synopsis: A late night confession finally cracks open Semi’s deepest fantasy - watching you, the girl she loves, unravel under someone else’s body while she calls the shots. The two of you step into a dimly lit bar looking for the perfect stranger, and one small, crooked smirk later, you bring Noeul home. Semi sets the rules, and discovers just how loud devotion can get when it’s spoken through another woman’s touch...
genre: smut, established relationship, light aftercare
You and Semi are both lying on your stomachs across the bed, heads at opposite ends, feet kicking lazily in the air like two teenagers at a sleepover. The lights are dimmed to their lowest setting, casting soft gold over Semi’s bare arms and the little freckles you love along her neck. Some quiet playlist hums from her phone on the nightstand. It feels safe. It feels like the kind of night where secrets can finally crawl out of hiding.
You’re the one who breaks the silence first.
“So… I’ve been thinking.” You start, tracing mindless patterns on the duvet between you. Your voice is smaller than you want it to be. “We’ve never really… talked about… stuff. Like. The really private stuff.”
Semi’s foot stills mid kick. She turns her head on the pillow, one eyebrow raised, lip ring catching the light. “…Stuff?”
You nod, cheeks already on fire. “Like… kinks. Fantasies. Things we’ve maybe thought about but never said out loud because… I don’t know. It feels scary to say them.”
She’s quiet for a second, then rolls onto her side, propping her head in her hand. The movement makes her tank top ride up, exposing the sharp cut of her hipbone and the little silver barbell in her navel you love to kiss. She looks suddenly younger, softer, nervous, her usual cocky armour nowhere to be found.
“I wanna know.” She says, voice low. “Everything. Even the embarrassing shit. Especially the embarrassing shit.”
You laugh, breathless. “You first, then.”
She groans dramatically, flopping onto her back and throwing an arm over her eyes.
“Fuck, okay. Fine. I like… when you hold my wrists down. Like, really hold them. Above my head, or behind my back, whatever. It makes me feel-” She peeks at you from under her forearm, ears pink. “Helpless, but safe. Because it’s you.”
Your stomach flips. You’ve done it before, instinctively, but hearing her say it out loud makes it real.
“I also really like choking.” She adds, quieter. “Giving and receiving. Not, like, passing out choking. Just… pressure. Your hand on my throat while you’re inside me, or mine on yours when I’m on top. The trust thing gets me.”
You swallow hard. “Noted.”
She nudges your ankle with her foot. “Your turn, coward.”
You hide your face in the pillow for a second, muffling a whine. When you lift your head again, she’s watching you with those big brown eyes, patient, no judgement, just open.
You pick at a loose thread on the blanket. “Okay. Um. This one’s… really mortifying.”
“Baby, I just admitted I want you to strangle me during sex. I think we’re past mortifying.”
Fair.
You take a shaky breath. “Sometimes when I… touch myself… I say-” Your voice cracks. You force the words out before you lose your nerve. “I call you Daddy. In my head. Out loud, even, when I know you can’t hear me. I don’t know why it started, it just… does it for me. A lot. And I’ve been terrified to say it to your face because what if you think it’s weird or creepy or-”
Semi makes this broken little sound, somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and suddenly she’s on you, rolling half on top of you and pinning your body with hers. Her pupils are huge.
“Say it again.” She whispers against your mouth, voice absolutely wrecked. “Please.”
Your heart is hammering so hard you’re dizzy.
“Daddy.” You breathe, barely audible.
She shudders, full body, hips rolling involuntarily against your thigh. “Fuck, that’s… Okay, yeah, we’re keeping that. Holy shit.”
You laugh, shaky with relief and arousal, and she kisses you hard, desperate, like she’s trying to crawl inside your skin. When she finally pulls back, her face inches from yours, she’s flushed all the way down her chest.
“Okay.” She says, voice rough. “My turn again. And this one’s… bigger. I need you to know it’s just a fantasy, alright? It doesn’t have to ever happen. I love what we have. I love us. But since we’re being honest…”
You nod, stroking her cheek. “Anything.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I think about watching someone else fuck you.”
The words hang in the air like smoke. You blink, brain buffering. “…What?”
“Not, like, replacing me.” She rushes out, eyes snapping open, panicked. “Never that. Just… the idea of you completely falling apart on someone else’s cock, or fingers, or tongue, whatever, while I’m right there. Watching every second… Telling them how you like it…. Telling you you’re doing so good for me... Seeing you try to be quiet because you’re embarrassed someone else is hearing you like that, but you can’t, because I won’t let you.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “It’s fucked up, I know. I’m sorry-”
You cup her face with both hands, cutting her off. “Hey. Hey. Breathe. It’s not fucked up.”
She tries to look away. You don’t let her.
“It’s surprising.” You admit softly. “Really surprising. But… it’s not… bad. Not wrong. Just… new.”
She searches your face, ashamed. “You’re not… grossed out?”
You shake your head. “I’m… turned on and kind of overwhelmed at the same time. Which is honestly how I feel about most of the things you do in bed.”
That startles a wet laugh out of her.
You kiss her nose. “Is it… something you actually want to try someday? Or is it just a really good porno in your brain?”
She bites her lip, shrugging one shoulder. “I don’t know… Both? The fantasy is safe because it’s impossible, maybe. But if you ever… I don’t know. If we ever met someone we trusted, someone who got it wasn’t about them, it was about you and me… I don’t think I’d say no.” She exhales shakily. “But if you hate the idea, we delete it from the record forever and never bring it up again.”
You’re quiet for a long time, thumb stroking her cheekbone.
“I don’t hate it.” You say finally. “I just… need to sit with it. It’s a lot. But I love that you told me. And I love that we can say the scary shit out loud now.”
She nods, eyes glassy with relief. You pull her down so her head is on your chest, fingers threading through her short hair, and she makes a contented sound muffled against your skin.
Two weeks later you’re both dressed nicer than a normal night out. Semi’s in a black cropped blazer and low rise cargos that make her look illegally hot, you’re in a tight little dress she picked out because “it makes your legs look endless.” You’re at some dimly lit bar downtown, nursing the same two drinks for an hour, shoulders brushing in a corner booth.
Semi’s been scanning the room on and off, casual about it, like she’s just people watching. You’ve both been giggling nervously every time your eyes meet, stealing kisses, pretending you’re not on a weird little mission.
Then her gaze catches on someone across the bar and stays there.
You follow it.
Tall girl. Sharp eyes, full lips, dark hair tied up messily, wearing a leather jacket over a cropped tank. She’s leaning back against the counter, one boot kicked up on the rail, eyes lazily dragging over the crowd - until they land on you.
And stay.
Semi’s lips curve, slow and a little wicked. She leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “What about her?”
Your pulse spikes so hard you feel it in your throat. The girl - Noeul, you’ll later learn - tilts her head, smirking faintly when she realizes she’s been caught looking. Her gaze flicks to Semi for a second, something unreadable passing between them, then back to you. Dark. Interested.
Semi’s hand finds your thigh under the table, squeezing once.
“Well?” She murmurs, voice husky. “She’s definitely looking at you like she wants to ruin you… and I think she knows I’d let her.”
You swallow hard, heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers tighten around your glass.
“…Maybe.” You breathe.
Semi smiles. It’s small, nervous, but absolutely thrilled. She turns just enough to catch Noeul’s eye again. She lifts two fingers off her drink in a subtle little wave.
Noeul’s smirk widens.
The bar is loud, but soon the three of you have carved out a pocket of quiet at the far end of the corridor that leads to the single stall bathrooms. The music is muffled here, bass thudding through the walls like a distant heartbeat. Neon from a Budweiser sign paints everything red and blue.
Noeul leans one shoulder against the wall, arms loosely crossed, leather jacket creaking when she shifts. She’s the same height as Semi, and the way she’s looking at the two of you is calm, curious, a little amused, like she’s already figured out this isn’t a normal pickup.
Semi has your hand in a death grip. She’s trying to look cool, but you can feel the tremor in her fingers.
Noeul’s gaze flicks between you both.
“So,” she says, voice low and smooth, “your girlfriend waved me over like she was flagging down a taxi. I’m guessing this isn’t about buying me a drink.”
Semi huffs a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Not exactly.”
You squeeze her hand: I’m with you. Semi takes a breath and steps half in front of you, protective even now.
“Here’s the deal.” She says, voice steadying as she speaks. “We’re together. Like, together together. This isn’t a hookup thing where we’re looking for a third to keep. It’s… a scene. One night. Very specific rules.”
Noeul’s brows lift, but she doesn’t interrupt. She’s listening, really listening.
Semi keeps going. “I watch. Only. I don’t touch you, you don’t touch me unless she,” she tips her head toward you, “explicitly asks for it. You touch her, you do exactly what I tell you to do to her, and you stop the second either of us says stop. No questions, no convincing, no ‘are you sure.’ Red means full stop, yellow means slow down or check in. Green means keep going.”
Noeul’s mouth curves, not mocking, just acknowledging the thoroughness. “You came prepared.”
“We’re not new to negotiating.” Semi says. “We’re new to doing it with someone who isn’t a toy.”
You feel your face go hot, but Noeul just nods, eyes flicking to you for the first time with something gentler in them.
Semi’s voice drops. “Most important part: you’re not replacing me. You’re… an extension of me tonight. I’m the one fucking her, just with your hands. Your mouth. Whatever I decide. If that’s not what you’re into, we shake hands and walk away, no hard feelings.”
Noeul is quiet for a beat. Then she uncrosses her arms and straightens, giving Semi her full attention.
“I’m not interested in being anyone’s girlfriend.” She says bluntly. “But I’m very interested in the idea of following precise instructions while someone gorgeous falls apart in front of me. Especially if her gorgeous girlfriend is the one conducting.” Her gaze slides to you, slow, deliberate. “And I like how you keep looking at me like you’re already imagining it.”
Your knees almost give out.
Semi exhales, shaky with relief and arousal. “Safe word system good with you?”
“Red, yellow, green. Good with me.” Noeul says. “I’ll use them too if I need them. I’m good with marks as long as they’re not visible.”
Semi nods, the last of her tension bleeding out, and Noeul smiles - small, sharp, warm all at once. “I trust you have the good lube.”
Semi actually laughs, startled and bright. “Obviously.”
Noeul pushes off the wall, closing the distance until she’s close enough that you can smell leather and cedar and something faintly citrus on her skin. She doesn’t touch you yet, just looks at you, then back to Semi.
“Anything she especially likes?” She asks, like you’re not standing right there burning up.
Semi’s grin turns wicked. “She likes being told what a good girl she is when she’s trying to be quiet. Likes her hair pulled, but gentle at the roots, hard at the ends. Likes when someone spreads her open and just looks for a long time first. And she will literally sob if you circle her clit with your tongue but never quite touch it until she begs.”
Your whimper is embarrassingly loud in the hallway.
Noeul hums, pleased. “Noted.”
She offers her hand to Semi first, formal and weirdly sweet. Semi takes it, grip firm.
“Pleasure doing business.” Noeul says.
Then she turns to you, brushing a knuckle under your chin, tipping your face up.
“As for you,” she murmurs, voice velvet, “you just have to say yes, baby.”
You look at Semi. She’s watching you like you’re the only thing in the universe, eyes dark and shining, lips parted.
You nod.
“Yes.” You whisper.
Semi squeezes your hand one last time, then lets go, stepping back just enough to lean against the wall, arms loose at her sides, already settling into the role she asked for.
“Take her jacket off.” She says, soft but unmistakable. “Slow.”
Noeul obeys instantly.
And just like that, the night begins.
The drive back is twenty minutes of pure torture.
Semi drives, insisting she “needed her hands free to think.” You’re in the passenger seat, thighs pressed so tight together your legs are trembling. Noeul is in the back, one arm stretched along the seat, fingers idly brushing the nape of your neck every time Semi takes a turn. You’re already soaked through your panties and you haven’t even been kissed yes.
Conversation is light, surface level, but the air is thick.
“Music preference?” Semi asks, thumb tapping the wheel.
“Whatever you usually fuck her to.” Noeul answers, amused. “I wanna learn the playlist.”
You choke on nothing. Semi smirks, flicks to a private spotify list titled simply with a black heart emoji, and the bassline that fills the car is low, slow, filthy.
Noeul hums approval. “Good choice.”
The second the apartment door clicks shut behind you, the pretence drops. Semi flicks on only the dim lamp in the living room, warm amber light, then turns to both of you.
“Shoes off. Coats on the chair.“
She’s already in charge, voice calm, a little lower than usual. It’s the tone she uses when she ties your wrists to the headboard and you know you’re not allowed to cum until she says.
Noeul toes off her boots and shrugs out of her leather jacket. Underneath she’s wearing a thin black ribbed tank, no bra. She catches you staring and winks.
Semi steps close to you, cups your jaw, and kisses you soft and slow right in front of Noeul. A small reminder of who you belong to. You melt instantly.
When she pulls back, her eyes flick to Noeul.
“Living room’s too bright. Bedroom.”
Noeul follows without a word.
The bedroom is ready: mood lights on, bigger lamp off, lube and condoms in a neat row on the nightstand like a sex shop display. Semi must have set it up before you left. There’s even a fresh towel folded on the chair in the corner, the one Semi will sit in.
Semi points. “That’s my spot. You don’t look at me unless she tells you to. You don’t speak to me unless I speak first. Understood?”
Noeul’s grin is slow. “Yes, ma’am.”
The honorific makes Semi’s breath catch; she covers it with a raised brow. “Good.”
Then she turns to you and softens completely. “Color, baby?”
“Green.” You whisper. “So green.”
Semi kisses your forehead, then steps back and settles into the chair, legs spread, one boot tapping idly.
She nods at Noeul. “Kiss her. Slow. I wanna watch you learn her mouth.”
Noeul doesn’t rush. She steps in, tall enough that you have to tilt your head, and brushes your hair back from your face with both hands, gentle, reverent. Her thumbs stroke your cheekbones.
“Hi.” She murmurs, just for you.
“Hi.” You breathe.
Then she kisses you.
It’s different from Semi; it’s deeper, slower, a little more tongue on the first pass. She tastes like the whiskey she was drinking earlier and something sharper. You make a soft noise into her mouth and feel her smile against your lips.
Semi’s voice floats over, velvet and steel. “Hands on her waist, Noeul. Slide them up under her dress, but don’t touch anything good yet. Make her wait.”
Noeul obeys instantly, big hands slipping under the hem of your dress, palms hot against your bare skin. You shiver hard.
“Good.” Semi praises, and you’re not sure which of you she’s talking to. “Now pull her straps down. I wanna see the marks I left last week.”
Noeul eases the thin straps off your shoulders, letting the top of your dress pool at your waist. The cool air hits your breasts and your nipples tighten instantly. There are faint purple bruises along the tops from Semi’s mouth a few nights ago. Noeul traces one with her thumb, reverent.
Semi’s voice is a little rougher now. “Suck one into your mouth. Gentle at first. She likes when it builds.”
You whimper before Noeul even leans down.
When her mouth closes over your nipple, warm and wet and perfect, your head falls back. Your hands fly to her hair on instinct.
Semi clicks her tongue. “Hands down, baby. Let her work.”
You drop them to your sides, shaking.
Noeul spends a few minutes on your chest, licking, sucking, grazing with teeth until you’re panting and grinding air. Every time you get close to begging, Semi murmurs, “Not yet,” and Noeul pulls off with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the sensitive skin until you sob.
Finally Semi leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Noeul, take the dress off. Leave the panties.”
The fabric whispers down your legs and pools at your feet, leaving you in nothing but black lace. You’re trembling.
Semi’s eyes rake over you, possessive, hungry, proud.
“Look at you.” She says softly. “So fucking beautiful.”
Noeul echoes it under her breath, almost involuntary.
Semi smiles, slow and wicked. “On the bed, baby. On your back. Legs open.”
You scramble to obey.
Noeul stands at the foot of the bed, waiting for her next instruction like a perfectly trained soldier, and Semi finally, finally spreads her own thighs in the chair, one hand slipping down to palm herself over her cargos.
“Take her panties off with your teeth.” She says. “And then you’re gonna taste her until she cries. But you don’t let her cum until I say.”
Noeul drops to her knees without hesitation. Her hands settle on your thighs, thumbs stroking the crease where leg meets hip. She doesn’t dive in; she waits, eyes flicking to Semi for permission.
Semi’s voice is low, almost conversational, like she’s reading a recipe she’s memorised years ago. “Spread her open with your thumbs first. I want you to look at her for a while. Don’t touch her clit yet. Just look.”
Noeul obeys instantly. Big hands slide higher, pushing your thighs wider until you’re completely exposed. Cool air hits slick, swollen skin and you whimper. She uses her thumbs to part your folds, slow and deliberate, holding you open like she’s studying a work of art. You can feel how wet you are; the soft sound it makes when she spreads you is obscene.
You hear Semi exhale, shaky.
“Fuck. See how pretty she is when she’s desperate? That shine...”
Noeul hums agreement, breath ghosting over you.
“Gorgeous.” She murmurs, reverent.
You try to rock up, chasing contact, and Semi tsks. “No moving, baby. You take what we give you.”
Noeul’s tongue finally, finally touches you, one long, slow lick from entrance to clit, flat and wet and warm. Your back arches off the bed, a broken sound ripping out of your throat.
Semi moans softly in the chair. “Again. Same speed. She likes the first few slow so she can feel every inch of your tongue.”
Noeul does it again. And again. Long, deliberate drags that make your thighs shake against her palms. On the fourth pass she flicks the very tip of her tongue just under the hood of your clit, barely there, and your hips jerk hard enough that she has to pin you down.
Semi’s voice is starting to fray at the edges. “Circle it now. Light. Tease her until she’s begging.”
Noeul traces perfect, maddening circles around your clit, never quite on it, the pressure feather soft. Your hands fist in the sheets. Your breathing turns into high, frantic whimpers.
“Please.” You choke out. “Please, please-”
“Please what, baby?” Semi asks, syrupy sweet.
“Please let her-”
“Let her what?”
“Please let her suck my clit, Daddy, please-”
The name rips a guttural sound out of Semi. You hear the zipper of her cargos, and the rustle of fabric as she finally shoves a hand inside her own underwear.
Noeul doesn’t wait for the official order, she seals her mouth over your clit and sucks, gentle at first, then harder when you cry out. Your spine bows clear off the mattress.
Semi cuts you off, breathless. “Not yet. Noeul, pull off.”
Noeul rips her mouth away so fast you sob at the loss. You thrash, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “No, no, please-”
“Shh.” Semi’s voice is closer; she’s moved to the edge of the chair. “Look at me.”
You force your eyes open. She’s flushed dark, lips parted, one hand blatantly moving between her legs.
“You’re only gonna cum when I say.” She tells you, soft but ironclad. “And I’m not done watching her ruin you yet.”
Noeul’s tongue returns, merciless now: fast, wet, focused directly on your clit, lapping in tight, relentless circles, then flattening to drag broad stripes over it again and again. She keeps your thighs forced open with her shoulders and the weight of her arms, never letting you close even an inch. The pressure coils so tight you can’t breathe.
Semi’s breathing is ragged. “Edge her again. Stop right when she’s there.”
Noeul reads you like she’s been doing this for years. The second your thighs start to clamp and your moans pitch higher, she pulls her mouth off entirely. You scream in frustration, tears spilling over.
Semi is on her feet now, stalking closer. She cups your wet cheek, thumb wiping a tear.
“One more.” She whispers. “One more edge and then you can fall apart, okay?”
You nod frantically.
She kisses you, deep and filthy, then she steps back. “Noeul. Make her cum so hard she forgets her own name.”
Noeul growls, actually growls, and descends again. This time there’s no teasing. Her mouth seals over your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking fast and relentless, cheeks hollowing with every pull. She never stops, never slows, just devours you like she’s starving. The orgasm slams into you like a freight train. Your vision whites out, back arching so hard you’re practically levitating. A wail tears out of you, long and shattered. Noeul doesn’t let up, just gentles the suction slightly, fluttering her tongue to ride you through it until you’re twitching with aftershocks, gasping, crying.
When she finally pulls away, her lips are swollen and shiny, chin dripping. She looks wrecked.
Semi is right there, kneeling on the bed, gathering you into her arms while you shake and sob against her chest.
“Gooood girl.” She murmurs over and over, kissing your temple, your hair. “Such a good girl for us.”
Noeul sits back on her heels, watching you both with soft, reverent eyes, waiting for whatever comes next.
Semi’s voice is still rough from watching you come apart, but it’s steady now, quiet, intimate. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, your back against her chest, her arms looped loosely around your waist while you tremble through the aftershocks. Noeul is kneeling between your spread thighs, fingers gently stroking your hips, waiting.
Semi presses a kiss just below your ear, then speaks so only you can hear at first.
“Baby…” She murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “I want to watch you ride her thigh. I want to see you use her to get off again, but you only look at me while you do it. Eyes on me the whole time. Can you do that for Daddy?”
Your breath hitches hard enough that Noeul feels it. You nod before you even think, the word “yes” slipping out shaky and desperate.
Semi smiles against your neck, then louder, for Noeul, “Sit back.”
Noeul relaxes against the headboard, all long lines and lean muscle. Semi guides you forward until you’re straddling Noeul’s left thigh, still clothed in tight black jeans, the denim rough and perfect against your bare, slick skin. Noeul’s hands settle on your waist, steadying, but she doesn’t move you; she waits for Semi’s instructions like they’re law.
Semi leans back on her palms, legs spread wide in that cocky way she gets when she’s fully in control. Her eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on you.
“Hands behind your back, baby.” She says softly. “Wrists crossed. Noeul’s gonna hold them there.”
Noeul’s grip shifts instantly, one big hand circling both your wrists, pinning them at the small of your back. The position forces your chest forward, your nipples still wet and sensitive from earlier, brushing against Noeul’s tank top with every breath.
Semi’s gaze flicks down to where you’re already dripping onto Noeul’s jeans, then back up to your face.
“Eyes on me.” She reminds you, voice velvet and steel.
You lock eyes with her, and then you start to move.
The first roll of your hips is slow, tentative, just testing the pressure. The denim drags against your swollen clit and you gasp, eyelids fluttering. Semi’s stare doesn’t waver; it pins you in place harder than Noeul’s grip on your wrists.
“That’s it.” Semi breathes. “Just like that. Show me how good you can fall apart for me, even when it’s someone else you’re grinding on.”
You whimper, rocking forward again, harder this time. Noeul’s thigh flexes under you, deliberate and encouraging, and the friction is perfect, rough, unforgiving. Your slick coats the fabric in seconds, dark patches spreading with every drag.
Semi’s pupils are blown wide. “Faster, baby. I wanna see you chase it. I wanna watch your face when you realize you’re about to cum just from humping her leg like a needy little puppy.”
Your rhythm stutters, then picks up, hips rolling desperately now. Noeul’s grip tightens on your wrists, anchoring you, keeping you exactly where Semi wants you. Every time you try to drop your chin, hide your face in Noeul’s shoulder, Semi’s voice cuts through:
“Eyes. On. Me.”
You force your gaze back to her, tears gathering from the intensity of it - the pleasure the humiliation, the adoration all tangled together. Semi’s lips part, chest rising and falling fast. One of her hands has slipped back between her own legs, rubbing slow circles over her cargos in time with your thrusts.
“Look at you.” She whispers, reverent. “So fucking pretty when you’re desperate for me. You could have anyone right now and you’re still only mine. Say it.”
The orgasm barrels into you without warning. Your whole body locks up, mouth open on a silent scream, eyes still glued to Semi’s as wave after wave crashes through you. Noeul holds you steady while you shake and gush over her thigh, denim absolutely ruined.
When it finally ebbs, you sag forward, forehead against Noeul’s collarbone, panting. Noeul lets go of your wrists gently, and Semi is there instantly, pulling you back into her arms, kissing your wet cheeks, your temple, your parted lips.
“Good girl.” She murmurs over and over, rocking you. “My perfect girl. You’re so so good for me.”
Noeul sinks to her knees again, pressing soft kisses to your trembling thighs, your knees, like she’s thanking you. When she looks up, her eyes are soft.
Semi reaches out and cups Noeul’s jaw briefly, an unspoken thank you of her own. Then she pulls you fully into her lap, wrapping you up tight.
You’re still floating when Semi whispers against your hair. “Think you can take her fingers now, baby? While I hold you through it?”
You nod, boneless, already reaching for Noeul again.
Semi settles back against the headboard, pulling you with her so you’re half reclined between her spread thighs, your back to her chest. She hooks her legs over yours, spreading you wide open again, her own legs keeping you that way. You’re completely on display, trembling, dripping, helpless.
Noeul kneels between your thighs, eyes dark and reverent. Semi’s arms band around your waist, one hand splayed possessively over your lower stomach.
“Three fingers.” Semi says quietly, lips brushing your ear. “Slow at first. She’s sensitive after two orgasms, but she can take it. Curl them up on every stroke, right against that spot. Don’t let her hide.”
Noeul slicks three fingers generously with lube, the good warming one Semi loves, then meets your eyes.
“Color?” She asks, voice rough.
“Green.” You whimper. “Please.”
She slides in on one smooth, unhurried push.
The stretch is perfect, bordering on too much, and your head falls back against Semi’s shoulder with a broken moan. Noeul stills, letting you adjust, one thumb brushing soothing circles on your hip.
Semi kisses your temple.
“Look at her.” She whispers. “Watch what she’s doing to you for me.”
You force your eyes open. Noeul’s gaze is locked between your legs, watching her own fingers disappear into you again and again, slow and steady. Every drag makes the most obscene wet sound.
Semi’s voice drops to that dangerous register that always wrecks you. “Tell her how it feels, baby.”
“So full.” You sob. “She’s-so deep-Daddy, please-”
Noeul crooks her fingers hard on the next stroke and you cry out, hips jerking.
“There it is.” Semi breathes, triumphant. “Right there. Keep hitting that spot, Noeul. Don’t change the angle.”
Noeul obeys, relentless now, three fingers pumping in and out, curling perfectly each time she bottoms out. Her palm slaps gently against your clit with every thrust, sending sparks up your spine.
Semi’s hand slides lower, spreading your folds open wider so Noeul can see everything.
“Look how pretty she takes it.” She murmurs, almost to herself. “Add your thumb on her clit. Light circles. She’ll start shaking when she’s close.”
Noeul’s thumb finds your clit immediately, slick and swollen, and starts tracing tight, perfect circles. Your whole body seizes.
Semi tightens her arms when you try to writhe. “No squirming. You stay open and take it like a good girl.”
You’re babbling again: Daddy, Noeul, please, I can’t-
Tears slip down your temples into your hair and Semi kisses them away. “You can. You’re doing so fucking good for me. Let me see you fall apart just one more time.”
Noeul speeds up just a fraction, pressure steady, thumb merciless. Your thighs start to quake against Semi’s.
“I’m-” You choke. “I’m gonna-”
“Hold it.” Semi orders sharply. “Not yet.”
You wail, high and desperate, trying so hard to obey even as your body screams for release. Noeul actually groans at the sound, eyes flicking up to Semi like she’s begging for permission too.
Semi’s own breathing is wrecked; you can feel her grinding subtly against your lower back, chasing friction through her clothes.
“Now.” Semi finally says, voice cracking. “Make her cum. Hard.”
Noeul thrusts deep, curls hard, thumb pressing and rubbing fast.
You cum with a scream that rips your throat raw. Your vision whites out again, whole body convulsing, squirting messily around Noeul’s fingers in pulsing waves. Semi holds you through it, murmuring filth and praise directly into your ear.
“That’s it, soak her hand, baby. Fuckkk. You’re so pretty when you lose it. My perfect little toy.”
When it finally ebbs, you’re limp, gasping, tears streaming. Noeul eases her fingers out slowly, then surprises you both by bringing them to her own mouth and licking them clean with a low, satisfied hum.
Semi exhales shakily. “Jesus Christ.”
Noeul grins, wicked and soft at the same time, then leans forward and presses a one tender kiss to your swollen clit, making you twitch and whine.
Semi cups your face, turning it so she can kiss you slow and deep, tasting salt and sex and everything.
“You okay, sweetheart?” She whispers against your lips.
You manage a tiny, blissful nod.
Semi looks over your shoulder at Noeul, who’s still kneeling, waiting, pupils blown. You end up sandwiched between them, Semi spooning you from behind, Noeul laying beside you, all three of you sweaty and boneless.
Noeul’s voice is hoarse when she finally speaks. “…Holy shit.”
Semi laughs, soft and fond, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.
“Yeah.” She whispers. “Holy shit.”
The sky outside has gone from indigo to pale lavender by the time everything settles. Noeul is the first to move, sitting up slowly, hair a wild mess. You’re half dozing against Semi’s chest when Noeul kneels on the bed again, just for a second. She brushes a knuckle down your cheek, then looks at Semi.
“Thank you.” She says, voice low and a little hoarse. “Both of you. That was… I don’t have words.”
Semi reaches out and squeezes Noeul’s wrist once.
“You were perfect.” She answers simply. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”
Noeul’s smile is small, crooked, fond. She leans over you, presses one last soft kiss to your forehead, then to Semi’s cheek, chaste and almost tender.
Then she’s gone. Quiet footsteps, the soft click of the front door, the faint sound of an uber pulling up outside and fading into the morning.
The apartment feels huge and suddenly very small all at once.
Semi pulls the duvet higher over both of you, tucking you tighter against her. You’re sticky, sore, absolutely wrecked, and you’ve never felt more cherished.
For a long time neither of you speaks. There’s just the sound of your breathing syncing up, the slow drag of her fingers through your hair.
Eventually she presses her lips to the crown of your head and whispers, voice cracked open. “I need you to know something.”
You tilt your face up, sleepy but concerned. “What?”
She swallows, eyes glassy in the dim light.
“I thought tonight would be hot, and God, it was, but watching you give her that, watching you trust me enough to let someone else touch you, then come straight back to me after…” Her voice wavers. “I have never loved you more than I do right now. Not even close.”
Your throat closes. You curl your hand over her heart, feel it hammering under your palm.
“I never left.” You whisper. “Every moan, every shake, every time I came it was for you. I’m always yours.”
She makes this soft, broken sound and crushes you close, burying her face in your neck like she’s trying to fuse you together.
“I know.” She says against your skin, trembling. “I know, baby. Fuck, I know.”
You stay like that until the sun is fully up, trading slow, lazy kisses that taste like trust and sex and something deeper, like promises neither of you needs to say out loud.
Eventually she carries you to the shower. She washes your hair, kisses every bruise, and wraps you in her softest hoodie afterward. You fall asleep on the couch while she makes coffee, her fingers carding through your hair again and again like she can’t stop touching you now that it’s just the two of you.
Later, when you’re curled on her lap drinking from the same mug, she murmurs into your temple.
Kang No-eul (Guard 011) x Fem!Reader *Office Edition*
**18+**
NSFW BELOW
Summary: You're 19. She's 30. She's your boss.
Warning(s): Smut, Age gap, Fingering, Vibrators, Edging, Teasing, She corrupts us, Public humiliation, Strap-ons, Manipulation, She's mean in this
You’re nineteen.
Fresh out of high school, barely a few months into your so-called gap year. While everyone else is off at college making bad decisions and posting on Instagram, you’re here—sitting in the too-quiet lobby of a company you’d never even heard of until last month.
The internship was a last-minute thing. A friend of a family friend pulled some strings. It’s unpaid, unofficial, and you're not even sure what they expect you to do—but it sounded impressive enough for your parents to back off, and that was enough to say yes without hesitation.
Now, you’re here five days a week. Waking up too early, dressing too formally, carrying coffee and printing reports and trying your best to look like you belong. You don’t. But no one’s said that out loud yet, so you keep showing up.
Most people don’t even look at you. They smile—tight, distracted—and keep walking. Some of them forget your name and you’re glad they do. You keep your head down. You take notes. You stay out of the way.
Except her.
Kang No-eul.
You hear about her before you ever meet her.
She’s high up there. Director of Strategy. Thirty. Everyone says her name like it carries weight. Like it means something you’re not important enough to understand. When she passes by, conversations stop. Eyes follow her like they’re not allowed not to.
She's wears a perfectly tailored suit and heels that echo down the hall before you ever see her. Her voice is always low and calm, like she doesn’t need to raise it to be listened to. And she never smiles—not the way other people do. Not like it’s polite. No-eul only smiles when she means it.
You're standing by the copier, waiting for a stack of reports. Your blouse feels too stiff, your blazer’s a size too big, and your skirt—though technically within the office’s dress code—hits a little higher on your thighs than you realized this morning. You keep tugging at the hem absentmindedly, hyper-aware of how bare your legs feel under the office lights.
You chew your bottom lip, glancing at the clock, heart fluttering from caffeine and nerves—and when you look up, she’s there. Down the hall. One hand in her pocket, the other holding her phone. Head tilted slightly, eyes unreadable.
She’s watching you. Not casually. Not passively. Her gaze settles on you like it’s testing something. Like she’s pulling you apart and putting you back together in her head.
You drop your eyes instantly. Pretend to fix your blouse. Tug your skirt a little lower. Trying not to shake.
From that moment on, it starts to happen more often.
Passing by in the break room. Catching her at the edge of meetings. Little moments where she says your name slowly, deliberately, like she wants to see how it feels in her mouth.
You try to convince yourself it’s nothing. You’re new. You're imagining things. You’re just an intern. But there’s something in the air when she’s near. Thick. Electric. Like the moment before thunder breaks. Like something’s about to happen—and you don’t know if it’ll save you or ruin you.
It starts with an email. One line. No greeting. No punctuation.
Come to my office —K.N.
You stare at it longer than necessary and Reread it about three times. It’s probably about a file. Or scheduling. Or something stupidly mundane. But still—your fingers tremble a little when you tuck your hair behind your ear and head towards her hallway.
The door’s already open when you get there. She’s sitting behind her desk, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through something on her phone. Her expression doesn’t shift when she sees you. “Close the door,” she says without looking up.
You do. The click of the latch feels too loud in the silence that follows. You stand there awkwardly, heart thudding in your chest, waiting for her to say something else. You don't know what to do with your hands.
She slowly sets her phone down, finally looking at you. Her eyes drag over you—slowly. From your collar to your waist, down your legs, then back up again. “Come here.”
You take a few hesitant steps closer. She gestures to the chair in front of her desk and you sit folding your hands neatly in your lap and hoping she doesn’t notice how hard you’re trying not to squirm.
She doesn’t speak right away. Just watch you. Like she’s studying something.
Your mouth goes dry.
“You’ve been here… what, three weeks now?” she says finally, voice smooth and low. She tilts her head. “And already causing a distraction.”
You blink. “I—I’m sorry?”
Her lips curve. Barely. Not a smile—something smaller. Sharper. “I don’t think it’s intentional,” she says. “But that skirt you’re wearing today…” Her eyes drop. Resting on your thighs. Lingering.
Your breath hitches. You try not to shift in your seat. You don’t dare tug at the hem now.
“I wonder if you know what you look like when you stand by the copier,” she murmurs, voice so calm it almost sounds like kindness. “Or if you’re just used to being looked at.”
You open your mouth to respond. Nothing comes out.
Her gaze stays on you. Heavy. Unrelenting. “Stand up.”
Your heart skips. “I—what?”
“Let me see.”
You hesitate—but you do it. Slowly. Legs unsteady. You stand in front of her desk, hands brushing your thighs. She leans back in her chair, lips parting slightly as her eyes move over you again. This time slower. Bolder. Silence stretches. Then—
“You’re dismissed,” she says simply.
Just like that. You blink again, confused. Flustered. You’re not even sure what just happened but when you turn to leave, you swear you can feel her eyes on the back of your legs all the way to the door.
The next morning, you get dressed slower than usual. You tell yourself you’re just tired. That you’re not thinking about her. Not thinking about the way she looked at you yesterday. Not thinking about the way she told you to stand in front of her like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You pick out a longer skirt this time. Less fitted. Something safe.
And then, right before you leave, you change. Back to the other one. The slightly shorter one. You don’t think about what that means.
At the office, everything is normal.
People rush around with laptops and coffee cups. No one looks at you twice. You smile. You nod. You do what you always do—stay out of the way.
You don’t see her all morning.
But you feel her absence.
It’s ridiculous, but you keep expecting her to appear. To walk past. To glance in your direction. Nothing. Hours tick by. You start wondering if maybe yesterday didn’t mean anything. Maybe she was just being… strict. Professional.
Maybe you're imagining everything.
Then—just after lunch—you feel it. That shift in the air. You don’t even see her at first but you just feel it…like your skin knows before your eyes do.
You’re walking down the hallway, heading back from the break room. You round a corner—and there she is.
Kang No-eul.
Leaning against the glass wall outside one of the conference rooms. Arms crossed. Phone in hand. Alone.
She glances up. And just like that, the moment stretches. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t smile.
Her gaze moves from your face down to your thighs, slow as ever, and then back up again shamelessly. When your eyes meet, something flashes behind hers. Something sharp. Something hungry.
She doesn’t say anything. She just raises one eyebrow—barely—and tilts her head in the direction of her office. Then she turns and walks away. She doesn’t check to see if you’ll follow. She doesn’t need to.
You don’t have to think twice. You just move. Your shoes click softly on the polished floor as you trail behind her, a careful distance that still feels too close. Every second your pulse hammers louder in your ears, drowning out the office chatter around you. She doesn’t look back. Doesn’t break stride. Her heels keep a steady rhythm, confident, untouchable.
You want to say something but your throat tightens, and all you manage is a quiet, desperate hope that you’re not making a mistake.
She slips into her office and closes the door behind her without a word. The room smells faintly of leather and something floral, sharp and clean. No-eul stands near the window, back to you. The city sprawls outside, distant and indifferent.
You wait, unsure what to do, barely daring to breathe.
Then, slow and smooth, she turns to face you and steps closer. Her eyes lock onto yours—no smile, no words—just a look that says everything. You inhale sharply, heart pounding as her warmth presses against your skin in the heavy silence. A hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly along the edge of your skirt, testing. Without a word, her hand retreats and she steps back.
After a long beat, her voice cuts through the quiet—low, clipped, and final. “Stay.” You nod, unable to do anything else, your heart racing as the silence wraps around you.
A few moments of tense silence pass by while she just stares (eye fucks) at you. Her nod is the only permission you need and you take a shaky breath and turn toward the door. Your footsteps feel loud in the stillness as you cross the room. At the door, you glance back once. She’s already looking out the window again, her posture calm, unreadable. You close the door softly behind you, heart still racing.
Back out in the hallway, the air feels different—thicker, charged and you know this is only the beginning.
A few days pass with barely more than stolen glances between you and No-eul. The tension hangs thick in the air. She watches you sometimes, her gaze sharp and calculating, while you find yourself caught, unable to look away. Words are scarce; the silence says everything.
The next day, you choose your outfit carefully—or so you think. You wear a crisp white collared shirt, but it’s one or two sizes too small. The fabric strains slightly over your breasts, the buttons threatening to gap open with every breath you take. Your black skirt is short, just like before, hugging your legs and ending high on your thighs. As you enter the office, you can almost feel her eyes burning into you from across the room, the air thickening with unspoken desire and challenge.
You catch her gaze the moment you step into the office. It’s slow, deliberate—like she’s inspecting every inch of you, from the taut buttons threatening to burst on your chest to the sharp line of your skirt riding just a little higher than usual. The usual hum of activity fades into background noise as her eyes hold you captive.
You try to keep your composure, adjusting the hem of your skirt under the desk during meetings, your fingers trembling just slightly. Every time you glance up, she’s watching—calm, unblinking, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, as if daring you to see how long you can stand under her scrutiny.
No words pass between you, but the tension coils tighter, wrapping around your nerves like a silent promise. You know this day will end with something—though what, exactly, you can’t yet say.
Later that afternoon, the office has mostly emptied. You’re still at your desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unable to focus as your skin tingles under the weight of her gaze. You didn’t even realize she’d come in until you catch the reflection of her silhouette in the glass partition behind you.
She’s standing just behind your chair now, close enough that the heat radiating from her makes your breath hitch. Without a word, her hand brushes the shell of your ear, trailing down the side of your neck with deliberate slowness. You freeze—too stunned to move, too aware of every small movement.
Her voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the quiet like a blade. “You think dressing like that will let you hide?” She presses closer, voice thick with possession. “I see you. All of you.”
Your heart hammers, throat tight, unable to do more than nod.
She leans in, lips nearly grazing your ear. “Tomorrow, you’re coming to my office first thing. We’re switching things up. You’ll be my assistant.”
Before you can respond, she steps back, smooth and calm like nothing just happened—except everything did. Her eyes lock onto yours one last time before she turns and leaves you trembling in the quiet room.
The morning comes faster than you expect. You wake up with a knot twisting deep in your stomach, your mind racing over what “assistant” really means. You stare at your closet, fingers trembling as you pull out pieces—nothing feels quite right.
In the end, you settle on something unexpected: a sleek black turtleneck that hugs your frame, paired with high-waisted tailored trousers that elongate your legs. It’s different from the usual skirts and blouses—more mature, sharper—but you want to prove you can rise to the challenge.
Your reflection stares back at you—edgy, confident, but still trembling beneath the surface.
At the office, you head straight to No-eul’s office, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the usual ambient noise. The door is already open, and she’s waiting, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable.
She doesn’t waste time on small talk.
“You’re here,” she says, voice low and deliberate. “Good.” She gestures to the seat beside her desk. “You’ll be taking notes, managing my schedule, and handling anything I don’t have time for.”
Her eyes flick over you, appraising. “I’ll be watching you. Always.”
You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.
“No mistakes,” she adds.
The room feels smaller somehow, tighter—like the air itself is closing in, pressing down on you. But beneath the weight, there’s a strange thrill. You’re exactly where she wants you.
You sit down in the chair beside her desk, the leather cool beneath you. It’s closer than you ever imagined—so close you can smell the faint scent of her perfume, a sharp mix of jasmine and something dark, intoxicating. The room feels smaller, the space between you charged with unspoken rules and unyielding power.
She hands you a notepad and a pen, eyes sharp and calculating as she flips through her calendar. “Take notes. I expect everything to be precise.” Her voice is low but commanding, leaving no room for error.
The hours stretch out, punctuated only by the subtle sound of her heels clicking across the floor or the rustle of papers. You steal quick glances at her—her focused expression, the curve of her neck, the way her fingers tap rhythmically on the desk. Every small movement is a reminder: you’re hers now, under her watchful eye.
At one point, she reaches over and lightly brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is fleeting—almost accidental—but it leaves your skin buzzing. You catch her gaze, and for a heartbeat, her eyes soften just enough to make you question if this is all real.
Then she clears her throat and returns to business. “Don’t get distracted.”
Later, when you fumble slightly over a meeting agenda, her sharp gaze pins you instantly. “Focus,” she snaps, voice cool and unyielding.
You nod, cheeks burning.
As the day winds down, she stands and walks around the desk, stopping just behind you. Her presence is overwhelming—close enough that you can feel the heat of her body, the steady rhythm of her breath.
“Tomorrow,” she murmurs into your hair, voice low and dangerous, “I expect better.”
You swallow hard, heart pounding, knowing you’re already completely caught.
The next day, you arrive at the office with a mix of nerves and anticipation tangled in your chest. The weight of her words from yesterday lingers, and you find yourself glancing toward her office more times than you can count. You’re now in your usual skirt and blouse that never fails to catch No-eul’s attention.
Mid-morning, while you’re organizing some files just outside her door, it swings open without warning. No-eul steps out, her presence sudden and commanding. She locks the door behind her with a soft click and gestures sharply. “Come with me.”
You follow her down the hallway, heart pounding so loudly you swear she can hear it. She leads you into a small, rarely used conference room. The door closes with a definitive thud, and suddenly, the world feels smaller—just the two of you, close and raw.
No-eul doesn’t speak immediately. She studies you, eyes dark and heavy with intent. Slowly, she steps closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off her body. Her voice is low, a husky murmur that brushes against your ear. “You were quite distracted yesterday.”
You try to steady your breathing.
“This,” she says, fingers lightly grazing your wrist, “isn't a place for mistakes.” Her touch lingers, deliberate and possessive. “Show me you can handle it.”
Before you can answer, her other hand slips to your waist, pulling you just an inch closer. Her gaze is locked on yours—demanding, intense.
Her fingers brush your waist—just a quick, deliberate touch that sends a jolt through you. She pulls back instantly, eyes locking with yours like she’s daring you to beg for more. Then, her hand flicks once against your hipbone—light, sharp, impossible to ignore—before she steps back, a slow smirk curving her lips.
“Focus,” she murmurs, voice low and commanding.
The moment is over before it fully settles in, leaving you breathless and wanting.
You’re both back in her office. You sit beside her desk, the notepad balanced carefully on your knee as you jot down notes from the meeting No-eul runs with practiced precision. Her laptop screen glows softly, the faint voices of the online meeting buzzing through the room. She sits rigid and composed, eyes trained on the screen.
But beneath the professional facade, her hand slips quietly from the desk’s edge, sliding down your thigh. Her fingers rest lightly on your bare skin, just above the hem of your skirt. The touch is brief—a soft, deliberate graze that sends a pulse of heat racing through you.
You freeze, heart pounding, biting back a breath as her fingertips trace a slow, teasing line just beneath the fabric. Her eyes flick toward you for a split second, sharp and knowing, before returning to the meeting. Your skin tingles, every nerve alert, as you try to stay composed with her not wanting to disrupt the important meeting.
As the meeting wraps up, she withdraws her hand slowly, the absence of her touch almost as sharp as the contact itself. Her gaze lingers on you a moment longer before she closes her laptop with a soft snap.
you suddenly snap back—heart racing—as you realize you barely wrote down anything from the meeting. Your eyes dart to your empty notepad.
No-eul’s eyes snap to you, sharp and piercing. “You didn’t take notes,” she says flatly, voice low but edged with ice.
Your throat tightens. “I—sorry, I was distracted.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Lock the door.”
Your legs feel like water as you stand, walking stiffly to the door, reaching with trembling fingers to turn the lock. The soft click feels impossibly loud. You turn back to face her, your chest rising too fast, lips slightly parted.
She crooks a finger. “Come here.”
No-eul turns her chair slightly and grabs your wrist, tugging you effortlessly into her lap—spreading her knees so yours fall between them. You land hard, barely balanced, notebook still clutched in one hand. “Sit still.”
her hand goes under your skirt causing you to gasp.
“Open,” she says.
You part your thighs and she doesn’t wait. Her fingers hook beneath the hem of your skirt, tugging your underwear aside until the soaked fabric presses tight to one side.
There’s no hesitation—just the quiet, controlled glide of her hand between your legs as her fingers slip through your slick folds and push inside.
You gasp—but it’s quiet, strangled behind your lips as her fingers curl slowly, deliberately, knuckles pressing deep.
“You’ll finish those notes now” voice firm.
You scramble to grab your pen from the desk while remaining on her lap, fingers fumbling as your mind races to recall everything from the meeting.
You’re already trembling. You grip the pen like a lifeline and lower it to the page. It takes everything in you to focus on your handwriting. Your hips twitch, but she locks her arm tightly around your waist, holding you still like it’s nothing—like she’s not inside you at all.
Her breath brushes your neck. “Faster.”
You grip the pen tighter, messy words spilling across the page, your body tightening with every thrust of her fingers. She’s careful with her pace—steady, excruciatingly slow, keeping it subtle enough that no one would ever guess what’s happening behind the office door.
Your hips start to roll forward instinctively, chasing more, but she tightens her grip. “Don’t move,” she hisses into your ear. “You’ll take what I give you—and nothing more.”
You nod, panting, desperate.
It feels like hours. Her fingers keep working inside you, deep and curling, her palm flush against your soaked cunt as your thighs tremble harder and harder. The notes are nearly done—your writing barely legible now, soaked in sweat and smudged ink—but you do it.
You finally finish and turn your head toward her slightly, eyes wide, lips parted, silently begging but she’s already made her decision.
Her fingers still inside you, she exhales slowly. “No.”
Your heart drops.
“You don’t come,” she says, quiet and cruel. “Not today.”
Then, as if it’s nothing—she pulls her fingers out slowly, smooth and wet and fucking patient.
You whimper, body aching, thighs trembling violently from the edge she’s left you on. She tugs your underwear back into place, presses a light kiss behind your ear, and then speaks like it’s a simple afterthought. “Clean yourself up before someone sees you shaking.”
You do exactly that, the ache between your legs nearly unbearable, your soaked underwear rubbing with every step you take as you return to your desk like nothing happened.
And she doesn’t touch you again. Not for the rest of the day. Not a brush of her hand. Not a glance that lingers. She leaves you in that state—wrecked and raw beneath your clothes, your body crying out for something she won’t give you.
You sit through meetings. You organize files. You respond to emails. And through it all, the pressure builds—tight and unbearable and untouched. You don’t know if she’s punishing you or training you but by the time the office begins to empty, your thighs are still slick, your nerves frayed, and your heart straining with want.
The next day
The office is quiet when you arrive early—just like she told you to.
You close the door behind you, heart already pounding. No-eul sits behind her desk, as composed as ever, skimming through her tablet. She doesn’t look up when she speaks. “Lock it.”
You do without hesitation.
She sets the tablet down, then lifts her gaze to you—cool, unreadable, but something darker simmering underneath. “Skirt,” she says simply.
You hesitate, breath catching, but her eyes don’t move. That single word is a command. Not a request.
You obey.
The fabric slips up your thighs until your underwear is visible. She reaches into her desk drawer, pulls out a small, sleek remote—and the toy that goes with it.
You swallow hard.
“Take off your panties and come here.”
You do, slowly, heat rushing to your cheeks as you hand them to her. She folds them once and tucks them neatly into the drawer without a word.
Then she kneels in front of you—not tender, not sweet—and slips the vibrator inside you. Her fingers are cool and practiced. You try not to moan, try not to move, but your legs tremble just a little.
When she stands, her hand smooths down your skirt like nothing happened. She steps close, her breath against your ear. “You’re going to keep it in all day. You won’t come. Not until I say.” Her voice is soft, razor-sharp.
“If you do, I’ll punish you. If you whine, beg, or even look at me the wrong way, I’ll turn it off and leave you wet and useless.” She presses the remote into her palm, not even hiding it. “Now go sit down. We have a 10 a.m. call.”
You sit beside her, back straight, thighs pressed tightly together beneath your skirt. The vibrator inside you is silent—for now—but the weight of it, the presence, is enough to make your breath shallow.
No-eul is perfectly composed. Her laptop is open, and the call is already connected. A panel of blank faces stares back through the screen. Executives, analysts—people you’re supposed to be taking notes for.
You barely hear the introductions over the roar in your ears.
Then, without a word or glance, No-eul presses a button on the remote in her hand.
The vibrator buzzes to life inside you—low, steady, almost gentle. But it’s enough. Your breath catches, your pen trembles slightly against the page. You clench your thighs instinctively, only for the vibration to feel worse somehow. Too deep. Too close.
No-eul doesn’t even look at you. She’s talking numbers. Strategy. Flipping through slides with one hand while the other rests calmly in her lap—thumb still on the remote.
You steal a glance at her. Her expression is smooth, blank. Professional.
And then—another pulse. Stronger.
Your legs twitch under the desk. You force yourself not to squirm, not to shift, not to whimper. You glance down at your notes and realize you’ve written the same sentence twice. Your hands are shaking now.
Another pulse—shorter this time, like a warning.
Focus.
Your eyes flick to her. She meets your gaze for a half-second. Just long enough to raise one eyebrow—barely—and then she turns back to the screen like nothing’s happening. Like she isn’t forcing you to sit still and silent while she edges you through a goddamn meeting.
The meeting drags on.. God it feels like it's been hours. You try to focus—really try. But your legs are trembling now, jaw tight, fingers digging into your notepad just to keep steady. The vibration pulses deep inside you, rising and falling at her whim, never enough to satisfy—always just enough to drive you insane.
Then her thumb moves again.
A sharper buzz. Higher intensity. It jolts through you and your back arches a fraction before you catch yourself.
You clench your teeth. Force your face to stay still. No-eul doesn’t acknowledge it—not with a look or a word.
But then, right in the middle of a team leader's report, she turns slightly toward you. “I assume my assistant is keeping detailed notes?” she says aloud, gaze still on the screen.
Your head snaps up.
The entire panel is looking at you now.
You force your voice to work. “Y-yes,” you stammer. “Of course.” Your voice wavers. The moment you speak, her thumb moves again—higher. Harder.
Your thighs tense. The pen shakes in your grip. You barely resist the urge to let out a sound.
No-eul nods once, slow and measured. “Good.”
Then—she leaves it on. No more pulsing. Just a steady, high vibration buzzing deep inside you, merciless and constant.
You’re sweating now. Breath shallow. Your knees start to drift apart, just slightly, like your body’s betraying you. You have to press your palms into the desk just to ground yourself.
And the worst part?
She still hasn’t looked at you.
Not even once.
You’re unraveling next to her, and she’s sitting there—perfect, polished, like this is just another workday.
The call finally wraps. One by one, her colleagues sign off, their faces blinking away from the screen until it goes dark. No-eul clicks her laptop closed with a quiet finality, and the room falls into silence. The air shifts instantly—thicker, hotter, as if the tension that’s been building has nowhere left to go now. You don’t move. You can’t. The vibrator is still humming softly inside you, and her hand hasn’t left the remote. She hasn’t said a word since it ended and it stays that way.
A couple hours later, you're seated beside No-eul again—but this time, it’s not just the two of you. You’re in one of the larger conference rooms, surrounded by department heads and executives, the steady murmur of voices filling the space as people settle into their seats.
You try to keep your posture perfect. Try to look polished. Composed. But the vibrator is still inside you. And the remote is still in her hand. She sits close. Too close. Her thigh pressed against yours beneath the table, just enough for her to feel the tension in your muscles.
Someone across the table glances at you. “I’ve seen you around. You’re the new intern, right?”
You nod quickly. “Yes.”
No-eul doesn’t look at you but she taps the button.
The vibrator kicks to life—sharp, sudden, and deep.
You suck in a tiny breath, eyes wide, willing yourself not to flinch. Your voice comes out a second late, strained but polite. “I’m assisting with scheduling and reports for Ms. Kang.”
Another person chimes in. “How’s that going? She’s… intense.”
She turns it higher.
You can’t help it—your thighs twitch under the table. Your breath hitches again. “She—she’s been great,” you manage to say, your words too soft, your tone just a little too shaky to pass as normal.
Across the table, someone chuckles. “You look nervous. Don’t worry, she’s not that scary.”
But No-eul leans back slightly, her hand sliding under the table—resting casually on your knee, like nothing’s happening.
Then, just as quickly as it started—click. The vibrator shuts off. The silence in your body is violent. You’re left trembling, aching, your skin flushed and your breath shallow.
She doesn’t say a word.
She just turns a page in her folder, cool and composed, while you sit next to her—on edge, soaked, and falling apart with no relief in sight.
Its late afternoon and most of the building has emptied—keycards beeping faintly in the distance, elevators closing, heels clicking down hallways that slowly fall quiet.
You’re at a different desk beside No-eul’s office, legs crossed tight, heart pounding in your ears. The vibrator inside you has stayed off for the last two hours—but the ache hasn’t faded. You’re soaked. Throbbing. Ruined.
You keep your head down, fingers twitching on the edge of a report you haven’t really read.
Then her voice cuts through the quiet. “Come here.”
You stand too fast. Try to play it calm. You don’t manage it.
Her door is open just enough for you to slip through.
She doesn’t look up from her chair until the door clicks shut behind you. Her eyes lift—cool, calm, but there’s something hungrier now, barely restrained behind them.
She doesn’t tell you to lock it but you do it anyway.
The second the lock clicks into place, she stands. The motion is smooth, deliberate—heels clicking on the floor as she circles the desk and closes the distance between you like a decision that’s already been made. “You’ve been good,” she murmurs, voice low. “Mostly.”
Then her hand slips under your skirt without hesitation, fingers brushing against your soaked cunt. She clicks her tongue once, slow and disapproving. “You’re a mess.”
You inhale sharply, body already shivering under her touch.
“Take it out.”
Your hands tremble as you reach beneath your skirt, pulling the slick toy from between your legs. You don’t know where to put it—until she takes it from you herself, fingers brushing yours in the transfer.
She places it on the desk.
“Bend over.”
That's all she needs to say before your chest hits the desk with a soft thud, hands splayed out over polished wood as you brace yourself, breathing shallow.
Behind you, No-eul moves with calm precision—no rush, no hesitation. The top drawer of her desk slides open with a click.
You hear it before you see it: the faint sound of buckles, leather shifting, something solid being unsnapped. Your stomach flips.
“You think I didn’t plan this?” Her voice is low, steady, as she fastens the harness around her hips. “That I didn’t know what you were from the second I saw you standing by the copier with that little skirt and scared mouth?”
You bite your lip, legs trembling.
“I’ve had this waiting since your first week,” she says, voice dipped in something darker now. “Just needed to see how long you’d last before begging.”
You feel her behind you—close, the press of something hard nudging your inner thigh as she steps between your legs. She pulls your skirt up with one smooth motion and pushes your back down further.
“Keep your hands flat,” she murmurs. “And don’t even think about pulling away.”
You nod, breathless.
Then she slides in.
No warning, no teasing—just the sudden stretch of her strap pushing deep inside you, inch by inch, claiming everything she’s denied you all day.
You cry out, the sound sharp and broken, your fingers scrambling for something to hold onto.
She sets a brutal rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that shove your hips into the desk over and over, the edge of it digging into your stomach. Your legs quake beneath you, your whole body rocking with every thrust.
“This—” slam “—is what happens—” slam “—to bad girls who can't stay focused.”
You moan helplessly, the air knocked from your lungs each time she drives in. You’re a mess—eyes glassy, mouth slack, drooling into your own arm as she ruins you against her desk.
“Fucked dumb already?” she breathes into your ear, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back. “Haven’t even finished with you yet.”
You can’t speak. You’re shaking, clenching around her with every thrust, babbling soft, broken sounds that don’t even sound like words anymore.
She growls low behind you, fingers tightening in your hair. “Take it. You wanted this—every little glance, every skirt, every time you tried to play innocent. This is what you asked for.”
Every thrust pushes you farther into ruin—your legs shaking, your mouth slack, your skin slick with sweat. You don’t know how long she’s been fucking you like this, only that your orgasm’s been building for what feels like hours.
And then—her hand lets go of your hair and wraps around your chin.
Not gentle.
She grabs your face and forces your head to turn over your shoulder, angling you to look at her. You’re blinking through tears, dazed, lips parted, and the moment your eyes meet hers—
She slams into you deeper. “Look at me,” she breathes, voice low and tight with control. Her eyes are dark. Hungry. Wild, but precise.
Her hips snap into you again—again—and you sob, jaw clenched under her grip. You’re so full. So stretched. Every movement sends shockwaves through your body.
“Don’t look away,” she growls.
You can’t. You’re gone. Mind melted. All you see is her.
Your lips part in a silent plea, your thighs trembling violently now, and she knows. She sees it.
“You’re going to come,” she whispers, voice suddenly sharp with command. “Right here. While you’re looking at me.”
Then she fucks you harder. Deeper.
Her pace relentless, pounding into that spot that makes your whole body light up. “Come for me,” she snarls, her voice right against your ear, hand still locked on your jaw. “Let me see you fall apart.”
And you do.
You break with a cry—loud, choked, raw. Your body spasms around her cock, everything clenching so tight it feels like you’re going to snap in half. You see stars. Your vision goes white at the edges. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
She watches you.
The whole time.
Her eyes locked on yours while you shatter.
Only when your legs nearly give out does she pull back slightly, hand still gripping your chin, her lips barely brushing your temple. “Good girl,” she murmurs. “That’s better.”
She leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. “You look so innocent like this,” she murmurs, voice low and thick with something dangerous. “So pure, so naive… and yet you’re mine to corrupt.”
Her fingers tighten slightly, grounding you even as your body trembles, and she pulls back just enough to watch you fully. “This is only the beginning,” she whispers, voice dripping with promise. “You’re going to learn what it really means to want—what it means to be owned.”
Her eyes darken with possession, and for the first time, you realize just how far you’ve fallen—and how far she’s going to take you.
Hope you girlies liked it! sorry if it's too long 🙃
LMK if y'all want a part 2 or if you have any other ideas for fanfics
In a hotel room soaked in old lust and older wounds, you return to the one woman who knows exactly how to ruin you. What begins as an attempt at closure spirals into a desperate, toxic reunion—filled with sharp words, sharper touches, and a pull neither of you can resist. You leave again, but not without scars. Some you can see. Some you can’t. Dark, toxic smut, angsty ex-lovers
The lingerie is still there.
Hanging off the mirror like a memory too proud to fade. Burgundy lace, soft against glass, stained with something older than lust.
The message is still there too.
"Love you", smeared in lipstick, crooked and childish like it was written mid-climax or mid-breakdown—you’ll never know which, not with her.
You close the door behind you.
The hotel room smells like her. Perfume and sweat. Wine and something bitter. You could lie to yourself and say you came back for closure. But you didn’t. You came back because you’re fucking addicted to the way she ruins you.
You cross the room, run your fingers down the words on the mirror, and smear the "L" into nothing.
“Still touchin’ yourself to memories, huh?”
The voice cuts through you like glass. You turn. She’s leaning against the door frame, suit jacket hanging loose, white camisole underneath barely clinging to her collarbone. No bra. Hair damp.
Eyes cold. Mouth mean.
“Jesus,” you breathe. “You always come back like this?”
“I never left,” she says. “You did.”
You almost laugh. Almost. “I left because you told me to go.”
She shrugs. “And you listened. That’s on you, sweetheart."
You should walk out. You should say fuck this and never look back.
Instead, you sit on the edge of the bed. Legs wide. Arms slack. Waiting.
She kicks the door closed behind her. It slams like a gunshot.
"You look like shit," she says.
"You look like money," you reply. "Rotten, blood-soaked money."
She grins. “Still got that sharp tongue. Want me to put it to better use?”
Your stomach flips. She always did this—cut you, then kiss the wound.
You never learned. You never wanted to.
She steps in front of you. Stares down like she owns you. And maybe she does.
“You’re here for a reason,” she murmurs. “Say it.”
You clench your jaw.
“Say it,” she whispers again, leaning in. Her breath is warm wine and danger. “Tell me what the fuck you want.”
“I want you to stop haunting me,” you say.
“Bullshit.”
You grab her waist and pull her onto your lap so fast she gasps.
She’s in your lap, and it’s like gravity reverses—you’re not holding her, she’s anchoring you.
Nails tangled in your hair, teeth dragging down your neck. Her hips roll slow against your thigh, and you’re already throbbing in places that feel more like nerve endings than flesh.
“You missed this cunt, didn’t you?” she murmurs, low and venom-sweet.
You grunt in response, but it’s not enough for her.
She grabs your jaw. Hard.
“Say it.”
“I missed it,” you admit, teeth clenched. “Fuck, I missed you.”
She smirks. “That’s more like it.”
In one motion, she pushes you down on the bed, straddling your hips, pinning you like a kill she’s not ready to eat yet.
Her hand slips into your pants—no permission, no warning—just claim.
And when her fingers find you, soaked and aching, her whole expression darkens.
“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “Dripping. You always were a needy little thing.”
You moan. Just that. No words. Because fuck, her fingers feel like they know your body better than you do—curling just right, pressing where it counts. She moves slow at first, cruelly slow, watching every reaction your face gives her.
“Open your mouth,” she commands, voice husky.
You do. Obedient.
She slips two fingers past your lips—the same ones she’s fucking you with.
You taste yourself. Salty. Desperate.
“Suck,” she says.
And you do. Like it’s all you know how to do.
“Such a good girl,” she whispers. “Such a filthy little thing.”
Her thumb finds your clit and circles with a brutal precision. Your hips jerk up. She presses her other hand to your stomach, pinning you down. You whimper. She chuckles.
“Stay still.”
“I—can’t—”
Your words dissolve into broken gasps.
“Oh, you can,” she purrs, biting your collarbone. “You’re gonna come exactly when I say. Not a fucking second before.”
You nod. Eyes wide, breath shallow, thighs trembling.
You are nothing but skin and nerves now.
“Look at you,” she murmurs against your throat. “Falling apart just from my hand. No one else ever got you like this, did they?”
You shake your head. Barely coherent.
“Say it.”
“No one,” you pant. “No one but you.”
She grins. Wicked. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Her fingers go deeper. Faster. That spot—that fucking spot—she never misses.
And when she curls them just right, and her thumb presses down hard, your whole body arches.
“Please—fuck—please can I—”
“Now,” she growls. “Come for me. Make a fucking mess.”
And you do.
It rips through you like a storm, brutal and brilliant.
You come shaking, moaning her name into the sheets, tears stinging your eyes as your body jerks under her.
She doesn’t stop right away.
She slows her rhythm, dragging it out, working you through every last wave of it, until you’re a ruined, wrecked thing under her hands.
When it’s over, you collapse.
Boneless. Breathless. Marked.
She leans down, lips brushing your ear.
“Told you,” she whispers. “You belong to me.”
Your body’s still twitching when she finally pulls her fingers out.
She licks them slow. Deliberate. Eyes on yours like she’s watching you drown.
You don’t move.
Can’t.
You're all tremble and sweat, your throat sore from begging, your thighs sticky, your heart?
Somewhere between "fuck you" and "please don’t go".
She lays down next to you, arm tossed lazily over your stomach like none of it meant anything.
You want to believe it’s tenderness.
It’s not.
It’s claiming.
“You okay?” she asks, casual, voice like smoke and regret.
You nod. Barely. “Yeah.”
“You cried,” she says, brushing a thumb under your eye. Not gently—just noticing.
You shrug. “You made me.”
“Damn right I did.”
She lights a cigarette. You hate when she does that after.
But you don’t stop her.
She lies there, half-naked and smug, staring at the ceiling while you lie beside her feeling cracked open like a fucking confession.
You speak, eventually. Low.
“I thought I hated you.”
She blows smoke toward the ceiling. “You do.”
You look at her.
Really look.
The curve of her lips, the bruises blooming on your neck, the red smudge of her lipstick on your chest like a signature in blood.
You sit up. Slowly. Pull your clothes back on in silence.
She watches, but says nothing.
Not until you reach the door.
Then, soft — too soft — she says:
“You leave again, I won’t write you another love note.”
You pause. Hand on the handle.
Your heart pulls in two directions — one toward her, and one toward survival.
You glance back.
She’s smirking.
That fucking smirk.
And you say:
“Next time,” you say, voice hoarse, “write it in fucking knife.”
can you write being gyuyoung's sister and being an idol? i would like to know what it would be like ^^
being an idol and gyuyoung's sister hcs
SISTER!GYUYOUNG + IDOL!SISTER!READER
all sfw
💌 Your Dynamic:
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ Gyu-young is endlessly proud of you—but in that quiet, elegant older sister way. She doesn't brag publicly unless someone else brings you up, then she lights up and won't shut up.
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ "Oh, yes, that’s my sister. She’s the one with the choreography that went viral. Isn’t she amazing?"
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ At home though? Total menace. Sends you memes, old baby pics, and reminds you daily that she had better skin first.
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ She's extremely protective of you—especially when it comes to your agency, your image, and fan pressure. She’ll read contracts, show up to stylists with receipts, and once threatened to fly to Japan because someone made you cry during practice.
🎬 In the Industry:
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ Everyone in the industry adores her, so being her little sister makes you "the classy one" by default. Even when you're sweaty, chaotic, and sobbing after dance rehearsal.
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ "You’re so composed, just like Gyu-young sunbaenim—" (Meanwhile you’re dying inside)
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ You constantly get asked in interviews: "What does your sister think of your debut?" You always say something sweet—but she probably sent you 47 reaction gifs and a 3am voice note screaming "SLAYYYYYYY."
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ The internet ships you with everyone. Gyu-young stalks Twitter on a burner to monitor you. "I saw that fan edit of you and that rapper. You breathed at him. Explain."
🧸 At Home:
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ She keeps a framed picture of your debut stage in her living room next to her drama awards. It’s embarrassing. She won’t move it.
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ Her idea of "bonding time" is face masks, crime dramas, and her lowkey roasting your group’s lyrics while you threaten her with a lightstick.
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ When you're struggling with idol life, she never lectures. She just holds your hand and says: "You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you. That’s enough."
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ If she’s filming while you’re promoting, she’ll secretly leave snacks and little notes in your dressing room with messages like: "Unnie loves you. Don’t faint today. DRINK. WATER."
💥 If You Debut in a Popular Girl Group:
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ She never misses a music show when you perform. She has 12 fancams saved and ranked by outfit.
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ If you go viral for a fancam or a dance move, she texts: "Not to be rude but how do you move your hips like that? I’m calling Mom."
ஐ〰ฺ・:*:・✿ฺ When you win your first award, she’s in the front row, crying silently, clapping so hard her rings fly off.
Thank you @sunshinefever for allowing me to use these pics
Summary: You’re a VIP in Squid Games. While watching the players, you notice a difference in your servant. Someone so alluring yet hidden behind a bejeweled mask. Soon you will realize this person is not your servant… but a guard seeking to escape.
A fancy wine glass gets placed next to you gently. You take a moment to look away from the screen of players to focus on your servant. He stood still and wordless, almost doll-like. His black suit was looser on his body than usual, as if they were wearing someone else’s clothes. You slowly cross your legs, exposing your thighs within the slit of your dress. You pick up the glass and lift the rim to your nose. You twirl the glass, allowing it to send scents of sparkling citrus. You lower the glass to your lips to take a small sip before humming in delight. The taste of alcohol sinks onto your tongue. Hints of citrus and nutty undertones. You bring the glass up to your server.
“Server… What drink is this?” You softly ask, peering through your eyelashes. You can see his body tensing. Strange. But he doesn’t respond, making you upset. You begin waving your hands in front of him.
“Um, excuse me? I asked you something,” You point out. He refuses to move, not even a tiny nod of acknowledgment. You furrow your eyebrows in frustration. You paid millions of dollars for this special service… You can not tolerate disrespect.
You get up from your seat and face your server. You stand up to his face, trying to peek through his mask. Due to his height, you have to crane your neck to look up. You feel a bit hypocritical wanting to see his face when yours is half covered by a golden animal mask. You move your hands to grip his collar, but he quickly clenches onto your wrist. You widen your eyes in shock. Judging by how small, slim, and delicate their fingers look… You realize your server is a woman. You move your eyes from her hands to her masked face. The corner of your lips begins to lift into a smirk. You lean towards her ear.
“…You’re not my server,” You whisper. Her chest begins to move up and down quicker. Your original server is a man whom you’ve picked from day one. Before you could question her, she quickly slides her hands off your wrist and returns them to her side.
“Is there a problem here?” You hear a deep, robotic voice coming from behind. The game master stands, staring straight at you and your server. You narrow your eyes at her. Even though you couldn’t see her face, you can feel her begging you not to expose her. You smile and lift your hands to touch the buttons of her suit.
“We're perfectly fine,” You smile.
“I am pleased to hear that. I shall leave you alone for your pleasure,” The game master says before returning to his spot.
You continue analyzing your new server. Many questions rush into your head. Who is she? Where did your original server go? Does she actually work here? To satisfy your questions, you knew you couldn’t do it here in public. You have to go into a room.
“Come with me,” You order her. You bring out your hands for her to hold. She hesitates for a moment, then decides to place her hands on top of yours. You slowly wrap your fingers around hers. You begin walking, tugging her along. A couple of other VIPs giggle and whistle at you.
-
You open the doors to the private room. You enter first, lightly twirling in the middle of the room. You softly giggle and turn to face her. She stands by the door, unsure to enter.
“Come. I don’t plan on hurting you,” You assure. She stares at you for a moment before entering. She gently closes the door, and it automatically locks. She remains at that spot. Her posture is straight and tall. Her presence alone causes chills to run down your spine. She’s enchanting.
“Who are you?” You question. You lift your fingers to touch your lips, biting back a smile. The room stays still for a moment.
“I’m a guard here,” She finally says. You widen your eyes in slight surprise. Her voice is deeper and more stern than you thought.
“Where is my server?” You continue walking around the room. She turns her head to the side, hesitating to tell you. You make it about three feet away from her when she speaks again.
“…I killed him,” She reveals. Your blood turns cold. You freeze in your place.
“… Are you going to kill me?” You breathe out. Death is an interesting topic to you. You’ve paid to watch players die for money. It’s entertaining. Seeing multiple people die in the most horrific ways… yet the idea of death at the end of your door scares you. It’s selfish and inconsiderate, and you know. You bathe in the inheritances of your ancestors' dirty money.
“I won’t have to… if you agree to follow my orders,” She calmly explains. You blink. You continue to pause for a moment before lifting your hands to your chest. You start to giggle and chuckle.
“Phew… for a moment there, I thought I finally got what I deserved,” You laugh. Following orders should be easy work. Anything to get out of death. She clenches her jaw.
“Why are you here?” She says, causing you to stop chuckling. She wanted to understand the minds of people like you. VIP’s. Rich and inhuman. You wipe the edge of your eyes to collect tears of joy.
“Boredom. Curiosity. Adrenaline. Research,” You drop several words. You turn your attention fully to her.
Her silence and stillness bother you. Never have you talked to someone like this. As narcissistic as you have been raised to be, you felt like you could change that. So you decide to grab onto her wrist and tug her towards the bed. She stumbled on her footing, but still kept up with you. You walk over to the luxurious bed and sit at the edge. She stands a few feet away from you.
“This mask is stuffy,” You complain. Your fingers clench onto the edge of your mask and you take it off. You toss it at the end of the bed. You smile sweetly at her before running your fingers through your hair to fix it.
“Your turn,” You tease. She doesn’t move again, making you roll your eyes.
“If one of us is making it out of here, might as well go out without hiding,” You suggest, lifting your eyebrows. She hesitates for a moment, then nods her head and grips her mask. You straighten your back and lean forward in excitement. Like a drug addict waiting for their dealer to pull out the goods.
The tiny red scratch on her cheek catches your attention first. Her plump lips are slightly pink. Your eyes follow her long nose bridge to her dark and dull eyes. Her face is stern and emotionless. Her hair is messy and slightly sweaty. You also notice the cute freckles around her cheeks. You unconsciously nibble your bottom lip. You swing your legs over to cross them. Her eyes flicker to your exposed thighs. She has no shame in eyeing your body before looking back up
“What’s your plan? Are you trying to escape? Destroy the game?” You babble, twirling your hands around.
“Why do you want to know so much?”
“So that I can make it out alive… and maybe with you?” You lamely flirt. She lets out a soft laugh of disbelief. Her lips curl into a smile. Your heart swells in pride. You finally got an expression out of her! You lean slightly onto the bed, your chest peeking above the dress. You shyly smile while rubbing your foot against your calves. She grips her fist tightly behind her body.
A small idea pops into your mind, and you waste time doing it. There’s no point in waiting in a place like this. You cautiously graze your legs up her thighs. You don’t know what this woman could do, but you were intrigued. She clenches her jaw, exposing the muscles in her jaw. You sneakily wrap your legs around her thighs, bringing her body closer to yours. Her core is nearly rubbing against your panties.
“Do you do this with all your guests?” She whispers, slight curiosity in her tone. You giggle, still looking at her pants. You slowly drag your fingers along the lining of her zipper.
“Usually with money,” You whisper. She scoffs in disgust, which sends an ache down your stomach. No one has ever treated you like a dirty scum. People usually worship the ground you step on, hoping to grab money that slips out of your bag. Or beg to be friends for privileged reasons. But here she is. Someone with a lower ranking, staring at you like you’re the worst person on the planet. You lick your lips and peer up at her. You bat your eyelashes and she grimaces, yet the pink blush on her cheeks exposes something different behind her facade.
“Entertain me,” You purr. A slip of your narcissistic character. You’re so used to ordering people around. She narrows her eyes at your hands as you try to grip onto her clothed core. She doesn’t move, letting you roam your hands around. Your touches are light, to allow her to shove you away if she doesn’t like this. You peek up to test her expression. She gulps, and her chest moves up and down slowly. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she battles with her inner thoughts. You push it further by rubbing along her inner core. A red blush forms on her cheeks.
“Is this okay?” You smile. She nervously nods her head up and down, signalling yes. The desperate look on her face makes you chuckle softly.
“I guess I’m not the only dirty one,” You whisper to yourself, but she hears. She slaps your hands away and shoves you down onto the bed. She grinds her core into yours as she sharply stares deep into your eyes. Your dress hikes up your thighs and exposes your panties. Your breathing quickens.
“I’m not,” She grunts in anger. She hates to even think about being similar to a VIP. Your hair spreads all over the bed. You start laughing harder, making her more frustrated. You knew you two weren’t so different. If she was, why is she still here… why are you even alive? Let alone allow you to entertain her. She would’ve killed you already the second you entered the room. She lifts her hands and grips your throat. She squeezes your neck, nearly making you roll your eyes back.
“Shut up,” She snaps. She shamelessly buckles her clothed core against yours. She bites her lower lip in pleasure.
“You’re the messed-up one. You obey me,” She mumbles while she feels herself getting wetter. Your eyelids lower and your cheeks turn red. You keep yourself silent by biting your bottom lip. The buildup in your lower stomach feels too good for her to stop. Her core grinds perfectly against the material of your panties. It rubs against your clit over and over. On top of that, her grip on your neck tightens.
“Fuck,” You accidentally grunt out. She breathes out a laugh and snaps her hips into you. She removes her hands from your neck and places them beside your head. You reach up and wrap your fingers around her wrist. You turn your head to gently kiss her wrist.
“Look at you,” She grimaces. She feels an insane amount of power at the moment. You’re so weak and limp underneath her. She could do anything, and you would love it. She can see it in your face. She continues to rub herself against you, chasing after her own high. The wetness coating on her panties is starting to become stuffy and uncomfortable. She wishes she could feel you.
“Please,” You cry out. She ignores your begging and focuses on how her clit rubs against her panties. She quietly examines how damp your panties have become. You could feel it. Each time she would rub against you, you can feel how easily the material slides on your clit. An embarrassing blush forms on your cheeks. You bring your arms across your face to cover your face. She stops rubbing her core to grab onto your arms. She pins them above your head.
“Don’t cover your face,” She demands. She needs to see how she can make you come undone with your clothes still on. She dips her face into your neck and begins to kiss it. You arch your body and moan. She hums and playfully nips your skin. She slides her other hand down to your core. She rubs two fingers on the wet patch. She sucks your neck while sliding your panties to the side. Without warning, she thrusts two fingers in. Her fingers slide in easily, your juice quickly coating her digits. She jerks her hand in and out. She can feel your gummy walls trying to wrap around her. She chuckles and adds a third finger. The stretch causes you to choke out a scream. Your thighs twitch and try to close, but her hips prevent that from happening. She thrusts her fingers into you and soaks in pleasure. You moan into her ears. Words of nonsense and praise.
“I’m close,” You choke out. The wave of pleasure builds up. Just a few more and you can reach your high. You arch your back and shut your eyes. She continues to harshly thrust her fingers into you a few more times before completely removing her hand. Your pussy clenches around nothing, sending an aching throb in your stomach. You lean up using your elbows to look at her.
“Why did you stop?!” You pant. She quietly wipes her hands covered with your silky juice onto your dress. She removes herself from your body and glances around the room. She hasn’t been in here before, but she could tell this is no ordinary room. She curiously walks to a closet. She swings the doors open, revealing all kinds of toys. She rolls her eyes at how filthy the VIP’s are. Nothing but money and sex.
She drags her fingers along the many toys until she stops at a certain item. She lifts up a strap-on, and the toy feels nice in her hands. She tilts her head to look at you. Her eyes were still dull and tired. You sit wordlessly on the bed with a blush on your face. Her lips curl into a small smile while she uses one hand to unbuckle her pants. Her eyes never leave yours as she slides her pants off herself. She gestures with her chin at your core, signaling you to take yours off.
You start pulling your dress over your head. You loop your fingers around your panties and pull them off your legs. The cold air touches your wet pussy, causing you to clench your thighs. She takes a moment to examine your body. So naked and vulnerable. VIP’s are so… easy. You’re so easy.
She takes a moment to look away to focus on putting the strap on. It takes her a couple of minutes to finally settle and perfect the toy. She peers at the cock then up to you. You nervously gulp. Your mouth begins to water at the sight of her.
“Come and suck,” She orders. You quickly slide off the bed and rush over to her. You kneel in front of her. Your chest moves up and down in excitement. You place your hands around her thighs, pulling her closer to your mouth. Desperation is written all over your face.
“You disgust me,” She grimaces, a blush on her cheeks. You squeeze your thighs together as it throbs, but you cannot think about yourself right now. You wanted to please her. You carefully swirl your tongue on tip of her cock. She looks down at you, waiting for your next move. You take a deep breath before putting more of her into your mouth. The veiny toy slides against your wet tongue. Her stomach tenses in pleasure. You move your head up and down her cock. She tilts her head and places one of her hands on your head. She laces her fingers along your hair and grips it. You wince in pain.
She starts buckling her hips into your mouth while keeping you in place. She leans her head back and a soft moan escapes her lips. You shut your eyes and try your best to keep still. She shoves your head down her cock til your nose brushes against her lower toned tummy. You feel the toy hitting the back of your throat. Your gasps and gagging noises were muffled by her toy. You tap onto her thighs, signalling her to pull out. She tugs your head off her cock, a saliva trail connecting her cock to your mouth. You cough and gasp for air. She lifts her thumb to wipe the corner of your lips.
“That’s all you can take?” She taunts. You wordlessly shake your head and angle your mouth back onto her cock. She watches you slide your tongue on the sides of the toy before putting it back into your mouth. She lets out a shaky breath. She puts her hands on top of your head again. Without another warning, she shoves your head up and down while jerking her hips. Her moans are soft and quiet. Your saliva starts rolling down your chin. You allow her to set her pace without stopping.
“There you go,” She praises with a small smile. You pathetically roll your eyes back at the weak praise. She starts to rub your hair nicely instead of gripping it. She moves her cock out your mouth and taps it onto your cheeks. Your lips and eyes are wet and red.
“You sick fuck,” You rasp. You could not believe she refuses to admit she’s just as dirty as you. She darkly chuckles and tugs your hair to stand up. You quietly cry out as you stumble to stand. She walks away and you follow her to the bed. You lay at the edge of the bed with your thighs spread apart. She angles herself between your legs. Her tip teasingly rubs the outside of your folds. She looks up at you with tired eyes. She starts to slowly push herself into you, watching your face scrunch up. The toy sank in deeper til she could no longer go any further. Your mouth opens as the stretch of the toy feels good. She moves her hips, letting the toy go in and out. She reaches her hands up to touch your chest. She aggressively grips it, leaving red finger marks on the skin. She then pinches your nub, making you whine again. Her thrusting pace starts to increase. Your body grinds against the bed at each snap of her hips. You tilt your head back and you moan loudly. The toy rubs against her clit.
“You take me so well,” She blushes. Sweat makes her bangs stick onto her forehead. She snaps her hips into you and watches your eyes roll back. She smiles, revealing her teeth. She leans her face down to your ears.
“What makes you think you can come?” She whispers, still thrusting into you.
“Please! Anything! I will do anything for you!” You cry out. Her teeth nibble your earlobe.
“Anything?” She taunts in your ear. How easy was it for her to switch roles? A VIP taking orders from a guard… Who is basically a nobody in the public view. She moves her face to nip at your neck again. She knows that once she’s done with you, she is going to use you to escape the building.
“Anything, please! I don’t care what it is. Please don’t stop,” You confess. She chuckles against your skin in satisfaction. She leans her face away and stands up straight. She wraps her hands around your thighs and pushes them up to your chest. Your core becomes more open. She feverishly snaps her cock into your core. Chasing after your high. You can feel her cock sliding so deep, in and out. Your thighs start to shake, and your lower stomach tenses. She doesn’t stop this time. You clench onto the bed sheets. Your mind becomes numb as you feel your stomach snap. You come onto her, jerking your body. Your juices drip down your thighs and onto the bed.
She doesn’t stop. No, she continues jerking her body to chase after her own high. You thrash against her, but she ignores your cries of overstimulation. She slaps your hands away from her biceps. You feel your tears running down your cheeks.
“I’m not done with you,” She grunts. You moan loudly. The toy continues to rub against her clit sweetly. She bites her lower lip. Her lower stomach tenses. She soppily grinds her core til she cusses and finally comes onto the toy. She lets go of your legs and nearly falls onto your body. She tilts her head down to your ear, allowing you to hear the soft whimpers from her lips. She calms down from her high and pushes herself up to look at you. Her cock still inside you.
“Who are you?” You whisper, cheeks blushing.
“Kang Noeul,” She replies before leaning in to kiss you.
synopsis: you and your fiancé become adoptive parents, but not by choice
SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!
the rain taps softly against the window of your small seoul apartment, a quiet rhythm that feels at odds with the storm in your heart.
you’ve just returned from a doctor’s appointment, your mind weighed down by routine checkups and the lingering shadow of your fiancé’s obsession.
for three years, you’ve stood by jun-ho...first as a colleague, then as a partner, and now as his fiancée...as he hunted for the truth about the mysterious island and its deadly games.
he also wanted to look for his brother.
jun-ho told you about it all.
he trusted you the most.
the squid games, as you’ve both come to call it, has consumed him since he first uncovered whispers of its existence as a detective.
now, with the island destroyed...blown to pieces in a fiery explosion just week ago...your lives are supposed to find peace.
you know better.
nothing about this case ever settles.
you fumble with your keys, the dampness of your blue cardigan clinging to your skin as you push open the apartment door. your boots squeak against the hardwood floor, and you’re about to call out for jun-ho when your breath catches in your throat.
there, right in the walkway, is something impossible.
a baby.
in a white baby carrier.
its a baby.
a tiny girl, no older than three months, lies nestled in a bundle on the floor.
she’s wrapped in a green jacket...number 222 emblazoned on the left side, the white digits marred by streaks of red.
blood, you realize with a jolt, your heart lurching.
the baby herself seems unharmed, her delicate features serene.
beneath the jacket, she wears a soft, colorful onesie, blues and greens swirling with delicate florals, and a knitted head cover keeps her tiny head warm.
the babies dark eyes, wide and curious, lock onto yours, and something inside you shifts...a fierce, primal protectiveness surges through you, sudden and overwhelming.
this child, this fragile little girl, is alone, and every instinct in your body screams to shield her from whatever brought her here.
“oh my goodness,” you whisper, your bag slipping from your shoulder to the floor with a soft thud.
your hands tremble as you kneel beside her, your heart pounding.
she’s so small, so vulnerable, and the sight of those bloodstains on the jacket makes your chest tighten with dread.
has she been fed?
is she hurt?
why is she here, in your apartment?
your mind races, but all you can think about is keeping her safe, wrapping her in warmth and love she might never have known.
you want to scoop her up, to hold her close, but you hesitate, afraid of startling her.
before you can decide, the door creaks open behind you.
jun-ho steps inside, his clothes seem dry for someone who came from the light drizzling rain.
he didn't say anything as he looked at you. you looked confused, so this confused him before his eyes land on the baby.
jun-ho's face pales, his dark eyes widening in shock.
“what… what is this?”
“i don’t know,” you say, your voice trembling as you look up at him, your hands still hovering over the baby.
“i just found her here.” your voice cracks, and you realize your protectiveness is already there, a maternal instinct you didn’t know you had flaring to life.
you want to shield this child from whatever horrors left her here, knowing that she must've came from that island.
jun-ho steps closer, his movements slow, cautious, as if the baby might vanish.
the babies gaze shifts to him, calm and unwavering, and the room feels impossibly still.
it was then that you noticed the small card laid against where her small belly would be.
jun-ho noticed it right away and reaches for it, his fingers brushing the fabric carefully, as if he’s afraid to disturb her.
he holds the card up, his brow furrowing as he reads it.
you lean closer, your shoulder brushing his, and read the words scrawled in neat, black ink:
player 222: winner.
“winner?” you read aloud, your voice barely above a whisper.
you look back at the baby, her tiny face serene despite the weight of those words.
“this… this baby won the game?” the idea is absurd, impossible, yet the evidence is right in front of you.
this was confirmation that gi-hun was dead.
your heart clenches, and that protective instinct for the baby surges again, fiercer now.
this child, barely three months old, has survived something unimaginable.
you won’t let her face another moment of pain.
jun-ho’s jaw tightens, and you see a flicker of grief in his eyes, maybe recognition.
you’ve been part of his investigation since the beginning, back when he was just a colleague you admired from afar, before your feelings deepened.
you know the toll this case has taken...the sleepless nights, the dead-end leads, the obsession with finding his brother, in-ho.
now, this baby, wrapped in a jacket marked 222, lies in your apartment like a gift for enduring so much.
maybe she is here to bring you and your fiancé peace.
jun-ho turns the card over, revealing a gold debit card tucked into a sleeve on the back.
your breath catches. you’ve seen cards like this in the files jun-ho pored over during late-night stakeouts. this is a card tied to the squid game winnings.
it is blood money.
you can’t wait any longer.
you carefully lift the baby into your arms, her small weight settling against your chest.
she’s warm, fragile, and as you cradle her, that maternal protectiveness floods you again, so intense it almost hurts.
“it’s okay, little girl,” you murmur, rocking her gently, “you’re safe now.” you peel the blood-stained jacket off her, careful not to jostle her, and your stomach churns at the sight of the red stains.
you won’t let her be tainted by whatever violence this jacket carries.
you drape your clean blue cardigan over her, tucking it around her tiny frame, and hold her closer, your heart swearing to protect her from the world that left her here.
jun-ho watches you, his eyes softening for a moment before he speaks.
“i need to check something,” he says quietly, “i’ll be right back.”
you nod, too overwhelmed to ask where he’s going.
the door clicks shut, and you’re alone with the baby.
you carry her to the couch, settling down with her in your lap.
she looks up at you, her dark eyes searching, and you feel a pang in your chest so deep it brings tears to your eyes. you’ve always wanted a family with jun-ho, but not like this....not with a child tied to the horrors you and jun-ho have chased for years.
yet, as you brush a finger across her cheek, you know you’d do anything for her.
she’s yours now, in a way you can’t explain, and you’ll fight to give her the life she deserves.
“who left you here, sweet girl?” you whisper, though you suspect the answer.
in-ho.
jun-ho’s brother.
you remember the pain in jun-ho’s voice when he spoke of in-ho’s disappearance, his desperation to find him.
you were there when jun-ho infiltrated the island just a week ago, when you both saw his brother holding a baby in those final, chaotic moments before he vanished.
this must be that baby.
the thought makes your heart ache, but it also strengthens your resolve.
if in-ho left her here, he trusts you and jun-ho to care for her.
you won’t let the baby down.
you check her over, your hands gentle but thorough, looking for signs of neglect or injury.
the girl's onesie is clean, her skin soft and unblemished.
someone cared for her, at least enough to dress her warmly and keep her safe. however, the blood on that jacket haunts you.
whose was it?
her parents’?
another player’s?
you push the thought away, focusing on her steady breathing, the way her tiny fingers curl against your chest.
“you’re so strong,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion, “you made it through so much, didn’t you?”
your heart aches. a baby should never have to go through that much before it can even crawl.
the door opens, and jun-ho steps inside, his expression grim but resolute. he holds up the gold debit card, his voice low.
“forty-five point six billion won.”
your breath catches, and you look down at the baby in your arms. a tear slips down your cheek, but you don’t wipe it away.
“forty-five…” you trail off, the number too staggering to grasp. this tiny girl, this survivor, carries a fortune stained with blood.
more than that, she’s yours. the protectiveness surges again, fierce and unyielding.
you’ll guard her, not just her money, but her heart, her future.
jun-ho sits beside you on the couch, his shoulder brushing yours.
he reaches out, his hand gentle as he cradles the baby’s head, his fingers brushing her soft peach fuzz which was her growing hair.
“she needs a name,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion.
you’re her protector now, her mother in all but name, and you want her to have something pure, something untouched by the horrors of her past.
jun-ho nods, his eyes fixed on her.
“did the card say anything about her name?” you ask, though you know the answer.
“just the number,” he replies quietly, “player 222.”
you look down at her, your heart swelling with love and determination.
“hye-ji,” you murmur, the name slipping out like a promise.
it’s simple, free of meaning, a clean slate for a child whose first days were steeped in horror.
“hwang hye-ji,” you say again, tears filling your eyes as you look at jun-ho, seeking his approval.
he meets your gaze, and for a moment, you see the weight of everything he’s carried.
the loss of his brother, the years of chasing shadows, the guilt of surviving.
he nods, a small, tender smile breaking through.
“hye-ji,” he repeats with his voice soft, “it’s perfect.”
you lean into him, hye-ji nestled between you, and the apartment feels warm despite the rain outside.
you know the road ahead will be hard. there are questions you can’t ever answer...about her biological parents, about in-ho, about the blood on that jacket.
as you hold hye-ji, feeling her steady warmth against you, you make a silent vow.
your adoptive daughter's first days may have been hell, but you’ll make sure her life is filled with love.
you’ll protect her, no matter what.
“we’ll keep you safe, hye-ji,” you whisper, your lips brushing her forehead.
jun-ho’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining, and you know he’s making the same promise.
you’re a family now, bound by love and a shared vow to give this child the life she deserves.
masterlist
author's note: this part in the show made me happy despite my broken heart
blakekathryn
dailybridgerton
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
romaincrisis
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
izzy806
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
