuck????) anyways, here’s the prompt I wrote and special thanks to @animeotakuf0rlife for sending in this ask and furthering the idea! I accidentally deleted the ask when I was layouting this post 😭

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Warning: Manga spoilers, harassment, Ibara himself should be a warning, violence, use of guns,

Fem!reader (or Fem presenting, reader will be called a girl, use of they/them is still present but Ibara will refer to reader as she/her)

With society back up and running again faster after the moon mission’s success, people have been getting revived left and right. You were part of the American colony back before the 2nd petrification happened and was revived to help out with the rocket for the mission. As time passed, you grew closer with the members of the Kingdom of Science, they’d tell you all about the adventures they’ve been on, sailing the world, and the fights they faced before they set foot to America. You learned that a lot of the kingdom’s members were once their enemy, like Tsukasa, Hyoga, Moz, Kirisame, and others. Quite ironic because at some point, you were also their enemy.

When the people of Treasure Island visited Japan, Kohaku and the others were furious to see a tall, middle aged man with a weird goatee. “Oi! What is Ibara doing unpetrified?!” Ginro exclaimed, pointing at the man with fear. “When did this happen?!” Chrome added, also shocked to see the guy. “Who’s that?” you asked Ryusui who was next to you in the docks, helping unload cargo. “Ibara. The biggest enemy when we were at Treasure island.” he said, voice was void of its usual cheer.

“I’m so sorry! One of the newly depetrified islanders thought he was another innocent person. He’s been tame lately after revival and kind of helping around. But we couldn’t leave him at the island, who knew what he’d do without us to guard him?” A bald man, who you presume is Soyuz from what the others have described, said. You looked up at this Ibara man and saw that he was already looking at you, for some reason, you felt a chill down your spine. “It’d be best if you stayed away from him, y/n.” Ryusui warned, you nodded. “Y/N! Xee needs you in the lab.” your boyfriend, Stanley called out to you. “Oh, alright. Bye guys! Doc called.” you bid farewell, glancing at Ibara who was still eyeing you.

Stanley, who decided to assist in the unloading of the cargo, was approached by Ryusui. “Hey, Stanley!” the sailor called, “I’d look out for that man, Ibara, if I were you. He doesn’t have a good track record.” Ryusui informed. “Huh, why?” answered Stanley. “He petrified their island’s leader and tricked everyone in the island. He has harassed multiple women when the “harem selection” was happening in the island. He’s not one to respect women. And from the looks of it, he has his eyes on Y/N. My sailor’s intuition is never wrong!” Ryusui explained. That made the soldier’s eyes darken. “I need info on the enemy.” Stanley said, to which Ryusui told him everything.

Ibara claimed to have changed his ways, now that everything was too much for him to understand, he claimed to not have interest in ruling the world anymore, which was met by doubts, yet he was still tasked to help around the area with small work. He seemed okay at first, no incidents, no bad things. Your interactions with him were normal to a fault; he seemed friendly, too friendly. You still kept interactions with him brief, remembering what Ryusui and the others told you.

One afternoon in the lab, the science team and Stanley were working on an experiment, Stanley there as the “bodyguard” and you as Xeno’s assistant, like you were back in the modern day. “Y/N, mind grabbing some materials from the storage? Here’s the list.” Xeno asked, handing you a piece of paper. “Sure, I'll be back shortly.” you said, walking out of the lab and towards the storage area, you didn’t realise that Ibara was near and saw you walk into an empty room and decided to follow you. As you were gathering the materials, you heard the door open, revealing the tall man. “Oh, Ibara-san? What brings you here?” you questioned, uncomfortable about the fact that he was in a room alone with you. “Ah, hello y/n-chan! I’m here to pick up some materials for the 3rd floor. “Huh? But you’re on the basement floor, each floor has its own storage unit.” you questioned, wary of his movement.

“The unit upstairs was out of the material, they told me to check here.” he answered, a smile on his face as he moved closer to one of the shelves. He looked to see that your cart was mostly ores, and jars. “They’re letting a pretty girl like you do the heavy lifting?” he asked, a shiver ran down your spine as you looked up to see him staring at you. “Wha- no, it’s normal. I’m working as Xeno’s assistant after all.” You answered, defending yourself. “You have a nice figure y/n-chan~ don’t damage it by carrying heavy things~” He said.

The man moved closer, you started to move farther, trying to focus on gathering your materials. In a flash, the man was directly behind you, body sticking to yours caging you between him and the shelf. He was reaching up the shelf, presumably also gathering materials. You tensed up, and Ibara took this opportunity to hold onto your shoulder. “Why don’t we get to know each other better, hmm?” he whispered into your ear. “Get off of me! I have a boyfriend!” you tried to pry him off of you, as you shouted, hoping someone would hear you. “Kukuku~ back on my island, it didn’t matter if the girl was married.” He said with a smirk as he gripped your arm. “Let me go!” you screamed, thrashed, and tried to move away.

When Xeno sent Y/N to get materials, he didn’t think much of it as it was a normal occurrence as Xeno’s assistant. However, the usual 5 minute wait time became 7, then 9, then 10 minutes. He got concerned, and told Xeno he’d go see what’s taking y/n long. As Stanley exited the room, he bumped into Tsukasa and the others, “Have y’all seen Y/N? She should have been back 5 minutes ago.” Stan asked, “Nah, we just got he-” “LET ME GO!” a scream was heard, a voice familiar to the group which made them run towards the storage area.

BAM!

The door flew open as another man entered the room, “GET AWAY FROM THEM!!” Stanley shouted, his voice booming as he rushed towards the man on you and yanked him off hard, followed by a punch, making Ibara land on the floor. A few other people reach the door, those being Tsukasa, Ryusui, Kohaku, and Sai. “Stan!” you exclaimed, glad to see your boyfriend here. “You dirty piece of shit!” Stan held Ibara down when he tried to get up. “Stan! Not here!” you shouted, holding onto him. “Bring him out of the room, please.” You asked the bystanders, Tsukasa coming in and restraining Ibara. “Bring him to the yard, I'm gonna teach that piece of shit a lesson.” Stan ordered, his commanding voice leaving no room for arguments. “All right, we’ll be waiting for you.” Ryusui answered, leading the group.

Stanley directed his attention towards you, holding onto you and scanning you. “You ok? Did he hurt you?” he started fussing. “Stan, I'm fine. You got here on time.” you said, hugging him with your face on his chest. He hugged you back. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re safe.” he muttered into your hair. “I’ll go back to Xeno, you go handle Ibara.” You whispered and he nodded, escorting you back to the lab door and giving you a kiss before you entered.

“What took you long?” Xeno asked, still focused on his work. You bring the materials to him, “Ibara cornered me in storage, Stan is dealing with him now.” your confession got Senku, Xeno, Chrome, and Suika to look at you. “Ah, well, I wouldn’t mind having a human guinea pig. That is if Stanley doesn’t break him first” Xeno said.

When Stanley reached the yard where they usually trained at, he saw Tsukasa and Ryusui there with Ibara tied up. “You dare touch my partner and think you’d get away with it? Let me get you off your high and mighty self throne. You.are.powerless.here.” Stanley’s voice was cold as he pointed his gun at Ibara, who recognised the item as similar to the thing that shot him back then. Fear crept up his whole being. “N-no! Don’t!” Ibara begged. BAM! Stanley pulled the trigger, but aimed it at the target just behind Ibara’s head. The other man looked behind and saw the bullet hole in the middle. “You see that? that will be you if you dare touch y/n again.” Stanley said. Ibara was panicking at this point, he doesn't want to die. “S-she was giving me signs!” He tried to reason.

That angered Stanley more, sending another punch towards the man, “signs…? SIGNS?! You dare blame them?!” Stanley raged, punching Ibara to the ground, and kicked him hard. He knelt down and gripped at Ibara’s jaw, making him look up at him. His eyes were clouded with pure rage. Not even Tsukasa would want to intervene with this. “You dare touch, talk, or even breathe near them again, I will offer you up to the science team as a gift. And I’ll tell you now, Xeno ain't above using humans for his crazy experiments.” He tightened his grip on the man, “understand?” he asked, Ibara was choking at this point. “un.der.stand?” Stanley repeated, to which Ibara forced a ‘yes’. He asked the others to lock Ibara up for the time being as he talks to the leaders about what to do with Ibara. Stanley let go of him and walked off, but not without his final words to the man.

“Just because you almost succeeded before with taking down the team, you think you’d succeed in taking it down again. I’ll kill you if you try anything else to harm us. And don't take this threat as a bluff, because I can.”

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[hongjoongtime117]

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Reader

Genre: SMUT (MDNI 18+)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Temperature play, fingering, oral sex (M/F receiving), HANDS, use of sex toys, multiple orgasms, pet names, per usual let me know if I forgot anything important!

Author’s Note: This was written for @woolysium who also made the AMAZING banner for this fic! Thank you, love! And I’m so glad you enjoyed this one! Thanks for the inspiration! ❤️

As you lay bare on your stomach in the middle of Wooyoung’s bed, your skin prickles with excitement. He had told you earlier that he had something special in store for you tonight. The bed dips on either side of your hips as Wooyoung straddles them, the thin material of his tight black boxers leaving very little between the two of you.

 “Gonna take such good care of you, baby,” he whispers into your ear as he’s pressed firmly against your back. He runs his soft, veiny hands up your arms to entangle his with yours. You admire the shiny, cold, chrome rings, and his Chrome Hearts inspired manicure. He knows you love his hands, and he does his best to keep them nice and pretty for you.

He untangles your hands and retrieves a bottle from the nightstand. You hear the cap to the bottle click, and he can feel you tense just the slightest bit underneath him.

“Relax, baby. I’ve got you,” he purrs. 

You feel the cool liquid hit your back, and he begins massaging it along your body, experienced hands causing you to relax under him. The more he massages, the warmer the liquid becomes and you realize it’s a warming massage oil. You exhale a light sigh at the sensation. “Mm, feels good Woo.”

“Told you I would take care of you, pretty girl.” He scoots further down your legs, grabbing handfuls of your ass before he begins massaging it as well. He dips a hand between your thighs, brushing against your heat. Your breath hitches and you can tell by his tone, he’s got that cocky smirk on his face. 

“The thought of my hands on you has you dripping already, baby?” 

“It’s not my fault you have such veiny, gorgeous hands, Woo,” you retort. 

“Mm, I know a good place for them, too. Right inside your tight little hole.” 

You sharply inhale at the bluntness of his words. “You’re such a tease, Wooyoung!” 

“Oh, but you love it, don’t you, baby?” He lands a rough smack to your ass before he climbs off of you and makes his way to settle against the headboard. “Come here, pretty girl. Let me make you feel good.” 

You crawl across the bed to him, and he pulls your back to his broad, strong chest. He eases your legs over his and he spreads your legs apart with his own, giving him full access to your glistening folds. He thumbs your perk, puffy nipples, the excess warming oil sending shivers up your spine. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he growls lowly in your ear.

He taps your lips with his freshly done nails. “Open, baby.” You comply and Wooyoung sticks two ringed fingers in your waiting mouth, playing with the saliva that has gathered there. 

“I know how much you love these hands. Be a good girl and suck them like you suck my cock, hmm?” 

You close your plump lips around his fingers, and let your tongue explore every inch of them. The engravings and the chill of his rings, and the embellishments on his nails give your tongue plenty to do, and you moan around his fingers, savoring the weight of them in your mouth.

While you busy yourself with his fingers, he uncaps the bottle, skillfully with one hand, and collects just a bit of the warming oil, rubbing it between the fingers on his unoccupied hand. 

“I’d ask if you’re ready, but how wet you already are tells me enough. You’re glistening, baby,” his voice low and seductive in the shell of your ear, as his eyes drop over your shoulder to your leaking arousal. He snakes a hand down your body, unhurried but needy, until he reaches your throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“Watch as my fingers make you cum, pretty girl.” He uses the hand in your mouth to gently maneuver your head down to look where his experienced hands are working your clit. The sight has you whimpering around his fingers, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. 

“That’s a good girl. So good for me.” The prominent veins in his arm bulges at his ministrations, and you can’t help but to run your fingers over them. You meet his hand at your aching bud, loving the feel of it underneath yours. He knows exactly what to do to have you coming undone, and embassingly quickly. The warming oil is only enhancing the sensations you feel. His fingers are fast and practiced, drawing tight circles against your clit, that has your eyes fluttering shut and the knot in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment. 

Your breaths pick up, fanning across the skin of the hand filling your mouth. He knows your body like the back of his hand (haha) and can tell you’re seconds from your release, your whimpers and whines giving him those telltale signs. He works his fingers even faster under yours, and right before your impending climax, he withdraws his fingers from your watering mouth and grasps your throat firmly. 

“Cum for me, pretty baby.” The knot finally snaps as your orgasm rips through you. Your lips part in a silent scream and your head falls back to rest on his shoulder, breaths ragged and shallow. 

He raises his fingers to his lips, tongue darting out to taste your sweet slick. The lewd sounds of him lapping at his fingers has your hole clenching around emptiness. 

“Fuck, you taste so delicious, baby. But I need it straight from the source,” his voice dripping with lust. He slides out from behind you, laying you down and hovers over top of you. He trails hot, wet kisses down your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You try to reach for his painfully hard cock, but he stops you short.

“Woo, please?” you pout at him with big shining eyes. 

“Maybe later, baby. Right now, just let me worship you.” Not bothering to wait for a response, he places gentle kisses to the spot where your thighs meet your pussy, drawing a breathy moan from your spit swollen lips. His fingers slip between your folds, and you buck your hips, chasing any kind of friction. 

“You just came and still want more? Such a needy girl,” his whispers to your pussy, velvety voice and warm breath making you shiver in anticipation, and you lean back on your arms to watch him between your legs.  

“I’m more than happy to give you what you need.” His blown out pupils meet with yours as his tongue licks from your leaking hole, to your throbbing clit. Your hands find purchase in his silky, raven hair, the slight burn of his scalp making him moan, sending vibrations straight to your core. 

“Need more, Woo… please,” you beg, legs trembling and voice weak with desperation. 

He growls in agreement, filling your hole with two lithe fingers. The icy feel of his rings contrasting with the blazing heat of your walls around them leaves throaty whines spilling from your lips. His eager lips suction around your clit, while his fingers simultaneously hook right into your sweet spot, the coil in your core winding tightly once again. 

“Fuuuuck, Woo, just like that,” you babble, eyes rolling back, dizzy from pleasure. You grind your cunt impatiently into his wet face. 

Fingers pumping in and out at a quickening pace, being sure to drag across your pleasure point at every chance, his voice is low and commanding, rumbling against your core. “That’s it pretty, ride my face.” 

He can feel your body tensing, preparing for another soul shattering orgasm, as he plunges his fingers deeper still, the markings on his rings dragging across your walls making you clench tighter. A symphony of incoherent pleasure falls from your lips, and it only spurs Wooyoung on even more, his groans of satisfaction radiating through you. 

“Yes, baby. Let me hear your sweet little noises. Let me know I’m doing my job well. Come on, good girl. Cum for me. Soak me,” his voice husky with need. A few more pumps of his fingers and a soft nibble to your clit has you seeing stars as you squirt and soak him, yourself, and the sheets below. 

“Mmm, you listen so well, baby.” He looks up at you with hooded eyes, panting, as you both try and catch your breath, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. 

He crawls up your body, littering kisses on his way up to meet your lips. He gives a sharp bite to your lower lip before coaxing your mouth open to let his tongue in, allowing you to taste yourself on him. 

“I still have one last thing in store. Think you can give me one more, pretty girl?” he says softly as he parts from the intimate kiss. 

You give a slow, hesitant nod. “But what about you, Woo? You’re so hard. Please let me help. I’ll make you feel so good.” You place your hand on the unmistakable bulge in his boxers, the fabric wet with precum, and he drops his head to your shoulder with a pitched whine. When he recovers enough from your touch, he lifts his head and traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and you instinctively take it into your mouth.

“Mmm, I’m definitely gonna have those pretty lips wrapped around something other than my fingers. What I’ve got planned is gonna make us both feel good. Sound good?” You give a sound that is equivalent to a ‘yes’. “Good, I’ll be right back, baby. Be good for me.”

He returns only a few moments later, a metal ice bucket in hand, and something else inside the bucket that looks similarly shaped to Wooyoung’s cock, the stainless steel glimmering in the low light of the room. Your eyebrow raises in curiosity. 

“Do you trust me, baby?” Wooyoung checks in as he sets the bucket onto the nightstand, within easy reach. 

“Yes, of course, Woo,” your voice small from excitement.

“Then come here.” He takes an ice cube from the bucket and places it into his mouth. He settles back on to the bed and you saunter over to him. With you both on your knees, centimeters away, he grips your chin in his hand and brings you in for a searing kiss. You sloppily pass the ice cube back and forth with your mouths until it has melted and has begun dripping down both of your chests. 

He reluctantly releases from the kiss and grabs another icy cube, popping it into your mouth.

“I want you to melt this around my cock, while you sit on my face. Think you can do that, baby?” Your enthusiastic nod makes him giggle. “Let’s get to it, hmm? Take your throne, pretty girl.” He quickly shucks off his boxers and tosses them carelessly onto the floor.

You hesitantly hover over his face, facing away from him to get to his leaking, flushed cock. Unknown to you, he’s also placed an ice cube into his own mouth. Before you can sink your mouth around him, a harsh pull elicits a gasp from you. Wooyoung moves the ice around in his mouth to speak properly, right into your folds. “Seems you didn’t bring your listening ears for this part, baby. I said sit.” 

Without further warning, he brings you full force onto his hungry mouth, using his tongue to press the frozen cube straight to your clit, as he wraps his lips around it, suckling with intent. You choke out a sob at the cold relief on your swollen nub. You take his heated length into your own mouth, and you can feel Wooyoung’s dick twitch with the mixture of the warmth of your mouth and the cold of the ice, his cock finally getting the attention it has craved. His groan vibrating your clit has you letting out one of your own around his cock. 

You swirl the ice around his throbbing cock, making sure to pay special attention to the protruding vein along the side that drives him wild. He unintentionally bucks his hips up, causing you to gurgle around him and tears to form at the corner of your eyes. His grip on your thighs tightens, sure to leave bruises behind. You can feel his breaths, heavy and short.

Without unlatching from your clit, he reaches for the metal object that has been sitting in the ice bucket. He teases your entrance with the cool steel, silently seeking permission. A firm massage to his balls was all the go ahead he needed to push the chilled metal into your tight, clenching hole. The change in temperature has you grinding desperately, meeting the thrusts of the dildo, and the laps of his tongue. You double your efforts on his cock, swallowing around him, determined to get him to cum down your throat before you’re overthrown by another climax. 

The ice has melted for the both of you, but it has still left a frosty feel. You suck on Wooyoung’s tip and give his balls a squeeze. He detaches from your clit with a wet pop, a strangled cry coming from deep in his chest as his back arches and his hot seed warms your mouth and throat from the leftover chill of ice. 

“Fucking Christ, Y/N!” chest heaving, and breathing rugged, but never stopping his assault on your cunt with the cold metal. You let his dick leave your mouth, as you claw at his thighs, your third orgasm not far away. 

“Pretty, give me one more. You’re such a good girl, taking everything I give you,” he praises and coaxes you towards your release. Tears stream down your cheeks as he fucks you faster, the icy metal hitting your g spot with every thrust. Your body trembles as you choke on your sobs, and your release comes barreling forward. A final well placed thrust, and a claiming bite to your inner thigh has your vision going white, body tensing, as you cum hard around the now lukewarm object in your cunt. 

He kisses you gently as you come down from your high, telling you how good you were for him. On unsteady knees, you hop off of him to face him properly. You take his hands and trace your fingers over every visible vein.

“Mmm, you really enjoy my hands so much. I’m starting to wonder if my dick is useless.” he teases. You bury your face into his neck and bite down hard. 

“Shut up, Jung Wooyoung, or I’ll make sure it never gets attention from me again!” you gripe at him. 

He cackles at your response before he cradles you to his chest. “I’m only teasing, baby. You did so good. Did you enjoy yourself? I sure as hell did.”

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t have enjoyed it?” 

He wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. “I’m glad you’re satisfied with my services.” 

“You’re such an ass, Woo,” a snort laced laugh escaping. 

“Mmm, yep. But I’m your ass!” 

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 7 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 2.8k words

Bucky struggles with his new reality, a new assitant, arguing with his best friend and, crucially, no more you.

Warnings: 18+language and canon typical violence, Bucky thinks about sex but nothing explicit.

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 6 | Bucky Barnes

"Mr Barnes?" There was a new girl at your desk on Monday morning, she had the same cotton poly office wear everyone seemed to own, the same plain black heels, the same neat makeup. But she wasn't you.

"Yes, Abby?" He didn't even look up from his papers.

"It's —it's uh Anna, sir." She stuttered.

She called him Mr Barnes and Sir and brought him coffee.

But she wasn't you.

"Sorry, Anna, what is it?" He rubbed a hand through his hair.

"Mr —Captain Wilson —Captain America…he was asking to see you, sir." Anna had gone pink from the tips of her ears to her collarbone.

"Hang up on him."

Bucky went back to his paperwork. Elections were so close he could taste them, the iron tang of fear in the back of his throat. He had to win. If he lost… well, humiliation would be just the start. He needed to secure his seat to protect Wilson, his friends, his bothers in arms.

"He's outside, sir. He was very insistent."

Bucky could see the tremble in Anna's hands as she spoke, she was brave, at least, he liked that about her.

"Fine, send him in."

Sam had been right, it was easier with an assistant.

But.

She wasn't you.

Sam didn't say anything when he sat down and Bucky wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of speaking either. They stayed in silence for a full three minutes before Anna returned with a little chrome trolley with a coffee service on.

"Thank you, Anna." Bucky kept his eyes trained on Sam, but he could see Anna's little smile and made a mental note to apologise for being a complete asshole later.

"How's the new assistant?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes bored into Bucky's.

He hated that they were back here, but it wasn't his fault.

"She's very professional, efficient. I haven't found out she's a fucking spy yet, so that's good. Unless of course I discover it later and realise I've been tricked — again."

Bucky lent back in his chair.

"Look, Barnes, you didn't give me much choice."

"Why did it have to be anything to do with you in the first place, Wilson?" Bucky shot back. "Since when were you my keeper? Those jokes about me being your sidekick have gone to your head."

"You're not my sidekick, Buck, you're my friend." Sam implored, "and I was worried about you. I know you're a big scary assassin, but politics is something else and —"

"I don't need you babysitting me and I certainly don't need you sending me honeypots."

Bucky could feel an embarrassed flush rising under his starched shirt and fought his body to keep it from Sam's intense gaze.

"Honeypots — what are you talking about?" Sam did look genuinely confused.

"Don't lie, Sam. I bet you even put Joaquín up to teasing me about it. Fucking hell, you were making bets about it. Surprised you didn't win since it was clearly all your idea, but maybe she's been teaching you how to bluff and lose like a spy while you're laughing at me behind my back."

Bucky was fighting hard to keep his voice down, he knew how easily sound carried in this old walls.

"Bucky I really don't know what you're talking about, I just thought she was an excellent agent and maybe —"

"Sure you don't — you didn't put her up to flirting with me? What was the gala, a bonus for promising to fight harder when I made that speech? The speech I wrote thinking about you and your team."

"A bonus? Bucky—"

"I don't know what's more insulting, you pulling the strings for your own benefit or because you think I'm too pathetic to do any of this myself. I really thought we were friends. I really did, Sam."

Bucky stood, meaning to push himself backwards but shoving the heavy table forwards instead. Sam shot out of his seat as it moved across the room, but Bucky was already turning away, looking out of the window.

It was a gloomy day today, but warm still, and he remembered your laugh as he'd helped you climb through the French windows and over the flower beds, shoes in one hand, his fingers in the other.

"Bucky, I don't know what you're talking about. I did seek her out to be your security. I worked with her before, at SHEILD, she was clean when it all came down. I saw her shoot a colleague point blank when they turned out to be HYDRA she was — fuck, she was really strong that day. Reminded me a little of you to be honest. She's as good as they come and she wanted to support you. I don't know what happened between you.—" Sam was doing that quiet, even, VA counsellor voice that drove Bucky insane and made him want to scream. He didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted to argue about it.

"I didn't know. That's what happened, Sam. I didn't fucking know she was a plant. I thought she was my assistant, I thought she liked me and fucking hell I thought I was in love with her and it was all a huge lie." Bucky looked at Sam then, and despite his even voice Sam was visibly upset too. "I thought you were my friend, Sam and I trusted you."

"I am you friend—"

"I don't think so. I'm very busy, Captain, I think you should go."

Bucky pressed the buzzer on his phone and Anna opened the door cautiously, everyone in the office beyond had gone, despite it still being the early afternoon.

He really did owe Anna an apology, she was a very good assistant too.

Anna was gracious in her acceptance of his apology, he had flowers sent via HR to her home address and made sure to use the manners his ma gave him instead of being a the grumpy asshole the media wanted him to be.

But he couldn't shake thoughts of you, or his argument with Sam. He'd seemed genuinely confused about his honeypot accusation, as had you when he'd brought it up at the safe house.

But he couldn't understand why you'd slept with his so readily, acquiesced to his flirting and teasing, been so eager with him. He'd be thinking about your night together for the rest of his life, your pouting lips, the feel of your mouth, your body, the way you tasted. You hadn't hesitated, you'd begged him, thanked him. Could that have been a lie?

When he'd returned to DC, at six am just as you'd said, there'd been a message from Sam on his cell phone voicemail reiterating what you'd already told him about a false alarm, a threat with no teeth, and promising to call in the morning.

Bucky had ignored that call,and the next, and the texts, and even Joaquín despite him turning up at all hours with his favourite snacks and beers trying to tempt him out.

There had been another message too. One from you.

The time stamp was just before the speech and there was enough background noise for Bucky to guess you'd called him from somewhere near the conference room. Your voice had been soft and low, almost a whisper —

Hi, Mr Barnes, I'm about to watch you walk out and finally give your speech. In case you're busy after and we don't get a chance to talk, I wanted you to know I was here and I'm really proud to be a very small part of the work you're doing. It's important, and so are you. I bet you're amazing up there, you look so handsome in your suit. I hope you remember out little deal, but I'm sure you'll be really busy after so don't worry you can write me an 'I owe you'. If you get time, call me, even if it's late but if not — I'll see you Monday…sir.

The lies were so easy for you, the pretence. Of course you'd been a SHIELD agent, probably one of the best.

He'd listened to it twice and then cried in the shower.

On Friday he agreed to a proper security team, but only when he was on official business, but he did relent and agree to a single body guard somewhere in the building. A man named Carl who loved that his job was sitting with his feet up in the security office drinking coffee and reading his book all day.

Anna continued being diligent.

Sharon ran him into the ground with paperwork, speeches and stress.

Sam left voicemails.

Joaquín sent him a bouquet of porn.

And you never called him again.

That seemed fair, Bucky thought, he was just a job after all.

But his fingers itched to call you. It wasn't the same in the office without you around. He'd become used to the way you hummed while you worked and the little pastries on Friday. He wanted to sneak out and get a drink with you at lunch and make out with you on his desk.

He was miserable and everything was boring.

"We have one week to go, Mr Barnes, please try and look excited." Sharon dropped a stack of letters on his desk, "these all came for you. I've put twenty of the most interesting, and most answerable, on the top. Write them some replies for gods sake, you're supposed to be a man of the people."

"Sure," Bucky looked out of the window, it was busy in the Capitol, as usual. Tourists and politicos and hangers on.

"Barnes," Sharon snapped, and Bucky looked at her. She was so much like Steve's Sharon, bossy and sharp. He kinda missed her.

"I'm on it, I'm doing it."

He was half way through the second letter, a little girl with a prosthetic wanting to know how she could get a vibranium leg, when the ground shook, the paintings fell off the wall and everyone started screaming again.

Across the suite of offices Carl dropped his coffee on the floor and ran for Bucky's office knowing he wouldn't make it in time to be of any use.

Anna hid under her desk and Sharon pulled on her high viz vest and started leading the staff out of the emergency exit.

Bucky pulled the SIG from his chest holster, getting his back to the wall he edged to the window, but he couldn't see anything, facing into a small court yard and then a car park. Whatever was happening was happening in the main thoroughfare at the front of the building.

"Mr Barnes!" Sharon called back for him, tugging Anna's shaking hand as she emerged from under the table, "we have to evacuate."

"Get the kid out," he pointed at Anna with his left hand, the right still firmly wrapped around the gun, "I'm fine, I'll do another sweep of the inner offices."

Sharon rolled her eyes, but tucked her arm around Anna and made for the exit.

He could smell fire and he could hear screaming, there was no way he was leaving anyone behind in here. It was full of fliers and letters, it was a tinderbox. Without another thought he began heading for the source of smell, deeper into the office and there, by the mailing room, a masked group were torching the bundles and sacks of mail.

There were no logos on their clothes, but that didn't mean they didn't belong to someone. He was only glad they were scaring people, and not outright harming them.

"Hello. Congressman Barnes." A gravelled voice appeared behind him. He whipped round, but he didn't recognise the man, his face was covered by a ski mask.

"I've not been elected yet, but I'm glad I can count on your vote." His hand lifted to pistol whip him with the end of the gun, but he barely moved before the man crumpled to the floor.

And there you were, sweat on your brow, gun in hand. He allowed himself a moment to drink you in. Your office attire was a little more formal, your shirt buttoned all the way up, trousers intead of a skirt. And he recognised the thin Kevlar armour covering your chest, the shadow of a SHIELD patch still visible.

"Mr Barnes, let's go." You marched off down the hall and he could do nothing but follow.

Bucky wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to follow you again, except that his heart appeared to have taken control of his entire body, beating wildly like a cartoon character being dragged along in the wake of the sexy, unobtainable, love interest.

He supposed that's what he was, a characture of himself, so starved for attention he'd fallen immediately. So overwhelmed by you that even the truth didn't shake his heart's conviction that you were someone he should be with, someone he should trust.

"I'm not even going to bother asking where we're going." He sighed, impressed by the pace you were setting in your heels.

"Safe room." You clipped back, taking an abrupt corner and grabbing his jacket sleeve to take him with you but you were brought up short by the pile of rubble that used to be the first floor corridor covering your path.

"Glad we didn't go down there," Bucky couldn't help the caustic tone, he felt like he was being torn apart.

"Next plan." You turned on your heel, just as abruptly as you had before.

"Next plan," Bucky grabbed your arm, tugging you back, "is we go out of the window and I go home and you go…wherever you like."

He surveyed the windows, most of them old with wooden frames, and slammed his shoulder into the meeting points of the small square frames. The glass shattered easily and he used his left hand to wrench the last of the wood frame away. Bucky shrugged off his suit jacket and lay it over the exposed shards of glass and splinters of wood and then held out his hand.

"Ladies first."

"I thought you didn't consider me a lady anymore." You huffed, but stepped forward, refusing his hand and climbing out. "You called Sam a liar and me a honeypot, I can't imagine what you've said about us when you're not in your little political bubble."

With the broken window between you, you felt miles away again.

"I never said anything like that." Bucky followed, lifting his jacket and checking the lining. Still intact, wallet, keys, phone.

He looked up. You were still there, why were you still there?

You narrowed your eyes at him, "no, I didn't think you would. But I know you're angry. I want to talk about it."

Bucky sighed and, checking the direction of noise reverberating around the office, set off away from the car park. "I'm gonna get a cab, an Uber, whatever, give my regards to Sam."

He set off at pace, hoping some distance between you both would stop his heart from trying to escape his chest. Bucky skirted the edge of the office block and watched as a SWAT team descended on the roof while fire and rescue took care of the growing blaze from the mail room. He hesitated, looking down at the dark metal hand in contrast to his white shirt.

He should go back.

"Nope," your hand slid into his and you squeezed, drawing him away, "that's not your fight, Mr Barnes. Let's get you in a cab."

"Can't you just leave me alone," he snapped, snatching his hand back. "Wasn't your position terminated?"

"Yes," your eyes were shining again, as if you were going to cry, "my position was terminated. There's a rank round the corner, I don't trust an uber right now.

"So what the fuck are you doing here? Just leave me the alone. You've had your fun," Bucky let out a dark life, "Jesus Christ have you had your fun. Now just let me sort my own life out. You don't have to be here, go."

"What if I want to be here?"

He'd never heard your voice so small and quiet and he felt like shit for shouting. Is this who he'd become? The kind of man who shouts at women?

"What if I liked spending time with you, and listening to you and laughing with you. What if I care about you and that's why I'm here, disobeying direct orders to stay away. What if the thought of you in that building when that alarm went off made me sick to my fucking stomach. What then? Mr Barnes? I'm not going anywhere."

You stuck your arm out and a cab pulled up warily, "what the hell is happening here?" The driver eyed the multiple emergency vehicles with one hand on the gear stick.

Bucky climbed into the back seat and slid along, reaching his hand out, "get in."

"What?"

"If all of that— then get in."

You took his hand and climbed in next to him and despite the awkward shuffle to get your seat belts on, you didn't let go.

Part 8 ->

[bybobbysbeard]

First Rise

Day 2 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: cooking together. read on ao3

God, what a long day.

It’s shifts like these that make Tommy feel every one of his 45 years. None of the calls were particularly brutal, but they were long. He should have been home hours ago. He definitely put in enough flight time to warrant every second of the 48 off he’s about to share with Evan. The nylon strap of his overnight duffle digs into his shoulder. His feet hurt. He’s got a headache. All he wants to do is crash on Evan’s couch, snuggle, and watch some trash TV. 

He opens the door to the loft and catches the tail end of a frantic sentence. Maddie’s face is tiny on Evan’s phone, propped up against a pile of cookbooks. Even from here, Tommy can see her cheeks are flushed, and she's gesturing wildly with a free hand. Evan has his hands up too, but he’s making soothing movements, trying to bring her energy down.

Tommy’s frazzled brain tunes back into the conversation. 

“It’s fine Maddie, we didn’t have plans to go out tonight, I promise. And you know I’d do anything for Jee. Oh! Tommy just got here. Let me get some food into him, and then I’ll get started right away. Will Chim be able to pick them up tomorrow morning? If I set it to run overnight, I can probably squeeze out an extra loaf. Maybe… four in total.” Evan waves a distracted hand at Tommy, already turning to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. A few sticks of butter, a block of bright orange cheddar, and a glass tupperware of last night's chicken stir-fry are gently placed on the counter. 

“Oh Buck, are you sure? I am so sorry for the late notice, I swear, pregnancy brain has me forgetting my own name.”

“I am one-hundred percent sure. In fact, I have a bag of flour that’s been hanging around that I should really finish off, so honestly, you’re doing me a favor.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I have to run, but I’ll make sure Chim knows. I’m sure he’ll text you in the morning.”

“Anytime Mads. Have fun tonight!” Buck waves, adorably, at the phone before Maddie pokes at something on her end and it goes back to Evan’s lockscreen. It’s a snapshot of him and Tommy, all smiles and sunglasses, bare shoulders in the summer sunshine. They had hiked for hours, up and down Mount Wilson. Tommy had gotten such a sunburn. It gives him a strange feeling in his gut when he looks at it; guilty, but heavy with relief. 

It’s from months ago. Before he ran. Before he got his head out of his ass and realized he was sabotaging the only chance at real happiness he would ever have. Before they came back together, had an honest conversation full of shouting and tears, and decided to try again. 

Tommy steps into the kitchen, brushing a kiss over Evan’s cheek and wrapping an arm around his waist in a quick hug. Evan leans into him, humming softly and releasing a blustery sigh.

“Let me drop my bag upstairs, and you can tell me what all that was about.” Tommy murmurs into a stubbly cheek. Evan nods.

He drags his tired body up the loft stairs, and leaves his duffle at the foot of the bed. A quick trip into the ensuite to wash his face and grab some aspirin has him feeling moderately more human.

When he makes it back downstairs, Evan is still getting ingredients out, but he’s moved onto the pantry. Bread flour, salt, sugar, and yeast are spread over the counter. In the next second he’s bent at the waist, digging under the counter and sending pots and pans clanging. He straightens up, biceps bulging in the sleeves of his t-shirt, before setting a chrome monstrosity of an appliance on the counter. Evan flips the lid, pulling out a squarish pan with a handle.

“I didn’t realize you had a breadmaker.”

“Yeah, I bought it a while ago.” His gaze stays focused on the appliance, but his shoulders are creeping up towards his ears. He’s defensive. Probably bought it when they were on their break. When they got back together, Tommy heard plenty from Howie and Hen about Evan’s baking escapades. He’s still weirdly embarrassed by it, but Tommy thinks it's sweet. His boyfriend missed him enough to nearly start a side business. Meanwhile, Tommy just wallowed. Evan is still talking. “It’s surprisingly useful, and super easy. I guess Jee’s daycare is having a bake sale, and Jee was telling her group about the cheese bread I made over the holidays, so Maddie said I would bake a few loaves for them to sell, but then forgot to tell me.”

“And the bake sale is tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Evan pops the p, plugging in the breadmaker. “And she promised Sue from Dispatch a visit with Jee tonight. So, Uncle Buck to the rescue. Alright, let’s see. It’s two o’clock. I could probably make two loaves in the machine before bed, including cooling time, and then it can do another overnight. And I could make one by hand too, I guess.” 

An electric thermometer joins a pyrex measuring cup next to the sink. “Is there anything I can do?”

Evan scoffs, “Tommy, come on. I can see how exhausted you are. Why don’t you sit down, I’ll heat up these leftovers for you, and then you can nap while I make bread. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t offer to help if I didn’t want to. At least let me help get the machine going. You said it yourself, it’s super easy.”

Evan stares, visibly weighing his fatigue against his honesty.

“Okay.” He slides a paper index card across the counter. “Make sure you layer everything according to this. It can change how the yeast activates.”

Evan’s chicken scratch is messy, but legible. The instructions are detailed, nearly overly so, but Tommy’s tired enough to appreciate it. He doesn’t want to have to do any improvising tonight. Evan’s got his mixer out, and is carefully measuring out warm water and yeast into the bowl. Tommy grabs the thermometer. A cup of water, warmed to eighty degrees, goes into the baking pan, followed by butter, chopped into cubes, and salt and sugar.  Evan hands him the cheese grater before he can ask for it. Tommy yawns his way through grating a cup full. They trade ingredients. Evan needs the sugar, and it's time to spread the flour in the baking pan.

Soon the kitchen smells like blooming yeast and melted butter. It’s domestic; takes him back to slow Sunday mornings with his mom. If Tommy wasn’t so tired, he would enjoy it more. They dance around each other, Tommy stumbling more than once when Evan moves unexpectedly and his slowed reflexes make him lag a half step behind. Nonetheless, they pass off tablespoons and cup measurers until Evan carefully tips his dough into a greased bowl and lays a tea towel over it. He sets a timer on his phone. Tommy taps out the last of the yeast grains into the little divot he made in the final layer of shredded cheese. He caps the jar, and yawns so widely his jaw cracks. Evan’s watching him and wincing.

“Okay, thank you for helping, but you are done.”

“Baby, I’m–” another jaw-cracking yawn, “--fine. I can keep going.”

“I know you can. But this pan is ready to go in the machine, my dough needs its first rise, and you need to eat.” 

A steaming plate of chicken stir-fry is set in front of him. Maybe he is more tired than he thought, he didn't even notice Evan putting it in the microwave. He makes his way through most of the meal while Evan tidies up and loads the breadmaker. He leaves the last few mouthfuls, totally distracted with watching his boyfriend. He’s so at home in the kitchen. At ease. He has everything he needs within reach, and he’s done all of the motions so many times, they seem like muscle memory. It’s a privilege to see him so comfortable. 

Soon, Tommy’s resting his chin on a palm and his eyes are closing without his permission. It's toasty in the kitchen, and the breadmaker makes a soothing rumble as it kneads. It lulls him into a doze. Eventually, a heavy palm lands on his back and makes him blink. Then there’s a muscled shoulder sliding under his arm and leveraging him to his feet. He leans heavily against the warm body keeping him upright.

Soft lips press against his temple and the arm around his back jostles him to wakefulness. “You want the couch or the bed for your nap?”

“Hmm. Couch. Wanna be close. And the bed's too far.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll wake you in a few hours.” A few uncoordinated steps before they find their rhythm, and then Tommy is being lowered. Well-worn leather meets his back. A fuzzy blanket is shaken out and smoothed over his legs and a calloused hand strokes over his hair. Tommy’s never felt this cared for in his life. Evan smells like flour, like fresh bread. Like a warm kitchen, and handmade food for a loved one. 

He smells like home.