Fen'Harel

You turn on the system, eyes widening to see Sana standing naked before a man. You watch on the screen as Sana gets between his legs, a playful smile on her lips as she grasps his cock. “It’s so big,” she giggles, her hand moving slowly along his length. Sana gathers her saliva and lets it drip onto the head of his cock, watching it flow down before finally moving her hand and spreading it around his thick shaft. Sana looks eager, like she’s holding herself back. “Time to eat,” she says softly before wrapping her lips around the tip, her tongue swirling quickly as she begins to bob her head. One of her hands goes between her legs, and she touches herself, moaning softly around his cock. Occasionally, your girlfriend glances up at him with excited eyes. Sana begins taking more of him into her mouth, and her tongue runs along the underside, tracing his veins. 

You watch as Minsoo places his hand on the back of her head and forces Sana to the base of his cock. You can hear her clearly, choking, gagging on it as it hits the back of her throat. A thick layer of spit coats his cock as her body makes more of it. Through it all, Sana’s moans get louder. She’s pushing her fingers deeper into her slit at the rough treatment. You can feel your cock straining against your pants as you watch her do her work. You can see just about every angle with all the cameras around the room. Your girlfriend was on her knees being facefucked by another man. 

When he finally lets go of her head and gives her a chance to breathe, you can just barely see her face as she leans back. Drool coats her chin, dribbling down on her chest. Sana smiles, clearly happy with the results. Her hand stays on his cock, stroking it before she goes back in for more. Sana pushes herself closer to the edge, her fingers rubbing her clit now as she pushes his length into the back of her throat. It’s a tight fit; she has to have her jaw wide open to fit him in, but listening to his moans pushes her onward. Sana could feel him throbbing. She briefly debated pulling away and having him cum on her face, but decided that that could be done later. She cradles his heavy balls in her hand, giving them gentle squeezes as he explodes in her mouth. Each time his cock throbs, Sana can feel more of his pouring down her throat, filling her belly. A warmth spread across her body. 

Sana bobs her head twice more as he nears the end of his climax. When she pulls away, she makes sure to have her mouth wide open, showing just how well she ate every drop up. She licks her lips and thanks him for the meal before standing up. Sana places her hand on her stomach, slowly dragging it lower until she reaches her needy cunt, “Can you feed this mouth too?” She asks in a sweet, needy voice. Your cock throbs as you hear your girlfriend begging for another man’s cum. Your eyes remain glued to the scene, watching as he pulls Sana to the bed, getting her on all fours. “Minsoo!” Sana cries out as he drives his length into her cunt. Her warm walls cling to his cock, refusing to let go now that they’re connected. 

He grabs her arms, pulling them as he drives himself deep into her. Sana’s moans grow louder and louder with each thrust. The only sound between them was the clap of their bodies from the strong thrusts. “How do you like this? Better right?” He grunts. 

Sana can hardly speak; moans keep spilling out of her. Minsoo drops one of Sana’s arms and brings his hand down on her ass. The sharp sting from the hit makes her yelp. Your girlfriend’s toes curl as pain mixes with pleasure. “Better! So much better! Bigger, thicker, longer!” She moans out. Sana was being split in half. If that wasn’t enough, he was ramming into her womb with every thrust. The sensation had her drooling onto the bed. Here was your girlfriend telling another man how much better he was, and you were sitting there watching it. You don’t even know when you started jerking off to it. 

You continued to watch the action. Minsoo delivered more rough smacks to Sana’s ass, turning the formerly pale skin a bright red, his hand imprinted on her flesh. “More! Hit me again!” Sana cried out, loving each smack that she got. It couldn’t go on forever, though. He pulled her against him and grabbed her tits, fingers digging into her flesh as he kneaded the soft mounds. Sana started to whine, a sound you know all too well. She was getting close to cumming. Her walls were clamping down like a vice on his shaft, already trying to milk his cock for more of his seed. He was pushing her over the edge. One hand went to Sana’s sensitive nipples, pulling on the dusty pink nub while the other hand went to her clit. Her walls continued to tighten around his cock. “I-I’m cumming!” Sana cried out. Her body jerked and twitched as she came on his cock. 

Minsoo continued to thrust, speeding up as he got close. You had a prime view of Sana’s tits bouncing as he fucked her; you could see the pleasure on her face as he buried himself inside her. The tip of his cock was pressed right against Sana’s womb as he came, flooding her body with thick and potent baby batter. Sana rested against his body, reveling in the moment. She could hardly feel her body with how much it tingled. Sana collapsed onto the bed, softly moaning. She could just barely feel Minsoo slapping his cock against her ass. Despite the weakness in her arms and legs, Sana did her best. She got onto her knees and arched her back, presenting her ass to him. Your girlfriend reached back and spread her cheeks. “Here too. My boyfriend has never been allowed in here.” Sana cooed as she felt the thick cock slide between her cheeks. She bit her lip, holding back a smile as she waited for him to push inside her other hole. 

“You dirty slut,” With how covered his cock was in cum, and Sana’s nectar, Minsoo pushed ahead, prodding the ring of muscle, slowly stretching it. Sana’s muffled moans still managed to fill the air. The pleasure she felt was just too good. He was stretching her so much. Sana was feeling full, and he wasn’t even all the way in. Minsoo pressed on Sana’s back, forcing a deeper arch. He was enjoying himself; he had a whore of a woman in front of him who was seemingly okay with everything. He would’ve sworn he could ram his entire length into her ass in one go and she’d thank him. He didn’t, though; he pushed in slowly. If Sana’s pussy was tight, her ass was levels above that. It was crushing. It was almost like he was being sucked in as well. “Fucking dirty whore,” he grunted. “So fucking tight. I bet you wouldn’t even be able to feel your boy toy.”

“He’s nothing,” Sana groaned. “You’re so much better. You’re going to ruin me,”

“I’m not even halfway in,” he replied. You could’ve sworn Sana’s eye rolled into the back of her head at this point. He was still holding her down when he finally had enough and pushed the last few inches into her petite body. Sana came instantly, nectar splashing onto the bed, her walls trapping him inside her ass. 

“Fuck, fuck me up,” Sana mumbled. He was buried deep in her guts. Sana knew she was in for a ride. She pushed her ass back as much as she could in her position. “Move, please, I need you to fuck me.” Sana slipped a hand between her legs, rubbing her clit as she continued. “Use me, fuck this tight ass, make it yours. Reshape my insides,” she begged. After a moment, Minsoo finally started moving, dragging his cock out of her, leaving just the tip inside before ramming it all the way back inside. Sana came again, her mind slowly leaving her. Her body was on autopilot, her hands never left her clit as Minsoo used her. 

You listened to Sana’s moans, her whines, and whimpers for more. You had already cum a few times watching the erotic sight of your girlfriend being taken from another man, yet you couldn’t stop jerking off. Your eyes remained glued to the screen, watching Sana take his cock like it was second nature. She kept begging for more, “You’re the only one I need. Fuck me like the cheap whore I am! Cum inside your cheap fleshlight.” She would say whatever Minsoo wanted her to if it meant he would keep fucking her. She was degrading you and herself. You had never heard Sana speak so vulgarly. It all had to end soon enough, though. Minsoo was reaching his limit. He gripped Sana’s shoulder and placed the other hand on her waist, holding her tightly as he reached his climax. He pushed himself against Sana’s plush ass and unloaded, filling her with cum again. 

“There’s so much,” Sana mumbles, placing her hand on her stomach. She had both holes filled with another man’s cum. She was on cloud nine, smiling like an idiot as she was pumped full of the stuff. Sana couldn’t support herself at all, collapsing once Minsoo let go of her body. Sweaty and dripping with cum, Sana was flipped over onto her back and moved until her head hung off the bed’s edge. Minsoo slapped his cock against her face, degrading your girlfriend further. It wasn’t like she hated it, though. Sana opened her mouth, welcoming the sour appendage into her mouth, lapping up the cum that remained on his cock, while he played with her tits. Sana popped him out of her mouth and kissed his shaft, dragging her tongue along his length as she sang its praises. “I’ll never need another cock as long as you’re here. This thing is perfect. My boyfriend doesn’t even compare; he’s a shrimp. Now make sure you mark your property.” She said, kissing it for longer before taking it back into her mouth. 

In this position, you have to watch Minsoo thrust his cock down Sana’s throat; you could’ve sworn you were seeing it bulge. Sana, for her part, didn’t seem to mind, even as his balls smacked against her face. Her fingers were circling her clit in slow circles. “Damn, right you’ll never need anyone else. I’ll be fucking this pussy until it’s made into my image.” Sana had no response, she couldn’t what with his cock down her throat. Her moans were enough to tell him what he wanted to know, though. Minsoo was quickly reaching his final climax. Sana’s throat vibrating around his cock was becoming too much. He shifted his hand to her throat, wrapping them tightly around Sana as he rammed his cock down her throat. He was on the edge, and Sana gently tapped his legs, reminding him of what she wanted.

Minsoo pulled out at the final second and stroked his cock, pouring his semen onto Sana’s face, painting it with a few spurts before moving over her body and coating her body in a layer of his cum as well. Sana brought her hand to her face, scooping some of his cum off her face and tasting it as she lay there. 

Minsoo took in the sight of the ruined woman, snapping a picture of Sana holding the peace sign across her face before going to the shower and eventually leaving your girlfriend by herself. The whole time Sana stayed on the bed, refusing to move her aching body. The only part of her that moved was her fingers as they gingerly moved over her body, pinching her nipples or rubbing her clit. 

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens, a moment later, and Sana turns her head and smiles. “Did I do good?” She asks with a smile of pure happiness. 

“You were great,”

“My acting was top-notch, right?” Sana follows you with her eyes as you sit beside her sweaty and stained body. 

“I think you really fooled him.”

“It’s not so hard,” Sana giggles. “Did you get off, though? Or do I need to…” Sana pressed her tits together, offering them to you. 

“Yes, I did. We can do that at home.” You place your hand on Sana’s thigh, “Though, I have to admit, I do want to reclaim you right now.” 

Sana smiles sweetly, her nose scrunching as she boops your nose. “Now, mister, you just said we can do that at home. I’ll go take a shower. You need to get the cameras down. Then we can watch it together later.” Sana’s eyes smile at you as she mentions the last part. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Take as long as you need. Are you going to need some help getting into the shower?”

“I can handle it,” Sana replied. You watch as she tries to sit up, grunting as she does so slowly. It was almost comical to see her struggle so much. You end up helping her, pushing her back until she’s seated. Slowly but surely, Sana waddles her way to the bathroom. Once the door closes, you get up and start removing the cameras from around the room, making sure not to leave a trace. You pack everything up and wait for Sana, then the two of you leave the hotel and return home after a couple of hours. 

Sana smiles happily as she watches a replay of the action while she bounces on your cock. She was more than thankful about the situation; both of you got what you wanted. You got to watch your girlfriend lose herself to pleasure time and time again, only to reclaim her later. And Sana would get to live out two fantasies every time, being treated like a toy and being watched. Knowing you were always watching the sessions with strangers turned her on more than anything else. As Sana watches herself getting facefucked, she recalls the beginning. 

For full context, you can read Spoiled. This fic takes place between Can't Help Myself and Rent-A-Boyfriend

"Do you really think he'll come here? I'm getting tired of waiting in the dark!" Karina whined on the phone.

"If I'm right about him, he will. Unless he's dead asleep or something, but he replied," Ryujin stated, lying on her couch with Bama and Una, her younger cats, resting over her.

"This guy better be as worthy as you say or… I hear some steps running here."

As planned, Ryujin muted herself on the phone, listening attentively while the door opened.

"Ryu?" Hwang Seungdae, the server she now considered a friend, asked loudly enough that Karina's phone picked it up.

"That's a very rude greeting coming from a server," Karina replied to him, chuckling.

"Yeah, sorry. I was…"

'Lights on,' Ryujin thought, imagining his now familiar flustered face and writing a text while Karina talked.

RJ: I keep my promises. Treat her well and enjoy, dumbass!

"…I was not expecting her to tell you she had broken her leg or something. You may want to check that."

Silence. Ryujin scoffed at her phone when she saw the call had ended. "She'd better show me something after she gets home." She rolled her eyes, dropping her phone. "Do you think he'll enjoy Jimin unnie as much as I did the first time?" She smirked at Dallie, her older cat, feeling the judgment in his eyes.

The satisfaction of giving such a treat not to one, but two friends, didn't last. While she had more frequent visits lately from Yeji, Jimin and Sua, these were usually planned. Hearing her doorbell out of the blue felt threatening, even for her pets. Doubtful, she squinted at the peephole of her door before opening it.

"What are you three doing here?" Ryujin asked, signaling Lia, Chaeryeong, and Yuna to step into her apartment. They didn't say a word. Confused, Ryujin guided them to the living room for them to sit.

"What's the problem?" She inquired, noticing more clearly Jisu's regretful face, Chaeryeong's stern expression, and Yuna's curious eyes.

Lia eyed her members, one still trying to find her way with words, the other too shy to express her thoughts to Ryujin. "I'll just say it. We're worried and disappointed with you."

"Excuse me?" Ryujin scoffed with a frown.

Chaeryeong huffed in disbelief. "Oh, you know why," she grimaced in a tone she had never used with her elder.

"I really don't know what you're talking about." Ryujin laughed, even more confused.

"Mr. Hwang," Yuna said quietly, taking any hint of a smile off her friend's face. The whole room went quiet.

"See? You knew perfectly well," Chaeryeong replied with fire in her eyes.

"First, how did you find out?" Ryujin pondered, defeated, resting her elbows on her knees and running her hands through her hair.

"Yeji unnie told me everything after the baseball game. All she did, and all you did," Chaeryeong explained, almost growling. "Also, everything you two did to her. She would not stop talking about how good it felt to pass out like that," she rolled her eyes.

"Why did you do it?" Yuna wondered, silencing the apartment.

Ryujin felt the maknae's big eyes bring back all the emotions she felt that day. The instant regret from the moment he walked into Yeji's apartment, the remorse of not stopping her in every opportunity she had, the guilt invading her whole body the moment she pushed into him, and the shame of losing control of herself by a mere kiss and a few words from Yeji. Then, the desperation when she ran after Seungdae, and his stupid, unbelievable comprehension right after. Yes, he was furious that day, but he still heard her and understood her shitty decisions, showing no apparent resentment towards her. The added fact that he turned out to be IU's boyfriend amplified the sentiment just enough for a tear to shed from her left eye.

"I… I'm working on it," Ryujin said weakly, glancing at their faces, demanding more of her. "You know how I feel about Yeji unnie. You know better than me that I can't say no to her. Fuck, even Seungdae oppa noticed that right away," she acknowledged, shaking her head.

"Seungdae oppa?" Chaeryeong scoffed right away, voicing the members' thoughts with her arms crossed. "Are you two close now?"

Ryujin's mouth and eyes shut in thin lines. "He may have spent a night here not long ago," she admitted, avoiding their faces.

"Did you fuck Mr. Hwang?" Yuna almost yelled. "I mean, did he fucked you?" She corrected herself, failing to get past the awkward phrasing.

"Hell no." Ryujin grimaced in half a second. "After… I fucked him that day," she said regretfully, "we talked. A lot. He asked me to stay in touch, so I invited him over to drink some wine, and he fell asleep after we emptied a couple of bottles of wine."

"So he's fine with you after what you did?" Lia pondered, trying to comprehend their dynamic.

"We avoid the subject. But yes."

"Still, that doesn't change what you did," Chaeryeong stated after a few seconds of silence, bringing nods from the other members, including Ryujin. "If you wanted him to fuck you as punishment, you would have done it the night he stayed here. What do you propose?"

"And how can we even make Yeji unnie pay for that as well?" Lia chuckled, letting her back fall on the couch.

By Friday, all the pieces fell into place. Lia had booked Seungdae for the following weekend and asked him to pick her up after their practice so he could see them all. Ryujin had ordered a special package, ensuring it would arrive at least a full day before her self-imposed sentence. Chaeryeong and Yuna spoke directly with Yeji, playing with the idea of making Ryujin the center of attention during their next group time in the dungeon.

"But she's a pleaser. She'll want to please us as well," the leader murmured.

"What if we tie you up for her?" Yuna grinned, biting her lower lip.

"She could eat your cunt while we take care of Ryujin unnie." Chaeryeong nodded, bringing a smile to Yeji's face.

As discussed, Ryujin agreed to the proposal. "I'll be in your hands, then. Except for you, unnie. You will be in mine," she winked at her and smirked at the rest of the group, sealing her own fate as well as Yeji's.

Thursday arrived. Secretly, Lia and Yuna approached Ryujin, offering options taken directly from the maknae's drawer.

"Come on, it will help you even if you squeeze a tiny bit of it up your butt," Lia insisted, showing her the lube bottle labeled with an'S8' and the small silicone douche kit in the bag.

"That would not be fair. And Chaeryeong knows that trick. She'd find out right away." Ryujin replied.

"I've got other options she doesn't know about. Ideal for your muscles to relax," Yuna said playfully.

"No, darling. I appreciate it, but I need to do this the right way," Ryujin stated, holding their hands. "I take it you two will go easy on me?"

"You know we will," Lia smiled gently with a nod before turning to see Yuna.

"I'll try, I swear, but you know I can't control myself after a certain point," the maknae pouted.

"Then forget about it and do whatever you want with me," Ryujin smirked warmly, pulling the tall girl in for a hug.

Practice went as usual, except that Lia had taken her pet, Bella, along, and that Yeji and Chaeryeong left first to prepare the dungeon. The rest of the group spared some time, enough for them to make a quick stop at Ryujin's to collect the package before catching up with them in Yeji's apartment.

"She's ready," Chaeryeong welcomed them with a wide grin on her face, sitting on one of the couches and playing with Yeji's panties while Lia let Bella run towards Yeji's pets to play.

Curious, Ryujin led the way to the dungeon. "Well, hello, unnie," she smirked at the sight of Yeji, already naked, tied to the X-cross, smiling with a blush on her cheeks.

Ryujin got lost in her slim figure, her short hair, and the willingness in her face. Knowing she would have no control over her near future, she locked eyes with her and kissed her fondly.

The tenderness of the kiss took Yeji aback, but she matched the warmth, closing her eyes and enjoying Ryujin's hands running from her neck down to her waist as their tongues danced together. By the time she reopened her eyes, the members were already stripping Ryujin of her clothes, forcing them to break their kiss to remove her t-shirt. Fully naked, they locked eyes and kissed again, this time more passionately.

While her friends got rid of their clothes and murmured something about Yuna's ass, Ryujin focused on Yeji, pulling her as close to her as she could, hand going down to her bush, carefully trimmed just like she liked it, then further down to her already wet folds.

"I'm not sure who was more eager for this," she chuckled with her, shoving her ring and middle fingers inside the leader's pussy, taking her moan directly in her lips. Knowing every button in Yeji's body, Ryujin knelt, kissing her body until her face was right in front of her friend's cunt, inhaling her musk, feeling her moisture and heat.

'You're so damn weak,' she thought to herself, feeling her scent fill her lungs and fuel her lust in an instant before reaching for those drenched petals and her clit, fingering her with all her skills to make her surrender to pleasure. In a minute, Ryujin got Yeji to the edge of her orgasm, and determined to give her that at least, she did her best to make her explode.

Unfortunately for both, Chaeryeong pulled Ryujin away at the same time Lia blindfolded Yeji, and Yuna placed a bullet vibrator in the lowest setting right on the leader's clit, locking it in place with microfoam tape.

"What? No! Please, please, please!" Yeji begged, slowly losing the trembling of her hips. "Why? Please! Chaeryeongah! Let her finish, please! Juliayah! I've been good!"

"Sorry, unnie," Yuna whispered in her ear. "Hold on to that orgasm from now on," she said sweetly, kissing Yeji's cheek and pinching her nipples.

"Why? She wanted me to cum! This was for her!" The short-haired woman whined, trying to free her wrists from her shackles.

Chaeryeong scoffed, appreciating the nod from Ryujin. "Before anything, love, know that we love you two. And please remember that for the next week."

"Next week?" Yeji let out in panic.

"Spoilers," Lia yelled from the back.

"Remember what you two did to Mr. Hwang?" Chaeryeong asked the leader, mouthing 'Seungdae oppa' to Ryujin. "Well, we could not really think of a way to make you pay other than this," she chuckled, tickling Yeji's bush with her nails.

"D-did he ask you to do this?" Yeji asked, half mad, half confused.

Ryujin shook her head. "It was all—"

"My idea!" Yuna interrupted, drawing everyone's attention with the thunderous sound of a whiplash, winking at Ryujin. "He didn't say anything, but we could not let that slide."

"You are in big trouble," Yeji huffed, shaking her head, but giving up on getting free.

"I'm looking forward to that!" The maknae bit her lip, imagining her future and showing her skills with the single-tailed whip, lashing one of Yeji's nipples.

That shut the leader's mouth completely.

"Are you crazy?" Lia asked her silently, receiving a proud and playful nod from Yuna before she reminded her of the thick silicone butt plug she carried up her ass since their practice, pulling it out just enough to show its girth, then shoved it back inside her rectum.

"Unnie?" Chaeryeong called Ryujin, patting on the custom tantra chair, taking her out of the trance caused by maknae's anal skills.

She nodded, walking towards it, accepting her friend's help to lie on the piece of furniture just like Seungdae did that time; face up, ass on the highest point of the chair with her feet resting on the handles, and shoulders resting on the padded tubes, stopping her whole body from slipping down.

"You still have your safe words, remember," Chaeryeong whispered into Ryujin's ear. After her quiet yes, she called her elder to take over.

"Do you really want me to sit on your face?" Lia smirked, gazing down at her friend.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," Ryujin chuckled, making her smile shyly before she straddled over her face. Happily, she welcomed her fat pussy lips, using her hands to help her maintain her level. Understanding her place in the dungeon, Ryujin relaxed her body and let the members use her, focusing on enjoying what she could, and, right there, that was Jisu's nectar.

While she savored her friend's addictive juices, Lia and Chaeryeong moved Ryujin's legs, gently holding her pelvis to keep her in the air. In a coordinated attack, both women latched onto her groin.

Jisu wasted no time, mirroring the way Ryujin ate her cunt, remembering each other's weak spots, focusing on the journey rather than looking for an orgasm. Chaeryeong, however, had full access to Ryujin's puckerhole. Aiming to confuse her elder's mind, she licked her butthole playfully, contrasting with Lia's slow licks and kisses.

"You should see how cute Ryujin unnie's feet wrinkle thanks to them!" Yuna whispered in Yeji's ear. She was next to her, letting her bare skin rub against the leader. Yuna rubbed her own clit with her left hand, at times playing with her piercing while she gently brushed Yeji's wet slit, eyes focused on her friends. "When was the last time you licked Ryujin unnie's asshole?"

"I… I don't know," Yeji scoffed, moving her hips in an attempt to feel more of the maknae's fingers.

"Well, Chaeryeong unnie is having a feast, and I am next," Yuna declared, refraining from touching her friend's pussy to a minimum while she described in detail the show she was witnessing.

Despite Ryujin's strong focus, she quickly gave up on preserving her sanity. She got lost on the tickling of Chaeryeong's tongue going in and out of her rectum, then tracing the circumference of her small gape, followed by Lia's sloppy kisses across her slit, adding random licks through her folds; the combined motions plus her own willingness to forget about any control, caused Ryujin's arms to fail for a moment, resulting in Jusu's butt almost smashing her face.

Sharing a complicit look, Lia and Chaeryeong upped their game. The former let her crotch rest firmly on Ryujin's face, grinding hard on it, suffocating her friend, who didn't seem to mind and dedicated her lips and tongue to devour Jisu's cunt. The latter fucked Ryujin's ass with her tongue, spreading her buttcheeks to reach as deep as she could, keeping her fingers close to her friend's plump pussy lips to massage them.

Right when Ryujin's hips began to shake, both women left her alone, allowing one desperate moan to fill the room, followed by the loud thud of her hips falling on the tantra chair. A bit disoriented by the lack of air, she gasped at the sudden insertion of Lia's fingers up her ass. Three slim fingers, taking full advantage of Chaeryeong's saliva until Ryujin was able to focus on Lia's kind smile.

"More," Ryujin mouthed, too shy to voice it.

"Want to keep doing that?" Chaeryeong asked kindly, holding Jisu's waist.

Lia pretended to think for a moment, wiggling her digits inside Ryujin's butthole before pushing them upwards so her walls moved visibly through her pussy. She leaned forward to give her drenched petals a profound lick and a kiss on Ryujin's clit before pulling out her fingers. She knelt next to Ryujin's face. "You'll get more in just a minute," she giggled quietly, sharing a kiss filled with her own juices.

Chaeryeong wiped Ryujin's ass dry, making eye contact with her as the last bit of confirmation, which came with a subtle nod and lips pursed in a thin line. She ogled her friend's drenched cunt and winking puckered hole, then quickly glanced at the other members, both encouraging her, one with a wide grin and excited nod, the other with a doubtful shrug, hand pointing to Ryujin's expectant face.

Exactly as requested, Chaeryeong was already wearing a strap-on, and after an audible sigh, she thrust forward slowly, shoving the same six-inch dildo from that day with Seungdae.

"Fuck!" Ryujin grunted, feeling her ass burn slightly at every inch of silicone entering her rectum. Her grunt, however, was not from pain, but lack thereof. She was hoping to replicate the same feeling she regretted causing on Seungdae; however, her own experience with the members, particularly Yeji and Yuna, had made the six-inch dildo entering her butthole bearable, even dry.

"You okay?" Lia whispered, caressing Ryujin's hair while she nodded, showing her frustration. Reluctantly, they leered at Chaeryeong, nodding one last time, prompting her to hold Ryujin's thighs, one on each arm, and ram her ass, smirking at the instant reaction from her elder.

The burning increased due to the lack of lubricant and the friction, causing Ryujin to grip Lia's hand as she endured the punishment of her own making; one that soon disappeared thanks to her body's memory, adapting quickly to the rough fucking. "This won't do," she murmured, looking desperately at Jisu.

Understanding what she needed, Lia kissed her friend gently until she felt her moans coming out. No words, just a complicit stare, and she stood up, ensuring Yuna would have a good view to describe everything to Yeji.

With Ryujin's moans slowly filling the room, Jisu playfully slapped Ryujin's pussy before spreading her folds and shoving two fingers into her cunt, triggering her first whimper, one that she could not contain despite her best efforts.

Ryujin let herself go, staring at Yuna and Yeji while her moans soared freely, prompting Yuna to finger herself, mirroring Lia's tempo, describing the scene to Yeji, who could only bite her own lip as her arousal grew.

'Not yet, unnie,' Ryujin thought, feeling Jisu's fingers hit her G-spot, whilst her free hand slid towards her clit.

This time, neither stopped. They kept fucking her and rubbing her sensitive bean until Ryujin came, releasing a weak stream of squirt on herself as her legs trembled in Chaeryeong's arms, fingers and toes stretching and contracting erratically until Ryujin regained a bit of self-control.

No resting time for her.

Lia quickly changed places with Yuna, shoving her drenched fingers into Yeji's mouth, appeasing her desperation with the taste of Ryujin's juices.

Meanwhile, the younger members hoisted Ryujin from the tantra chair, only to lock her to a cushioned pillory, assembled from the bed's frame, with a chain running through the roof. Chaeryeong spanked Ryujin's ass before catching up with Lia to tease Yeji's weak spots. Yuna, however, sucked the spherical end of the hook attached to the chain, coating it with her saliva before shoving it up her beloved unnie's ass, forcing her to keep her hips up despite her lack of strength in her legs.

"Shin Yuna!" Ryujin whined, rubbing her knees together with her ankles pointing outward.

"Too much?" Yuna whispered with genuine concern, holding her face lovingly, making Ryujin chuckle.

"No," she panted. "What did I tell you?"

"To do whatever I want with you?" The maknae pouted, doubtful, staring into her eyes.

"Make me regret telling you that," Ryujin replied with a wicked grin, lips trembling the same way they did before they kissed.

"I'll pretend to be sorry," Yuna smiled widely after their tender kiss, jumping off the bed and spanking Ryujin's buttocks so hard her own hand burned. She stopped to admire her playground, biting her lips as the imprint of her palm came to life.

Yes, Yuna had fucked Ryujin hard in private, with and without a strap on, but Ryujin always had clear limits with her, inverting the roles whenever the line was crossed. Not knowing when the opportunity would present again, if that were even a possibility, Yuna meditated on her next move, loving the way her beloved friend wiggled her ass impatiently, showing her butthole stretching vertically thanks to the metal hook.

The maknae kissed Ryujin's behind right before she lashed her ass repeatedly with a soft leather whip with nine braided tails, taking a couple of seconds between her strikes to appreciate Ryujin's whimpers and the way her legs twisted at the sudden sting. Always attentive to the established safe words and signs, Yuna continued, ensuring the tips landed on her buttcheeks, sometimes aiming at her cunt.

Ryujin withstood it all, whimpering, hissing, and cursing louder at every impact, unaware if every hit burned more because of Yuna's increasing force or because of how sensitive her skin got. While her legs had stopped shaking because of her orgasm, making the hook in her ass slightly more comfortable, her hips shuddered erratically after every strike, bringing a mixture of shame and satisfaction to her mind.

"I am actually impressed," Chaeryeong whispered from the X-cross.

"I don't think I've ever seen an ass so red," Lia chuckled.

"At least let me see," Yeji whined before yelping at the precise lashing of her pussy. "SHIN YUNA!" Yeji yelled after a muted cry, receiving another hit, so sudden and loud it startled the other members.

"Would you prefer me to ignore you?" The maknae scoffed, taking a wooden paddle covered in thick leather to spank Yeji's slit with it.

The leader grimaced at the pain, but swallowed her words and spread her legs, offering her cunt to her without saying anything.

"That's what I thought." Yuna spanked her pussy again, giggling before licking the line of juices that stuck to the paddle. She turned back towards Ryuijn, making her jump with a gentle touch on her buttcheek.

Ryujin felt Yuna's hands run through her hips before they pressed her fingers twice on her flesh; the same gesture she used on the maknae to ask without words if it was okay to continue when the roles were reversed. Surprising herself and Yuna, Ryujin nodded quickly, arching her back to raise her ass, unleashing a series of hard spanks with the paddle that slowly approached her pussy until one hit landed flat on her vulva.

Yuna left the paddle firmly pressed on Ryujin's cunt, loving the way she trembled while she approached her locked head in the pillory. "Too much?" She pondered, slowly removing the object, watching Ryujin hesitate to shake her head. One more slap, just as precise. "It's really going to hurt later," she warned her, giving her two seconds before another strike.

Her fist clenched tightly. "I've given you worse, and you're fine," Ryujin sneered, holding a yelp after an even harder spank.

Yuna took a moment to see the paddle, drenched in her elder's nectar. Even if her own sadistic side wanted to continue, considering that the next part of her punishment could be too much, she stopped. "Unnie, next time we're alone, can I use the strap on you after you use it on me?" Yuna asked, whispering in Ryujin's ear.

"You really want to fuck me hard, don't you?" She giggled quietly, feeling Yuna's hands run through her bare torso and her pussy, making her aware of how wet her folds were. "Make me cum, and you can fuck me now," Ryujin murmured, trying to see Yuna's eyes.

A quick peck on the top of her head, and the maknae jumped to kneel behind Ryujin's bright red ass. Carefully, Yuna helped her elder raise her hips and removed the metal hook, sucking the ball that was inside Ryujin's butt before digging her nails to spread her asscheeks. Yuna scanned her dripping cunt while pink lines formed where her nails passed. She leaned to catch the strands of nectar before they fell to the floor. Gently, Yuna licked Ryujin's slit, and then devoured her puckered hole, reaching for her friend's nipples.

While Ryujin had never doubted Yuna's hunger or skills, she always found it amusing how every part of the maknae's body was made for sex. From head to toe, Yuna had worked on her whole existence to please others, and, of course, herself. Her mouth, however, excelled in every aspect. Dick, cunt, or ass, no matter what she had in front of her, Yuna would eat it, finding the person's weak points and pushing them to make them explode whenever she wanted. The fact that Ryujin was moaning loudly, relaxing her anal walls unconsciously but had not cum yet, only meant Yuna was enjoying her meal.

"Unnie, when was the last time Yuna ate your butt?" Chaeryeong asked Yeji, fingers caressing the leader's asshole.

"T-two months?" she replied, arching her back in an attempt to allow access to her friend's curious fingers.

"Really?" Lia scoffed. "She ate mine yesterday. Although definitely not like she's eating Ryujin's," she scoffed, smiling at her pale friend.

"Would you like it?" Chaeryeong smiled, removing her finger from Yeji's rectum and licking it clean. Jisu, perplexed, didn't say anything, but accepted her hand. "We'll be right back."

"What? Don't leave me like this…"

While Yeji continued whining, Chaeryeong took Lia to the bed and placed a pillow directly under Ryujin's face.

Jisu sighed but followed along, fixing the pillow until her lips reached Ryujin's needy mouth, pulling her for a kiss as she raised her legs so Chaeryeong could dive into her groin. When she did, Lia released a moan into Ryujin's lips.

Yeji gave up, but her frustration and lust kept growing. Unable to see anything, she heard it all. Yuna's heavy breathing and occasional grunting while her skillful tongue ventured inside Ryujin's delicious asshole; Ryujin's agitated moans, muffled in Lia's lips while their lips smacked with each other. She noticed Jisu's whimpers change in intensity at the same time her ears caught the sloshing, surely coming from Chaeryeong, fingering Lia's pussy.

Yuna noticed Ryujin's response to Lia's fierce kiss, and she acted accordingly. Taking a last tour through her friend's wrinkled hole, she took a moment to admire her creation and imagine how damaged Ryujin's behind would look the following day.

The maknae fixed Ryujin's position, arching her back just a little more to have better access to her fat cunt. She didn't rush. The first deep lick at Ryujin's petals made her hips shudder, bringing audible joy to Yuna, who, despite having an immense thirst for her friend, savoured every crease of her folds. At the same time, she slowly fingered Ryujin's ass, expertly avoiding any damage with her nails despite how quickly and deeply her digits went inside of her friend.

Ryujin melted, feeling Lia's fingers intertwine with her own while their lips demanded more of each other, focusing all her conscious strength on her hips and legs. Not only was Yuna building a powerful orgasm for Ryujin, but she was edging her until her mind clouded in pleasure so intensely she barely registered Jisu's reaction when Chaeryeong's tongue and fingers pushed her to her climax.

What Ryujin noticed was the maknae's sudden stop.

Yuna sucked her fingers, coated in Ryujin's bitter flavor, leaving them as clean as she could before swiftly shoving them back into her elder's pussy. Before Ryujin could say anything, Yuna locked her clit in her lips and fingered Ryujin so precisely that her legs gave up.

To Chaeryeong's surprise, Yuna held Ryujin's weight with her left arm, allowing the motions of her mouth and digits to continue, gifting Ryujin an orgasm so good that her cunt sprayed Yuna's face over and over again.

Chaeryeong witnessed the bliss on Ryujin's face until her friend's moans returned, in a tone so sweet and dreamlike that she found it utterly adorable.

"Are you ready for the last part?" Lia asked, holding Ryujin's hair away from their faces to see her whiskers showing. Ryujin took a moment to reply, during which Yuna walked to Yeji, aggressively taking her face to kiss her, feeding her some of Ryujin's nectar, taking the leader's lust through the roof.

"I d-didn't get spa-spanked and lashed that h-hard… For you three to s-stop now," Ryujin grinned, trying her best to level herself to avoid choking on the pillory.

Having heard that, Chaeryeong took the newly arrived surprise from a drawer and went to Yuna, slapping her ass and nodding at her. While the maknae went with Ryujin to prepare her, wiping her pussy and butt dry, not caring for her hypersensitivity of the moment, Chaeryeong stood face to face with Yeji, noticing the puddle of juices her cunt had formed after dripping untouched for so long.

"Now you want me to fuck you?" Yeji huffed, lips showing her anger, cheeks flushed in arousal.

Chaeryeong chuckled, adjusting the straps around Yeji's waist. "We said Ryujin unnie would be the center of attention, don't you remember?" the pale woman replied, confusing the leader after adding a second layer to her groin.

"And you haven't played with her yet," Lia said with a shy smile, removing the blindfold from Yeji's eyes, winking at her as she stepped away so she could see Ryujin's red ass, held in place by Yuna's hands.

Shocked by the visuals, particularly the sticker that kept her friend's pussy shut, Yeji was out of words for a moment, letting the members release her from the shackles of the X-cross. Then, she glanced down at her own body, noticing the eight-inch-long dildo attached to the strap-on Chaeryeong had put on her. "You're kidding," Yeji growled, feeling the chastity belt under the strap.

"Sorry, love. You didn't leave us any other way to punish you," Jisu smiled warmly at her.

"Come on, unnie!" Yuna grinned, slapping Ryujin's butt, prompting her hips to tremble. "You know how good she'll feel."

Yeji scoffed with fire in her eyes. "Lube her up," she ordered, breathing loudly.

"No debt goes unpaid," Chaeryeong whispered in the leader's ear. "You should know that better than most."

"You'll fuck her dry. I already loosened her a bit," Yuna chuckled, easily shoving three fingers in Ryujin's ass, pulling her hips upwards to keep her groin fully displayed.

"You'll pay for this, Shin Yuna," Yeji declared, shaking her head and lining up the dildo with Ryujin's butthole.

"Oh, you can do anything you want to me to close this cycle of debts," the tall girl grinned, taking her fingers out of Ryujin and savoring them as the leader pressed the dildo's tip against her friend's small gape. "I'll be on my best behaviour for you until next week," Yuna whispered mischievously, slapping Yeji's ass so hard she lost her balance, causing, perhaps, the closest equivalent to what Ryujin made Seungdae go through.

Yeji had understood the true meaning of Yuna's words. The mere thought of 'one week in chastity' proved enough to mute her senses for a second, which served to make her fall forward with the maknae's spank, shoving half of the fake phallus into Ryujin's rectum.

The whole dungeon went quiet until Ryujin released her sharp grunt five seconds later. Her hips trembled involuntarily; her rim burned like hell. Even if the dildo was just halfway in, the girth was something she was not used to, much less without a slow increase in diameter, much less without lubricant. Despite that, the sensitivity from her previous orgasm tainted the pain with enough pleasure for her to find a sick enjoyment in her punishment.

To everyone's surprise, Ryujin pushed herself up, putting so much effort into her core that she managed to lift Yeji, taking another dry inch of the toy while Yeji helped her stand. "Do it," Ryujin huffed, prompting Yeji to lean forward, careful not to add any more weight onto her, signaling the worried members to stop.

"You really want it?" Yeji whispered, tugging Ryujin's hair as she leaned into her ear.

"Y-yes," she replied honestly, drowned in Yeji's lust, attentive to Yeji's tone, grip, and hand hugging her chest.

"This whole thing was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted, failing to raise her hips a bit more.

Yeji giggled as quietly as she could. "Have I tell you I love you?" She purred, stretching to kiss Ryujin's cheek and bite her earlobe, pushing another inch into her.

The guttural gasp took Ryujin's chuckle out of her lips. "T-tell me that when you're n-not drunk in lust, and I may b-believe it."

"You better," Yeji murmured, biting her ear, pulling slightly out as she stood up, spreading Ryujin's buttcheeks. She shook her head, sticking her tongue out while she stared at her partner's scratched rimhole tightly hugging the toy's girth.

"Fuck her good, and we'll free you after Lia comes back," Chaeryeong giggled, giving the blonde woman a peck on the cheek, causing her to turn to see Jisu nodding with the keys.

The following thrust went in so fast, hard, and deep that Ryujin released a gasp so sharp it took away all her breath, leaving her mute while her ass took all eight inches inside her. As expected, Yeji released her frustration on her, ramming her butt, making their flesh clap, fucking Ryujin's consciousness out of her.

The scene impressed the other members, especially Chaeryeong, who was too stunned to speak. Lia, however, noticed Yeji's toes gripping the slippery floor and saw a potential accident. With Yuna's help, she unmounted the pillory, raising the piece of furniture that kept Ryujin in place so quickly that Yeji pushed her into the bed, using her friends' assistance to continue fucking her relentlessly until both were lying on their right side.

"We lost them," Jisu declared.

"You think she'll fuck me like that on Monday?" Yuna smirked excitedly, watching Yeji hold Ryujin's leg upward, giving them and the cameras in the room a clear view of the act.

"Will Ryujin unnie be okay?" Chaeryeong asked.

"Tonight, yeah. Tomorrow…" Lia shook her head with a subtle smile.

Ryujin had already gone well past her pain. The way Yeji rammed her ass, hugging her so tightly with her free arm, hitting her womb from the right angle, and listening to her heavy breathing hit all the right buttons for her consciousness to drift away slowly.

What was left was, for the other members, an impressively submissive side of Ryujin they had never seen. Her moans, whimpers, and grunts came so freely they varied from deep to sharp depending on the leader's will. Her hips rocked back and forth, desperately trying to take the whole dildo into her guts as fast and hard as possible. And her face reflected the bliss that overflowed her system until the pleasure in her body made her shiver.

Yeji had managed to fuck an orgasm out of Ryujin from blowing her ass, just like Ryujin had blown hers many times before; a personal goal of hers. However, right before she exploded, she felt her partner's body freeze and contract for a second, followed by a river of fluids running through their legs, finally adding that missing lubricant to the dildo.

"Wha…" Ryujin mouthed in a gasp, still too far gone in the gates of her stolen climax to understand what Yuna said as she held the sticker freshly ripped from her pussy. She glimpsed the strap-on and stared at the maknae's big eyes and lips moving. Ryujin nodded, accepting the fate she had forged for herself.

For a moment, she was unaware of where her body was and what her limbs were doing; she only saw a pale hand pushing her to her left, followed by the warmth of Yeji's skin in her back, and a sudden stretch, splitting her core in half as Yuna approached her face.

A muted whimper exited her lips while her insides reshaped, bringing back her lost orgasm in full by the time Yuna's lips met Ryujin's.

Drowning in her own pleasure, Ryujin let herself lie flat over Yeji, who held her waist firmly in place. Then, Yuna's lips drifted to the left of her neck the same way Yeji did, attacking Ryujin from both sides while they both fucked her without giving her rest, prolonging her climax so much she did not comprehend when the new orgasm began.

"Hm?" Yuna continued pounding Ryujin's cunt, turning at the sensation of someone pulling her plug out of her butthole, finding Chaeryeong, already equipped with her own strap-on, one that matched the girth of her toy. "You read my mind," she grinned, changing her angle to present her gaping hole to her friend.

"The usual?" Chaeryeong asked, pulling her red hair from the roots, shoving the toy inside of her, instantly ramming her ass.

Lia contemplated the mayhem in front of her: Yeji, holding the whole act on top of her, showing her desperation through her panted grunts, still trying to rock her hips; Ryujin, toes spread wide, holes probably as sensitive as an open nerve, too far gone to know how hard she was pulling the maknae's nipples just to continue kissing her; Yuna, rejoicing in the bits of pain while she made out with her beloved friend, swirling their tongues inside each other's mouths while she kept fucking Ryujin so hard the wet stain in the sheets grew by the second; and Chaeryeong, syncing her thrust with Yuna's to give her that extra push against Ryujin's insides, bringing a whisper of a grunt out of her elder, giggling as she kept the whole structure from falling.

"Can't be helped…" Jisu told herself with a smirk, trying to focus on her upcoming free days, venturing onto the bed to pull Yeji's head just enough to meet her eyes, knowing the effect she had on the leader.

Her warm smile disarmed Yeji's furious glare, mumbling in desperation before her right hand reached for Lia's pussy, shoving two fingers inside of her. Jisu yelped and laughed, leaning closer. They ogled each other's lips, and Lia kissed her, turning into the vessel of Yeji's lust, impressed by how good her fingers felt inside her slick walls.

Chaeryeong's position allowed her to see the end of it. Lia had exploded in Yeji's hand, taking her face to calm her down through soft, tender kisses as she swayed her fat pussy on the leader's palm. Yuna had cummed from having her own asshole destroyed while she drilled Ryujin's cunt, resulting in a powerful squirt and thrusts so hard that Ryujin's legs shut around the maknae's torso.

Slowly, and not caring for the torturous waves of pleasure it represented, she pulled Yuna's hair again after untangling Ryujin's legs from her. "Aftercare," she whispered, getting a sweet hum from Yuna, then removing the dildo from her butt, taking the liberty of shoving four fingers inside of her, moving them freely. "You're truly something else," Chaeryeong scoffed, shutting her gape with the same plug Yuna had arrived with.

"I worked hard for it." The maknae blinked flirtily before withdrawing her own strap from Ryujin's pussy just as slowly as she pulled her friend's stiffened fingers from her nipples, stretching them until they slipped out of Ryujin's digits. Yuna bit her lips, admiring her elder's drenched folds pulsating and gaping while her rim still hugged the large dildo inside of it. Right when she leaned in to eat that cunt, Chaeryeong yanked her hair to stop her.

"Seriously?" She scoffed with a wide smile.

"It's not like she'll be mad about it," the maknae pouted as they took off their straps.

"Yeji. She needs to breathe, too," Chaeryeong replied.

Right there, Ryujin had no clear thoughts. The only thing she was fairly aware of was that her pussy was empty. The hands that held her made her shudder, bringing strong waves of electricity that expanded throughout her whole body, taking away any possible consciousness she could have regained. Soon, her butthole was also empty, gaping as she rested in a cold area of the mattress.

"Drip…"

"Let me. My treat," Ryujin heard Lia say before Yuna giggled.

"Are you dripping too much?" The maknae asked softly, caressing her hair and cupping her cheek, enough for another spasm to run through her body.

Ryujin nodded weakly, eyes barely focusing on Yuna's before a high-pitched cry came out of her lungs and her legs shut tightly around Lia's head. She tried to let her go, but she had no strength left in her.

"It's okay." Yuna grabbed her by the chin. "We'll kiss you until you can talk again."

With Lia and Yuna taking care of Ryujin, Chaeryeong made eye contact with Yeji. "Still got fuel in you?"

"What do you think?" Yeji scoffed, tilting her head.

"I haven't cum yet," Chaeryeong smirked, lying on the tantra chair and spreading her legs.

Ryujin was the first one to fall asleep, unaware of what the other members did to exhaust Yeji's energy until she also dozed off in Lia's arms. Yuna and Chaeryeong, however, took care of Yeji's and Lia's pets, even taking the chance to take a proper shower together before sleeping on the leader's bed.

A soft grunt woke up Yeji, making her conscious enough to feel the chastity belt she still had. The same grunt again, and she recognized Ryujin trying to move, prompting her to roll towards her, careful not to wake Lia up.

"That bad?" She whispered.

Ryujin sighed in defeat and nodded. "Did it ever hurt this bad for you?" She asked softly.

Yeji could not help but smile, wiggling her way to hug her. "Doubt it. They always lubed me up pretty well," she explained quietly. "Do you feel better at least?" She pondered, tapping on Ryujin's heart.

"I think so. I'm sure this hurts way more than what we made him go through."

"He didn't cum as hard as you," Yeji grinned, reaching for her cheek to give her a peck. "Or as long." Another peck. "Or as many times."

"You were not even conscious by then." Ryujin rolled her eyes before staring at Yeji's face, melting at her gentle smile. "How did you know?"

Yeji grinned widely and got even closer to kiss her. "Jisu would never think of anything like this. Chaery may start the fire, but she would have stopped at the spanking. Yuna would never think of hurting you unless you tell her first." Another tender kiss. "Unless Mr. Hwang and his pretty, veiny cock are behind this, it's only you."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Hmmm…" Yeji pursed her lips, playfully cuddling with Ryujin. "Just a bit. You got me all worked up, and you won't finish the job until Monday," she murmured, running her slim fingers through her partner's hair.

"You haven't asked if I'm free after practice," Ryujin purred with a smirk, receiving a confident scoff from Yeji as a response. "Will you take it out on me?" she pondered, fear showing through her voice.

Yeji huffed, shaking her head. "Do you really think I could?" she asked, offended, in her usual volume, quickly pursing her lips, afraid she might have woken Lia up. "I could never!" she murmured. "Plus, Yuna is already expecting me to go rough with her. I'll pretend to be mad at them until they take this off of me," she added, yawning and snuggling her face on Ryujin's neck, kissing it tenderly.

"Thank you for understanding," she exhaled, closing her eyes.

"It's only because I love you," Yeji whispered sweetly in her ear before pretending to be asleep.

Chills ran through Ryujin's body. She took a moment to digest her words, repeating them in her mind as she felt her breath on her neck. "What?" She uttered, half-sitting quickly in an attempt to see as much of Yeji as she could.

"You want to hear it so badly your ass doesn't hurt anymore?" Yeji smiled kindly, then opened her eyes and stared directly into Ryujin's. "I love you."

"I-I told you not to say it if you were lusting…"

"I am not," she replied sweetly and calmly. "Come, I'm sure it hurts to sit like that," Yeji helped her lie down on the mattress, taking her place in Ryujin's neck. "I just wanted you to know." She kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly. "You don't have to say it back if you're not ready."

Astonished and feeling her heart pounding loudly with Yeji's hand right over it, Ryujin tried to say it back, but the words couldn't come out. Flustered, she could not help but smile. "W-want to spend the weekend together?" She managed to mumble so quickly and quietly that she doubted if she actually did.

"Mhmm. That'd be perfect." Yeji gave her another peck on the cheek, then pulled her head for one last kiss on her lips. "Try to sleep. You still have to dance tomorrow," she giggled quietly.

Author's notes: I know some of you are expecting Seungdae to have his turn, but if that's going to happen, I don't want any guilt to be involved in the game. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this little girlbang against Ryujin. Little extra: the idea was born after watching this clip, lol.

Luckily for you, those other ways Tzuyu paid you were usually a blowjob. If you were lucky, she’d let you grope her breasts or her ass, but that only happened when the assignment was especially difficult. Her usual currency was blowjobs, and things had never gone any further. You'd never seen her naked or anything like that; even when you grabbed her ass, you did it over her clothes.

Not that you were going to complain about her paying you that way. Your wallet appreciated the extra cash, but when exams were approaching, a good blowjob helped you release tension and clear your mind. It just so happened that Tzuyu gave the best blowjobs on campus, or so the rumors said. Unfortunately, you didn't have a large enough database to verify for yourself if that was true or not, but your own experience told you it was.

You and she were on different popularity rungs. You weren't an outcast, but you were definitely among the nerds, and that affected your social life. Plus, you were almost always studying, which further limited your interactions with other students, but you still managed to sleep with someone every now and then.

On the other hand, Tzuyu was several rungs above you on the social ladder. She was beautiful, charming, kind, lovely, a good person, beautiful, and many other positive qualities; which made her a truly popular student. Someone you wouldn't have a chance of sleeping with in a million years. But fate had it that she was your classmate, which ultimately led to this strange arrangement you two had.

You had most of your classes together, so it wasn't that unusual to see you talking occasionally. You were both good students, so no one was surprised if you shared notes or something like that, but beyond that, your illicit encounters had to go unnoticed by everyone else.

"Okay, but where?" Tzuyu asked, getting a little impatient.

"In my dorm, of course." As expected, she looked indignant at your answer.

"I'm not going into your dorm. If someone see us, they'll think we're up to no good."

"Unless you want to give me a blowjob in the library... we don't have anywhere else to go." It was always the same with her. Every time you two agreed that Tzuyu would give you a blowjob, she'd protest about having to do it in your dorm, but honestly, it was the best place you had available. "Oh, they say that if you go behind the science building at certain times, you can hear strange noises. Maybe you want to go there and check it out."

"Idiot." Tzuyu shoved your shoulder in exasperation. "Let's go to your dorm." She finally agreed. She knew it was the best option, too, because she wasn't going to risk someone discovering her on her knees behind a building with your cock in her mouth.

"Do you want to hold hands while we walk?" The question threw you off, but you weren't going to miss an opportunity like that, so... Bam! Tzuyu slapped your hand away when you tried to touch hers. "Honestly, I don't know how someone as intelligent as you doesn't understand sarcasm." Instead of taking your hand, she picked up the books she had left on the table and handed them to you. "Be helpful and take my books." With that, she left without another word.

Of course, Tzuyu knew the way to your dorm; she'd been there a few times already. This allowed her to walk a few steps ahead of you, trying to disguise the fact that you were walking together. You didn't mind because it gave you the freedom to stare at her ass, something no one could judge you for since everyone knew Tzuyu's ass was perfect.

Perhaps someone in the physics department should study the circumference of Tzuyu's ass; its roundness was perfect in many ways. It was large and might look a little chubby, but the almost perfect shape of her buttocks gave it an appearance of immaculate perfection. Even when small cellulite marks appeared when she decided to wear really short shorts, none of that could detract from the overall look of her rear. Simply put, Tzuyu's ass was almost supernaturally perfect.

Even with her perfect ass and her fleshy thighs and long legs, no one would dare say that Tzuyu's best feature wasn't her face. Seeing her was like being in the presence of an angel, at least without the part about the thousands of eyes, a being from another dimension. She was someone who didn't belong in this world full of people not as beautiful as her. Even though her ears were quite large, it only made her look cuter and gave her an aura of innocence, which her eyes complemented with a soft and kind gaze. And then there was her smile, oh, Tzuyu's smile could brighten anyone's day no matter how bad things were.

But of course, you weren't fooled by that perfect face and hypnotic laugh; you knew her other side, the one that not everyone got to see. Because the truth was that Tzuyu lost that kind look and angelic expression when she had a cock in her mouth. It just so happened that she'd had yours quite a few times, so in this case, your information was accurate.

You spent the entire walk to your dorm blatantly staring at Tzuyu's ass, but the way she strutted, swaying her hips, made it clear she knew you were doing it. It was like a way of teasing you because you both knew you'd never get to taste her ass, beyond a few simple grabs over her clothes.

Luckily for both of you, your roommate had dropped out of university, so until you were assigned a new roommate, you had the place to yourself. It wasn't very spacious, but at least it gave you and Tzuyu a place where no one would see what you were up to.

"Is your dick clean?" she asked casually once you'd closed the dorm door behind you.

The question made you roll your eyes. "Yeeesss. I showered just a few hours ago."

"Wash it up again anyway. I'm not going to touch your dick if it's dirty and smelly."

"Tzuyu… Ugh, okay." You practically threw her books onto the empty bed and strode off to the bathroom. When you came back out, she'd already made herself comfortable on your bed, sitting on the edge with an expression as if she were afraid of sitting on something dirty or catching some disease.

"The sheets are clean," you said before she could ask the question you knew she was going to ask. "Just… forget it." Instead of arguing with her, the best thing you could do was stand in front of Tzuyu and offer her your cock so she could do what she'd come here to do.

Since she'd made you wash your cock, you decided there was no point in putting it away again, so you stood in front of her with your boxers around your mid-thighs and your pants bunched up around your feet.

Tzuyu looked at you with an expression of indifference and surprise at you daring to put your cock so close to her face, but years of doing the same thing had taught you that the best thing to do with her was to be direct. Even if that sometimes earned you one of her murderous glares.

"Do I have to make it hard for you?"

"Come on, don't you expect me to do all the work?" You swayed your hips, making your cock swing from side to side to signal her to hurry up. "My cock isn't going to suck itself."

"Goooood." Tzuyu drew out the word, rolling her eyes in exasperation, as if you couldn't see her. But she didn't really care; that attitude was part of her charm, and she knew it.

At first, she only grabbed your cock with three fingers. Actually, she only used the fingertips to touch your member and start masturbating you as if she were handling a dirty object or taking something out of the trash, but as you got harder, the contact increased. By the time your cock was fully erect, Tzuyu had already wrapped her hand around it and was giving you a proper handjob, all the while looking at anything but your cock.

"Doesn't it disgust you to be so perverted?" she asked out of the blue, but when you saw where she was looking, you immediately understood why she was asking.

"No, they're vintage." She was looking at the porn magazines on your nightstand. "That magazine isn't even in print anymore. I got them at a garage sale last week."

"But do you really have to leave them there in plain sight?" The question seemed like a distraction from what she was doing, as if she didn't want to think about the way she was slowly moving her hand to stroke the length of your cock.

"Well. I don't have a roommate right now, so it doesn't matter. You're the only person who comes here. Want to see them?" You asked, reaching for one.

"Ewww, no!" She made a face of disgust at your suggestion, which struck you as ridiculous given the context. She had no problem giving you a handjob and a blowjob to pay you for doing her homework, but flipping through an old porn magazine was too much. You couldn't help but laugh at the situation.

Tzuyu's response to your laughter was to squeeze your member near the base and twist her hand while stretching the skin of your cock as far as it would go. A soft moan quickly replaced your laughter. "Be careful," you said, closing your eyes. "If you don't want me to cum on your face, be careful what you do."

"Don't even think about it. I'll kill you if you ruin my makeup or get it in my hair." That was the problem with Tzuyu. She could be doing something truly obscene, but she'd still try to act like her actions were the most normal thing in the world, all while treating you like a total pervert. A shame, because in your opinion, the only thing that could enhance Tzuyu's beauty was having that perfect face covered in thick strands of warm, freshly squeezed semen.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from telling her that her face was perfect for receiving a load. You knew that if you let those words out, she'd get angry. Although, in truth, she looked beautiful when she was angry. "But Chuwi…" You let the nickname hang in the air to test her reaction, because of course you weren't on the select list of people who could call her that. When it was clear that, at least for the moment, she wasn't bothered by your boldness, you continued. "You'd look beautiful with a little semen on your face." You didn't even get a chance to let out the mocking giggle you had prepared because she slapped you on the tip of your member, eliciting a groan instead.

In the end, it was Tzuyu who ended up letting out an amused, somewhat wicked, giggle at your reaction. "I already told you no." Tzuyu's hand traced the length of your member again. "Semen is hard to get out of hair, and for God's sake, I'm not taking a shower in this shithole."

You decided to overlook the fact that she was more worried about her hair and makeup, or about having to shower in your bathroom, than about you covering her face in semen. If you had suggested something like that last semester, it might have meant your death. You really were never going to understand Tzuyu.

To settle any argument about whether or not you could cum on her face, Tzuyu stretched out her tongue and placed the head of your penis against it. The contact of her tongue against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, making you shudder. This didn't go unnoticed by her, and she smiled at your reaction.

Tzuyu knew she had you in her hands, both figuratively and literally. While one hand explored your dick, the other caressed your balls. Her fingers gently traced your skin, eliciting sighs and small shivers. Tzuyu knew exactly what she was doing; somehow, she was an expert at playing with dicks.

Looking directly into your eyes, Tzuyu wrapped her lips around your head. Only the tip of your member was in her mouth, but you could already feel its warmth. Her tongue playfully circled your member until it moved to explore the opening of your urethra. Her cheeks were cupped the whole time because she never stopped sucking while doing all of this.

Meanwhile, the caresses on your balls continued. Tzuyu's fingers massaged your scrotum, maximizing the pleasure her mouth was giving you. She had done so little and she already had you on the verge of madness; she had only taken a small part of your member in her mouth and you were already clenching your buttocks to avoid cuming. No, you couldn't come so quickly. Not because you were embarrassed, with Tzuyu anyone would understand, but because you wanted to savor the moment as much as possible. Tzuyu's oral skills were something you didn't find very often.

As if reading your thoughts, Tzuyu slid her lips along your shaft, swallowing more and more of your flesh until a large portion was inside her mouth. Almost comically, her cheek warped under the pressure of your cock, clearly revealing a bulge inside her mouth.

Your cock bumped against the inside of her cheek a couple more times, creating that obscene bulge, before she changed the way she was sucking you. Her hand rested on your thigh while the other caressed the base of your member, twisting your skin and sending incredible sensations throughout your body. Now that Tzuyu was sucking you properly, moving her head back and forth, all you could do was enjoy her actions. Her mouth engulfed more and more of your anatomy without her showing any signs of wanting to stop.

You couldn't be an active participant in this. You knew that if you moved your hips or tried to hold Tzuyu's head, she'd scold you. That would probably be the end of the deal, and you'd still have to help her with her homework anyway. It was clear Tzuyu was giving you a blowjob, but she was treating you like little more than a toy. You were just a means to get what she wanted.

The sound of gagging pulled you from your thoughts, gagging that could only be Tzuyu's. She was forcing your cock into her mouth, actually bringing her face as close to your body as she could, willingly gagging on your member. The wet warmth of her throat enveloped your head, and you understood how deep inside her you were. That sensation set your imagination running wild, making you wonder if her pussy was just as tight and wet. Something you were sure you'd never find out for yourself.

Tzuyu pulled her face away from your body until only the tip remained in her mouth, then she swallowed as much of your member as she could. She moved closer and closer to you, each movement of her head plunging you deeper and deeper into her throat. Her warmth enveloped you deliciously as you watched your cock disappear inside her.

For the final few centimeters, Tzuyu gripped your ass with both hands and simply forced what remained of your cock into her throat. Her breath tickled you as her nose pressed against your abdomen. Tzuyu had finally managed to swallow your entire cock, an admirable feat given its size.

When she pulled away and let your cock fall from her mouth, she did so accompanied by wet, obscene sounds. Along with your member, a gush of saliva spurted out, dripping down her chin, some of it landing on the floor. Making bubbles with her breath, Tzuyu quickly spread her saliva all over your member. Her hands again traced its length as she panted heavily.

Her lips curved into an unavoidable smile; there was a joy on her face that she couldn't hide. Despite everything she said, Tzuyu couldn't prevent you from noticing how much she enjoyed sucking your cock. Maybe not your cock specifically, but it was obvious how much she liked having a piece of meat obstructing her throat.

Soon her breathing returned to some semblance of normality, and Tzuyu swallowed your member again. This time, she went as deep as she could in one go; her throat had become accustomed to the abuse, so swallowing the remaining few centimeters was effortless. Now, seeking a steady rhythm, Tzuyu began to move her head, more like fucking her own throat with your member than sucking your cock. Almost as if you were just a toy to her, which, in reality you were.

Tzuyu's ability to give a blowjob was incredible. She made you think about how much practice she really had, whether she had a toy at home that she had fun with every day or there were simply other chosen ones who got to feel her throat more often than you. It was probably the second option because Tzuyu could have whoever she wanted, right now she had your cock deep in her mouth just because she needed you for something, otherwise in your place she would find a boy more handsome and popular than you.

No one in his place would have complained about this treatment. A blowjob from someone as beautiful and skilled as Tzuyu was worth so much more than what she paid you to do her homework, it almost felt like a scam. You didn't even need the money, so feeling her throat squeeze your member was more like a gift than payment. No one would have preferred money over having Tzuyu's nose pressed against your abdomen while she choked on your cock.

In those displays of skill that always fascinated you, Tzuyu would go from having your cock deep in her throat to sucking sloppily. She would let her saliva run freely and drip from your member, she would press your head against the inside of her cheek forming that obscene bulge, she would move her head quickly, or she would cup her cheeks. You felt in heaven and needed nothing more in the world than Tzuyu's warm mouth around your throbbing cock.

In those rare moments when lack of air forced Tzuyu to leave her mouth free, she was in charge of continuing to masturbate you. Her hands never stopped pleasuring you when she was catching her breath, whether playing with your cock or your balls. Although it was clear that Tzuyu's priority was her own pleasure, she never left yours aside. She always made sure you had a good time, and boy did you enjoy those little moments with her. Locked there in your room, she didn't hold back and put on a spectacular show that showed off all her oral skills. you were sure that Tzuyu could go as far as she wanted in life just by using her mouth.

You were already getting tired of enduring the onslaught of pleasure that she provoked in you. You had your ass clenched for a while in an attempt not to cum so quickly, but you didn't want to hold on any longer. Trying to resist orgasm when Tzuyu was doing those things to your cock was downright stupid. "I-I-I'm close." you managed to sputter and make yourself heard over the wet sounds coming from your cock. Tzuyu's response was to take a deep breath to fill her lungs and then swallow your entire cock in one go. When you felt her nose press against your abdomen you simply exploded.

A torrent of warm cum shot from your cock directly into Tzuyu's throat. She didn't show any discomfort, on the contrary, her eyes shone with lust as she looked at you. Although it might also have been tears from having to hold her breath and swallow all the semen you were giving her.

With all the stress of final exams approaching you hadn't had time to cum properly so your balls were full, all that cum was there waiting to be released. Luckily for you, and perhaps Tzuyu's bad fortune, you were now giving free rein to all that you had accumulated. Which maybe was too much, maybe you should have warned her, but either way Tzuyu was well acquainted with how much cum you could produce. Only this time it was too much, causing her to miscalculate her chances of swallowing it all and something unexpected ended up happening.

Suddenly retching noises filled the room, Tzuyu was quickly running out of air and you couldn't stop cumming. In a reflex action she moved away from you a little and tried to breathe, which was worse because in an absolutely surprising way you saw how your semen shot out of Tzuyu's nostrils. As if she had a cold, your semen came out of her nose until she couldn't take it anymore and had to take your cock out of her mouth.

Panting and coughing, she spit some of your cum onto the floor and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, which she then wiped on the covers of your bed. She stood there breathing heavily with her head down and still coughing sometimes while you didn't know what to do. When she straightened up to look at you you could see that there was still a bit of cum on her nose and that the tears from running out of breath had totally ruined her makeup.

"Don't just stand there, idiot, get me something to clean myself up with." You were sure that if she hadn't been having trouble speaking, Tzuyu's tone would have been much angrier. "Forget it, idiot," she added, seeing your inaction. Tzuyu stood up and, after pushing you aside, ran the few steps to the bathroom. From the sounds you could hear, it was clear she was washing her face at the sink.

"This wouldn't have happened if you'd let me cum on your face," you said, approaching her to hand her a towel. The very same towel you'd used to dry your cock earlier.

A/N: Of course I was inspired by this moment.

The shuffle rolled over. "That's a No No" kicked in with all its brass and percussion and chants, the Moombahton beat landing heavy through her AirPods, and she let it fill the empty space.

She'd been out here too long. Her jaw ached from clenching through the fight and clenching through the replay on top of it. The chill had crept past her elbows, and her fingernails had carved defensive half-moons into the pad of her thumb.

She'd been twenty in that penthouse and she was twenty-three on this terrace, supposedly the exact same girl. The MAMA memory tasted warm and certain, unlike the wreckage of the last two hours.

Fuck Yeji and her quiet little "evolution". Fuck her sudden allergy to fun and her bullshit about needing to change, as if changing meant looking at Ryujin like she was a phase Yeji had outgrown. They built something together, the two of them, bunks to stages to every room they'd ever walked into as a unit, and Yeji was out here acting like she couldn't wait to go solo.

The kick drum agreed with her, her poor AirPods rattling their tiny guts out trying to slam a bass line built for stadium subwoofers directly into her skull. She dug the crescent deeper into her finger and stared at the dark.

The pool light was on, casting a teal glow upward through the surface that made the deck look exactly like the opening shot of the high-budget poolside porn Ryujin usually searched for on her phone at one in the morning. She looked back and suddenly Yeji was at the pool's edge, ruining the aesthetic. She had both arms wrapped around Minho from behind, her face buried so hard between his shoulder blades it looked like she was trying to hide inside him. Her fists were bunched tight in his shirt. Minho just stood there, making it easy, taking her weight with his broad back while his hands locked over her forearms. Ryujin couldn't hear the words over the distance, but she saw the tension, the ragged hitch of Yeji's shoulders as she spilled her guts directly into his spine.

Ryujin's chest went tight and hot and she pushed off the railing and went down the terrace steps before the rest of her caught up to what her legs already knew, which was that she couldn't stand there and watch that bullshit for one more second.

Move up faster faster, gettin' louder louder.

The bass dropped and her feet found the beat and before she knew it she was marching furiously down the path to her own voice.

She and Chaeryeong had recorded the brass and percussion three times because the first two weren't loud enough, and the final version turned her spine into a middle finger every time it came on. The gravel crunched under her slides in time with the kick drum and everything behind her got a little smaller with every step.

The resort path cut between stone walls and hedges that swallowed the villa lights within twenty steps. She wanted the dark and the salt air and her own group in her ears telling her she was right. Can't let you kill my vibe, that's a no no. The pre-chorus landed like a fist bump from a version of herself who still had her shit together and she took it gratefully and kept walking.

Her legs burned from the pace as her hands kept curling into fists, just to keep the option available. The air smelled like volcanic rock and sweet citrus, but she was moving too fast for the smells to stick.

Yeji's face in the living room wouldn't stop replaying. The hurt underneath was what kept catching. She could handle Yeji angry - she'd been handling Yeji angry since trainee evaluations when Yeji used to go dead-eyed and terrifyingly calm right before she snapped. She kept seeing that flash of real, unguarded pain from the moment when Ryujin said you've changed and meant it as a weapon, watching Yeji catch it as one because they both knew exactly what it was and Ryujin couldn't even pretend she'd meant something else.

She kicked a stone off the path and it cracked into the hedge.

Fuck Yeji for being hurt by something true, and fuck her for acting like growing up required a standing ovation. They'd been the same person for six years, matching each other's appetite and chaos. Ryujin remembered exactly what that appetite looked like: the two of them rotating on a music show producer in a hotel bed after Inkigayo, synchronized, high-fiving over his chest while publicly grading his thrusts. Ryujin had called them Ddaeng Ddong, a dumb duo name she'd forced on Yeji years earlier, repurposed as a mocking victory banner while Yeji rode a guy breathless. They used to devour people together.

Until some guy with nice hands and a nice dick showed up, and suddenly Yeji was wrapping herself around his back like he'd invented breathing.

And they were on the same pool deck where Ryujin had ridden Minho yesterday, demanding he eat her out with the same aggressive conquest energy she used on everyone else. But down there right now, Yeji was pressing her forehead into his spine, eyes closed, surrendering her weight.

The tenderness was going to make her throw up. This was Hwang Yeji. The same girl who once bent a guy's fingers backward until he cried because he grabbed her hair and she hadn't said he could. Now that same girl was trading in the bunks and the breathless hotel rooms and every space they'd ever owned together for a man who probably folded his socks, and currently had his hands folded protectively around Yeji's own.

What the fuck was Ryujin supposed to do with that? Clap?

Do what I want, say what I wanna.

The lyric landed and her jaw unclenched for the first time since the living room. Yeah. That was the whole point, wasn't it? She'd said what she wanted to say and she'd do it again.

You think that you know me?

She heard her own voice in her ears delivering the rap she'd laid down in a booth at JYP on a Tuesday five years ago, standing with her headphones half-off because one ear always needed to hear herself raw. She'd written the line about netizens, about comment-section psychologists who thought they knew her from a fancam. You can think what you want. I respect you, but hey you, don't ever cross that line.

She was the one who'd crossed the line tonight.

She'd stood in that living room and aimed for the thinnest crack in Yeji's concept because she'd helped build it. Six years meant she knew exactly which words would make Yeji's eyes go wet and her body brace against crying. Ryujin had deployed them on purpose, swinging with the ruthless efficiency she used in a dance break.

What kind of asshole does that to her best friend?

The synth bass was still grinding underneath the percussion but something had shifted. The beat that had been holding her upright all walk sounded off, like a speaker that got wet and was playing the right rhythm at slightly the wrong speed.

If you ever wanted me to fall, it's a pity but that's no, I'm sorry.

Lia's voice came in on the bridge, loud and clear and so sure of itself. I'm gonna keep singing, I'm gonna keep dancing, there's nothing to be scared of for me.

Ryujin almost laughed as she pushed past the last of the stone walls along the path. She was terrified. Of Yeji's quiet certainty in the living room, and of this widening space between them, as if getting louder could somehow mask the fact that her best friend was no longer standing next to her.

The brass and the drums played out together and Lia's voice faded.

The ocean rushed in to fill the quiet. The heavy thing in her chest surged up into the empty space where the beat used to be. She dug her phone from her pocket, jamming her thumb at the screen and walking too fast, trying to force the song back to the start so the quiet had nowhere to land. She needed noise.

The sudden flare of the lock screen washed out her night vision, leaving everything outside the glass pitch black. She dropped her chin, furiously swiping at the stubborn playback widget while her feet carried her blindly forward.

She clipped her shoulder hard against a low-hanging branch.

The canopy shuddered and a heavy tangerine dropped straight down, cracking against her knuckles and shocking her grip open. Her phone clattered onto the gravel, illuminating a patch of crushed shell. The tangerine rolled to a stop beside it, the rind splitting on impact and sending a sharp, acidic burst of citrus into the cold air.

"OW - FUCK."

She dropped to a crouch, shaking her hand out with a wince. Her knuckles stung and the branch was still swaying overhead like it was proud of itself.

She grabbed the tangerine first, arm pulling back on instinct to launch the fucking thing into the dark and watch something else break tonight. Her shoulder rotated into the throw before her nails broke the rind and the scent hit her full in the face, sharp and sweet and so unmistakably Jeju that her throat closed.

She knew this smell.

She knew this smell from the inside out. It was a tangerine grove two Novembers ago, juice running down her wrists and the sun on her neck while she grinned at a camera, deciding this island was her favorite place on earth. It was the passenger seat of a rental car with the Jeju mountains sliding past in the mist, and Yeji's voice asking something casual about building a house here someday.

Her arm came down.

She stayed in the gravel crouch, the tangerine bleeding orange oil into her palm. The smell filled her head with a version of herself she'd spent two years pretending she'd outgrown. Beside her, the phone screen buffered. She'd kept it on loop the whole walk down, thumb catching replay before the last brass note faded, but the tangerine had slowed her by ten seconds and shuffle slipped through the gap.

The shuffle spun the barrel again.

"Nobody Like You" kicked through her headphones in a bright, aggressively upbeat pop-rock rush. Her own voice opened the track, the three-years-ago recording of her saying yeah, uh, what? What? wielding pure brat attitude like it was an actual personality. Present-day Ryujin crouched in the dark, feeling the distance between that girl and this one.

She stood up slowly, shoving her phone in her pocket. She kept walking because the alternative was crouching in the gravel having a spiritual crisis over a piece of fruit, and she still had enough pride left to find that mortifying.

The hedges opened up, the path giving way to sand. The beach was a small, empty crescent tucked between rock outcrops. She walked straight to the waterline, letting her slides sink into the wet grit and the freezing ocean wash over her toes. She stood there gripping a crushed tangerine that smelled like the best November of her life while Yuna's voice fed through her headphones, singing about being a bad girl with standards too high for the world to reach.

They'd all been that girl once. Yuna sang it like she'd invented the concept, but Ryujin had laid the blueprint for unapologetic before Yuna even learned how to walk in heels. And Yeji had been right there beside her, matching her step for step. They had been two girls who burned through rooms whether the rooms wanted it or not.

The water pulled back. The sand shifted under her slides, and there was Yeji asleep at ten o'clock.

***

It was their last night as roommates. Ryujin stood in the GS25 party aisle at nine-thirty, eventually buying four packs of both pink and holographic streamers. She added three boxes of stick-shaped chocolate and a carton of watermelon juice, because Yeji had a watermelon juice addiction and was currently in month three of eating the exact same chocolate twice a day and chose sugar and naps over actual parties every time, flatly refusing to behave like a twenty-year-old idol.

The walk back took four minutes. She planned out the layout: streamers on the top bunk, chocolate on the desk. Tomorrow Chaeryeong was moving in and Ryujin was getting the single room. It meant the end of fighting over chargers and defending her half of the rug. It meant sleeping in a quiet room, which she'd spent months complaining about wanting.

She opened the door at 9:40 PM. The lights were off. Yeji was utterly passed out, mouth slightly open, one arm hanging off the edge of the top bunk with her dark phone still in her grip. She'd gone into a coma before ten o'clock on their last night sharing a bedroom, because apparently sentimentality didn't interrupt her sleep schedule.

Ryujin stood in the doorway with pink and holographic streamers in one hand and a GS25 bag in the other and thought you've got to be fucking kidding me.

She stayed there for a while. The tightness in her throat was absolutely just annoyance that the streamers were going to stay in their plastic wrappers and her money was wasted. Just annoyance, and maybe sugar crash from the chocolate she'd eaten on the walk home.

She dumped the supplies on the desk and ate an entire box of stick-shaped chocolate on the floor in the dark. She drank the whole carton of watermelon juice out of spite, climbed into her bottom bunk, and stared at the underside of Yeji's mattress. The party was a lame idea anyway. Throwing a farewell party for a girl moving down the hall was pathetic. It was fine.

The next morning, Yeji found them.

Ryujin was kneeling on the floor, shoving a hoodie into her duffel bag, when Yeji picked up a plastic-wrapped cylinder of holographic pink from the desk. She turned the package over in her hands. Her hair was wrecked from a ten-hour blackout.

"Did you buy streamers?" she asked, ruffling a hand through her sleep-wrecked hair, her voice gravelly and utterly confused.

Ryujin continued shoving the hoodie down. "They were on sale."

Yeji looked from the plastic in her hands to the empty carton of watermelon juice beside them. "Were you going to decorate?"

"No, I was going to eat them." Ryujin yanked the bag zipper closed and sat back on her heels, glaring up at her. "Yes, I was going to decorate. You fell asleep at ten o'clock like a fucking grandma. What was I supposed to do, tape them to your unconscious body?"

Yeji lowered the package. The confusion vanished, her face settling into the exact quiet expression she used when she caught Ryujin trying to hide something soft.

"Ryuddaeng-ah."

Ryujin pointed a warning finger from the floor. "Don't start."

Yeji tilted her head, ignoring the finger. A slow, infuriating warmth took over her face. "Oh, you were going to throw us a party."

"I was going to throw MYSELF a party." Ryujin dragged herself off the floor, grabbing her bag and deliberately refusing to look anywhere near Yeji's smile. "You were invited as a courtesy."

The streamers stayed in their plastic wrap on the desk for three days before Ryujin threw them away, staying mad about two thousand won's worth of party supplies for four months.

Two thousand won of wasted streamers and four months of wasted anger, and she'd learned absolutely nothing from either. The first time she chose solitude over Yeji, she'd tried to throw a party to cover the cost. Tonight she'd just walked out the door.

***

A wave came in and covered her feet, the sharp cold curling her toes against the sand. The tangerine felt heavy in her hand, the citrus oil mixing with the salt air. Something warm and inconvenient settled into the place where the anger used to be, impossible to put back.

But these days I keep thinking, yo, baby I pay attention to you, why do I keep an eye on you again and again. Lia sang it sweet and wondering, and the wondering pulled the next one out of Ryujin's chest.

***

The driving school car smelled like pine air freshener and stress. The instructor sat clutching his clipboard against his chest, quietly hallucinating a different career, while Yeji sat behind the wheel holding ten and two, breath suspended inside a stationary Kia Morning.

Ryujin sat in the backseat because she'd already passed on her first try, mostly because she was good at things that required her body to do exactly what she told it to, and driving was effectively just choreography with a seatbelt. But that logic apparently didn't apply to Hwang Yeji. The girl was an apex predator on stage, a terrifyingly precise machine who could hit a blind floor mark down to the millimeter in platform boots. But once the backing track ended, she instantly reverted to a hopelessly clumsy house cat who routinely bumped into doorways, set chocolate on fire, and was currently treating the steering wheel like an unexploded bomb. She was on her second attempt after the first one had ended with a curb and a sound that the instructor described as "concerning."

They were here together because they'd enrolled together just for the "Not Shy" music video driving scene. When Yeji realized neither of them had a license, she'd said "we should just do it together" and Ryujin had said "no shit."

Yeji was doing objectively fine. The turns were clean, the speed was consistent, and the instructor had stopped gripping the oh-shit handle, which was progress. Then the GPS said turn left and Yeji turned left and ended up in a lane for a U-turn she was absolutely not supposed to be making.

"Why did you do that?" the instructor asked, measuring his syllables just to keep from screaming.

Yeji looked at the lane. She looked at the sign. She looked at the instructor with her full cat-eyed sincerity, confused by her own behavior.

"I know... why did I?"

She said it like she was hoping he had the answer to her own decision. It was so pure and bewildered that Ryujin totally lost her shit.

She laughed until her stomach cramped and the seatbelt locked, a breathless wheeze that made the instructor twist around in alarm to ask "is she okay?" as Yeji watched through the rearview mirror, her ears turning that bright, mortified shade of red. Which only happened when she'd done something accidentally hilarious and was exactly split between being embarrassed and being pleased she'd made Ryujin sound like that.

"I know," Ryujin managed between gasps. "Why did I. That's your defense."

"Honest question," Yeji said, still in the U-turn lane, still looking confused, and Ryujin's stomach cramped again and the instructor closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the headrest.

Yeji passed on her second attempt. Ryujin brought it up twice a month for the next year because the material was bottomless, and because making Yeji's ears go red remained one of the great recurring pleasures of her life.

Like three weeks later, sitting shotgun while Yeji meticulously reversed into a spot at the company parking garage.

"Remember when you almost killed us in the U-turn lane?" Ryujin asked, casually kicking her sneakers up onto the dashboard.

Yeji slapped Ryujin's ankles off the plastic while keeping intense eye contact with the rearview mirror. "I didn't almost kill us, I was going fifteen."

Ryujin let her feet drop, grinning as the tips of Yeji's ears once again hit that Yuna-coded shade of mortified pink. "I know, why did I. That's going on your tombstone."

Yeji wrapped a punitive hand around the gearshift, strangling the leather, and forcefully shoved it into Park. The sheer violence of the grip instantly made Ryujin worry for whoever ended up underneath Yeji in bed. She gripped the wheel and aimed a glare through the windshield carrying the same destructive hostility she supposedly used to wring grown men dry. "I hate you."

Ryujin pointed a stern, advising finger at the windshield. "You're driving, keep your eyes on the road."

Yeji turned her head slowly, giving her dead-eyed stare. "We're parked."

Ryujin patted her shoulder and popped her seatbelt. "Safety first, Hwang."

Tonight in the living room, Yeji's face had gone red too. Except Ryujin hadn't been trying to make her laugh.

***

The chorus hit with all five of them singing, letting Yeji and Lia lead. No matter where I look, it's only you, the one who's gonna melt me. She'd harmonized with these voices since she was sixteen, trained her ears to find their tunes like a bird call. The ocean blurred. Her eyes stung from the salt air or the wind or whatever she was going to call it until she ran out of alternatives.

No matter where I go, there's only you.

The memories stopped arriving one at a time and started coming in waves that matched the ocean, each one rolling in before the last had pulled back, and she stood in the water and let them come because she'd run out of things to stop them with.

***

She remembered Yeji sitting on the practice room floor after a twelve-hour Cake rehearsal, sweat dripping off her chin, her legs gone. Everyone else had left. Ryujin was destroyed too, but her thighs still worked because they were her main weapon and she'd be fucked if they didn't.

"Get up."

"I can't."

"Get on."

"Ryujin, I literally cannot stand."

"I didn't say stand, I said get on."

Ryujin turned around, offering her back. She crouched and waited while Yeji dragged herself up, lifting dead weight after three hours of full-out runs. Ryujin stood, letting Yeji's chin find the groove of her neck in comfortable silence. Yeji's legs had quit and Ryujin's still worked. You carried the person who needed carrying, and the burning in your thighs was just the price you paid for them trusting you enough to go limp.

"Your shoulders are so broad," Yeji mumbled into her neck.

"Thanks."

"Like, freakishly."

"Get off my back then."

"No." Yeji's arms tightened. "They're good broad. Carry broad."

Ryujin laughed and kept walking toward the parking garage. The burn in her thighs didn't matter. Being the unbothered cool girl was always a performance, but carrying someone who literally couldn't bend her knees was just gravity. You didn't need the concept to do it.

She didn't know when she'd stopped being able to drop it.

***

Then there was Yuna in a sparse waiting room at KBS during their debut week, sitting on a leather couch trying to look like a grown idol, knees pressed tight together, elbows tucked to her ribs. She looked so alone, a giant teenager terrified of taking up too much space. The rest of the group came packaged as 00 and 01 liners, leaving their fifteen-year-old maknae stranded at the bottom of the roster without a single chingoo. Ryujin crossed the room on autopilot, dropping onto the cushion beside her. She reached over, grabbed the loose wire of Yuna's mic pack, and snapped it securely into the clip at her waist. Yuna jumped slightly, looked over, and Ryujin smiled first because someone had to. The tension dropped out of Yuna's shoulders immediately and she leaned her head against Ryujin's bicep.

Five years later, same girl, different couch. The living room two hours ago, girls' night, soju on the floor between them. Yuna had said it quietly into the space between all of them: I'm sorry I'm like this. Horny and stupid and weird.

"You're not stupid," Ryujin had said, and the tenderness in her own voice surprised her so badly she'd corrected within a breath. "You're a LITTLE stupid."

One honest second before the defenses snapped back on. Because staying in it meant acknowledging that Yuna hadn't invented any of this out of nowhere - the bratty confidence, the sexual bravado, the loudness as a shield. Yuna had learned the whole playbook by watching Ryujin do it first. She'd copied Ryujin's swagger so faithfully it came with all the original damage still attached, and now she was sitting on a villa couch apologizing for being the person Ryujin taught her it was cool to be.

Ryujin could've been the unnie who fixed the mic wire one more time. Instead, she'd immediately deflected, pouring another shot and turning it into a joke about hookups. Because acknowledging the damage was harder than performing it.

***

Then there was their dumbass name. Sitting cross-legged on a studio floor for 2TZY while a producer asked them to pick a duo name, both immediately over-thinking it.

"Something cute," Yeji said, straightening her posture.

"Something tough," Ryujin said at the same time, slouching back on her hands.

They looked at each other across the floorboards. Yeji tilted her head, challenging. Ryujin narrowed her eyes, refusing to compromise.

"Ddaeng Ddong," Ryujin blurted out.

Yeji stopped tilting her head, going still. "What?"

"Ryuddaeng, Yeddeong. Ddaeng Ddong." Ryujin gave a single, unapologetic shrug. "Like a doorbell. Because that's the sound we make when we arrive."

Yeji stared at her, blinking slowly. "That's the worst explanation I've ever heard for anything."

"It's ironic."

"It's a doorbell, Ryujin."

"But you like it." Ryujin pointed a sneaker at Yeji's knee.

"I didn't say I liked it." Yeji immediately dropped her chin to hide her mouth.

"You're smiling."

"That's my face," Yeji mumbled to the floor, her ears already turning pink. "It does that sometimes."

They were Ddaeng Ddong from that day forward. It got whispered across dressing rooms and texted at hours that made no sense. Yeji would send Ddaeng Ddong at two in the morning and Ryujin would reply Ddong Ddaeng, a conversation compressed into nonsense words. Nobody else used it because nobody else was meant to.

She tried to remember the last time either of them had texted it and couldn't.

***

Then there was the dark rug of the living room at two in the morning. Ryujin sat with her back against the sofa, her phone lighting up her face. She was deep in a theqoo thread, one of those community posts that went semi-viral and got screenshotted across every platform until it became unavoidable. The title was all-caps: something about wanting Ryujin to stop making "that expression." The expression was the one she made on stage - the lowered chin, the narrowed eyes, the cool-girl face she had spent years perfecting so nobody could see through it.

The comments read like homework-avoiding teenagers who had already decided they hated her before they even clicked the link. She tries so hard to act cool? Her signature 'style' is fucking cringe. And: When she debuted she wasn't like this but now she always has to make that face. A sub-thread had spawned specifically about her rap delivery - how she dropped her voice into that signature low rasp, and how people had to skip her parts because it made them uncomfortable or some shit. Two hundred upvotes. Two hundred strangers dissecting the concept she had built to survive them and deciding it was an embarrassment.

Earlier that month, ITZY's own producer had commented on her public Instagram telling her to get botox. Ryujin had absorbed the hit, logged onto Bubble at four in the morning, and apologized to the public on his behalf, defending the man who insulted her face. She figured it was just another task the job required, and Shin Ryujin was nothing if not ruthlessly committed to the act.

Lia walked out of the hallway wearing an oversized hoodie and carrying two cold glasses of water. She didn't ask what Ryujin was reading because she read it off the tight line of her jaw. She didn't offer a hug or tell her it would be fine because that wasn't her way. Instead, she carefully set one glass on the rug, sat cross-legged beside her, and watched the screen scroll for ten seconds.

Then Lia reached over, trapped Ryujin's thumb, and scrolled back to the top of the thread to read the title. She looked up at Ryujin.

"Wasn't the last round about your legs?"

Ryujin stayed still.

"So you built the face," Lia said. "And now they hate the face too."

Ryujin's lungs emptied. Lia never raised her voice and never softened a truth. You couldn't run a concept around her.

"You know they're mostly miserable twenty-somethings typing this on their commute because their actual jobs suck, right?" Lia added, picking up her water and taking a slow sip. "Total jobless behavior."

Ryujin dropped her head back against the upholstery and bark-laughed at the ceiling, drawing her first real breath in twenty minutes. Lia was back at the villa right now, probably perfectly aware that Ryujin was unraveling long before the fight even started, and Ryujin had walked out before Lia could do the one thing she did better than anyone else.

It made a paranoid edge of Ryujin's brain wonder exactly what else Lia had quietly collected on this trip. Lia acquired secrets effortlessly and wielded them masterfully. If there was actual unexploded ordnance lying around the villa right now, Lia already knew about it. She probably had the exact moment of ruin neatly backed up to a hidden camera roll while the rest of them were too busy making terrible decisions to notice the recording light.

***

Then there was the V Live from April, sometime between the Guess Who comeback teasers and the album drop, with both of them in the practice room at midnight because they'd been working on the point choreography and lost track of time. Yeji had said "should we go live?" and Ryujin had said "we look like shit" and Yeji had said "MIDZY won't care" and she was right, because MIDZY would watch them read a phone book in matching pajamas and still call it content.

They sat on the practice room floor with Yeji's phone propped against a water bottle, their hair wrecked, neither of them wearing any makeup, and they were the most themselves they'd ever been on camera.

Yeji started telling the story about the 2019 Asia Artist Awards rehearsal, the formation disaster where they'd both been standing in the wrong spot and spent ten minutes glaring at each other across the stage because neither would admit they'd miscounted. Ryujin cut in before Yeji even got to the good part - "No, because YOU were in the two-three and I was in the three-two, and you kept INSISTING -" and Yeji fired back "I was NOT in the two-three, you literally walked to the wrong mark and then blamed me for being in your eyeline -" and they were both talking over each other, reconstructing the argument in real time with matching hand gestures, their voices climbing over each other's in the exact same rhythm they'd been fighting in four years ago. Then Ryujin got so animated making her case that her loose pyjama top gaped open at the collar and her tits spilled toward the camera, and she was too deep into proving Yeji wrong to notice or care. Yeji noticed. Mid-sentence, still clapping back about the formation, Yeji reached over and buttoned Ryujin's top with one hand while her mouth kept going about stage markers and Ryujin batted the hand away and Yeji buttoned it again, firmer, eyes still on the camera, finishing her sentence about how Ryujin's spatial awareness had "always been her weakest skill as a performer, honestly." Ryujin's jaw dropped. The chat lost its mind.

It happened eleven times in half an hour. Someone in the comments counted. The chat was moving so fast that the words stacked into a wall of MARRIED MARRIED MARRIED streaming past in real time, and Ryujin read them aloud because reading the comments was part of the V Live format but also because the word was funny, "MARRIED", applied to two girls sitting on a practice room floor at midnight with bad hair and no makeup finishing each other's sentences about a thing that happened when they were trainees.

"They think we're married," Ryujin said to the camera.

Yeji covered her face with both hands and laughed into her palms, and the sound hit Ryujin hard. She had this ridiculous squeaky cackling laugh, pitched way too high for a cat-eyed girl who regularly made grown choreographers adjust their posture, muffled by her fingers but audible because Yeji and volume control had never been formally introduced. Ryujin could've picked that pitch out of a stadium of ten thousand voices, because she'd been hearing it since she was sixteen and her brain had placed it under a word she only ever used for one place and one person.

She'd heard it again and again on this trip, aimed at someone else.

"We're not married," Ryujin said to the camera, leaning back on her hands, grinning. "We're worse than married. Married people can get divorced."

Yeji dropped her hands. Her face had gone gochujang red. "Yah, don't say that."

"What? It's true. You can't divorce your Ddaeng Ddong."

"I absolutely can divorce my Ddaeng Ddong."

"You won't."

Yeji looked at her. The redness faded and what was underneath it was warm and steady and sure. "No," she said. "I won't."

The chat exploded. They'd given them enough material for six compilation videos and enough fan theories to fill a library with Ryeji fanfiction, and it didn't matter because the broadcast wasn't for the fans. The same way the bunk beds weren't for sleeping, and the driving school wasn't for driving, and the streamers weren't for decorating.

And the trip wasn't for Minho.

***

She remembered Chaeryeong standing behind her at a vanity mirror in Manila before a fan-sign event, using her graceful dancer's fingers to tuck three stray strands of pink hair behind Ryujin's ear. Chaeryeong focused on the task with the same gallery curator intensity she used on side dishes. They were talking about some dumb K-drama, and Chaeryeong had sighed wistfully, smoothing the hair down.

"I just think it's nice," Chaeryeong said, her eyes meeting Ryujin's in the glass. "Not having to fight for someone. Just knowing you're totally safe with them, you know? Like, you can be your worst self and they won't care. You can just be, and they won't ask you to be anything else."

"Spare me the monologue," Ryujin snorted, rolling her eyes and leaning away from the gentle hands. "You're so hopelessly vanilla."

Which was a flat-out lie. Ryujin knew for a fact Sunwoo regularly tied that girl to headboards and choked her with silk ribbons until she sobbed, a level of romantic domestic depravity that even Ryujin found kind of intimidating. But Chaeryeong just patted her shoulder, unphased by the insult.

Ryujin spent the next three days obsessing over the word safe. Chaeryeong was building a quiet relationship with Sunwoo that Ryujin aggressively categorized as boring, just to avoid admitting she was jealous of a door she'd nailed shut herself.

***

She remembered the Cozy House kitchen on Jeju, six months after their first group trip to the island back in 2022, back when the five of them were filming a reality show about running a guesthouse. Ryujin had been standing at the stove with a spatula she was holding like a sword, mainly because she didn't or couldn't or wouldn't do things gently. She only did things thoroughly and with sweeping conviction, operating under the belief that if the pajeon was going to be stirred, it was going to know it had been stirred.

"Ryujin-ah, you're not attacking it. Turn the heat down," Yeji said, hovering just over her right shoulder with her arms crossed, radiating intense micromanagement energy despite possessing culinary skills that would have gotten her immediately expelled from JYP if boiling water was a trainee evaluation criteria.

"It's called getting a crisp edge, unnie," Ryujin said, flipping the pancake with borderline violence. "And you're banned from having stove opinions until you figure out how to fry an egg without destroying a non-stick pan."

"I have good taste!" Yeji insisted, still standing her ground because relinquishing control was physically painful for her. "I'm providing leaderly supervision."

"YOU can't even operate a microwave without adult supervision. Step back before you hurt yourself."

Yuna kept weaponizing her ridiculous wingspan, tactically snaking a gangly arm through the gap between Ryujin and Yeji's shoulders every forty seconds to steal half-cooked batter right out of the hot oil. She used her two-inch acrylic nails as heat-resistant tongs, plucking the food with terrifying dexterity to save her actual fingertips from turning into grilled sausages. Lia would actively swat her wrist, Yuna would shriek like she had just been stabbed, and then the same painted claws would reappear thirty seconds later because she operated on pure, unrepentant maknae entitlement and the appetite of three golden retrievers.

Chaeryeong was at the counter arranging banchan, analyzing each small dish, stepping back to evaluate, and adjusting the kimchi by three millimeters. She'd been doing this for twenty minutes, and the kimchi had been repositioned four times. Nobody told her to stop because Chaeryeong arranging things was Chaeryeong at peace and you didn't interrupt Chaeryeong's peace, you just let her align her side dishes and accepted that the table was going to look like a magazine spread.

Yeji had technically been assigned to "hospitality and cleanup" because nobody trusted her with meal preparation for paying guests. A role so devoid of authority she rejected it immediately, electing to act as the kitchen's self-appointed floor manager instead. Officially banished from the heat zones, she spent her time hovering between stations and wielding her personal conviction that garlic solved all human problems, which it did, just not in the sort of fatal quantities Yeji was suggesting. She drifted back to Ryujin's side just to reach past her shoulder and grab a piece of dried squid, meticulously mixing three different condiments on a small plate before dunking the squid into the resulting sludge. Then her face did that tiny twitch between her eyebrows and mouth that meant needs mustard as clearly as if she'd shouted it. Ryujin was already sliding the yellow bottle across the counter before the look finished forming. Six years of catering and dorm meals meant Yeji's face was just a language Ryujin spoke fluently.

"How'd you know I was gonna ask for mustard?" Yeji asked.

"Because it's you." Ryujin kept her eyes on the stove. "You always want mustard."

"Not true. Sometimes I want bean sauce."

"Yeah, forty seconds ago." Ryujin tapped her spatula against the pan. "Your left eyebrow did the bean sauce thing."

"I have a bean sauce thing?"

"You have a whole condiment rack. Left eyebrow is bean sauce. Mouth corner is mustard. Nose scrunch means you're looking for the mayo. And whatever the fuck you just did with the squid in that nasty mayo-chili thing is a crime against humanity."

Yeji stared at the side of her head. "You know my condiment faces."

"Someone has to."

"Since when?"

Ryujin flipped the pajeon again with another dose of aggression. "I don't know, since forever? Same way I know you drive in dead silence because you're scared of missing the GPS, and you take your teddy bears to the doll hospital instead of buying new ones, and you still cry at the Toy Story 3 incinerator scene even though you know they survive."

"I don't cry at cartoons, Ryuddaeng."

"You sniffled. Four times."

Yeji went quiet for a second. She had forgotten her banishment from the heat zone, absently holding a wooden spoon she had no business wielding over the bubbling pot, standing close enough that Ryujin felt the stove's heat radiating off her apron. "You pay attention," she mumbled.

Ryujin hated that tone. It was too soft for the kitchen, too exposed, like Yeji was catching up to the fact that someone had already seen her. It felt like being caught.

"Don't make it weird," Ryujin said, reaching over her for the salt. She pointedly plucked the wooden spoon out of Yeji's hand. "And get the fuck away from that pot. Go supervise the kimchi or something."

When had she decided that knowing Yeji this well was a liability? Because of that damn reflex, the girl she could read better than anyone else had just spent the evening fighting a version of Ryujin who pretended she couldn't read a damn thing.

***

The individual memories blurred together into the sheer physical muscle memory of the five of them moving as a unit. A flash of her walking through Incheon airport, surrounded by flashbulbs and screaming bodies. They moved through the terminal like a Teukgongdae strike team, applying five years of stage formations directly to walking speed. Yeji took point, Lia tucked into her left side, and Ryujin automatically slotted in at stage right. She maintained a strict three-step distance to cover Yeji's blind spot, never checking her spacing. Her body knew where it belonged in the formation.

Tonight she'd deliberately broken the line, leaving a gaping fucking hole on the right side that nobody else had the history to fill.

Ain't nobody like you.

***

The water pulled back, dragging the sand out from under Ryujin's slides. The crushed tangerine was warm against her palm. She was still standing upright, which was going to have to be enough because the next verse was hers.

Because of you, softly permeated in my hard frozen heart, I can't tell you from head to tail, this is not my style.

Except the bunk beds were real.

***

It was the old dorm room before the solo room she'd won in the ghost leg game, before any of the walls she'd put up since. There was bottom bunk Ryujin and top bunk Yeji and the hallway light leaking under the door in a thin gold line while everything outside the room stayed enormous and uncertain and indifferent to whether two rookies in a shared bedroom survived the year.

She used to climb up with her hands finding the ladder rungs in the dark by feel and her bare feet on the cold metal, the mattress dipping when she crawled in beside Yeji while neither of them said anything because saying something would've meant admitting that the trainee evaluations had been brutal or that the choreographer had screamed at them again or that the future was a door they couldn't see through and the only plan anyone had given them was to keep running at it and hope it opened before they hit it. They just lay there breathing, Ryujin on her back and Yeji on her side with their shoulders touching in the narrow bunk while their breathing found the same rhythm by accident.

Sometimes Yeji came down instead, her cold feet finding Ryujin's shins under the blanket and her forehead pressing against Ryujin's collarbone. Ryujin held still to let Yeji's breathing slow against her chest because that was all she needed to do, just be there, just let her body be the thing Yeji leaned against when the world was too heavy to hold upright. It was the same way she'd been leaning into Minho's back at the pool half an hour ago.

Yeji's breathing would even out and Ryujin would lie there listening to it the way she used to listen to the morning routine from the bottom bunk, treasuring the sound of someone she loved being okay. She never had to think about it, because thinking would've meant naming it, and naming it meant admitting that Shin Ryujin, the girl who didn't need anyone, needed this girl so much she climbed a ladder in the dark just to sleep next to her.

Wait. Fuck.

Nineteen-year-old Yeji collapsing onto Ryujin's collarbone in the dark meant loyalty. Twenty-four-year-old Yeji collapsing onto Minho's spine at the pool and his chest on the couch meant treason. But it was the same fucking thing, wasn't it? Just an exhausted girl turning someone into a bed so she didn't have to stand up anymore. Ryujin had spent the last six months going absolutely batshit over it, ripping her best friend to shreds for executing the same trainee reflex she’d used since day one. Someone else caught the weight, and Ryujin took that as permission to burn the whole house down.

And she used to be soft. Before she made being an unbothered bitch her brand, she was just a girl climbing into her best friend's bed because being scared together was better than being tough alone. The middle-finger spine was just a survival tactic. Once the internet decided her thighs were public property, she figured the only way to avoid getting eaten alive was to break everyone's teeth. The concept worked great on cameras and boys. But tonight she'd used it to gut the only person who actually knew how fake it was.

Her jaw ached. The waves kept coming and her own voice in her headphones kept singing about a frozen heart melting.

Yeji's verse came in.

Don't smile like that again, yo, I can't pretend not to know, why do I keep thinking of you again and again, oh my god what on earth are you.

Ryujin wanted to answer so badly her mouth opened to the empty Pacific. The answer was simple: she was the person who'd stayed for Chuseok.

***

Everyone had gone home.

Chuseok break, 2019, the year they'd debuted. The dorm emptied the way it always did around holidays, the shoe rack getting lighter pair by pair over the course of a morning. Lia's white sneakers went first, then Yuna's platform boots because Yuna packed like she was fleeing a fire and was always the first one out the door. Chaeryeong's loafers next, lined up neatly by the door until her sister arrived and then gone. By noon the hallway was quiet enough to hear the pipes in the walls and the fridge hummed louder than usual.

Ryujin was in her room packing. She had her train ticket to Seoul printed, her mom's last text pulled up: What time are you getting to Seoul Station? Appa is making galbi. Her sneakers were on the rack by the door. Her bag was half-zipped on the bed. She was thinking about her dad's galbi and her childhood bedroom and the feeling of sleeping in her house again instead of a dorm, where the walls were thin enough that you could hear someone breathing in the next room.

Through that very wall she heard Yeji in the kitchen. The electric kettle clicking on. A cabinet opening and closing. Then Yeji's voice, on the phone, and Ryujin wasn't trying to listen but the dorm was empty and sound carried.

"No, it's fine, eomma. I know. No, it's just scheduling. It's fine. I'll be fine. I'll just... yeah, I'll probably just practice. Maybe watch something."

Ryujin could hear the lie through a wall. In the tone she used after fourteen-hour practices to tell the managers she was fine. Yeji couldn't get home to Jeonju for Chuseok. The reasons didn't matter. The fact was that the dorm was empty and the holiday was tomorrow and Yeji was boiling water for ramyeon alone in a kitchen designed for five people.

"I'll call you tomorrow morning." Yeji's voice got impossibly small, the sturdy leader act instantly cracking the second she thought about her dogs. "Give Hongsam and Insam a treat for me, okay? Tell them I miss them. Say hi to unnie too. Love you."

The phone call ended. The wrapper crinkled. A minute later, the acrid, unmistakable smell of scorching starch drifted through the vents because Yeji, distracted by trying not to cry over missing her dogs on the night before Chuseok, had put dry noodles in a hot pot and forgotten to add water.

The smoke stung her eyes. She looked at her packed bag, her mom's text, and her sneakers by the door, and came to the blunt, factual realization that her best friend was literally not going to survive a three-day weekend unsupervised. If the sadness didn't take her out, the stovetop definitely would.

She unpacked the bag and put the sneakers back in the closet. She walked into the kitchen, finding Yeji standing at the stove frantically waving a dish towel at a smoking pot, her face trying very hard to look fine with eating alone.

"So what do you want for dinner?"

Yeji looked up, her eyes spectacularly red and brimming with tears that were officially one hundred percent the fault of the starch smoke and absolutely nothing else. "What?"

"For dinner. Burning ramyeon is not dinner, it's a hazard. How the fuck do you even burn a soup?"

"I forgot the water." Yeji looked down at the blackened block of noodles, her voice thick. "Ryujin-ah, you have a train."

"I don't have a train."

"You literally just showed me your ticket this morning."

"Changed my mind. I'm staying. What sounds good, should we order chicken? We should order chicken. Or jjajangmyeon. Both. We should order both."

"You don't have to -"

"I want to. Also, you really need to turn that burner off before the sprinklers go off."

Yeji turned to the stove and grabbed the dial, and her hands were shaking, just enough that the smoking pot rattled against the metal grate. She kept her back turned, and Ryujin let her. They were eighteen and nineteen, and they didn't have the vocabulary yet for whatever Yeji's eyes were doing.

They ordered chicken and jjajangmyeon and tteokbokki because Yeji had said "should we get tteokbokki too?" in a slightly unsteady voice and Ryujin had said "obviously", because obviously anything Yeji wanted tonight she was getting because the alternative was Yeji eating ramyeon alone on the kitchen floor, and that was an image Ryujin rejected the way she rejected bad choreography.

They ate on the floor because the table felt too big. Yeji put a movie on her laptop, but neither of them really watched it. The important thing was the boxed chicken and the fact that they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder so the empty dorm wouldn't feel so loud.

Yeji passed out halfway through whatever was playing. Her head tipped sideways and landed heavy on Ryujin's shoulder, instantly dead to the world. Ryujin dragged a blanket over both of them with her free hand, careful not to shift her weight. Her dad's galbi was amazing, but she didn't give a shit right now. Throwing away the train ticket hadn't even required a second thought. Yeji was alone and missed her dogs, so Ryujin stayed. There was no other version of that night.

She stayed because leaving simply wasn't an option her body knew how to execute. Reaching for the salt, carrying Yeji to the van, tossing a good train ticket in the trash - her body always did the work while her ego was still building its case.

Tonight she'd managed to override the system. She'd successfully trained herself to walk away instead of going soft, and congratulations to her, the training worked. She was currently standing ankle-deep in freezing ocean water at midnight while her best friend was somewhere far away clinging to a guy she'd fucked to prove a point, all because staying meant admitting she needed her. She'd spent years protecting a fake tough-girl persona, and now she was finding out what happens when you play stupid games.

Who teaches their own body to leave the people who love them and then wonders why they end up alone? Who builds a house for someone and then burns it down because they can't admit they wanted to live in it together? Who picks a fight with the only person who would never fight back, and then wonders why they don't have anyone left to fight with?

She didn't know when she started crying. All she knew was that her face was wet, her breathing was broken, and the salt on her lips wasn't from the ocean.

The last one crawled out of an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon at the company three weeks before the trip.

***

They were dead on the practice room floor during a break, flattened by post-tour exhaustion. Lia was facedown on a yoga mat, Yuna was scrolling on her back, and Chaeryeong was stretching her calves by the mirror.

Yeji sat cross-legged against the glass, maintaining that perfect posture while scrolling. She'd been quiet for ten minutes, which meant she was mapping out exactly how to pitch whatever scheme she was brewing.

"Management said we can pick the location for the trip," Yeji said, not looking up from her screen, but her diction made it clear who the question was directed at.

Ryujin lay flat on the hardwood, forearm draped over her eyes to block the harsh lights. "Mm."

"I was thinking Jeju." Yeji dropped the statement like she was suggesting what to get for lunch. "Jimin recommended the resort where all the industry people hide out. They're going too. They got private villas with room service. Also, BLACKPINK sunbaenim is headlining their summer festival that weekend."

Across the room, Yuna bolted upright, instantly breathless. "Wait! Like, ACTUALLY BLACKPINK sunbaenim?"

"Yes, Yuna-yah, actually BLACKPINK sunbaenim," Yeji said mildly, still looking at her phone.

"Oh my gosh, VIP section?" Yuna demanded, scrambling excitedly to her feet. "Like, breathing the same air? Holy shit, I have to practice my moves."

She abandoned her phone on the hardwood and immediately launched into the chorus choreography for As If It's Your Last, loudly vocalizing the synth bass line to the ceiling. She was hitting the hip isolations with full stadium enthusiasm. Lia didn't even lift her face from her yoga mat. Chaeryeong just watched Yuna pop her hips in the mirror with mild, exhausted amusement.

The tragic irony of that one-woman flash mob was that Yuna's dedication to being a total slut would cost her the tickets two weeks later. Ryujin had blown up the maknae's phone during the midnight drop, well aware Yuna was currently getting her back blown out in some hotel room by that quiet backup dancer they'd gotten into a screaming match over after their tour encore. Ryujin had ceded the guy because she had "options" and he wasn't worth the energy, and now Yuna was too busy riding her hand-me-down dick to answer seven consecutive calls during a national Blink emergency. When the eighth call went to voicemail, Ryujin ruthlessly pivoted to Karina, who was awake and melodramatically sad-girl spiraling over an actor she'd dated for six fucking weeks, because BLACKPINK tickets waited for no man's thrusts. Look, Ryujin respected the hustle, but you don't get to call yourself "Head Blink" if you ignore a midnight drop for mediocre dick that your unnie literally gave you.

She'd screamed at Yuna for an hour over that guy and forgotten his name by morning because the things she fought hardest over were never the things she kept or cared about.

But in the moment, Yuna screaming the lyrics provided the perfect distraction.

Ryujin moved her arm just enough to squint up at Yeji's face. She kept her jaw locked to hide the massive spike of adrenaline hitting her chest. Yeji knew what she was doing - she'd weaponized the festival lineup specifically to guarantee Ryujin would bite.

"Jeju's perfect," Ryujin stated evenly.

A tiny shift moved across Yeji's face. The corners of her eyes softened. She pressed her lips into a deeply satisfied line before quickly burying the reaction by dropping her thumb back to the glass.

"I thought you might agree," Yeji replied, scrolling faster.

The whole exchange took twenty seconds. Ryujin dropped her arm back over her eyes and completely forgot about it.

***

She stood in the freezing surf and finally realized how much of an idiot she was.

The damaged tangerine was still sticky in her hand. She was still standing on Jeju right now. The same island where she'd declared to a camera two years ago that it was her favorite place on Earth. The same island where Yeji had driven a rental car too carefully through the mist and asked her, casual as suggesting lunch: should we come build a house in the mountains at Jeju-do and live here later?

When management handed over the company card, Yeji picked Jeju.

Yeji had actually done it.

She'd built the house in the mountains. She just built it out of a private villa rental and a clear week in July instead. And Ryujin had willfully walked right out the front door and tried to burn it down.

Yeji had never picked between them. She'd brought Minho for herself and booked Jeju specifically for Ryujin, just to fulfill a casual promise she'd made years ago. She had room for both of them. Ryujin was the only one who demanded a choice. She manufactured a war out of pure insecurity, locked onto a made-up threat, and fired a kill shot point-blank into her own teammate.

I'm the type of girl that should do everything she wanna do, I'm the type of girl that should have everything she wanna have, now I want you bad, I can't lose, so babe ain't nobody like you.

The track hit its final chorus. It was supposed to be a flex, but tonight it sounded like an instruction manual. She wanted her best friend back. Her feet were already shifting in the wet sand, ignoring her brain's objections because her body had taken over and it was screaming to go home.

She measured love in the only units she knew: tallying who fucked who, who came first, and whose body earned what. She crammed every single interaction into a sexual hierarchy because she was too thick to use any other metric. That meant she wasted the whole trip treating Yeji's happiness as a personal attack instead of recognizing the same old reflex, the one she'd been using since they were trainees, the one that had always meant I care about you so much that I want to be the person who takes care of you when you're too tired to stand.

The path was dark. The island smelled like the trip Yeji had built for them, and Ryujin was suddenly standing in the middle of it feeling like an absolute fucking idiot.

A harsh, ragged laugh tore out of her throat, sounding wrecked against the empty beach. She brought her hand up to aggressively scrub the tears off her cheeks, forgetting what she was holding. The crushed tangerine dragged directly across her face, smearing sticky, sweet-acidic citrus oil over her jaw and mixing it straight into the salt of her own crying.

"You're infuriating, Yeddeong," she said out loud to the dark water. Her voice cracked right down the middle, thick and wet. "What the fuck am I doing."

She stood there - twenty-three years old, alone, her face sticky with ruined fruit and regret, and desperate to get back to the villa before she lost the only person she cared about more than anything.

***

She dragged her phone out of her pocket with trembling fingers and bypassed the music app's shuffle button. She had spent the damn trip letting an algorithm throw tracks at her like emotional shrapnel, letting it score her misery while she kept her hands clean. That was over. She jabbed the search bar, and her wet, sandy thumb skated uselessly across the glass three times in a row, leaving a gritty orange smear where the keyboard should have been. She wiped her hand on her shorts, tried again, got as far as BE before the screen registered a phantom tap and pulled up Beyoncé's entire discography.

"Oh, FUCK off."

She held the phone up to her mouth like she was about to bite it. "Siri, play 'Bet On Me' by ITZY." She was already composing the unhinged rant for the group chat about Apple's war on wet fingers when a calm, unbothered voice cut through her AirPods.

"Here's 'Bet On Me' by ITZY."

She stared at the screen. Siri had come through. First useful thing anyone had done for her all trip, and it was a stupid voice assistant with zero emotional intelligence. She shoved the phone back against her thigh and kept walking.

The synth settled into her headphones, slow enough to pace the break of the waves.

There's nothing inside me, not yet.

She tightened her grip on the sticky tangerine and took her first step off the beach. The bass dropped two seconds later, vibrating against the base of her skull, and walking immediately felt too passive.

She broke into a jog, kicking heavy clumps of wet sand onto the back of her shorts while she aimed for the dark opening of the coastal path. Her wet slides slapped against the steep dirt incline and the jog naturally escalated into a desperate, lung-burning sprint.

The cold air scraped her throat as she dragged in raw breaths that tasted of copper. The dirt path spiked violently past the tree line, flooding her thighs with burning acid on the ascent. The slides flapped uselessly against her heels, slipping backward in the loose gravel with every awkward push, and her lower back seized hard enough to make her want to collapse into the damp ferns and just breathe.

Walking in the dark, the compass broken.

Hot, bitter resentment burned in her chest over walking out that door, but she refused to stop. She clamped her jaw tight, dropped her hips low, and forced her body to move like she did on stage. She attacked the incline like a dance break, anchoring her weight and driving her toes hard into the rubber to keep the sandals from flying off. She snapped her core with every stride, forcing her heavy knees upward whenever her thighs failed.

Without the courage to fall, you can never fly.

The lyrics pulsed through her headphones in a punishing tempo that matched the frantic slapping of her sandals up the slope. Sweat broke across her forehead and slid hot and stinging into her eyes, but she left it there. Her lungs starved and her legs shuddered under the vertical climb as the spite burned out into pure exhaustion.

But still, I can't stop.

She gritted her teeth and threw her shoulders forward in rigid pumps, twisting her torso to drag her dead legs up the incline. An invisible tether looped around her ribs and pulled tight, dragging her straight back to the girl on the deck. The earlier anger had launched her up the first half of the hill, leaving only the agonizing need to see Yeji's face to pull her through the rest. Every muscle tore and rebuilt around the single necessity of going home to her Yeddeong.

The messy, sliding rhythm of her feet hitting the dirt dragged her mind straight back to the music video set. She remembered pounding the asphalt inside the echoing concrete underpass with the girls flanking her sides. The director had ordered them to sprint full-force toward the blinding white exposure at the end of the tunnel. A strange, weightless euphoria had rushed into her lungs on that final take. She felt so free under the staging lights, stripped of complex choreography and reduced to pure forward movement alongside her members, her sisters, her family.

She had spent five years confusing invincibility with freedom. She built a bulletproof cage out of swagger and casual cruelty, convinced that needing nothing made her untouchable. But feeling her lungs burn in the dark, she finally understood the high of that staged sprint. Real freedom wasn't about outrunning every single thing that could hurt her. It lived in the terrifying, wide-open act of choosing what you ran toward.

The tree canopy swallowed the path in darkness just as the track surged into the final chorus. Ryujin dragged in a ragged breath and let her chest heave against the steep grade before looking up. A faint teal glow filtered through the dense branches near the top, where the underwater lights of the villa pool bled into the night.

Following that faint light, I want to run there.

She ignored the burning in her calves and locked her eyes on the glow to keep running.

***

The next song played and Kill Shot hit the bridge in her left ear as her slide caught the last stone step. The apology she'd been rehearsing on the run - three tight sentences, in and out before Yeji could hide in the villa and pretend everything was fine - evaporated. Because something was wrong with the music.

Kill shot, guess what? Without leaving a single one, hit ya, swish swish -

Except the swish swish wasn't coming from the goddamn track.

There was a wet percussion bleeding through the left pod that had no business being in the mix. Heavy and rhythmic. A thick smack that synced with the bassline for two bars before falling half a beat behind. She frowned, pressed the silicone deeper into her ear, and caught it again. Louder than the track. Bouncing off the stone walls somewhere past the hedges.

She yanked the earbud out.

The Jeju night hit her unscored. The outdoor shower was running at full blast. The pool filter hummed. And cutting straight through the steam curling over the top of the stone stall came the sharp, unmistakable sound of wet flesh violently slapping wet flesh.

Swish-smack.

Swish-smack.

Ryujin stopped breathing because what she saw felt like a shot through the heart.

She stepped off the crushed gravel and pressed her back flat against the dark side of the hedges. The tangerine in her fist was sweating. She was gripping it hard enough to bruise the peel.

Teal light from the pool flooded the courtyard. Minho's board shorts were drifting toward the skimmer in the deep end. Three steps closer, crumpled on the dry deck right outside the shower stall, Yeji's brown bikini sat in a puddle on top of the white mesh cover-up she'd worn all day. Stripped off mid-stride, apparently, with the bottoms turned inside out.

The last time Ryujin saw them, Yeji was practically hiding inside Minho's shirt on the terrace, looking like she was about to cry into his spine and call it rain. That was what... a little while ago.

Ryujin mouthed holy fuck, Hwang to nobody and swallowed hard.

The shower's slatted bamboo doors were shoved wide open. Pool light cut through the steam, throwing bright horizontal stripes across the dark volcanic tile.

And across the two people using it.

The absolute whiplash of the contrast made Ryujin want to physically gag. Apparently these two fucking disasters were either so aggressively horny or so hopelessly emotionally fucked up that they had just mutually agreed to start using their crotches for emotional release.

Yeji was bent double. One hand was planted flat against the wet wall while the shower head dumped heavy water straight between her shoulder blades, flooding down the arch of her back. Minho stood right behind her, his right hand clamped over the dip of her waist to lock her hips firmly in place while his left arm reached across her body to wrap his fingers around the front of her throat, aggressively pulling her head straight back into the rushing spray.

This was the exact same shower where Ryujin had caught him balls-deep in Yuna yesterday morning, minutes before she'd dragged him out of this exact stall to violently ride him blind on the pool wood. She had just had this guy inside her yesterday morning. But the sheer physical shock locking her ribs right now came from how the fuck they were doing it.

Ryujin watched his cock drive straight forward and vanish between Yeji's thighs, burying it so deep the base of his shaft smacked flush against her dripping ass with a wet crack before he pulled back to let the thick friction rip loud over the falling water and violently slammed right back in, every single driving thrust knocking Yeji's shoulders dangerously forward and swinging her bare breasts against the dark stone.

Ryujin had tracked Hwang Yeji's behavior for seven years and she had never seen her willingly take this angle - Yeji absolutely did not do doggy, she got on top and aggressively set the fucking pace so she could look down and watch boys desperately scramble to piece themselves together. Yeji once bent a male idol's thumb backward at a club until something audibly popped just because he put his hands on her exposed waist, she strictly never let any guy put his hands anywhere near her neck, and she did not make high, desperate whining noises while letting herself get manhandled in a courtyard.

This girl happily letting her head get pinned back by her throat while taking a heavy pounding from behind and dropping breathless, half-choked whines out of her mouth was doing all three of those strictly forbidden things at the exact same time, a total fucking stranger hijacked into her best friend's body that was haphazardly operating those same hips Ryujin had watched systematically destroy dozens of industry guys just for the sport of it.

Bitch, what the FUCK are you doing.

Minho slid his left hand around the side of Yeji's face, clamping his wet palm directly over her mouth to muffle the raw sounds she was spilling into the courtyard.

Yeji's hand snapped up. She seized his wrist, violently ripped his hand away from her lips, and pinned his arm flat backward against the tile.

"No." The word tore out of her. It was gasped and wrecked, but it carried the exact same iron authority she used to snap fifty backup dancers to attention when they were doing their BORN TO BE rehearsals. "Let them hear."

"Then tell them." His voice cut through the steam, dark and breathless. "Tell them whose you are."

"Yours." Yeji threw her head straight back into the falling water. "Fuck. Minho. Yours."

Ryujin's fist clenched shut. The tangerine gave way, the thick rind snapping open and bleeding warm fruit juice aggressively into her palm.

Hwang Yeji wrote the manual on absolute self-ownership. She and Ryujin had spent years tearing up the traditional idol handbook to build a shared philosophy around being unapologetic and bulletproof. They lived by a core doctrine and modeled it for the younger girls until the attitude became bone memory. You take exactly what you want and you never give anyone the privilege of claiming you. Ryujin knew the rules intimately. They had forged them together over the wreckage of exhausted men in breathless hotel rooms, fiercely proud that they could devour the industry and still keep the high ground.

And right now, Yeji was standing naked in an open stall and practically screaming yours into the Jeju night air with all the villa's doors wide open.

"Face me," Yeji demanded.

He pulled out. The wet, hollow pop of the separation rang off the stone. Yeji didn't even wait to find her footing before she whipped around, her bare spine slamming hard right back against the wall. She immediately hooked a wet leg over his hip. Minho dropped both hands under her thick thighs and hoisted her off the ground.

She locked her ankles tight behind his back. He drove straight upward into her.

The sound Yeji made - a high, wrecked "Oh..." buried directly into his collarbone - was a noise Ryujin had never heard her make in her life.

Don't feel it. Just make them feel it. Take the control and don't let it touch you.

That was the Yeji she knew - the arrogant bitch who rode their cameraman with her stupid pink highlight bobbing around while she and Ryujin rated the guy's stroke game out loud, and the terrifying leader who sat down on Stray Kids' visual center and clinically dismantled him on a penthouse mattress purely to prove a fucking point.

This Yeji was contracting her core to drag herself deeper down a guy's dick. Her wet back squeaked and slid against the stone with every brutal upward slam of his hips, and she was hiding her flushed face in his neck like she wanted to permanently crawl inside his ribs.

Ryujin clamped her free hand over her own mouth. Sticky fruit juice burned the open cut on her lip.

"I'm close," Yeji choked. The words fractured in her throat. Her nails dug violently into his wet shoulders. "Don't stop. Don't... don't change anything..."

Yeji did not beg. Ever. She handed out instructions. She gave guys live choreography notes while she was on top of them. Seven out of ten. Decent stamina. Stop thrusting up, you're throwing off the center of gravity.

This girl was begging him.

Her hips seized. A sharp gasp caught in her throat, and raw physical tension locked up her thick thighs. She went rigid against the wet wall, wrapping him in a death grip.

Then she just broke.

The sound she let out started guttural and climbed into this unhinged, breathless high note that bounced off the shower walls and flooded the yard. Her thighs crushed in on Minho's waist. She wrenched his shoulders forward, burying her face into his wet skin, and shook against the tile in violent, heavy spasms. She was clamping down on him so hard Ryujin could physically see Yeji's abs jumping and flexing under the spray from beyond the gate.

Minho's rhythm shattered. His thrusts got short and desperate. His hips kept stuttering. Ryujin knew the exact signs because she had just been under him when his body pulled this exact stalling routine. He was right on the absolute edge.

Yeji felt it too.

The blood in Ryujin's veins went cold. Her brain immediately queued up the mental footage of Yeji lifting cleanly off the cameraman right before the guy lost it. She braced for the clean, clinical dismount, because that was the rule. That was always the rule.

Except Yeji didn't move.

"Inside," Yeji breathed into his wet neck. The word was muffled, dirty, and totally wrecked.

She locked her crossed ankles tighter. She dug her heels directly into his lower spine, wrenching his hips flush and refusing to give him an inch of space to pull back. She wasn't asking for it. She was ordering him to cum inside her before his brain even caught up to the trap.

Minho dropped his forehead against the stone wall right next to her ear. His broad shoulders seized up. He let out a harsh groan straight into her wet hair, drove his hips in deep, and Ryujin stood in the bushes and watched his whole body aggressively shudder while he knocked up her best friend.

The fruit in Ryujin's fist was just obliterated pulp.

***

September 2021. Hotel room after Inkigayo. Yeji was bouncing on their cameraman's lap with that stupid pink streak in her hair while Ryujin laughed so hard from the second bed she almost choked. They were running a tag team, passing him back and forth for twenty minutes, shouting out scores out of ten. The second his hips started jerking, Yeji pulled off. Smooth, bored, and perfectly clean. Ryujin swapped in, took the mess inside herself, and sincerely asked afterward why Yeji never just stayed put and took the creampie.

Yeji's cat eyes narrowed, turning even sharper than they normally were. "I don't give that part of myself away, Ryuddaeng. It's mine to control."

Three months later. The MAMA afterparty. Ryujin sat backwards on a chair and watched Jihyo teach Yeji how to turn the pull-out into a psychological weapon after Chan had accidentally doused her insides with his seed. Ten seconds later, Yeji walked across the penthouse, sat directly on Hwang Hyunjin's dick while Dahyun slapped her whiteboard marker against her palm screaming "HWANG ON HWANG, I have been WAITING for this card," and climbed off right as he lost it. She hovered over his chest while he shot on his own stomach, swiping a finger through the mess and tasting it like she was judging a fucking soup. "Good face. Terrible pacing." She owned the whole room that night.

The rule is absolute, Ryujin had realized right then. No exceptions. Nobody gets to keep her.

And then four hours later she caught Yeji standing by the penthouse glass, quietly, obsessively scrubbing at a drop of Chan's accidental cum on her thigh. Four hours later and Yeji was still trying to wash the evidence off her skin.

***

Back in the courtyard, present-day Yeji was standing still under the shower head, just watching Minho's thick cum slowly slide down the inside of her tanned thigh.

And she was smiling.

Ryujin swallowed dry air.

White mess dripped down Yeji's leg. The heavy shower stream washed the first drop away, but a thicker clump immediately pushed out to replace it. Her body was casually returning whatever she had forced him to pump into her. Yeji watched the mess fall, and then she tilted her wet head up at Minho. Her face was wiped clean of the frantic, disgusted scrubbing that had haunted that MAMA penthouse.

"Messy," Yeji murmured. She sounded giddy and amused.

It's mine to control.

The sticky fruit juice was drying on Ryujin's palm as a massive, ugly truth finally dropped heavy into her stomach - Yeji pulled off every guy she fucked because pulling off meant she permanently secured the high ground, forcing boys to cum on themselves because it meant she never had to participate in the terrifying reality of being vulnerable with them. Mine to control just meant that when a guy was ruined and desperate for her, Yeji got to stay untouched, keeping the men in her bed at arm's length the exact same way she kept everyone else boxed out behind the impenetrable leader smile and the strict three-meter broadcast buffer.

And tonight, she'd given it away like it was nothing. She dug her heels into his spine, demanded it inside, and dropped the word like it didn't cost her a damn thing. Not a single flinch. Her body executed the hold on pure reflex, smooth as hitting a center stage mark or catching Ryujin's eye across a packed green room. Which meant this wasn't the first time. Which meant she had probably been doing this with him since day one. For five hidden years. Ryujin had sat in a dozen hotel beds watching Yeji coldly pull off every guy in the industry, stupidly convinced she was watching the real girl.

Minho dropped to both knees on the flooded stone. He scooped water in his bare hands and started washing her thighs, but the cleanup got derailed immediately. His broad thumbs started tracing the wide flare of her hips, his fingers sliding up into her waist. Yeji leaned back relaxed against the tile and just let him touch her. She dropped one hand lazily onto his wet hair and dragged her thumb over his temple.

His hand slid lower between her thighs and stayed there, and Yeji's head tipped back against the tile while her fingers tightened in his hair. Whatever he was doing with his hand, he was patient about it, and Yeji's breathing went visible in the steam - her ribs expanding in slow, shaky pulls that Ryujin recognized from six years of watching Yeji try to hold herself together in front of cameras. Except this time she wasn't holding anything together. Her hips rocked forward once, twice, and a small broken sound carried across the wet stone, barely louder than the shower spray, and her whole body shuddered in a long, quiet wave that started at her thighs and rolled upward through her stomach and shoulders until she went still with her hand buried in his hair and her mouth open against the falling water.

Minho reached up and killed the water. The rushing noise vanished, leaving nothing but the pool filter humming and loud drops hitting the drain.

Yeji grabbed the only towel off the bamboo door. She was naked, water pouring off her shivering shoulders, but she ignored herself and wrapped the dry cotton securely around his chest instead. She turned her back on him and walked barefoot onto the dry pool wood, stopping right over her crumpled brown bikini.

She bent straight down at the waist. The gap in the bushes gave Ryujin a direct, glaring angle she did not want to see. Yeji's slit was swollen thick and dark pink, and a heavy, sloppy smear of white cream sat right at the entrance where the shower water missed. The underwater pool LEDs lit the whole mess up like a neon sign.

Yeji peered back over her bare shoulder through her dripping hair. She shot Minho this lazy, thoroughly fucked smirk, and clearly held the bent-over angle for an extra second for his eyes alone.

She grabbed the mesh dress, straightened up, and started walking back toward the house with this heavy, wildly satisfied sway in her hips.

The bitch who spent four hours flicking Bang Chan's accident off her skin was strolling naked across an open pool deck wearing Minho's cum and grinning about it.

Minho caught her around her bare waist before she made it three steps. He pressed a quick, loud kiss to her wet eyebrow, then immediately hooked both arms under her thighs and swept her off the ground.

"MINHO -" Yeji shrieked.

"Hold on."

"PUT ME -"

She flailed. Both her hands scrambled blindly for something to hold onto and locked around his bare dick.

The towel immediately dumped off his shoulders. "What are you DOING?" Minho barked, cracking up.

"I'm falling, I need a handle!"

"That is literally NOT a handle!"

Yeji threw her head back and laughed, loud and bright and unfiltered.

Minho carried her across the pool deck with Yeji holding onto his dick like a subway strap, the teal water glowing behind them, both of them cracking up.

The dark living room swallowed them up. Their laughter bounced off the indoor tile, dropping lower and fainter as he carried her up the massive glass staircase, until the villa finally went dead silent.

The heavy glass patio door clicked locked.

Ryujin stood frozen in the bushes. The crushed fruit in her fist was slow-dripping sticky juice onto her feet.

The pool deck was deserted and Ryujin stepped into the light.

Two sets of wet footprints tracked a direct line from the shower stall to the sliding glass door. Right in the middle of the trail, fat drops of milky white fluid sat directly on the dry volcanic stone, glowing faintly in the pool light.

The wet footprints were already baking into the warm wood.

The drop stayed.

Ryujin stared at it and finally got it. She had spent half a year treating Minho like a hostile invasion, entirely missing the truth. The massive Jeju villa rental, the refused Ddaeng Ddong divorce, the freezing toes under the dorm blankets - whenever Yeji cared about someone, she threw everything she had at them. Building houses in the mountains and locking her wet ankles together to demand a guy permanently wreck her were the exact same emotional reflex, reserved strictly for the tiny circle of people she planned to keep.

The brutal pull-out rule and the dead-eyed top energy were an impenetrable wall built to keep the rest of the industry the fuck out. Ryujin had stared at Yeji's final boss Leader concept for seven years and believed it was the real person.

But the terrified girl who used to crawl down a metal ladder in the dark just to touch somebody she trusted hadn't vanished. She found a much better place to hide, and she had always been capable of screaming yours with the windows wide open.

The pool light hit Ryujin from below, throwing harsh teal shadows up her face as she stood frozen at the ledge. Her calves were shredded from the mountain sprint, and her ribs burned from hauling raw panic across the island, demanding the same physical reset she had sought in this water two days ago when she crawled out of Minho's bed trying to scrub him off her skin.

She kicked her wet slides onto the dry stone and stepped off the ledge in her denim shorts, leaving her clothes on and her fist welded around the destroyed tangerine as she let her knees give out to hand her exhausted body over to the deep end.

She leaned her head back to float, letting the water absorb the weight of her soaked clothes while the night air brushed her face. For thirty quiet seconds under the dark canopy, her brain shut the fuck up and surrendered to gravity.

Then the glass door clicked shut upstairs, but the bedroom window stayed wide open, letting the giggling from the courtyard mutate into thick, suffocated vowels bleeding across the night air. A heavy thud shook the ceiling, followed by wood banging against stone and another heavy impact, and then Yeji's voice dropped the leash. The fractured whimpering Ryujin had caught outside the shower turned loud and unguarded as the girl allowed herself to be physically dismantled.

Ryujin lay paralyzed in the water while two people destroyed a room above her, leaving her nowhere to hide from the noise. Any other night she would have made a sarcastic joke or mentally rated the guy's stamina, but knowing what it cost Hwang Yeji to drop the act and beg to be taken apart turned the sound into something she had no right to be hearing.

Something glass shattered upstairs, a lamp or a bottle swept off the nightstand, and the crack carried all the way to the pool deck while the two people who caused it kept right on destroying each other.

Ryujin exhaled every ounce of air in her lungs and sank.

The water rushed up to drag the world under, flattening the vicious thudding from the second floor into a dull vibration against her skull that faded away until the surface sealed shut over her head. The silence swallowed the noise above while soaked denim turned her shorts into concrete, pulling her steadily toward the ceramic floor.

Forcing her eyes open into the chlorine sting, she uncurled her fingers to let the destroyed tangerine drift weightlessly out of her palm. Orange flecks scattered into the turquoise current, washing the sticky wreckage of the night off her skin until the mess dissolved into nothing.

Her heartbeat hammered steady and hot in her flooded ears while the pool lights stretched her shadow across the white tile below. Dark strands of hair drifted around her face to catch the teal glow, spreading into a weightless veil that washed the heavy, bitter attitude away.

The memories of the trip played back behind her open eyes, losing their teeth in the chlorine now that the anger had washed off them. Yeji in the kitchen humming to a private playlist while leaning blindly against Minho's shoulder. Yeji waist-deep in the ocean, tightening her grip on his neck every time a swell hit so the water couldn't steal him. Yeji going heavy against his chest on the living room couch with a quiet exhale, letting someone hold her up because she was tired of doing it alone.

I'm not her. I don't need soft.

She'd said it yesterday morning on this same pool deck, leaning into Minho's ear with her back arched and her voice hard, daring him to wreck her because asking for tenderness would have killed her faster than anal ever could.

What if I do?

She'd always known. She'd wanted soft her entire career, through every frat house and every oversized sex toy and every man she collected and destroyed and forgot, through strutting naked into lunch to shock a table full of people who had only ever asked her to show up, through years of performing indestructible for an audience that would have loved the girl who climbed bunk ladders and stayed during Chuseok and bought streamers for a party that never happened. The swagger came later. The act came later. The girl who showed up came first, and she'd been enough the whole time.

Her lungs traded their dull ache for a sharp burn, demanding air with every heavy thump against her ribs while the soaked denim anchored her legs in the deep end. Hanging suspended between the tile and the surface, out of breath and out of excuses, she tucked her knees and kicked hard off the ceramic floor.

She broke the surface gasping, dragging the night air deep into her lungs as chlorine and jasmine flooded her throat, only to find the villa still overhead. The frantic thudding had stopped, leaving the open bedroom window to spill a low, fading murmur from Minho over the patio before softening into silence.

And then Yeji laughed.

That squeaky, unfiltered cackle pitched too high for a girl who regularly terrified grown choreographers, the exact pitch from their trainee dorms and midnight V Lives that Ryujin could pick out of a stadium crowd because her brain had filed it under the feeling of home before she even knew the word for it.

The laugh floated across the water to settle warmly on Ryujin's wet face, loosening the tight fist in her chest enough to allow a full, deep breath.

As pale grey crept along the eastern edge of the sky, Ryujin rolled onto her back to give her weight to the pool. Her ears sank below the surface, blurring the laughter into the steady hum of the filter while she floated there, letting the chill seep into her shoulders and prune her fingers. Her body was already making the decision her mind had refused to articulate, operating on the same instinct that offered her own back as a mattress after a twelve-hour rehearsal or fixed a fifteen-year-old's mic wire the second she caught the panic. Her body knew what it was built for, and it had been screaming the answer at her for hours while she deafened herself with spite.

She was going to protect what Yeji found, carrying the history of this night in her chest and using every ugly minute of it the same way she ignored the burn in her thighs to carry Yeji to the van on a twelve-hour practice day. All because the person you carried it for trusted you enough to go limp, and the burning was just the price.

Above her, the couple upstairs went back to redecorating, apparently unsatisfied with the paint job. She floated under the lightening sky until the cold crept past her ribs and the water stopped feeling like a cradle.

Karina would probably call this a "baptism" or some shit. Karina, who was apparently Catholic despite having done some distinctly uncatholic things with Ryujin in a Yonsei frat house two nights ago, would look at a girl floating alone in a pool at dawn and find the sacrament in it, because Karina found God in everything and Shin Ryujin, whose surname literally meant 'God' and who'd been nicknamed "God Ryujin" by fans who clearly hadn't met her, found God in nothing, which was probably why one of them had a spiritual vocabulary for moments like this and the other one was pruning in chlorine.

***

[YUNA - THIRD PERSON]

The pink blinds were the wrong pink.

Two days ago they'd been perfect, the exact shade she'd picked to turn this room into Shin Yuna's Personal Territory, and now the same bubblegum looked like expired strawberry Yakult, that sad pink that happens when something meant to be fun has been sitting in fluorescent lighting too long and nobody wants to drink it anymore but nobody's thrown it out either.

She'd practically sprinted to her room after girls' night cratered, which, to be fair, was on-brand. Shin Yuna's official response to consequences had always been to leave the room before they fully arrived, a strategy that had worked brilliantly right up until the consequences started following her through walls in the form of rhythmic furniture displacement from the master bedroom directly on the other side of her headboard. She'd never seen her unnies fight before, and Yeji and Ryujin-unnie bickered constantly, Tom and Jerry energy where Ryujin stole Yeji's charger and Yeji threatened to cut Ryujin's hair in her sleep, but their fights had always ended in someone laughing or someone getting put in a headlock, and none of them had ever ended with one unnie storming out the door and the other getting her insides rearranged as coping therapy with the window wide open and the whole villa as the live studio audience.

Her phone sat right there on the nightstand, charging on the pink stand she'd brought (also from home, also matching, she had a SYSTEM), and her hand went to it because that's what her hand did. Her thumb automatically opened the apps to chase validation, hunting for a dopamine hit that would make her feel something before repeating the cycle. She'd been running this loop since she was sixteen and figured out that looking herself up online while touching herself was literally the fastest way to feel alive, and she'd gotten so good at it she kept a spreadsheet tracking her personal bests. It was either peak self-improvement or a cry for help depending on who you asked, and Yuna had never asked because asking would've interrupted her masturbating sprints.

She hadn't masturbated today. When was the last time that had happened? The answer was in her notes, it was always in her notes, but she didn't feel like opening the file. The numbers belonged to someone else, someone louder, someone who gave a shit about her own numbers.

She unlocked her phone anyway, because muscle memory was a bitch, and scrolled into the feed: TikTok first, then Instagram - her own grid, first, always, because Shin Yuna's morning scroll started with confirming Shin Yuna was still hot, which was like checking whether the sun had risen, but she did it anyway - then the fan accounts, then the comment sections, down the rabbit hole.

Her finger was between her legs before she'd made a conscious decision to put it there. Middle finger tracing slow circles over her clit in the groove she'd been wearing since predebut, the motion her body knew like breathing, the touch that had produced three orgasms before breakfast two mornings ago and four on the plane to Jeju and an uncountable number in dorm bathrooms across six years of trainee housing with thin walls and early schedules.

The fan accounts gave her what they always gave her. Her Waterbomb fancam reposted with heart-eye emojis. A Koreaboo article she'd already read twice. Pann comments translated into English by accounts that existed solely to tell Korean idols what Korean strangers thought about their hip-to-waist ratios.

She's pretty, has a great body, and a healthy mindset too. Yuna is genuinely so nice to look at.

Born in 2003, but she has such a mature charm that it's fascinating and makes you keep watching...

These comments used to charge her up. Two days ago she'd have read this exact praise and her finger would've sped up, the words going straight to her clit like her pussy ran on public approval, which was probably a concerning way to be wired but she'd never questioned it because it WORKED, it had always worked: be hot, get told you're hot, get off on being told you're hot, repeat forever.

Her proportions and her face are unreal.

She's born to be a celebrity. She's tall, has a small face and good body proportions.

They measured her small face and good proportions with numbers, strangers who'd never heard her voice crack on a high note or watched her cry in a V Live because she was scared she'd never be good enough and MIDZYs kept calling her special when she was literally one of many nineteen-year-olds. Her finger kept circling because that's what it did, muscle memory running the program while the program produced nothing, and somewhere between one circle and the next the signal stopped arriving.

Her waist is unbelievably tiny. She naturally has hips too.

Face and body-wise, she and Jang Wonyoung are the top two.

She's beyond human.

So the strangers ranked her. They sorted her into a tier list like a gacha character, comparing her body to Wonyoung's like they were phone specs, and her finger kept moving against a stubbornly dry clit. Her body had never refused her in her entire life. The nervous system that dragged her off on a toilet in under two minutes, gave her an orgasm during turbulence at 30,000 feet, and finished four times before noon on the first day of this trip suddenly had nothing for her.

The way she deliberately wears it low so it shows is sooo guilty.

Bored commuters turned her clothing choices into evidence, evaluating her hips like a crime scene.

Nice to look at.

Her finger stopped dead at those words.

Two mornings ago she'd watched herself in that mirror while she came, filming herself because watching Shin Yuna lose control was the hottest thing Shin Yuna had ever seen, and she'd called herself a disaster and meant it like a trophy. Now she was lying in a dark room scrolling comments about her proportions and watching herself from outside, being scored the same way they scored her, and the thing that had been the thrill was eating her alive because she was content, she was product, she was nice to look at and nice to look at was all anyone had ever bothered to type about Shin Yuna at three in the morning on a Korean forum, and her body had finally caught up to what that meant.

Noise bled through the shared wall from Yeji's room.

The sounds started familiar. Muffled bedsprings groaned while Yeji's voice climbed into registers that two mornings ago had sent Yuna into competitive overdrive, racing to time her climax to the noises like she always did.

She tried again, shoving two fingers straight between her legs to dig directly past the harsh, dragging friction. Her pussy stayed stubbornly dry, but she forced her hand deep anyway to grind aggressively against her clit, locking her pumping arm to the frantic thudding of the headboard on the other side of the plaster. Every time Minho slammed into Yeji next door, Yuna violently matched the impact, thrashing her fingers inside herself to shock her own nervous system into operating.

Instead of the heavy, dripping slip that reliably ruined her sheets every morning, the raw friction burned. Her tight skin scraped hotly against her knuckles, stinging meaner the faster she pumped until a vicious cramp seized her wrist from fighting the uncooperative grip. Lying alone in the dark, she kept brutally rubbing an embarrassingly dry hole for zero payoff, trapped in the exact same frantic loop as someone aggressively refreshing a dead app until her arm finally gave out and she dropped her empty hand.

Then the rhythm broke. Yeji laughed and started bossing him around, bodies shifting over the mattress while they argued about camera angles. Yuna recognized that chaos from a thousand rehearsals. They carried pure ITZY practice-room energy into the bed, clearly failing at something and cracking up about it.

Then Yeji's voice went small.

"This angle makes my tits look flat," she said, muffled through the wall, and every word bled clearly through the plaster because the property had zero respect for privacy. "I look like a kid from up here."

Yuna's hand froze.

Minho answered her, his voice dropping low and warm against the plaster. "They're perfect. You're perfect."

Yeji threw an accusation about Karina's cleavage at dinner to deflect him, and his response bled right through the plaster, warm and utterly unbothered by the joke. "I'm saying it because they're perfect." Yeji gasped, a sharp sound cutting off her defense, before his voice dropped lower. "And because I know exactly what they do when I squeeze them."

Yuna pulled her hand out from between her legs and wiped her dry fingers on the silk sheet she'd brought from home because she had a SYSTEM and the system had crashed.

She'd let plenty of guys fuck her. She memorized the roster exactly like she tracked her orgasm spreadsheet, counting the numbers as proof she was wanted. Every single one of them had called her hot, called her tight, crowned her the best ass in the business, and every spoken compliment matched the internet comments word for word. They spoke in product review voices and delivered quality inspections. Nice to look at. Great proportions. S-line. Waist-to-hip ratio. They spoke the language of an evaluated body, because every guy she'd fucked had essentially graded down the product to confirm she was premium tier. Yuna had gotten off on it because getting off on being consumed was the only version of wanting she understood.

Through the wall, a boy paused mid-fuck to tell Yeji-unnie that the part she was insecure about was perfect, and meant HER body, her actual body, the one Yuna had never seen because Yeji-unnie remained the final boss of womanhood, composed and powerful and effortlessly poised, the unnie who'd never once let the maknae catch her being small. Yeji showed him something vulnerable and he answered it with five years of paying attention to ONE person. The sounds that followed - Yeji laughing while the headboard resumed, laughing like sex was funny and desperate and real all at once - were sounds she'd never heard anyone make while being fucked.

Nobody had ever looked at Yuna like that. They consumed her. They rated her. They called her hot in the same detached tone the internet used, and she'd gotten off on the attention because it was the only attention she'd ever known. Lying in the dark with dry hands under silk sheets while Yeji laughed through the wall, the validation loop that had sustained Shin Yuna since she was sixteen finally crashed into a wall it couldn't climb.

The renovation upstairs resumed in earnest, slamming the headboard against shared plaster in a frantic rhythm Yuna recognized from a hundred guys losing control. Except Yeji still laughed through the heavy thudding, and that bright sound destroyed Yuna more than anything else. Yeji was having real fun, sleeping with someone who made the sex funny and the awkwardness hot, trusting him enough to admit a physical insecurity and believing him when he called her perfect.

Yuna stared at the expired-Yakult blinds.

Somewhere in the wreckage of the last hour, between the fight and the comments and the finger that accomplished nothing and Yeji-unnie getting her insecurities kissed by a boy who'd spent five years memorizing her, a memory came up that she hadn't touched in years.

***

She was fifteen. It was their absolute first week of promotions, and she sat curled in on herself on a KBS waiting room couch wearing a crop top she chose specifically to look older. She spent twenty minutes trying to fold her overgrown teenager frame into a compact package, hunching her shoulders and pulling her long legs in so she wouldn't take up too much physical space on the leather while she arranged her face into something convincingly idol-shaped. The other four older girls had their own rhythms locked down, moving in established orbits with Ryujin and Yeji paired off on one side while Chaeryeong and Lia held down the other. Yuna remained the late addition, the unexpected final piece pulled from the trainee B-team abruptly adjusting to the reality that this was her squad now even though none of them had personally recruited her.

Then Ryujin walked over, dropped onto the leather next to her, and casually grabbed the trailing wire of Yuna's mic pack where it had unclipped itself. She snapped it back onto the younger girl's waistband with one hand and flashed a grin, simply because somebody had to.

Yuna's tense posture immediately collapsed. She unspooled her long spine against the cushions, tipped her head against the older girl's shoulder, and for the very first time since she signed her JYP contract she stopped trying to shrink herself to fit the room, letting herself take up space as a giant kid sitting beside someone who decided she belonged.

***

She'd literally imprinted on Ryujin-unnie from that one gesture like a baby duck locking onto the first moving thing it sees, which was embarrassing and true and also the reason she'd spent the next four years copying everything Ryujin-unnie did, the strut, the confidence, the "I'm the hottest person in any room and if you disagree you're LYING" energy, and never understanding that the girl who snapped her mic wire was being kind, and the power Yuna copied came from somewhere she'd never bothered to look because kindness was quiet and Shin Yuna had always been better at loud.

And Yeji-unnie, who braided her hair in the living room literally today and called her "our baby" and shouldered the whole group quietly - when did she become the person Yuna was COMPETING with instead of the unnie who called her baby? Yeji-unnie didn't change. Yuna changed what she was looking at, swapping the unnie for the territory, and she'd spent this whole trip trying to prove she could play in the same league when the league Yeji-unnie was playing in was trusting someone enough to say "my boobs are small" while he was inside her.

Thinking about Ryujin-unnie reaching for her, she opened her voicemail app. Something she was CONVINCED literally nobody used anymore because voicemail was for boomers like Lia-unnie and Shin Yuna communicated exclusively through 40-message text chains at 2 AM and unhinged DMs to Lia-unnie asking whether a man could survive her body, but there was one unread message from three weeks ago with Ryujin-unnie's name on it, timestamped the night the BLACKPINK tickets dropped, the night Yuna was at the afterparty riding a guy whose name she'd already forgotten while her phone blasted her own unreleased solo into the hotel pillow and seven missed calls from Ryujin-unnie piled up on the lock screen.

She'd been FURIOUS about those tickets, three days of composing revenge texts and screenshotting Ryujin-unnie's smug messages and making Pinterest boards about creative body disposal on tropical islands, because her brain defaulted to Pinterest for everything and she'd literally searched "how to hide a body on a beach" and gotten mood boards for coastal-themed weddings instead. Ryujin-unnie had two tickets, took Karina instead, and Yuna had decided it was personal, proof the maknae was expendable, proof that the girl who snapped her mic wire five years ago had gotten bored of her.

She pressed play.

Ryujin-unnie's voice came through the phone speaker, tinny and bored and very much her. "Maknae. Got two tickets to the BLACKPINK thing. Text me if you want one or I'm giving it to Jimin-unnie. You have until tomorrow."

The voicemail was eleven seconds long and Yuna played it twice.

She was the first call, the ticket was literally HERS, Ryujin-unnie had thought of her before Karina, before Jimin-unnie, before anyone, and had called SEVEN TIMES while Yuna was too busy getting fucked to check her phone, and when Yuna never texted back Ryujin-unnie gave the ticket to Karina and acted like an asshole about it because Shin Ryujin would rather eat glass than admit she'd reached for someone who didn't reach back.

Yuna set the phone face-down on the nightstand. The pink puppy case stared at the ceiling.

She came to Jeju to see BLACKPINK, to hook up with hot guys, to make happy memories with her unnies. The concert ticket was hers and she'd ignored it because she was riding a stranger. The hookups left her dry. The memories were wreckage she'd helped build by touching something between her unnie and the man her unnie loved, trying to win a competition Yeji-unnie had never been competing in.

Her eyes were wet all of a sudden, and the tears sat on her face and she didn't wipe them because wiping them meant acknowledging they existed, and Shin Yuna didn't cry, Shin Yuna turned every emotion into content, every vulnerability into a bit, every feeling into a caption for a story she'd post and delete, and she was lying in the dark with tears on her cheeks and zero memes for any of it.

The mirror she'd angled two days ago caught her in the low light, the one she'd positioned for watching herself look hot while horizontal. A girl with wet cheeks and messy hair and a phone face-down on the nightstand stared back at her from the glass.

She looked so small in it.

She pulled the duvet over her head and curled into herself, knees to chest, fetal position, the "mature charm" girl hiding under blankets like she hadn't since she was a trainee scared of debuting. The sobbing started ugly and got worse, and her whole body shook and her breath caught in her throat and her face did things she'd be mortified about if anyone were watching, except nobody was watching Shin Yuna and for the first time in her life she didn't want them to.

The villa kept going above her and around her. Sex sounds and laughter and living, and she was a girl under a blanket in the dark with expired-Yakult blinds and silk sheets and a phone full of people telling her she was nice to look at and the sound of a mic wire clicking into place playing on loop behind her closed eyes.

Where am I?

Nah, she knew exactly where she was.

What am I?

Nah, her phone was full of strangers eager to tell her exactly what she was.

She let the edge of the duvet slip down to her nose.

"Who am I?" she whispered, looking past the sad pink blinds to find a scared, lonely girl in the angled mirror staring right back.

***

[RYUJIN - THIRD PERSON]

The frantic renovation noises from the second floor had finally wound down.

The jaw she'd been clenching since the terrace had finally unlocked in the water, and with that came the final piece of the memory of the dorm room floor from Chuseok eve years ago where Ryujin had stayed so that Yeji wouldn't have to spend it alone, chicken grease on her fingers, Yeji's dead weight on her shoulder, and the laptop playing something neither of them was watching until Yeji woke up right as Toy Story 3 was ending, scrubbing a sleep-crease from her cheek while the screen threw blue light across the cold chicken boxes.

They'd made it past the incinerator scene, past the four sniffles Ryujin would hold over her head for the next four years, right to the final shot of a college kid driving away while a toy cowboy watched him go from the porch.

"Are you seriously crying at cartoon toys now?" Ryujin had whispered, trying to preserve her cool-girl immunity to sentimentality as Yeji wiped her eyes again.

"You'd cry too if you actually paid attention," Yeji grumbled, her voice thick with sleep but fiercely defensive. "He almost got everyone burned alive trying to keep things the way they were. Almost took the whole gang down with him. And THEN he finally let go."

The heavy, bruised sky above the Jeju courtyard looked exactly like the ceiling of that empty dorm. She had spent the entire weekend playing the exact same desperate, screaming role as Woody. She had burned down a villa, thrown herself at Minho, and turned her own insecurity into a weapon just to prove she was still necessary, because if Yeji could build a house in the mountains and find someone softly holding her through the dark, then where the fuck did that leave Ryujin?

She stared up at the dark, open bedroom window, letting the turquoise glow wash over her face as she surrendered her claim to the girl who was busy building a new life inside.

"So long, partner," she whispered.

The water had cooled past reasonable. Ryujin hauled herself out over the pool lip, arms shaking from the cold, and stood on the deck while her clothes dumped water in sheets onto the volcanic stone. The warm night air clung cold and heavy against soaking denim and a sports bra that retained half the pool.

She was standing in a spreading puddle of herself on the pool deck, and it was not the clearest decision she'd made on this trip, which, given the competition, was a meaningful statement.

She pushed the glass door open and stepped inside, leaving a trail of pool water across the tile as she headed for the stairs, heading for bed, heading for the end of whatever tonight had been.

Two shapes on the living room couch stopped her mid-stride.

They'd renovated the bedroom so hard they'd made it uninhabitable, and she almost laughed because of COURSE they had, of course Hwang Yeji and her secret boyfriend had fucked their way through an entire floor of luxury Jeju real estate and ended up as refugees on the living room sofa like a couple who'd burned down their own kitchen trying to make ramyeon. Yeji was draped across Minho's chest wearing what looked like one of his shirts, a dry duvet pulled over both of them, and they'd clearly fallen asleep mid-sentence because Yeji's mouth was slightly open and Minho's hand was still resting on her hair like he'd been stroking it when his body gave out. The pool glow from outside threw faint turquoise light across them through the glass.

Ryujin's chest turned over. This was a Yeji she hadn't seen since the bunk beds - slack and trusting, mouth open like she'd forgotten anyone might be watching.

She made it three steps toward the stairs before her body abandoned the plan and snapped her around.

Crossing the dark room on legs that had already decided, she stepped to the edge of the couch to wrap both arms around Yeji, pressing her soaking body into the dry duvet and the warm quiet of two people she had nearly destroyed.

Yeji sucked in a sharp gasp. The hit of cold pool water sent her rigid, locking up against the sudden panic of being grabbed in the dark. Ryujin's stomach turned, convinced she was building a second mess on top of the first one. But the moment Yeji's chin found the familiar groove of her neck, the tension shattered. Every locked muscle released as Yeji exhaled two wrecked syllables into the dark.

"Ryu..."

Yeji's hand found Ryujin's forearm and clamped down before her eyes adjusted to the room.

Ryujin pressed her mouth into Yeji's wet neck and whispered their promise.

"Ddaeng Ddong."

Yeji breathed back the counter-sign the way she always had.

"Ddong Ddaeng."

They both exhaled simultaneously.

The pool water spread through the duvet, bleeding cold chlorine into the warm skin of the cozy world the two of them had decided to occupy for the night. Ryujin leaned harder into the ruin.

Minho's manufactured stillness gave him away. His chest went hard under the sudden weight, but the second Yeji murmured her name, he relaxed, vanishing into the mattress so Ryujin could occupy the space.

Thank you for holding her still.

The grip lasted until the freezing denim traded its shock for a shared warmth, binding them together while Ryujin's rough breathing synced to the steady pulse against her neck and her shoulders stopped shaking. She kept her face buried in the warm skin while hot tears mixed into the pool water running down her cheeks.

Pulling back with her jaw set and her eyes locked on the floor, she dragged her hand across Yeji's shoulder to linger a beat past casual. She avoided Minho's face, deciding that this private truce belonged to the two girls while using his chest as a staging ground - a reality she promised to examine later and planned to bury forever.

Yeji's fingers trailed down her separating forearm, caught her wrist for an acknowledging second, and fell away, leaving Ryujin to cross the dark room and track wet footprints up every stair.

Intro | Masterlist | Series Index Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Girls Will Be Girls interview with Korea Times, 2025

“We wanted to show that the world still has meaning if we’re together. It’s about unbreakable bonds - a friendship that gets stronger with time.” - Hwang Yeji

“We poured our energy into capturing our identity as a group. The message is simple but powerful - when we’re together, nothing else matters. We’ll take your hand and move forward together.” - Shin Ryujin

“Most of us are different when we’re not performing. On stage, we show this strong and charismatic image, but off stage, we’re just a group of girls who laugh, joke around and talk about everything. Those small moments are what make us stronger." - Shin Yuna

“We move as one. We wanted to express that in the music, too.” - Choi Lia

Real ITZY Lore Used in This Chapter

Yeji & Ryujin Formation Fight (2019 Asia Artist Awards)

Yeji Buttoning Ryujin's Shirt on VLive (October 2022)

Yeji & Ryujin as Roommates / Bunk Beds

Last Day as Roommates / Moving Out

ITZY Driving School (Not Shy Era, 2020)

Yeji's Failed Driving Attempt

ITZY Cozy House (Jeju Island Reality Show, 2022)

Ddaeng Ddong Nickname Origin (2TZY: Hello 2021, Episode 4)

Ryujin Loving Jeju / Yeji Asking About Building a House

Chuseok at the Dorm (2019)

She sat there in silence, listening to the distant sound of city traffic, her breathing becoming heavy and short… hoping fate would show some mercy, even though she knew that in this world, mercy didn't pay the bills.

Three loud, sharp knocks shook the door.

“I know you’re in there, Yuna!” Mr. Han’s voice was a hoarse growl, loaded with a greasy kind of authority. “Open the damn door right now!”

Yuna swallowed hard. Her legs felt like jelly and cold sweat beaded on her forehead. She walked toward the entrance with shaky steps, feeling every inch bring her closer to a cliff. When she turned the knob and opened the door, the air in the hallway was displaced by the man's massive presence.

Mr. Han didn’t just enter; he invaded. He was obese, with a belly that strained the buttons of his yellowish-white shirt, revealing patches of damp body hair and red skin. His smell came before him: a suffocating mix of cheap tobacco, stale sweat, and some kind of budget cologne that only served to highlight the scent of old meat.

“You’re late on your payments, princess,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him with a thud that made the windows vibrate.

Yuna instinctively backed away, bumping into the small entry table. Her pupils dilated and she felt a chill run down her neck.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Mr. Han,” she stammered, looking down. “I had some problems with my college materials and… I… I swear I’ll catch up soon. I just need a few more weeks.”

The man didn't answer right away. Instead, he just stood there, breathing heavily. The sound of his lungs fighting for oxygen filled the silence of the apartment. Yuna could feel the landlord's gaze scanning her, but it wasn't a casual look. It was a slow, visceral, obscene scan.

Mr. Han’s small, glinting eyes traveled from her face down to her breasts, which were heaving from nervousness. They stayed there for a few seconds, as if he were measuring the firmness of her tits under the white fabric, before dropping to her hips and stopping at the curve of her ass.

“Weeks?” he let out a nasal chuckle that sounded like phlegm. “I’ve been patient with you for three months, Yuna. Patience has a limit… and so does my pocket.”

Yuna felt her stomach knot up. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she began to tremble slightly. The man took a step forward, forcing her to back away further. His physical mass was overwhelming; Yuna felt like a porcelain doll facing a hungry animal.

“Please… don't kick me out,” she pleaded, her voice breaking, almost a whisper. “I have nowhere else to go. I’ll do anything, I swear. I’ll work double, I’ll get the money…”

Mr. Han stopped just inches from her. Yuna could feel the heat radiating from his obese body and the smell of tobacco that seemed to soak into the very air she breathed. He tilted his head, looking at her with a crooked smile that revealed yellowish teeth.

“Anything, huh?” he repeated, lowering his voice to a predatory purr. “That’s a very dangerous word, princess. A very… tempting word.”

Yuna felt the hair on her arms stand up. The man's tone had changed; it wasn't just the anger of a debt collector anymore, but something much darker and more lustful. Her nipples hardened against her shirt—not from the cold, but as an instinctive reaction of fear and vulnerability that made her feel naked under those eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked, though deep down she already knew the answer. Her pulse quickened, hammering in her ears.

Mr. Han let out a short, dry laugh while extending a fat, sweaty hand to lightly touch Yuna's shoulder. The contact was brief, but her skin reacted as if it had been burned; an electric shiver ran down her entire spine.

“Oh, don't get so defensive, beautiful,” he said, never stopping that suffocating intensity in his gaze. “It’s just that I’m starting to sell clothes and I need a model… with your body and pretty face, I think you’d be perfect. Of course, I’d pay you enough to cover the rent and then some.”

For a moment, Yuna felt a spark of excitement. After everything, she was seeing a light… a ray of hope to escape her debt and her hunger.

Yuna felt air returning to her lungs for the first time in hours. The panic that had paralyzed her began to fade, replaced by a spark of hope so intense it almost blinded her. A model? It sounded absurd; she had no experience. But she looked at her own body and then at the man's gaze; she knew she was pretty, she knew she turned heads. If he was willing to pay her just to pose, it was the biggest miracle of her life.

“Seriously?” Yuna asked, her voice still trembling but now filled with naive hope. “You’d really pay my rent and give me extra for that?”

Mr. Han let out a snort that made his double chin vibrate. He stepped back to give her space, but his eyes remained locked on her, tracing the line of her neck down to the valley between her breasts. Yuna didn't realize that this "hope" was the perfect bait; she was so desperate she couldn't see the strings he was starting to pull.

“That’s right, princess,” he answered, his voice now softer, almost paternal, though it kept that greasy tone. “It’s a personal project. I want to capture the essence of youth, purity… form. You study Fine Arts, right? You know the human body is the ultimate masterpiece. I just need a few photos, nothing complicated.”

Yuna nodded quickly, almost enthusiastically. Her hands stopped shaking and started playing with the edge of her shirt.

“Yes, I know… anatomy is fundamental,” she stammered, feeling validated in her field of study. “I could do it. I don't care about the schedule; I can go whenever you want.”

Mr. Han let out a hoarse chuckle and put his hand to his chin, pretending to reflect while his eyes stayed glued to Yuna's hips, imagining them wrapped in lycra.

“There’s one detail,” he said, lowering his tone. “It’s not just any clothes. I have a specific outfit I want to test. It’s a blue swimsuit, full body, very tight. Like a sports or professional swimming uniform. I want to see how it fits a figure like yours.”

Yuna frowned slightly, but it wasn't rejection—it was technical curiosity. A blue swimsuit… didn't seem out of place for a photo session about the "human form." In her mind, she imagined an artistic session with soft lights and neutral backgrounds, something that could even serve as part of her portfolio.

“A swimsuit…” she repeated softly. She felt a slight heat rise in her cheeks. “That’s fine. If it’s for photos, I don't have a problem.”

“Exactly. Nothing vulgar, just art,” he lied, and the lie came out so smoothly that Yuna didn't even suspect him. “But I want it to be at my place. I have the lighting equipment there, an improvised studio where no one will bother us. One night, a few poses, and tomorrow I’ll wipe your debt clean and give you a cash bonus for your materials.”

Yuna's heart leaped. The "cash bonus" was the final blow. She stopped thinking about the man's smell or the way he looked at her; she only thought about new brushes, the large canvas she had been craving, and the feeling of no longer having an empty stomach.

“I accept,” Yuna said firmly, though her voice sounded small. “I accept the deal, Mr. Han.”

The man flashed a triumphant smile—a predatory expression that Yuna interpreted as kindness. He extended his fat, damp hand once more, and this time Yuna didn't pull away. She shook the landlord's hand, feeling the sticky, warm skin against hers, a contact that caused an involuntary shiver to run down her spine.

“Perfect, princess. Tomorrow at seven in the evening. Don't be late,” he said, letting go of her slowly. “And remember: wear something light underneath so the swimsuit slides on easily. I want every curve to show; no wrinkles in the fabric. Art requires precision, right?”

Yuna nodded, feeling a strange mix of nerves and relief.

“Yes… precision. I’ll be there.”

Mr. Han turned to leave the apartment, but before closing the door, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. He stared at Yuna's ass as she turned back to her table, a lustful glint lighting up his small eyes.

“Tomorrow you’re going to be my masterpiece, Yuna,” he murmured to himself, slamming the door shut with a thud that echoed through the hallway.

Yuna was left alone in the silence of her room. She sank into her chair and let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the world lift off her shoulders. She didn't know she had just signed a contract where the currency wasn't time or work, but her own skin. She looked at her hands, still stained with paint, and smiled slightly, unaware that tomorrow those same hands would be trying to cover herself while Mr. Han did exactly the opposite.

Slowly, she lowered her arm and exhaled deeply, feeling the tension that had kept her shoulders rigid for weeks finally crumble. Her legs, which had been shaking violently minutes ago, now felt solid. The void in her stomach no longer felt like an open wound, but a tolerable wait.

“I can't believe it… he actually helped me,” she whispered to herself, and a small, almost unconscious smile appeared on her full lips.

She walked to the window and looked at the city's gray sky. She felt strangely ashamed. For months, she had seen Mr. Han as a monster, a rude and unpleasant man who only knew how to grunt and demand money. She had judged his obesity and smell as signs of a repulsive personality, but now, in the light of this opportunity, she started to reinterpret everything.

Maybe he's just a lonely man, she thought, hugging herself. Maybe that rudeness is just a mask because he doesn't know how to approach people. And that he offered me this… means he trusts me, that he sees something in me others don't.

She felt flattered. The idea that someone, even a grumpy landlord, saw her body as a "masterpiece" or a subject worthy of artistic study touched a chord of pride in her. As a Fine Arts student, Yuna was obsessed with aesthetics and form; the fact that Mr. Han talked about “capturing the essence of youth” made her feel like he shared her passion—that there was a hidden intellectual connection behind his sloppy appearance.

“I’ve been too hard on him,” she murmured, feeling a comforting warmth in her chest. “Poor man, probably nobody understands him.”

She moved through the room with renewed energy. She no longer saw the half-finished canvases as reminders of financial failure, but as preludes to what would come after the cash bonus. She imagined buying those premium sable brushes she had seen in the specialty store, feeling the fine bristles on the canvas. She imagined the hunger disappearing, replaced by real dinners and nights of sleep without the nightmare of eviction stalking her.

She approached the bathroom mirror once more. This time, she didn't look at herself with the anguish of someone who is a vulnerable piece of meat, but with the curiosity of an artist analyzing their own model. She observed the curve of her neck, the volume of her breasts pushing against the shirt, and the smooth line of her waist.

“If it’s just for artistic photos, there's no reason to be afraid,” she told herself, running her fingers over her cheeks. “It’s professional. He said it himself. ‘Nothing vulgar.’”

The fact that he had asked her to come to his house to use the "lighting equipment" seemed like a logical technical detail. After all, light is everything in photography. Yuna felt silly for having been afraid just half an hour ago; she laughed softly at her own naivety, not realizing that this very naivety was the paved road toward her own downfall.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of contained euphoria. She tidied up her room, organized her brushes and, for the first time in a long while, took a long, hot shower. While the water slid over her curves, Yuna closed her eyes and imagined the photo session as something elegant, almost ethereal. She couldn't wait to see the results; she felt this would be a turning point in her life, not just financially, but personally.

When night fell, she lay in her cold bed, but this time the cold didn't bother her. She was too busy planning how she would thank Mr. Han for his generosity. She fell asleep with a sense of absolute peace, convinced that she had found an unexpected ally in the most improbable man in the world.

Meanwhile, a few blocks away, in the dim light of his own house, Mr. Han checked his camera and prepared the clothes he would give Yuna. A slimy smile spread across his face as he imagined the look of surprise on the girl's face when she discovered that the "art" he was looking for had nothing to do with museums, but everything to do with what she believed she was protecting under her clothes.

Yuna slept deeply, dreaming of canvases and brushes, unaware that tomorrow she would stop being the artist and become the canvas where Mr. Han would write his filthiest desires.

The clock struck seven exactly when Yuna arrived in front of Mr. Han's door. She stopped for a second to take a deep breath, feeling the fresh night air cool her lungs. She was wearing a simple dress and comfortable shoes, but her heart beat with unusual force, hammering against her ribs like a caged animal.

“You can do this, Yuna. It’s just art,” she whispered to herself, trying to calm the shaking of her hands.

When she knocked, the door opened almost instantly, as if he had been leaning against the frame waiting for her arrival. Mr. Han appeared, filling the space with his massive volume. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that clung to his sweaty belly and loose pants.

“You’re on time, princess,” he grunted, and although his voice was hoarse, Yuna interpreted it as a sign of respect for her punctuality. “Come in, come in. Don't just stand out there freezing.”

Yuna entered the house and was immediately hit by the atmosphere. The smell of stale tobacco was much stronger than in the apartment, mixing with a scent of confinement and dampness that made her wrinkle her nose slightly. The lighting was dim; only a few yellowish lamps lit the hallways, creating long, heavy shadows that seemed to move around her.

“It’s… very quiet here,” Yuna commented, looking around with curiosity.

“It’s a private studio,” Han replied, closing the door behind her with a metallic and final sound. “No one will interrupt us here. Concentration is key to capturing the model's essence.”

Yuna nodded, feeling small under the low ceiling of the house. As they walked toward what he called the "studio," she could feel that the man's eyes never left her. It wasn't a technical look; it was a voracious observation scanning the curve of her back and the movement of her hips as she walked. Yuna felt a slight shiver, but she quickly dismissed it, convincing herself it was just the nervousness of the moment.

“Here you go,” he said, opening the door to a wide room containing a white background, professional spotlights, and a giant mirror. “The set is ready.”

Yuna looked at the lights with admiration. It really did look professional. However, on a small table next to the mirror, there was a pile of folded clothes. It wasn't the clothing she expected; there were no white robes or ethereal gowns.

“Before we start with the main photos, I want to do some light and composition tests,” Han explained, stepping closer to her. The man breathed heavily, and Yuna noticed that the scent of tobacco emanated directly from his pores. “I’ve prepared a few outfits. I want you to try them on one by one to see which one best highlights your… bone structure.”

Yuna approached the table and picked up the first garment. It was a set of sports lingerie, but much tighter and more revealing than what she considered "sporty." The fabric was thin, almost transparent in some areas, and the design left a lot of skin exposed.

“This?” Yuna asked, feeling her cheeks heat up. “It seems a bit… tight for test clothing, don't you think?”

Mr. Han let out a nasal chuckle, moving toward her until he was very close. Yuna could feel the heat radiating from his obese body and the smell of sweat that was starting to become suffocating.

“It’s technical gear, princess,” he lied in a sugary voice. “I need to see how the light behaves on the muscles and skin. There’s nothing to be ashamed of; remember you’re an artistic model. Or are you afraid to show your beauty?”

Yuna felt a prick to her pride. The challenge, though subtle, worked perfectly. She wanted to prove she was a professional, that she could handle the concept of the human body without taboos.

“I’m not afraid,” she replied with her chin up, although her hands were gripping the thin fabric tightly.

“I like that attitude,” he said, and Yuna could have sworn she saw a predatory glint in his eyes. “Go to the changing room. Put on the first outfit. Don't take long; the light is perfect right now.”

Yuna headed to the small cubicle behind the curtain, feeling her heart race. As she took off her dress and felt the cold air of the studio hit her bare skin, her nipples hardened instantly. Sliding into the first garment, she felt how the fabric squeezed her breasts, lifting them and marking them with almost obscene clarity. The set left much of her thighs exposed, and the curve of her ass was dangerously revealed.

She looked at herself in the changing room mirror and let out a small gasp. She looked incredibly sexy, but it was a sensuality she didn't recognize in herself.

“Yuna! Are you ready?” Han shouted from outside. His voice sounded impatient, almost hungry.

“Y-yes… I’m coming,” she stammered, adjusting the garment with trembling hands.

When Yuna stepped out of the changing room, the silence became absolute. Mr. Han didn't say anything for several seconds; he just stood there, mouth slightly open, scanning every inch of her exposed body. The man's gaze dropped from her lips down to the valley between her breasts, where the fabric seemed on the verge of giving way under the volume of her tits.

Yuna felt her skin prickle under that look. It wasn't an artist's gaze; it was the look of someone imagining exactly how it would feel to touch that skin. But in her naivety, Yuna interpreted this silence as professional admiration.

“What do you think?” she asked in a thin voice.

“Perfect… absolutely perfect,” Han whispered, his hand unconsciously dropping toward his own waist. “But this is just the beginning. We have much more to try.”

Mr. Han didn't stop looking at her for a single second. The silence in the room was so thick that Yuna could hear the rhythmic, heavy sound of the man's breathing—a dull panting that seemed to fill the whole space. She felt small, exposed, as if the air itself were caressing the areas of her skin left bare by the first outfit.

“The light… the light falls perfectly on your shoulders,” he finally said, although his eyes weren't on her shoulders; they were glued to the way her nipples poked through the thin fabric of the sports set, erect from the cold and tension. “But I think we need something with a stronger contrast. Something that better defines the lines of your waist and the curve of your thighs.”

Yuna crossed her arms instinctively, trying to cover herself a bit. The synthetic fabric of the set was so tight she felt it squeezing her thighs and the base of her hips, marking the crevice of her ass with surgical precision.

“Is there something else?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Mr. Han let out a hoarse chuckle and took a step toward her, invading her personal space. Yuna could smell the stale tobacco on his breath as he leaned slightly toward her, his physical mass blocking her exit.

“Of course. Come here,” he ordered.

Yuna walked toward the table, feeling every step make the fabric slide against her skin, damp from nervous sweat. Mr. Han extended a fat hand and pointed to the next garment. Yuna took it and felt her heart skip a beat. It was a one-piece swimsuit in a deep, shiny navy blue. At first glance, it looked like one of those Japanese school swimming uniforms, but touching the fabric, she realized it was much more provocative.

The material was a thick, glossy lycra that promised to squeeze the body like a second skin. The neckline was slightly lower than normal, and the bottom had an extremely high cut on the legs, designed to rise almost to the waist, leaving very little space to cover the intimate area.

“Mr. Han… this is a swimsuit,” she stammered, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Why would I use this in a photo studio? There's no pool here.”

The man snorted, making his double chin vibrate, and looked at her with predatory intensity.

“Princess, don't be naive,” he whispered, his voice sounding like sandpaper on wood. “In avant-garde photography, the use of synthetic, shiny materials creates fascinating reflections. I want to see how the light bounces off the blue lycra and highlights the paleness of your skin. It’s a study in chromatic contrasts and textures. Don't you want the photos to be perfect so you can wipe out your debt?”

The mention of the rent was like a whip. Yuna squeezed the blue fabric between her fingers, feeling the coldness of the material. Her breasts heaved rapidly; she was starting to feel overwhelmed, but financial desperation was a chain forcing her forward.

“Okay,” she murmured, looking down. “I’ll put it on.”

She went back to the changing room with her heart hammering in her ears. Taking off the previous set, a shiver ran down her spine. Her fingers trembled as she tried to slide into the blue swimsuit. The garment was incredibly small and tight; she had to pull hard to get it up her thighs, feeling the lycra stick to her damp skin with a dull sound.

When she finally managed to get it on, she let out a small gasp. The swimsuit compressed her breasts, lifting them and pushing them up, creating a deep cleavage that revealed the start of her areolas. But the worst part was the bottom: the high cut forced the fabric to sink deeply between her glutes, while the tension in the front marked the curve of her mons pubis with obscene clarity. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a sudden heat rise through her belly; she looked like a swimming student, yes, but a dangerously eroticized version.

“Yuna! I’ve waited long enough!” Mr. Han's shout echoed from the other side of the curtain.

Yuna closed her eyes for a second, took a breath, and opened the curtain.

The effect was immediate. Mr. Han froze. His small eyes widened to their limit and his jaw dropped slightly. The man's gaze descended with torturous slowness: it started at her trembling lips, went down her pale neck, stopped at the tension of the blue lycra over her tits, and finally dropped to the extremely high line of her thighs.

“My God…” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “You are a damn work of art, Yuna.”

Yuna felt her skin prickle under that gaze. Heat rose through her cheeks and down to her chest, making her nipples harden against the blue fabric. She felt small and vulnerable, but the voracity with which the man watched her caused an involuntary tremble in her legs.

“Is… is it okay for the light?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Mr. Han didn't answer immediately. Instead, he raised the camera and took a series of quick photos. The sound of the shutter (click-click-click) filled the silence, marking the rhythm of her heartbeats.

“It’s okay… but we need the pose to be more natural,” he said, moving toward her with heavy steps, his belly oscillating under his shirt. “Arch your back a bit more, princess. I want the fabric to stretch tighter over your ass. Yes… like that… just like that.”

Yuna arched her back according to the instructions, feeling the blue lycra stretch to its limit. The material was so elastic yet firm that she felt her tits being pushed up, almost overflowing from the neckline, while at the bottom, the fabric sank hard into the crevice of her ass. The sensation was suffocating and, at the same time, strangely exciting; she felt vacuum-packed, every inch of her skin compressed by the suit.

The sound of the shutter kept echoing: click… click… click.

“No, no…” Mr. Han grunted, lowering the camera slowly. “The hip line isn't perfect. You’re too stiff, princess. If you want these photos to be worth the rent, you have to let go. You have to let your body speak.”

Yuna swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat. Her legs trembled slightly and she could feel a treacherous dampness starting to accumulate between her thighs, where the blue lycra pressed directly against her pussy. It was a visceral reaction she couldn't control; fear and vulnerability were triggering a physical response that made her feel dirty.

“I’m sorry… it’s just that I’ve never done this,” she whispered, looking down.

“That’s why I’m here to guide you,” he responded.

Yuna felt a shift in the air before she felt the contact. Mr. Han had moved so close that his obese belly almost brushed against Yuna's glutes. The heat emanating from the man was suffocating, and the smell of stale tobacco and sweat became omnipresent, enveloping her like a heavy blanket.

Suddenly, she felt fat, warm hands closing around her hips.

Yuna let out an audible gasp, a small choked cry that hung in the air. Mr. Han's fingers weren't delicate; they dug into the flesh of her waist with a possessive strength, squeezing the blue lycra against her skin. The contrast was brutal: Yuna's soft skin against the rough and damp texture of the landlord's hands.

“Look in the mirror, Yuna,” he ordered in a voice that no longer sounded professional. “Look closely. Look at how that blue suit marks every damn curve of your body. You were made for this.”

Yuna forced her eyes to look at the reflection in the giant mirror. She saw her own face—flushed and scared—and then looked down at her hips, where Mr. Han's hands highlighted the paleness of her skin against the shiny blue of the swimsuit. The man began moving his hands slowly, sliding his fingers downward, following the line of the suit's high cut.

“Your hips are perfect…” he murmured, and Yuna felt a fat finger dangerously brush the edge of the fabric covering her pubis. “But you’re too tense down here. If you don't relax, the fabric wrinkles and the photo comes out wrong.”

Yuna closed her eyes tight, feeling her heart hammering in her ears. The touch of Mr. Han's finger against the lycra, right over her most sensitive area, caused an electric shiver to run through her entire spine. Her nipples became hard as rocks, poking the blue fabric of the swimsuit.

“You feel that, don't you?” Mr. Han whispered in Yuna's ear, his hot, damp breath hitting her skin. “You feel how this suit squeezes you… you feel how much I want you while you pose for me.”

Yuna wanted to protest, wanted to tell him to stop, but the words got stuck in her throat. There was something about the situation—the weight of the man behind her, the humiliation of being almost naked, and the fact that her home depended on this man—that left her paralyzed in a state of animal submission.

“Open your legs wider,” he ordered, his voice now loaded with open lust. “I want the camera to capture exactly how the suit sinks between your legs. Do it now, princess, or we can start talking again about the three months of rent you owe me.”

Yuna felt a tremor run through her whole body. Slowly, with tense muscles and shortness of breath, she began to separate her feet, opening her legs. The movement made the blue lycra stretch even further over her mons pubis, marking the crevice of her pussy with obscene clarity under the white light of the studio.

Mr. Han let out a grunt of satisfaction and raised the camera again, but this time he didn't stay put. He leaned in, lowering the lens to capture the most intimate angle possible, while his hands continued to squeeze her hips, reminding Yuna that, at this moment, she was no longer a model… she was his property.

The sound of the shutter became frantic. Click-click-click. Mr. Han wasn't taking artistic photos; he was documenting Yuna's vulnerability from the most obscene angles possible. He was crouched down, the lens almost touching the blue fabric sinking into her crotch, while she remained there, legs open and trembling, feeling like a sacrificial animal.

“Look at this…” he grunted, without taking his eye off the camera. “Look at how your pussy is marked through the lycra, princess. You’re so turned on that the suit is starting to darken from the moisture.”

Yuna felt her heart skip. She looked down and, indeed, a small darker spot was beginning to form in the crotch area of the blue swimsuit. Shame hit her like an electric shock, but at the same time, the humiliation of being caught in her state of involuntary arousal caused a spasm of pleasure that made her arch her back.

“N-no… it’s not true…” she stammered, though her own legs were starting to give way.

“Don't lie, you slut,” Mr. Han spat, and the sudden shift to vulgar language made Yuna shudder. “You’re soaking. You love that a fat old man like me has you like this, forcing you to open up so I can see what you're worth.”

The man let the camera hang from his neck and, with a sudden movement, extended his fat hand toward her. There were no preludes. His fingers clamped onto Yuna's mons pubis, pressing the blue lycra hard against her clitoris.

Yuna let out a sharp moan, a sound that mixed disgust with an animal, electric pleasure. She threw her head back, her eyes going white for a second and her fingers digging into her own thighs. The pressure of the synthetic fabric, combined with the strength of the man's fingers, was creating an unbearable friction.

“Ah…! S-sr. Han!” she cried out, but it wasn't a cry of rejection; it was a confused plea.

“What’s wrong, princess? You like it when I touch you like this?” he mocked, starting to move his fingers in fast, heavy circles over the blue fabric. “Imagine what they’d say at your college if they saw the brilliant Fine Arts student here, moaning like a whore while her landlord rubs her pussy for a few won.”

Yuna was shaking violently. The smell of tobacco and sweat from the man was now suffocating, but she could no longer pull away; her legs were so wide that she felt totally exposed. Every time Han's fingers pressed harder, Yuna felt her mind clouding. The blue lycra was acting as a filter that intensified the sensation, trapping heat and moisture between her skin and the fabric.

“P-please… stop…” she whispered, although her hips began to move unconsciously forward, seeking more pressure.

“You’re not asking me to stop; you’re asking me to keep fucking you with my fingers,” he responded with a hoarse, lustful laugh. “But this is just the warm-up. I want to see your face when you feel something bigger than my fingers inside you.”

Mr. Han stood up slowly, his physical mass casting a huge shadow over Yuna. With a brusque movement, he grabbed her by the arm and forced her to kneel on the cold studio floor. Yuna fell heavily, her knees hitting the hard surface, while the blue swimsuit stretched even further over her glutes, leaving her in a position of total submission.

“Now, look at the camera,” he ordered, placing the camera on a tripod in front of her. “I want you to watch yourself while you serve me. I want you to see how you become my slut to pay your rent.”

Yuna looked into the lens of the camera and saw her own reflection: a beautiful girl, dressed in a tight blue swimming uniform, kneeling and trembling. She felt small, broken, and desperately needy. Mr. Han began to unbutton his pants, and the sound of the metal sliding was the final signal that there was no turning back.

“Open your mouth, princess,” he grunted, as his cock—thick and throbbing—sprang out of his underwear. “Let’s see if you know how to use your tongue as well as you use your paintbrush.”

Mr. Han's cock appeared before Yuna's eyes like a monument to decay and lust. It was thick, veiny, and had a dark reddish color that contrasted violently with the paleness of Yuna's skin. The smell hit her immediately: a strong mix of musk, stale sweat, and that metallic, salty aroma characteristic of exposed flesh.

Yuna felt her stomach churn, but at the same time, an electric spasm ran through her pussy, which was already soaking the blue lycra of the swimsuit. Her pupils were dilated, fixed on that throbbing member that seemed to claim its space in the room.

“What’s wrong, princess? Scared of the size?” Han mocked, his voice loaded with a slimy malice. “Don't worry, I'm going to show you exactly how much your rent is worth.”

He didn't wait for her to respond. With a fat, heavy hand, he grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to tilt her head up and open her mouth. Yuna let out a small moan of protest that turned into a gasp when she felt the wet, hot tip of the cock brushing against her full lips.

“Open your fucking mouth wide and suck me like your life depends on it—because your roof does,” he grunted.

Yuna closed her eyes tight as she felt the member invade her oral cavity. The taste was a brutal shock: salty, strong, with an aftertaste of tobacco and old skin. When the cock entered deep into her throat, Yuna felt her gag reflex trigger instantly. Her eyes filled with tears and her hands clenched into fists on the cold studio floor.

“Ggg-ghhh!” she erupted in a muffled sound as her throat closed against the intrusion.

“Swallow it all, bitch,” Han ordered, pushing further inside. “Look at the camera while you do it. Look! I want you to see how you look while you suck my dick so you don't end up on the street.”

Yuna opened her eyes and saw the lens of the tripod right in front of her. She saw herself: a beautiful girl, her face contorted by nausea and forbidden pleasure, dressed in that tight blue swimsuit that marked her squeezed breasts and rounded ass while she was on her knees. The humiliation acted like fuel; she felt heat rise through her legs and concentrate in her clitoris, which throbbed violently against the fabric of the suit.

Mr. Han began to thrust into her mouth with rhythmic, aggressive movements. Every time he went deep, Yuna felt her cheeks puff out and saliva start to leak from the corners of her lips, running down her chin. The sound of flesh hitting her face—a dull clap-clap—mixed with the man's heavy panting.

“That’s it… suck it just like that, you college slut,” he grunted, his fingers digging into Yuna's scalp to control the depth. “Imagine this is your new scholarship. Every inch you swallow is another day in your apartment.”

Yuna began to adapt to the rhythm, moving her head with animal desperation. Despite the initial disgust, the fact that she was being recorded and degraded was leading her into a trance. She started using her tongue, wrapping it around the circumference of the cock and sucking hard, while her nipples poked against the blue lycra due to the spasms of her body.

Mr. Han let out a guttural grunt, feeling the wet, hot pressure of Yuna's mouth.

“Dammit… you have an exquisite mouth,” he whispered, though his tone remained cruel. “But I’m not settling for this. I want to feel how that blue swimsuit stretches while I open your legs and put this cock all the way inside you.”

Yuna felt a shiver of terror and anticipation. While she continued sucking, she could feel the man starting to tense up, preparing for the next level of the transaction. The camera's shutter sounded again, capturing the exact moment Yuna, her eyes clouded by submission, sank deeper and deeper into Mr. Han's depravity.

Mr. Han grabbed her arm with a brusqueness that made Yuna let out a moan of surprise. There was no delicacy, only a brute, possessive strength that forced her to walk toward the center of the room. The sound of the man's heavy steps behind her, along with his hoarse and damp breathing, created a suffocating atmosphere.

“Get on the table, princess. Right now,” he ordered, pointing to the dark, cold wooden surface that served as an improvised photo set.

Yuna felt a shiver run down her spine. Her legs trembled so much she almost tripped while climbing up, but Mr. Han's grip on her waist pushed her up with a sharp shove. Feeling her bare skin against the freezing wood of the table, Yuna let out a gasp and instinctively hunched her shoulders. Her nipples hardened instantly, poking through the blue lycra of the swimsuit that kept her vacuum-packed like a gift.

“Open your legs,” Han grunted, positioning himself between her thighs. “Wider. I don't want there to be an inch of mystery here. Open that pussy so the lens can see everything.”

Yuna obeyed with her gaze lowered, feeling the heat rise in her face. Slowly, she separated her legs, letting her knees fall to the sides. The position was degrading; she felt totally exposed, a piece of meat on display under the harsh white lights of the studio. Her thighs trembled from the intensity of the moment and she could feel the moisture accumulated in her crotch, making the blue fabric stick to her skin with a dull sound every time she tried to move.

Mr. Han didn't rush. He stepped back a few paces to adjust the camera tripod, moving the lens with obsessive precision. Yuna watched him with clouded eyes, seeing how that obese and sweaty man ensured the angle was perfect: a low-angle shot that captured everything from her squeezed breasts to the crevice of her sex.

“Perfect…” he whispered, his voice sounding like a dirty caress. “Look at the screen, Yuna. Look closely.”

Yuna turned her head toward the camera monitor. She saw her own reflection: a beautiful girl, her face distorted by submission, dressed in that blue uniform that highlighted every curve of her body. She looked small and vulnerable, but the way the suit sank into her pubis made her look obscenely provocative.

“You were made to be used, princess,” Han said, approaching her again. “Look at you… you’re so turned on that the swimsuit is starting to darken.”

The man extended his fat hand and, instead of removing the garment, he grabbed the edge of the blue swimsuit at the hip. With a sudden, sharp movement, he pulled the lycra to one side. He didn't take it off entirely; he simply shifted the fabric toward her left thigh, leaving her pussy completely exposed while the top part of the suit continued to squeeze her breasts against her chest.

Yuna let out a choked cry when she felt the cold air hitting her soaked vaginal lips directly. The sensation of being "half-dressed," with her torso packed in lycra but her intimate area open and vulnerable, increased the psychological tension to an unbearable point.

“What’s wrong, bitch? You like it when I expose you like this?” he mocked, his small eyes glinting with lust. “Look at how your pussy shines under the lights. It’s a damn masterpiece.”

Mr. Han leaned over her, and the smell of stale tobacco and sweat enveloped her completely. Yuna felt her breathing become short and erratic. She could feel the man's cock—thick and throbbing—brushing against the wood of the table just below her glutes.

“All this beauty… all this exquisite body,” he murmured, while a fat, damp finger began to trace slow circles over her clitoris. “And it all belongs to whoever pays the bills. Do you have any idea how much your rent is worth right now, Yuna?”

“S-sr. Han… please…” she stammered, although her hips moved unconsciously toward the man's finger, seeking more pressure.

“Shut up and enjoy the view,” he ordered, looking back at the camera monitor. “I want you to see exactly when you stop being an art student and become my personal slut.”

Yuna closed her eyes for a second, feeling humiliation mix with an animal, electric pleasure. She was there, lying on a table, with the blue swimsuit shifted and her sex exposed to the lens of a camera and the voracious gaze of a man who owned her completely. She knew what came next would be brutal, but the anticipation had her so lubricated she felt she could overflow at any moment.

Mr. Han pulled back just a few inches—just enough for Yuna to see the magnitude of what was about to enter her. His cock was a red and veiny weapon, throbbing with violent urgency. The tip, glistening with pre-cum, brushed against the entrance of Yuna's pussy, leaving a trail of hot moisture that made her shiver.

Yuna let out a long gasp, feeling her thighs trembling violently against the cold wood of the table. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes were clouded; the smell of stale tobacco now mixed with the metallic fragrance of pure arousal.

“Look at it, Yuna… look at how it wants you,” he grunted, rubbing the head of his cock against her clitoris in a slow, torturous movement. “You’re so wet you could slide just by looking at yourself.”

Yuna closed her eyes, feeling the friction of the glans against her sensitive skin. Every touch was like an electric shock running up her spine. Her nipples, trapped under the blue lycra, felt like hard stones poking the fabric with every agitated breath.

“Who was the last one in here?” Han asked suddenly, his voice loaded with malicious curiosity. “Don't give me that innocent face, princess. I know you’re not a virgin… it shows in how you wet yourself, in how your body already knows exactly what to do when a man has you like this.”

Yuna felt her face burn. The question hit her harder than any physical contact; it reminded her of her own past encounters—moments that now felt insignificant compared to the rawness of this situation.

“I-it… it doesn't matter…” she stammered, though her voice sounded small and broken.

“It matters a lot,” he laughed, a hoarse laugh that ended in a snort. “I wonder if those guys were as delicate with you. I bet they treated you like a little porcelain doll… but now here you are, legs open on a table, waiting for a fat, disgusting old man to fill your hole for a few won so you don't end up on the street.”

The humiliation was the final spark. Yuna felt her pussy throbbing with a painful force, pressing moisture against the wood. The idea of being degraded—of going from "brilliant student" to "rent slut"—caused a spasm of animal pleasure that left her breathless.

“S-sr. Han… please… enough talking!” she pleaded, arching her back and instinctively seeking contact.

The man let out a grunt of satisfaction and, without warning, slammed the tip of his cock into Yuna's entrance. It wasn't a fast movement; it was a slow, constant, and brutal pressure.

“Ahhh…!” Yuna's scream got caught in her throat, turning into a muffled moan as she felt her vaginal walls stretch to their limit.

The sensation was overwhelming. Mr. Han's cock was so thick that Yuna felt like she was being split in two. She could feel every vein, every ridge of the man's flesh forcing its way in, displacing everything in its path. The contrast was visceral: the cold wood against her back and the scorching heat of the cock filling her completely.

“God… you’re so tight!” Han grunted, clenching his teeth as he continued to push inch by inch. “Feel how I open you up, bitch… feel how I stretch you so all my weight fits.”

Yuna's gaze was lost in the studio ceiling, her pupils dilated and her mouth open in a perpetual gasp. She felt a massive internal pressure—a fullness that left her breathless and made her feel vulnerable on a cellular level. Every inch he advanced was another surrender.

Finally, with a sharp, powerful thrust that made the table creak under their weight, Mr. Han entered to the hilt. The clash of their pelvises produced a wet, dull sound that echoed in the silence of the studio.

Yuna let out a prolonged scream—a sound that mixed the pain of stretching with an animal satisfaction she had never experienced. She was completely full; she felt the man's cock hitting her cervix, claiming every corner of her interior. She stayed there, frozen, feeling her body shake in involuntary spasms while Mr. Han remained still for a moment, enjoying the sensation of having Yuna totally submitted and open beneath him.

“Look at you now, princess,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath burning her skin. “Now you really are a work of art… my very own personal slut.”

The silence of the studio was annihilated by the first brusque movement. Mr. Han didn't start delicately; he withdrew almost completely, letting Yuna feel the cold void for a fraction of a second, only to then slam back in with a violent force that made the entire table slide several inches across the floor.

“Ggg-hh!” Yuna's scream was a muffled sound, a blast of air shot from her lungs as her head hit the wooden surface.

The impact was brutal. The man's cock entered like a battering ram, hitting her cervix with a precision that was painful and exciting at once. Yuna felt the world blur; only the deafening rhythm of flesh hitting flesh existed. Clap… clap… clap. A wet, dull, rhythmic sound filling the room, marking the cadence of her degradation.

“Feel this, bitch!” Han roared, his voice now a guttural growl. “Feel how I break your body for a few won!”

Yuna couldn't speak. Her hands gripped the edges of the table so hard her knuckles were white, while her legs, opened to the max, shook in involuntary spasms. Every thrust pushed her backward, making her body bounce against the cold wood.

The sensory contrast was suffocating. She felt the cold of the studio on her back and the volcanic heat of Mr. Han's cock tearing through her interior. Her breasts, squeezed by the blue lycra of the swimsuit, bounced violently with every hit, creating a hypnotic movement that the man watched with voracious lust. The synthetic fabric, soaked in sweat and moisture, clung to her skin, marking her erect nipples that poked the cloth with every shake.

“Look at me, Yuna! Look at how I fuck you!” he screamed, his fat, sweaty hands dropping from her hips to squeeze her breasts through the blue suit. “Where is your artist's pride now? Where is the brilliant student? Now you’re just a hole that needs to be filled.”

Yuna let out a broken moan, a mix of sobbing and animal pleasure. The disgust she had felt at first was being devoured by a treacherous physiological response. Her pussy had become a source of uncontrollable lubrication; every time Mr. Han entered, the sound of fluid splashing between their bodies was obscenely loud. She was so wet that the friction was no longer painful, but an electric fire running through her nerves to her brain.

“Ah… ah…! S-sr. Han… more… please, more!” she pleaded, and the sound of her own voice asking for more triggered a wave of humiliation that only served to excite her further.

She was no longer fighting the act; she had surrendered to the tide of sensations. Her hips began to move in sync with the man's, seeking the deepest impact, wanting to feel that thickness filling her until there was room for nothing else. The smell of stale sweat and tobacco no longer repulsed her; it was the essence of the man who owned her, the aroma of the power that kept her under his control.

The rhythm became frantic. Mr. Han accelerated the thrusts, turning the session into a carnage of pleasure. His testicles slapped hard against Yuna's glutes, producing a fleshy, dirty sound that echoed in the studio. The obese mass of the man crushed Yuna against the table, suffocating her slightly, forcing her to breathe in short, desperate gasps.

“You’re a whore, Yuna! A soaking slut who loves that her landlord uses her like a rag!” he screamed at her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, leaving red marks on her pale skin.

Yuna closed her eyes and let herself be carried by the whirlwind. She felt how the blue lycra of the swimsuit, shifted to one side, brushed against her skin with every movement, adding a synthetic texture to the chaos of fluids and heat. She was on the very edge of the abyss, her internal muscles contracting rhythmically around the man's cock, trapping him in a desperate embrace as pleasure began to accumulate in her belly like an electric storm about to burst.

The camera continued capturing everything: the violent sway of their bodies, the expression of ecstasy and agony on Yuna's face, and the brutality of a man who didn't seek love, but the total destruction of his tenant's dignity.

The rhythm of the thrusts became unbearable—a constant bombardment that had Yuna on the verge of sensory blackout. Her screams had turned into short, erratic gasps, and her body bounced against the wood of the table with a force that threatened to break it. But Mr. Han wasn't satisfied; for him, seeing Yuna given over to pleasure wasn't enough. He wanted to see her broken; he wanted to feel that there wasn't a single corner of her body not under his absolute control.

“You’re very comfortable, aren't you, princess?” he grunted, his voice now darker and more dangerous. “You love how I fill you… but I think you still have too much free space down here.”

Yuna opened her eyes, confused by the man's tone. Before she could process his words, she felt Mr. Han's fat, sweaty hand descend her back, avoiding the vaginal area and sliding directly toward the crevice of her ass.

“W-what are you…?” Yuna managed to stammer, but the question was drowned out by a brutal thrust that left her breathless.

While Mr. Han continued fucking her pussy with rhythmic and ruthless violence, she felt a thick, damp finger press against the entrance of her anus. Yuna tensed instantly, her thighs shaking violently and her nails digging into the edges of the table.

“Don't move, bitch,” he ordered in a cold tone. “I want to see how much you can take before your body completely gives in.”

Without warning, Mr. Han's finger pushed inside.

“AAAAAAAAH!” Yuna's scream was heartbreaking—a sound of pure surprise and vulnerability that echoed through the studio.

The sensation was devastating. Yuna felt a massive pressure, a stretching that seemed to split her in two. The thick cock filled her from the front and the fat finger invaded her from behind; she was being claimed from both sides, reduced to a simple pleasure channel for the obese man. The feeling of "total fullness" was so intense it caused an electric shock through every nerve in her body, leaving her paralyzed in a state of sensory shock.

“Look at me! Look at the camera right now!” Han shouted, while he began to move his finger inside her ass in a slow, circular rhythm, simultaneously accelerating the thrusts in her vagina. “Look at how I open you up, Yuna. Look at how you become a complete slut. There is nothing of you that isn't mine right now.”

Yuna forced her eyes to look at the tripod monitor. The image was obscene: she saw her own body, with the blue swimsuit shifted and stained, swinging violently under Mr. Han's mass. …she saw the expression on her face, a mix of agony, disgust, and an ecstasy so deep it was terrifying. Seeing her own degradation in real-time was the final blow to her psyche; the mental barrier that still kept her as "the Fine Arts student" shattered into pieces.

“I-I’m… I’m your slut!” she screamed, her voice broken and her eyes filled with tears. “Fill me… please, fill me up! Open my ass, open my pussy, do whatever you want with me!”

Mr. Han let out a hoarse laugh, enjoying the total collapse of her will. The fact that she was begging for the degradation only fueled his lust. He began to move his finger inside her ass with more force, while his vaginal thrusts became frantic, almost violent.

The sound in the room was a dirty cacophony: the clap-clap of pelvises colliding, Yuna's desperate moans, and the wet noise of the finger moving inside her. The blue lycra of the swimsuit, which still covered her breasts, was soaked in sweat; every time the man hit her, the fabric stuck to her skin with a viscous sound.

Yuna felt like she was floating in an ocean of contradictory sensations. The pain of the anal stretching mixed with the massive pressure of the cock and the humiliation of being filmed, creating an electric storm in her belly that pushed her toward the abyss. Her internal muscles began to contract rhythmically around both intruders, trapping Mr. Han in a desperate embrace as she prepared for the end.

“I’m coming! Ahhh… I’m coming!” Yuna screamed, arching her back until her spine creaked, feeling the climax explode inside her, triggered by the sensation of being totally open and claimed.

Yuna's orgasm wasn't a clean burst, but a violent convulsion that shook every fiber of her body. Her vaginal walls clamped down in desperate spasms around Mr. Han's cock, while her anus gripped the man's fat finger in an instinctive, blind embrace. She let out a harrowing scream that echoed through the studio—a sound of pure surrender where dignity died to make room for an abject, animal need.

Mr. Han felt those contractions and let out a guttural roar. Instead of stopping, feeling her hit the limit triggered his own urgency. He accelerated his speed into blunt, brutal blows, turning the act into a final discharge of violence and pleasure.

“Look at me, bitch! Look at how I finish you!” he roared, grabbing her by the hair to force her face toward him. “I want you to see the face of the man who bought your body!”

Yuna's eyes were unfocused and her pupils dilated, saliva escaping from the corners of her lips as she gasped. The sound of flesh hitting flesh was deafening; the wet clap-clap became frantic, almost mechanical. The blue lycra of the swimsuit, still covering her torso, was drenched in sweat and fluids, sticking to her breasts which bounced violently with every impact.

“Feel this!” Han roared, delivering three final, deep, and devastating thrusts, burying himself to the root and expanding his cock inside her to the max.

At the exact moment Yuna sank into the tide of her orgasm, Mr. Han let out a hoarse moan and released a massive discharge of hot semen directly against her cervix. Yuna felt the rush of fluid like an electric current; the volume was such that she felt her interior fill to the brim—a warm, heavy pressure that anchored her to the table.

“Ahhh… God…!” she moaned, arching her back one last time before collapsing against the wood, completely empty.

The silence that followed was abrupt and suffocating. All that could be heard was Mr. Han's heavy, asthmatic breathing as he remained buried inside her, enjoying the weight of his own body crushing her. Yuna lay there with her legs open and her eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling the semen slowly leak out, mixing with natural lubrication and staining the blue lycra of the swimsuit that was still pushed aside on her hip.

Slowly, Mr. Han withdrew. The sound of the cock sliding out of a soaked pussy was a wet, obscene pop that made Yuna let out a shaky sigh.

He didn't help her up or say a word of comfort. He simply stepped away, still panting, and went to the tripod. The sound of metal moving was the only noise in the room as he reviewed the recording.

Yuna remained lying on the table, feeling the cold of the studio seep into her damp skin. She looked down and saw the disaster: her blue swimsuit was dirty, displaced, and stained with fluids; her body had red marks on her thighs and waist where the man's hands had dug in hard. She felt light, but it was an empty lightness, as if something fundamental inside her had broken during those minutes of brutality.

“Wow…” Mr. Han murmured, looking at the screen with a slimy smile. “The angle is perfect. You look absolutely pathetic, Yuna. A real college slut.”

Yuna closed her eyes and let a single tear roll down her cheek. It wasn't just sadness; it was the visceral realization that Mr. Han was no longer just her landlord. He now possessed digital evidence of her submission—a file where she begged to be used just to save her roof.

“Clean up this mess and get dressed,” he ordered coldly, returning to his authoritative tone as he adjusted his pants. “Tomorrow I’ll wipe your debt, but don't get it twisted, princess. Now that I know what you're capable of, I think we're going to need these 'photo sessions' much more often.”

In the hallway, you ran into someone completely disoriented, asking where Saki was. You had no idea who this Saki was, but you were pretty sure that the girl in front of you was the one who had thrown up in the bathroom. She was completely drunk, staggering as she walked, and her words stumbling over each other when she tried to speak. Her long blonde hair was a mess, and her clothes were disheveled. For a moment you doubted that this Saki was real, but a second later you heard the stranger shout her name and run towards a pink-haired girl who was passed out near the entrance.

Hurrying your pace to avoid wetting yourself, you climbed the stairs to the second floor. Despite being a spacious house, it was quite simple. Just a straight hallway with a series of doors leading to each room. Fortunately, the host's family, whom you didn't even know, had taken the trouble to put a sign on each door indicating which room it led to. That nice touch helped you find the bathroom.

The door was ajar, so you figured no one was inside. You opened it fully and quickly closed it behind you. Footsteps reached you from the stairs, and not wanting to miss out on the bathroom, you rushed inside. The moment you closed the door, you heard someone make a noise of displeasure. For a second, you thought you'd were already drunk because it was impossible for the sound to be coming from inside. But no, your ears weren't deceiving you. There was a girl sitting on the toilet.

"Hey, what are you doing? Can't you see I'm using the bathroom?" the girl scolded you without moving from the toilet. Of course she was going to move, because she was clearly sitting there to use it. Her dress was hiked up and her panties were around her ankles, but the big leather jacket she was wearing prevented you from seeing anything. That, and the fact that her knees were together. Even though she was looking at you, you couldn't tell the color of her eyes because, for some reason, she was wearing sunglasses.

"Sorry," you blurted out, trying to look away.

"What are you doing? Idiot, close the door. Can't you see I'm peeing?" Her noisy scolding made you close the door again, the one you had opened to leave. You felt stupid standing there, unable to leave or even look at her.

"Are you embarrassed?" she inquired, the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the toilet bowl mingling with her words. "Haven't you ever seen anyone pee?"

That wasn't the issue. What bothered you was that you two were strangers. You'd walked in by mistake because she hadn't closed the door properly, and now you were stuck there until she finished. "I don't usually watch my friends pee, and we don't even know each other," you said, trying to distract yourself by looking at the wood grain pattern on the door.

"Is that your problem?" the girl scoffed, bursting into laughter. "My name is Kazuha, though everyone calls me Zuha."

You told her your name, still examining the door with more interest than anyone could ever have on a simple door. You didn't have a cool nickname like hers, so you preferred to keep quiet about what your friends called you.

"I'd rather call you a coward, or a scaredy-cat," she said, ignoring your name. "Because you're afraid to look at me."

"I'm not afraid," you said quickly. "It's just... why would I have to look at you?"

"To prove you're not afraid, duh!" she mocked.

"I told you that I'm not afraid," you said, raising your voice as you turned to face her, just as she insisted. When you turned, you found Zuha looking at you, her sunglasses having slipped down her nose, allowing you to see the color of her eyes. A soft brown that quickly captivated you with its depth. She frowned in an amused expression as the sound of urine returned. She was actually peeing while looking you in the eyes. "Aren't you ashamed?"

"Why? We all pee sometimes. It's natural. Do you have a lighter?" The question threw you off because it came out of nowhere, but you soon realized it was because she'd taken a cigarette from her jacket pocket.

You chose not to answer her question, the first of the two. Instead, you took the lighter out of your pocket and offered it to her, but she put the cigarette to her mouth and leaned toward you in a clear gesture that she wanted you to light it. Giving up, you went over to her to light the cigarette the way she wanted.

The bathroom was far from spacious, so the smell of smoke quickly filled the air. You were about to ask her for a cigarette, but decided it was better to wait until you left to smoke. Instead, you leaned against the door to keep watching her pee, because you had the feeling she'd scold you again if you tried to look away.

Kazuha stepped back, cigarette in mouth, to grab the toilet paper. Holding your gaze to make sure you weren't looking where you shouldn't this time, she wiped herself and threw the used paper in the trash. You couldn't help but notice how beautiful her eyes were. Her face was beautiful in general, but her eyes were what you liked most about what little you'd seen of her.

"Here," she said, offering you the cigarette with the same hand she'd used to wipe herself. You took it without hesitation, ignoring how unhygienic that must be. But you'd drunk quite a bit that night, so your system was probably full of alcohol, which would kill any germs.

You relaxed for a moment, taking a drag of the cigarette. You closed your eyes as you felt the smoke fill your lungs, pondering what you'd gotten yourself into. When you opened them, you found Zuha standing there, her underwear and dress where they belonged. Despite the jacket, you could see how the dress clung almost tightly to her curves.

Exhaling smoke through your nose, you moved to let her approach the sink. Without a word, Zuha lathered up her hands and washed them. After drying them on her dress, she snatched the cigarette from your mouth. There was no point in protesting; after all, it was hers, but you still would have preferred a bit more courtesy. Then she bent down to pick up a bottle of beer and brought it to her lips as she leaned against the bathroom door, but stopped just before it touched them. "Want some?" she asked, offering you the bottle. "Relax," she added, seeing your hesitation. "It's not what you think... Unless you are into that." She said with a broad smile before bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a sip.

"Hheeewww No!" You exclaimed when you understood what she meant. You weren't drunk enough to even consider doing that.

The two of you stood there for what seemed like an eternity, until she finished her cigarette and threw it in the toilet. "Well, are you going to pee or are we going to stay here forever?" she asked casually.

"What? Noooo!" You looked at her, backing away a little, as far as the cramped bathroom allowed. "Get out, I'm not going to do it with you here."

She laughed before answering. "You saw me pee, it's only fair that I see you. It's to even things out."

"But I saw you by accident, it's not the same."

"You saw me anyway, you scaredy-cat." She laughed at you. "Why so cowardly?"

"Why so insistent?" You fired back. "Are you a voyeur or something?"

"I already told you it's the fairest thing to do." She replied, nudging you by the shoulder to get you closer to the toilet. "Hurry up. Saki is waiting for me, and I don't trust Yunjin to look after her. If anything happens to her, it'll be your fault."

You were tempted to tell her that this Yunjin woman was probably indeed in no condition to care for anyone, and that it was already too late for Saki, but you decided that wasn't your problem. Accepting that the quickest way out of there was to do as she said, you stood in front of the toilet and pulled out your penis, making sure Zuha didn't see your private parts. Almost instantly, you felt a weakness in your legs; damn, you really needed to pee. Your bladder was about to burst, which helped you ignore the fact that Zuha hadn't flushed and you were urinating on her pee and cigarette butt.

The sound of urine hitting the polished surface of the toilet bowl and the water filling the small room. You really needed to empty your bladder; you'd had too much beer that night. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, forgetting everything as the urine flowed, as you released the insistent pressure on your bladder, until something startled you.

"What the hell?!" you exclaimed in surprise when you felt a chin rest on your shoulder and a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. "What are you fucking doing?" you asked, trying to free yourself from Zuha's embrace.

"I've always wanted to know what it feels like to pee standing up," she replied with a laugh as her hands encircled yours. That made you move even more, and you inevitably peed outside the toilet bowl. "Oops! Let me aim properly." To your complete disbelief, Zuha's hands snatched your penis away, grasping it and aiming it at the toilet bowl again. "Come on, pee." She added, noticing that nothing was coming out of your member anymore."

"You're sick, I'm not going to do it." You said, still trying unsuccessfully to free yourself from her grip. Maybe the fact that she was holding your cock so casually was draining your strength, or was it that you didn't want her to let you go?

"Whiny." She whispered in your ear. The closeness allowed you to smell alcohol and something else on her breath, maybe marijuana. But that closeness also let you smell the scent of her shampoo and the perfume she had applied many hours before but that was still present on her skin. It was all an intoxicating mixture. "Come on, don't be like that."

"Can you let go of me, please?" You asked as calmly as you could.

"Just pee and I'll let you go." She replied, moving your cock to undermine her point.

"Kazuha." Her name sounded strange when you said it. "Leave me alone." You sighed "I just want to pee."

"And I want to know what it feels like to pee standing up. We want the same thing." She pressed herself closer to you, making you acutely aware of how her breasts were pressed against your back. You desperately wished this was all a nightmare.

"But you're not gonna be the one actually peeing!" You were already starting to lose patience, but you couldn't see any way to break free from her grip.

"It's the same thing. Hurry up, I have to go."

"Aaaahhg." Fine." You finally gave in to her stupid request, or rather, demand. She simply let out a giggle that you interpreted as a gesture of triumph.

You took a deep breath, trying to relax as much as possible, trying to ignore the fact that a girl you had met just minutes before was holding your penis while you peed. But if you were going to do it, it was best to be calm, so you leaned your head back, resting it on her shoulder, while you pressed down on your bladder. You didn't see it, but you felt and heard the urine leaving your body and falling into the toilet, mixing with what she had done earlier. Before you knew it, your bladder was empty, but now Zuha was shaking your cock from side to side, apparently to dry it out.

This girl was unbelievable. Not only had she forced you to watch her pee, but she'd also forced you to pee in front of her, and, not content with that, she'd insisted on holding your cock while you did it. Right now, she was playfully teasing your cock, moving it like some kind of propeller or something. Add to that the fact that you'd met her less than half an hour ago, and the situation was hilarious.

"Are you a virgin?" she asked out of the blue, still holding your cock.

"What? No. Why did you—"

"You got hard." She interrupted. Only then did you realize that you did indeed have a semi-erect penis. Apparently, all that stupid play was catching up with you.

"Let me go!" you exclaimed, renewing your attempts to break free.

"Heeee! You like the feeling of my hand, don't you?" If everything that had happened up to this point seemed surreal, what came next felt like something out of the stupidest porn you'd ever seen. Without any shame, something Zuha apparently didn't know, she moved her hand over your cock to stimulate your member. Instantly, a shiver ran through your body and an inevitable sigh escaped your lips. "You are a virgin, aren't you?" she mocked as her hand explored your member.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. That's why you were embarrassed to see me pee."

"Noooooo!!!" you exclaimed, somewhat angry but feeling the effects of what she was doing with her hands. "I know a lot about fucking, I've been with a lot of girls."

"I don't believe you. You're a cowardly, lying virgin."

"Fuck you." "You've really lost your mind, you're crazy."

"Do it yourself. If you know so much about fucking, then prove it." Just like that, Zuha let go of your cock and pulled away from you. Your pride was wounded as you immediately started to miss her hand on you.

"What the hell does that mean?" you asked, turning to face her. Only then did you notice how your cock was fully erect.

"Let's do it." She said, biting a nail as she looked at your member. She couldn't help but smile at what she was seeing.

"What do I get out of it?" you asked, ignoring how her hand had returned to your cock.

"My respect, and proof that you're not a scaredy-cat virgin."

"What good is your respect to me? We don't even know each other."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged to emphasize that it was your decision. "Do you think I'm ugly? Oh, I know." "You're gay!" she pointed out, moving her hand faster.

"Damn it, I curse the moment I walked into this bathroom!" you exclaimed, taking a step to corner Zuha between the door and your body. You were already fed up with her games and her teasing; in the short time since you'd met, Kazuha had already managed to push your patience to the limit.

You leaned forward, seeking her lips. She didn't pull away but came to meet you as well. Your mouths melted into a kiss that you both tried to control, but after a few seconds, it was clear she had won. Her tongue invaded your mouth along with the taste of tobacco and beer, as you pressed her against the door. Since she already had her hand on you, you decided it was only fair to do the same, so you gripped her thighs.

Her muscles were toned; the moment you touched them, you noticed how strong her legs were. She must have worked out a lot, and boy, did she ever. If it worked. Your restless hands moved up her body until they grasped the hem of her dress and lifted it with some difficulty because it clung to her skin. Now that her ass was free, you could grab it as you pleased. You held her buttocks with open hands, instantly feeling that they were as firm as her thighs but molded more easily to the insistence of your fingers.

After kneading her ass for a few moments, moments in which your lips never parted more than the millimeters necessary to breathe, you moved your hands to rub her crotch. Your fingers found her center, and even through her panties, you could feel the moisture forming there. You pressed your fingers against Zuha's folds and felt her moan into your mouth. Somehow, that healed the wound that her grip on your cock had left on your pride earlier.

While you caressed her pussy and felt her panties becoming wetter and wetter, she was furiously masturbating you. Her hand moved, squeezing your member, twisting her wrist as she approached the base to generate more friction. It was clear she was an expert at this sort of things.

Wanting to show off your skills and making it perfectly clear you were no virgin, you pulled away from her with difficulty. You knelt in front of Zuha and kissed the inside of her thigh, which made her tremble but also take matters into her own hands. You didn't have to do it yourself; she removed her panties and left them on the sink. You simply smiled because, although you were sure she'd never admit it, you weren't the only one who was hungry now.

Instead of slowly licking between her folds and taking your time as you would have with someone else, in another place and context, you threw yourself headlong into devouring her cunt. You grabbed Zuha by the ass and held on to her, burying your face between her legs. The intoxicating scent of her pussy filled your nostrils and made you salivate. You used that same saliva to help you devour her dripping wet cunt. You must have been doing something right because Kazuha's pussy was completely damp.

Unlike the taste of her mouth, the taste of Zuha's pussy was delicious and intoxicating. Her juices ran down your chin as you devoured her as voraciously as you could. Your tongue went as deep as it could to collect her sweet nectar, your lips sucking on her delicate clit, eliciting moans that she didn't bother trying to stifle except by biting the sleeve of her jacket. Your hands kneaded her buttocks with the same hunger that your lips battled against her petals. Just to see how far she would let you go, you ventured a mischievous finger between her buttocks to caress her back entrance. You withdrew it as soon as you applied a little pressure there because Zuha slapped you on the head, which you interpreted as her not wanting you playing with her ass like that.

To punish you for your audacity, she grabbed your hair and, using the door as leverage, ground her hips against you. You wouldn't normally let yourself be dominated like that, so blatantly, but Kazuha was devilishly hot and had your arousal levels through the roof. Her juices soaked your face completely as she rubbed herself against you, using you like some kind of toy. Surprisingly, you found that you didn't mind, not coming from her at least.

Panting heavily, Zuha released you. Your eyes met once more; those stupid sunglasses still partially hiding her eyes, but that didn't stop you from seeing the flame of lust burning in them.

Kazuha bit her lower lip as she lifted one leg. Your jaw almost dropped to the floor when you saw her raise her foot above her head and hold it with one hand, while using the other to part the lips of her pussy and reveal her throbbing entrance. It was an act that could only be interpreted as an invitation to fuck her. You didn't need anything more than that.

"You're full of surprises," you whispered, a smile spreading across your face. You stood up as if you had springs instead of legs. You found her lips, sharing a kiss and the nectar of her own cunt, while you rubbed the head of your cock against her entrance. Zuha rested her leg on your shoulder as you buried your member deep inside her.

The moans from both of you filled the small bathroom, mingling with the wet sound of skin against skin. You pressed Zuha against the door, partly to help her hold on and partly so you could thrust harder. Your cock ventured as far in as it would go, penetrating her to the hilt, but even then it wasn't enough. Your hands roamed her body, grabbing her ass, kneading her breasts through her dress, or simply tugging at her hair.

She clung to you even tighter, not just with her hands but with her cunt as well. Her wet walls closed around your member, embracing your cock in a warm embrace that seemed to squeeze your flesh. Your head thrust rampantly inside her, molding her body to the shape of your cock, while she received your thrusts with moans.

Having her like this, surrendered to you and to pleasure, felt wonderful. Your chest swelled with pride as you felt Zuha melt in your hands, as someone who until recently was a complete stranger moaned shamelessly into your mouth. You were making it perfectly clear to her that you weren't a virgin and that you knew how to fuck. The way her walls gripped your cock confirmed that you were winning this argument.

You thought about lifting her other leg, holding her up in the air, and fucking her against the door so she'd never forget what that stranger she called a virgin had made her feel, but you couldn't bring yourself to carry out your plan. Her cunt was delicious and addictive, its walls gripping you mercilessly, her moans muffled by your mouth were music to your ears. All of Kazuha was a delight straight from your wildest fantasies.

When you came, you did it resting your forehead against hers, looking into her eyes and moaning. Your throbbing cock shot semen inside her as she came too, spasming and moaning. Her cunt milked you, and you happily gave her all the cum you had, so happy to empty your balls into the hottest, wildest woman you'd ever known. Blessed be the moment you walked into that bathroom.

You carefully pulled away from her, reluctantly wanting to leave the scorching warmth of her hole and mouth. She finally placed both feet on the floor, still leaning her weight against the door. You sat on the toilet, trying to catch your breath. Though relatively brief, the whole thing had felt like running a marathon.

Kazuha smiled at you from the door before approaching you, taking your chin in her hand, and kissing you. This time, it was calmer and more controlled, but still charged with passion. More like what a couple would do, not two strangers in a bathroom that wasn't theirs. "So it turns out you did know how to fuck after all," she whispered against your lips. "You're no virgin," she declared before placing a chaste kiss on your lips. Then she let go of you to adjust her dress and cover her private parts.

"Hey, do you think…" you dared to begin after a few moments of silence between you two. "Could you-" Why were you suddenly so nervous?

"What?" She asked while touching up her lipstick, looking in the mirror.

"I mean-"

"Hoooo! You want my number?" she asked, tilting her head. "Well, yeah, yeah, do you have a pen or paper?" She said, adjusting the neckline of her dress. "Yeah, it's…" You were rummaging through your pockets for your phone when you heard her say, "1-800-you fucking wish, did you get that?" An uncontrollable laugh erupted as she opened the bathroom door. "Call me, hahahaha," she added, blowing you a kiss and winking as she left the bathroom, leaving the door ajar behind her.

You just sat there trying to process what had just happened, with Kazuha's used panties forgotten on the sink as the only memento of this unlikely encounter.

A/N: I just saw all the Zuha content coming out yesterday and suddenly I had the urge to write her. That hot girl Zuha was too much to take, so much that I'm simpin on her instead of Yunjin that is my actual bias.