hyunjuisfinal

[hyunjuisfinal]

if no one is gonna take the fall and write smut for hyun ju/120 i will start sending in requests bc i need her so bad

[hyunjuisfinal]

Ahh the scene where Hyun-ju stabs that guy during hide & seek.. I wish that were me

[hyunjuisfinal]

Silk Ribbons

dom!Hyunju x sub!fem!Reader (wlw)

TW: Consensual D/s, mild bondage (wrist restraints), possessive behavior, praise kink, mild marking, sensual NSFW themes, implied wlw, soft power dynamics, and affectionate aftercare.

Your phone vibrates once on the bedside table.

One new message from Hyunju.

Be ready. 8 PM. Don’t wear anything under the dress.

Your breath hitches — you’re lying on your stomach, half-reading a book you’ve already forgotten the plot of. It’s always like this with Hyunju: she writes so little, but somehow you feel every word slide under your skin.

You check the time. 7:12 PM. Not enough time, but too much all at once.

You tug open your closet. She likes you in black — you pick the soft slip dress she once tugged down your shoulders without ever unzipping it.

By the time you’ve brushed your hair smooth and dabbed your favorite perfume behind your ears, your hands are trembling just a little. You feel ridiculous standing in your tiny room, wearing this much nothing, but you know that’s exactly how she wants you: soft, waiting, hers.

When the doorbell rings at 7:59, you’re already standing by the door. She likes that, too.

⸻

Hyunju stands in the hallway like she owns it. A simple black coat drapes over her shoulders, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, red lipstick so perfect it looks painted on just for you.

She doesn’t say hi. She doesn’t have to.

“Turn around.” Her voice is smooth as silk, threaded through with that quiet command that always leaves you pliant.

You do as you’re told. She steps inside, closes the door behind you, and you feel the brush of her coat sleeve as she passes.

Her hands are at your shoulders, fingers grazing your collarbone. She hums — pleased.

“No straps,” she says, and you can hear her smile against your ear. “Good girl.”

The praise blooms in your chest.

⸻

You don’t remember how you got to the bedroom — just her touch at the small of your back, the soft click of her heels on your floorboards, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with yours.

She sits you at the edge of your bed, lifts your chin with a single finger. You look up at her and you can’t help it — your knees press together, your palms clutch the sheets.

Hyunju laughs — a quiet, low sound that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

“Hands,” she says.

You offer them without question. She pulls silk ribbons from her coat pocket — black, matching your dress. She binds your wrists together, knotting them so gently it almost feels like affection instead of restraint.

“You trust me?” she asks. Her eyes meet yours — dark, warm, patient.

You nod, breathless. “Yes.”

“That’s my good girl.”

⸻

Time dissolves after that — her hands tugging the hem of your dress higher, the ghost of her lips brushing your throat, the delicate drag of her teeth over your pulse. She doesn’t rush — Hyunju never rushes. She wants you to feel every moment, every inch of her claim.

She pushes you back against the pillows, climbs over you with a grace that makes you ache. Her knee nudges your thighs apart, and you shiver at the sudden cool air against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, fingers trailing the silk binding your wrists. “Soft. Waiting for me.”

You whisper her name — a soft plea, a question.

“I know,” she soothes, thumb brushing your lower lip. “I know exactly what you want.”

⸻

She kisses you — slow at first, savoring. Her tongue sweeps your mouth like she’s tasting something expensive she plans to hoard for herself. You gasp when she pulls back just enough to bite your lower lip.

“Stay still,” she warns. You nod — you’d agree to anything.

Her hands slide down your sides, fingertips brushing the soft dip of your waist, your hips. You can’t help but shift beneath her — she hushes you with a quiet tsk.

“Good girls stay still,” she reminds you.

Your bound hands clench. She notices — of course she does. She always does.

⸻

Her touch is everywhere — trailing heat down your stomach, pressing tiny, possessive marks into your inner thigh. She doesn’t need to say a word — her fingers speak for her.

You arch when she leans in, mouth ghosting over your chest. The way she drags her lips, then teeth, then tongue — each pass a promise that leaves you trembling.

She looks up at you once, eyes dark, lips parted just enough to show a flash of teeth.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispers. “Taking what I give you. Letting me make you mine.”

A soft noise escapes your throat — part whimper, part thank you.

⸻

You lose track of how long she keeps you there — pinned under her mouth and hands, floating in the warmth of her praise and the sharp edge of her control.

When your legs tremble too much, she eases back, trailing kisses up your stomach, your collarbone, your jaw. She presses her forehead to yours, breathing you in like she can’t get enough.

“Such a good girl,” she says again, and your whole body shivers at the warmth in her voice.

She kisses you softer this time — slow, deep, sweet. Like she’s winding you back down from the edge she held you on so long.

⸻

When she unties your wrists, her fingers brush your skin with the same care she uses for silk ribbons and lace lingerie she peels off you only when she’s ready.

She rubs your wrists gently, kisses each one.

“You did so well for me tonight,” she murmurs, thumb stroking the faint marks left by the silk. “Did you like being my good girl?”

You nod, dazed and warm in her arms. “Always.”

Hyunju smiles — the real smile, the one she saves for moments like this, when it’s just you and her and the world outside could disappear for all she cares.

She pulls you close, lets you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. You feel her fingers in your hair, soothing, grounding.

⸻

Later, when she tucks the blanket over your bare shoulders and you drift off against her, you feel the silk ribbon still tied in your hair — a quiet reminder that even when you’re soft, even when you’re sleeping, you’re still hers.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

⸻

End.