#itzy ryujin

Lia

for Vixen

Lia blushes at first but melts on camera. She excels in romantic, intimate scenes with soft lighting, silk sheets, and passionate eye contact. She gives slow, sloppy blowjobs with her pretty lips, moaning sweetly around cock. In missionary, her big doe eyes water beautifully as she takes thrust after thrust. Her melodic voice whimpers in pleasure.

Her body is incredibly responsive. She trembles and cums easily, legs wrapped tightly around her costar's hips as she begs.

“Please cum inside me…”

Her innocent-looking face contrasting with how greedily she takes load after load makes her extremely popular.

Ryujin

for Blacked Raw

Ryujin smirks at the camera before dropping to her knees, spitting on big black cocks and deepthroating aggressively. Ryujin loves getting manhandled. Rough doggy style, hair pulling, and choking while moaning.

“Fuck me harder with that big cock.”

She throws it back enthusiastically, her toned body glistening with sweat as she gets pounded. Ryujin takes massive creampies and facials without hesitation, often smirking arrogantly right after being filled. Most of her videos end with her stumbling out of a random hotel room, her hair and makeup a mess, her clothes not properly put together.

Chaeryeong

for Tushy

Chaeryeong’s elegant body and dedicated personality make her perfect for Tushy’s anal-focused content.

She starts shy but becomes incredibly needy once her ass is stretched. Her long legs and flexibility allow for beautiful positions as she takes sometimes several cocks in a row. Chaeryeong moans gracefully, face buried in the sheets while pushing back.

"It’s so deep in my ass…You're gaping me...”

Her favourite are slow, soft anal scenes that gradually turn intense. Most of her videos are more girlfriend themed. She's knwon for her sweet, slow moaning scenes, that turn into rough pounding, until her body gives out. Her graceful movements and the way her body trembles after intense orgasms make every scene mesmerizing. Viewers love her elegant beauty getting ruined by how hard her costars ruin her toward the ends of her scenes.

Yuna

for Tushy Raw

Yuna bounces around the set with her usual playful smile, but once the scene starts, that innocent energy turns into something much filthier. Yuna loves getting her tight ass stretched on camera. She starts by teasing the viewer, spreading her cheeks and giggling nervously before moaning loudly as a thick cock pushes into her ass.

“It’s so big… but I can take it."

She says in her cutest voice that quickly becomes desperate.

Her flexibility shines as she gets folded into deep anal positions with her favorite, reverse cowgirl where she bounces energetically, ass rippling with every drop. Yuna is vocal and enthusiastic even in the rawest scenes, moaning shamelessly, pushing back for more, and giggling between gasps when it feels especially intense. She takes rough, deep anal pounding without hesitation, her pretty face contorting in pleasure as she cums hard from her ass being fucked.

Compared to Chaeryeong, she doesn't need to start slow. Some of her scenes start with going right into the action without foreplay at all. Just Yuna, bent over, someone already using her ass.

Time: 05:45 AM Date: Saturday, May 16, 2026 Location: Parking Lot – Bukhansan National Park, Seoul

The morning mist is a thick, grey blanket clinging to the jagged peaks of the mountains. The air is crisp, biting through your The North Face windbreaker as you lean against your black Mazda3, waiting. The park is eerily silent, the usual swarm of weekend hikers still hours away from arriving.

A silver van with heavily tinted windows pulls into the lot, tires crunching on the gravel. It parks in the furthest corner, tucked away behind a row of pines. The sliding door opens, and two figures emerge, unrecognizable to anyone who doesn't know the exact tilt of their heads or the way they carry their shoulders.

They’re dressed in tactical hiking gear—leggings, heavy boots, and oversized caps pulled low. Ryujin is the first to reach you, her short hair tucked into a beanie. She doesn't say a word; she just crashes into you, her arms wrapping around your waist in a grip that nearly knocks the wind out of you.

"You actually showed up," she mumbles against your chest, the scent of her expensive hair serum mixing with the pine needles. "I thought you’d be too busy being a 'normal person' to hang out with us idols."

"Shut up, Ryuddaeng," you chuckle, returning the hug. "I was here twenty minutes early."

Yeji approaches at a more measured pace, though her smile is wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. She looks older, more refined than the girl who used to share a bag of convenience store chips with you after midnight practice, but the warmth in her gaze is identical.

"He looks healthy, doesn't he?" Yeji says, reaching out to pinch your cheek, a habit she’s never quite outgrown. "College life suits you, Y/n. You don't have those dark circles under your eyes anymore."

"I have different dark circles now," you joke, adjusting the straps of your heavy 65-liter trekking pack. "Midterms are their own kind of 'monthly evaluation.'"

"Not today," Ryujin says, stepping back and clapping her hands together. Her eyes are bright, reflecting the first hint of the sun breaking over the ridge. "Today, there are no evaluations. No diet plans. No 'Yeji-unnie, watch your posture.' We’re hiking to the summit of Baegundae, and we’re camping at the hidden plateau. Just three trainees who never got their graduation trip."

You look at the two of them—global superstars who have the world at their feet, yet here they are, looking for a piece of the life they left behind. You feel the old familiar spark in your chest, the one that used to ignite before a performance.

"You sure you girls can keep up?" you tease, adjusting your cap. "I’ve been hitting the gym without a trainer breathing down my neck. I might leave you in the dust."

Yeji lets out a soft, feline laugh, her hand resting on the hilt of her trekking pole. "Careful, Rookie. We’ve been doing 'WANNABE' choreography for years. Our cardio is literally world-class. If anything, we'll be the ones setting up the tent while you're still gasping for air at the halfway mark."

The three of you begin the ascent. The trail is steep, a winding path of stone steps and gnarled roots. As the city of Seoul begins to shrink below you, the conversation shifts. It starts with light gossip about the old JYP trainers, but as the air gets thinner and the forest gets thicker, the mask of the "Idol" begins to slip.

"Sometimes," Ryujin says, her voice echoing off the granite walls as she climbs a particularly difficult section of the trail, "I see a guy in a hoodie at the mall, and for a split second, I think it’s you. I almost call out your name before I remember you're at Yonsei."

"Do you miss it?" you ask, pausing to catch your breath. "The training?"

"I miss us," Yeji says softly, standing on a rock ledge and looking out at the valley. "The three of us against the world. It’s lonely at the top, Y/n. Everyone wants something from us now. Managers, fans, the label... everyone except you."

You reach out, taking Yeji’s hand to help her up a steep incline. Her skin is warm, and for a second, the years of distance vanish. You're just three kids in the woods, running away from a world that moved too fast.

"Well," you say, looking at the summit looming above. "You’ve got me for the next forty-eight hours. No managers. No fans. Just the mountains."

"And the tent," Ryujin adds with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "We only brought one, you know. To save weight. I hope you don't snore as much as you used to."

The incline sharpens as the trail transitions from dirt paths to the jagged granite spines of Bukhansan. The "leisurely hike" facade evaporates within the first forty minutes, replaced by the rhythmic, heavy breathing of three athletes who don’t know how to give less than 100%.

"Are we slowing down, Y/n-ah?" Ryujin calls out from the lead. She’s moving with a relentless, low-center-of-gravity gait, her hiking boots gripping the rock like she’s mid-performance. She looks back over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I thought you said you’d leave us in the dust. My heart rate hasn't even hit 120 yet."

"The pack is 20kg, Ryujin," you grunt, your quads burning as you vault over a fallen cedar trunk. "I’m carrying the tent, the stove, and the water. You’re carrying... what? A bag of trail mix and a dream?"

"I'm carrying the morale," she retorts, skipping up a set of stone stairs carved into the cliffside.

Yeji is right behind you, her movements fluid and economical. She’s the "Control Tower," even on a mountain. She watches your footing, her eyes sharp. "Don't let her bait you, Y/n. She’s been doing three hours of fasted cardio every morning for the 'Born To Be' tour. She’s a machine right now."

"A machine that still can't beat me to the ridge," you say, a surge of that old, competitive trainee adrenaline hitting your nervous system.

You shift the weight of the 65-liter Osprey pack, tightening the chest strap. You remember the nights in the basement of the old JYP building—the "Hell Drills" where the trainers would make you dance the same chorus for four hours straight until someone collapsed. You were always the last one standing.

"First one to the Baegundae helipad gets to choose the sleeping arrangements!" you shout, suddenly breaking into a power-hike, your long strides eating up the vertical distance.

"Hey! That's cheating!" Yeji yells, but you hear her laughter—and then the immediate, heavy thud-thud-thud of her boots as she and Ryujin break into a sprint behind you.

The trail becomes a blur of grey stone and deep green pine. It’s dangerous, technical, and exactly what you all needed. For a moment, you aren't a "failed" trainee and they aren't "ITZY." You’re just three rivals pushing your lungs to the bursting point.

You reach the narrow ridge line, the wind suddenly whipping across the granite, cold and smelling of high altitudes. The "Baegundae" summit marker is visible, a jagged peak crowned with a fluttering Korean flag.

You’re gasping, the cold air searing your throat, but you’re ten meters ahead. You scramble up the final rock face, using the steel cables anchored into the stone. Your boots find purchase, and you haul yourself onto the flat helipad just as a hand reaches out and grabs your ankle.

"Got... you..." Ryujin wheezes, collapsing onto the flat stone beside you. Her face is bright red, her beanie discarded somewhere a mile back. She’s drenched in sweat, her chest heaving, but she’s grinning like a maniac.

Yeji arrives three seconds later, gracefully dropping to her knees, her hands on her thighs as she tries to catch her breath. She looks at the two of you—sprawled out on the granite under the vast, blue Seoul sky—and starts to laugh, a genuine, unedited sound that carries over the valley.

"We... we’re idiots," Yeji gasps, wiping sweat from her forehead. "We have a world tour in three weeks, and we’re out here trying to give ourselves shin splints."

"Worth it," Ryujin says, rolling onto her back and looking at the clouds. "Did you see his face? He thought he had it."

"I did have it," you say, sitting up and unbuckling your pack, the relief on your shoulders feeling like a physical drug. "I touched the marker first. I win."

"Technically, I touched your leg while you were touching the marker," Ryujin counters, sitting up and nudging you with her shoulder. "In trainee rules, that’s a shared victory."

The sun is beginning its slow descent, casting long, golden shadows across the peaks. The city of Seoul below looks like a toy model, the skyscrapers of Gangnam and the Han River shimmering in the haze. Up here, the noise of the industry—the "Dispatch" headlines, the chart rankings, the fan comments—is silent.

"Look at that," Yeji whispers, pointing toward the West. The hidden plateau where you’re supposed to camp is nestled in a dip between two peaks, surrounded by ancient, wind-swept pines. "No one can see us down there. No telephoto lenses, no managers."

"Just us," you say, looking at the two girls. You realize that despite the fame, despite the millions of followers, they look the most beautiful right now—messy hair, no makeup, and exhausted from a climb they didn't have to make.

"Well, 'Winner,'" Ryujin says, standing up and offering you a hand. "Let's get to the plateau. I’m starving, and I expect the 'Golden Boy' to cook something better than military rations."

The hike down to the hidden plateau is a controlled scramble, the golden hour light turning the granite slopes into sheets of glowing amber. By the time you reach the clearing, the sun has dipped behind the jagged peaks of Wonhyobong, and the temperature drops with a sudden, predatory sharpness. The wind, once a refreshing breeze, now bites through your sweat-soaked base layers.

"Okay, 'Winner,'" Ryujin pants, dropping her smaller pack with a heavy thud onto the needle-strewn earth. She’s shivering slightly, her breath blooming in the air like pale ghosts. "Sun’s going down fast. If we don't get that tent up, we’re going to be three frozen idols by midnight."

"I've got it," you say, unbuckling the Osprey and pulling out the compact, high-altitude MSR tent.

The competitive spirit from the climb morphs into a frantic, rhythmic teamwork. You drive the stakes into the rocky soil while Yeji threads the aluminum poles through the sleeves with a surgical precision. She’s focused, her brow furrowed, her hands moving with the same economy of motion she uses for her stage blocking.

"Step back, Ryuddaeng," Yeji commands as she snaps the rainfly into place. "Y/n, pull the tensioner on the left. Harder."

The tent snaps into its dome shape—a small, orange sanctuary against the encroaching dark. It’s a three-person tent by technical definition, but as the three of you look at the interior, it looks suspiciously small.

"That... is a very intimate three-person tent," Ryujin says, peering inside. She looks at you, a tired, mischievous spark returning to her eyes. "I hope you don't roll around in your sleep, Y/n. Because there’s literally zero buffer zone."

"It’s for warmth," you say, trying to sound professional despite the sudden skip in your heart rate. "Bukhansan at night in May is no joke. Body heat is our best asset."

Time: 08:30 PM Location: The Plateau Campsite

The small camping stove hisses, a blue flame licking the bottom of a titanium pot. The smell of spicy Shin Ramyun and canned tuna—the "Trainee Special"—fills the clearing. You’re all huddled around the stove, wrapped in oversized down jackets.

Yeji is sitting close to you, her shoulder pressed against yours. She’s holding a steaming cup of tea, the steam curling around her cat-like eyes. "This tastes better than the 5-star catering we had in Paris last week," she whispers, taking a slow sip.

"Everything tastes better when you’ve climbed 800 meters for it," you say, stirring the noodles.

"I missed this," Ryujin says suddenly, her voice uncharacteristically soft. She’s looking into the small flame, her knees pulled to her chest. "Just sitting in the dark. No one telling us to check our phones. No one asking for a 'challenge' video. Just... the sound of the wind."

She looks at you, her gaze steady. "Do you ever think about what would have happened if you hadn't hurt your ankle? If we’d all debuted together?"

The question hangs in the air, heavier than the mountain itself.

"Every day," you admit, the honesty feeling raw in the silence. "But then I look at the two of you, and I think... maybe the universe knew I couldn't handle the 'Ice Prince' life as well as you guys do."

"You would have been the best of us," Yeji says firmly, her hand finding yours in the dark, her fingers cold but her grip strong. "But I'm glad you're here. I’m glad someone remembers who 'Hwang Yeji' and 'Shin Ryujin' are without the stage names."

Time: 10:45 PM Location: Inside the Tent

The temperature has plummeted to near freezing. Inside the tent, the three of you have laid out your sleeping bags in a single, continuous layer to maximize warmth. There is no space between you.

You’re in the middle.

On your left, Yeji has curled into a ball, her back against yours, her breathing deep and rhythmic. On your right, Ryujin is lying on her side, facing you. The space is so tight that you can feel the heat radiating from their bodies through the nylon bags.

"You're awake," Ryujin whispers, her face inches from yours. The moonlight filters through the orange rainfly, casting a soft, amber glow over her features. She looks vulnerable, the "Center" persona completely shed.

"Too cold to sleep," you whisper back.

"Come closer then," she says, her hand reaching out from her bag and grabbing the front of your fleece, pulling you an inch toward her. "The 'Winner' has to take responsibility for keeping the 'Morale' warm."

She rests her head on your shoulder, her hair smelling of woodsmoke and the mountain. You feel Yeji stir behind you, shifting in her sleep until her head finds the space between your shoulder blades, her arm instinctively draping over your waist.

You’re sandwiched between two of the most famous women in Asia, huddled together in a small tent on a cold mountain plateau. To the world, they are untouchable icons. To you, they are just the girls who used to steal your hoodies and help you practice your high notes.

"Don't leave again, Y/n," Ryujin murmurs, her voice trailing off as sleep finally claims her. "Don't be a stranger when we get back down."

You lie there in the dark, the weight of their trust and their bodies pressing into you, watching the shadows of the pines dance against the tent walls.

The mountain air outside the thin nylon walls of the MSR tent is a freezing, howling void, making the pocket of warmth inside feel like a singular, fragile universe. Condensation from your collective breath has begun to frost the interior of the rainfly, a soft, crystalline layer that traps the heat of three bodies pressed together without a single millimeter of space to spare.

Time: 02:45 AM Location: Hidden Plateau – Inside the Tent

Deep in the heavy, oxygen-deprived sleep of an athlete, the "Rookie" discipline and the "College Student" boundaries dissolve into pure, primal instinct. You shift in your sleep, your body seeking more warmth from the solid, radiating heat to your left.

Hwang Yeji has always been the one you gravitated toward in the dark practice rooms—the steady, rhythmic anchor of your trainee days. Subconsciously, you roll onto your side, your arm sliding over her waist, pulling her flush against your chest.

She stirs, a soft, feline moan escaping her lips, but she doesn't wake. Instead, she pushes back into you, her hips seeking the cradle of your lap.

The friction is immediate and electric. You’re wearing thin, tech-fleece joggers, and she’s in high-compression Nike leggings—fabrics designed to be a second skin. As you settle into her, your hand slides lower, your palm resting flat against the junction of her thighs.

Your fingers graze the unmistakable, firm swell of her mound. Even through the synthetic fabric, you can feel the dampness—a heavy, localized heat that suggests the "cat-eye" leader isn't just dreaming of the mountain. Your middle finger dips into the center of the fold, the fabric of her leggings clinging to the wetness of her anatomy. It’s a "cameltoe" so pronounced and slick that it feels like the heat is bleeding through the nylon and into your skin.

At the same instant, your own body betrays the "friendship" protocol. The proximity, the scent of her hair, and the way her rounded rear is grinding into your pelvis has triggered a heavy, thumping erection.

Your dick is a rigid, insistent rod of heat pressed directly into the small of her back and the top of her glutes.

Yeji’s breathing hitches. She isn't asleep anymore.

You feel her body go rigid for a heartbeat, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard you can feel it through her spine. But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts her pelvis back, grinding her heat more firmly against your hand, her own fingers reaching back to find your arm, squeezing your bicep with a desperate, silent strength.

She can feel the sheer size and hardness of you through your fleece—a blunt, uncompromising reminder that the "Golden Boy" isn't a boy anymore.

To your right, Ryujin lets out a soft, rhythmic snore, her hand still tangled in the hem of your hoodie, blissfully unaware that the "trip to breathe" has turned into a high-altitude pressure cooker of suppressed years and unspoken "what-ifs."

"Y/n..." Yeji breathes, the sound so faint it’s almost lost to the wind outside. She doesn't turn around. She just stays there, her wetness soaking into your fingertips through her leggings, her body molding itself to the hard, pulsing line of your cock.

In the amber gloom of the tent, the line between "best friends" and "something more" has been crossed, and there’s 800 meters of granite between you and the rest of the world.

The howl of the wind outside the MSR nylon is a jagged, lonely sound, but inside the tent, the air has become a humid, pressurized weight. The "White-Out" of the mountain is mirrored by the sensory blackout in the dark; you can’t see Yeji’s face, but you can feel the lightning-strike of her pulse through her skin.

Time: 03:15 AM Location: Inside the Tent – The Breaking Point

The "accidental" cuddle has evolved into a deliberate, synchronized motion. You’re still behind her, your chest pressed into her shoulder blades, but your hand is no longer just resting. You slide your fingers under the waistband of her Nike leggings, the elastic snapping softly against her skin.

She let out a sharp, hitched breath—half-gasp, half-sob—and her hips arched instinctively back into your groin. Your hand found the raw, slick heat of her center, her lace thong already soaked through from the friction and the mounting tension of the night. You didn't hesitate; you slid two fingers beneath the lace, finding her clit, which was a hard, throbbing pearl of sensitivity.

"Y/n-ah..." she whimpered, her voice a ghost of a sound.

Beside you, Ryujin shifted in her sleep, her arm draped over your torso, her breathing heavy and rhythmic. The risk was astronomical. If she woke up, the "ITZY" sisterhood and your three-way friendship would be shattered in a single orange-tinted second.

Yeji reached back, her hand fumbling in the dark until she found the drawstring of your fleece joggers. Her fingers were shaking, but she was a dancer—she had a clinical, perfect control over her movements even when her mind was a blurred mess. She pulled the fabric down, her palm sliding over the hot, pulsing velvet of your cock.

She let out a soft, shuddering moan against the nylon floor. You were thick, straining against her grip, the veins along your shaft thumping in time with her heart. She wrapped her fingers around you, her thumb tracing the weeping head of your glans, and began a slow, agonizingly precise slide.

It was a silent, desperate choreography.

You were moving your fingers against her, finding the rhythm of her internal twitches, your thumb working her clit until she was a wet, shaking mess against your chest. At the same time, her hand was a blur of motion on your length, her palm slick with your pre-cum as she pumped you with a frantic, silent hunger.

The friction of the tech-fabrics, the smell of woodsmoke and her YSL perfume, and the constant, terrifying presence of Ryujin just inches away pushed you both to a jagged cliff edge.

Yeji’s back arched, her internal muscles clenching around your fingers in a violent, rhythmic milking motion. She buried her face in the hood of your sweatshirt to stifle the scream, her entire body vibrating with a silent, high-voltage orgasm that left her limp and soaked in your arms.

Seconds later, you followed. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, your body shuddering as you came against the back of her thighs, the heat of it soaking into the fleece of your joggers.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the wind and Ryujin’s soft, oblivious snoring. You stayed locked together, the "Golden Boy" and the "Leader," bound by a secret that 800 meters of granite couldn't hide.

The "release" of the manual friction didn't break the tension; it acted like a catalyst, turning the humid air inside the MSR into a pressurized vacuum. The chemical smell of the rainfly, the scent of her sweat, and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of Ryujin just inches away made the risk feel like a physical weight on your chest.

Yeji turned in your arms, her movements a slow, agonizing crawl. In the dim, amber light of the tent, her cat-eyes were dark, blown out with a hunger that the "National Leader" never showed the cameras. Her face was flushed, a stray lock of her dark hair stuck to her damp forehead.

"We can't... we shouldn't," she breathed, her lips hovering an inch from yours. "If Ryuddaeng wakes up..."

"I know," you whispered, your hand sliding up her thigh, the friction of the Nike leggings sounding like a roar in the silence.

She didn't pull away. Instead, she reached into the small mesh pocket of the tent wall where she’d tucked her "emergency" kit. Her fingers fumbled with a small, square foil packet—a Durex she’d bought at a convenience store in Tokyo months ago, hidden away for a "what if" she never thought would happen.

"Put it on," she commanded, her voice a jagged, desperate rasp.

You stripped your joggers down to your ankles. You were already hard again, the blood thumping in your ears. You rolled the latex down your length, the fit tight and secure, the sound of the foil crinkling like a gunshot in the quiet.

Yeji didn't wait. She peeled her leggings down to her knees, her pale skin glowing like marble in the moonlight. She straddled you, her knees digging into the thin foam sleeping pad. She guided you to her entrance—she was soaked, a slick, hot mess that made the entry effortless.

She lowered herself onto you in one slow, deliberate motion. You bottomed out instantly, your cock buried deep in her tight, twitching walls. Yeji’s head fell back, her jaw clenching so hard the muscles stood out in her neck. She stifled a scream against your shoulder, her fingers digging into your biceps until her nails drew blood.

You started a rhythmic, punishing grind. Because of the space, you couldn't move with full range, so you focused on the friction—your pelvis hitting hers with a muffled thud that was camouflaged by the howling wind outside.

Your mouth found hers, a desperate, silent kiss that tasted of salt and the mountain air. Your hands moved to her waist, your thumbs hooking into her hip bones, pulling her down onto you with every upward thrust.

To your right, Ryujin stirred. She let out a soft groan and rolled onto her side, her back now facing the two of you. Her hand, still searching for warmth in her sleep, brushed against your thigh.

You froze. Yeji’s eyes went wide, her heart hammering against your chest like a trapped bird. You both stayed perfectly still for ten agonizing seconds, the only sound the wind and the blood rushing in your veins.

Ryujin settled back into a deep, rhythmic sleep.

The near-miss pushed you both over the edge. Yeji began to move with a frantic, silent speed, her internal muscles clenching around you in a rhythmic milking motion. She was a dancer; she knew exactly how to move her hips to maximize the friction, her "cameltoe" now a hot, pulsing furnace around your shaft.

"Y/n... ah... now," she breathed into your ear.

You snapped. You drove into her three more times, your body shuddering as you came into the condom, the heat of it radiating through the latex. Yeji followed a second later, her back arching, her entire body vibrating with a silent, high-voltage orgasm that left her limp and sobbing against your chest.

You stayed locked together for a long minute, the "Golden Boy" and the "Leader," bound by a secret that 800 meters of granite couldn't hide.

The heavy, rhythmic silence that follows the climax is broken only by the frantic thumping of two hearts and the distant, lonely whistle of the wind against the tent. You’re still buried deep inside Yeji, your forehead resting against her damp shoulder, both of you paralyzed by the sheer, illicit weight of what just happened.

Then, the sleeping bag to your right rustles.

"You guys are really bad at being quiet."

The voice is low, raspier than usual, and vibrates with a dry, knowing edge. Your blood turns to ice. Yeji freezes, her internal muscles giving one final, involuntary twitch around your cock.

Ryujin isn't facing the wall anymore. She’s propped up on one elbow, her short hair a messy halo in the amber twilight of the tent. Her gaze is steady, tracking the way Yeji is straddling you, the way your joggers are bunched at your ankles, and the unmistakable, lingering scent of sex that has replaced the smell of woodsmoke.

"Ryujin-ah..." Yeji breathes, her voice trembling as she tries to pull her sweatshirt down. "I... we..."

"Don't," Ryujin cuts her off, sitting up fully. She doesn't look angry. She looks... restless. Her eyes fix on the place where you and Yeji are still joined, then flick up to your face. "I've been awake since the 'accidental' cuddling started. Do you have any idea how torturous it is to listen to your two best friends lose their minds while you’re trapped in a sleeping bag three inches away?"

She reaches out, her hand sliding over the nylon of your sleeping bag, her fingers tracing the line of your thigh. "The 'Golden Boy' and the 'Leader.' Always the perfect ones. Always the ones following the rules."

She leans forward, the space in the tent becoming impossibly small. She’s so close you can smell the mint on her breath. She reaches out and grabs the hem of your fleece, her knuckles brushing against your stomach.

"I’m horny too, Y/n-ah," she whispers, her gaze dropping to your lap. "And I’m not spending the rest of this trip being the 'third wheel' to your secret."

She doesn't wait for an invitation. She reaches for the zipper of her own sleeping bag, sliding it down in one smooth, aggressive motion. Underneath, she’s wearing a thin, ribbed tank top—no bra—and a pair of boy-short undies that leave nothing to the imagination. Her skin is flushed, her nipples distinct points against the fabric.

"Yeji-unnie," Ryujin says, looking at the older girl. "You had your turn. Move over."

Yeji looks at her, then at you. The shock in her eyes is slowly being replaced by something darker—a shared, desperate understanding. The "ITZY" bond is deep, but the "00-line" bond is something more primal.

Yeji slides off you with a wet, soft sound, but she doesn't go far. She settles behind you, her front pressing into your back, her arms wrapping around your chest.

Ryujin crawls over, her knees bracketed around yours. She reaches down, her fingers finding the base of your cock, which is already beginning to throb and stiffen again at the sight of her. She looks at the condom—stretched and clouded—and then looks you dead in the eye.

"Get a fresh one, Y/n," she commands, her voice a low, melodic growl. "I want to see if the 'Golden Boy' has enough energy for both of us."

The mountain outside is a freezing void, but inside the MSR, the "Summit of Secrets" has just become a three-way pact.

The interior of the MSR tent is now a stifling, humid microclimate, the air thick with the scent of latex, salt, and the raw, electric musk of the three of you. The "White-Out" outside feels like a distant memory; the only reality that matters is the orange-tinted space where the "Golden Boy" is no longer a spectator to his own life.

Ryujin doesn't wait for your permission. She reaches down, her fingers cool against your heat as she pinches the tip of the used condom and slides it off your length with a wet, rhythmic friction. She tosses the latex into a small waste bag with a clinical indifference that only makes your pulse hammer harder.

Then, she leans in.

Her short hair brushes against your thighs as she takes you into her mouth. She isn't gentle; she’s hungry. She uses her tongue to swirl around the crown, cleaning the remnants of the first round with long, firm strokes that make your hips buck off the sleeping pad. She looks up at you while she does it, her gaze defiant and dark, as if she’s claiming her stake in the night.

Beside you, Yeji is watching, her breathing ragged. She reaches out, her hand sliding over Ryujin’s shoulder, her fingers tangling in the shorter girl’s hair as she watches her best friend worship the man they both spent years trying to forget.

Ryujin pulls back with a soft pop, her lips glistening. She reaches for the second Durex packet, ripping it open with her teeth—a move so predatory it sends a shiver down your spine. She rolls the fresh latex down your shaft, her palms smoothing it over your skin until you’re rigid and aching again.

"My turn," she whispers.

She doesn't stay in front of you. She flips around, her back to your chest, and drops onto all fours on the cramped foam padding. Her boy-short undies are already around her ankles. Her rear is high, her back arched into a deep, agonizing curve that highlights the lean, dancer’s muscle of her thighs.

You enter her from behind, a deep, blunt thrust that bottoming out instantly. Ryujin lets out a muffled, guttural growl into the sleeping bag, her fingers clawing at the nylon floor. She’s tighter than you expected, her internal muscles clenching around the condom with a rhythmic, desperate strength.

But you aren't alone with her.

Yeji crawls behind you, her front pressing into your back. She reaches around your waist, her hands finding Ryujin’s breasts from either side, kneading the soft mounds as you drive into the younger girl. Yeji leans down, her mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck, her teeth grazing your pulse point in time with every thud of your pelvis.

"Faster, Y/n-ah," Ryujin gasps, her head lolling back to rest on your shoulder. "Don't... don't hold back... give it to me like you did her..."

The tent is a blur of moving limbs and hot skin. You’re the center of a high-altitude storm, sandwiched between the "Center" and the "Leader." Every thrust into Ryujin is punctuated by Yeji’s hands on your chest and her whispers in your ear. The friction is a physical roar, the "cameltoe" of Ryujin’s wetness and the heat of Yeji’s body creating a sensory overload that pushes you to the brink.

As you reach the climax, your hands move to Ryujin’s hips, pulling her back onto you for three final, deep surges. You groan into the silence, the heat of the release flooding the condom as Ryujin’s body trembles in a violent, silent peak.

The three of you collapse into a heap of tangled limbs and heavy breathing, the "Summit of Secrets" finally, fully conquered.

Time: 05:30 AM Location: Hidden Plateau – Bukhansan Summit

The sun doesn't rise so much as it bleeds through the "White-Out" mist, turning the world outside the orange nylon into a flat, ethereal silver. Inside the tent, the air is heavy and stagnant, smelling of salt, spent adrenaline, and the faint, lingering scent of Byredo and woodsmoke.

You wake up with Yeji’s head on your chest and Ryujin’s leg draped possessively over your waist. The "Golden Boy" is buried under a tangle of high-performance fleece and the two most famous women in the country. The silence is absolute, broken only by the rhythmic, soft puff of their breathing.

As the light strengthens, Yeji stirs first. She sits up slowly, her dark hair a chaotic silk curtain around her face. She looks down at you, then at Ryujin, and finally at the discarded foil packets near the tent door. There is no shame in her eyes—only a quiet, feline clarity. She reaches out and traces the faint red mark on your collarbone with her thumb.

"The mist is clearing," she whispers, her voice a low rasp. "We have three hours to get down the mountain before the first group of hikers reaches the ridge."

Ryujin opens one eye, a lazy, triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. She doesn't move her leg. "Let them come. I’ve never felt more awake in my life." She sits up, stretching her arms above her head, the movement pulling her tank top taut over her skin. she looks at you, her gaze lingering on your mouth. "You okay, Y/n-ah? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Just processing the technical fouls," you joke, though your voice is thick.

The descent is a different kind of challenge. The competitive fire from the climb has been replaced by a heavy, magnetic tension. Every time you reach back to help Yeji over a rock, her fingers linger on your palm a second too long. Every time Ryujin brushes past you on a narrow ledge, her shoulder leans into yours with a deliberate, grounding weight.

When you finally reach the gravel parking lot, the silver van is waiting, its engine already idling. The "Idol" masks go back on—the bucket hats, the oversized masks, the guarded stances.

"Back to reality," Ryujin mutters, standing by the sliding door. She reaches out and squeezes your hand, her grip bruising. "Don't think this was just a 'mountain' thing, Y/n. We know where you live."

Yeji steps closer, her cat-eyes unreadable behind her dark lenses. She leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "Study hard, Assemblyman. We'll see you for 'extra credit' next weekend."

The van doors hiss shut, and the silver vehicle pulls away, disappearing into the Seoul traffic. You stand in the quiet lot, the weight of your 65-liter pack feeling strangely light. Your muscles ache, your skin still smells of them, and your phone buzzes in your pocket with a single notification from the group chat.

Yeji: Best. Evaluation. Ever.

The practice room still smelled like sweat and floor cleaner when the break finally hit. You were ITZY’s assistant manager, which meant you spent most days running around with water bottles, schedules, and snacks while trying not to stare too obviously at Ryujin. But today she was in one of her moods, eyes sharp every time you handed something to the others.

Yeji had just cracked a joke about your terrible dance moves during the last run-through, and you laughed—loud, easy. Lia leaned against your shoulder for a second, catching her breath, while Yuna teased you about bringing her favorite iced americano again. Chaeryeong even ruffled your hair. Normal stuff. Harmless.

But Ryujin didn’t think so.

She didn’t say a word the whole ride back to the dorm. Just sat in the back of the van with her arms crossed, earbuds in, jaw tight. The other girls chattered like usual, but you caught her staring at you in the reflection of the window more than once. Dark. Pissed.

The second the dorm door shut behind the last member, she grabbed your wrist and dragged you straight to her room. The lock clicked loud enough to make your stomach flip.

“Ryujin, what—”

“Shut up.” Her voice was low, dangerous. She shoved you back against the door, pressing her body into yours. “You think it’s funny? Flirting with them right in front of me?”

“I wasn’t—”

Her hand came up, fingers wrapping around your throat—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your pulse race. “Don’t lie to me. I saw you. Laughing with Yeji. Letting Lia lean on you like that. Yuna batting her lashes. You’re mine. Or did you forget?”

Her eyes were blazing, that signature Ryujin intensity dialed up to eleven. She looked so fucking hot when she was angry—black practice hoodie half-zipped, sports bra underneath, hair messy from dancing all day. You swallowed under her grip.

“I didn’t forget,” you breathed.

“Good.”

She kissed you like she wanted to punish you. Teeth clashing, tongue demanding entrance. Her free hand yanked at your shirt until buttons popped. You groaned into her mouth, hands instinctively grabbing her waist. She slapped them away.

“No touching until I say so.”

Ryujin pushed you toward the bed, stripping her hoodie off in one smooth motion. Her toned stomach and perfect tits came into view, nipples already hard under the thin fabric of her bra. She shoved you down onto your back and climbed on top, straddling your chest.

“Take your clothes off. Now.”

You hurried to obey, kicking off your pants while she watched with dark satisfaction. When you were naked, she stood up long enough to peel off her own shorts and panties, leaving herself bare. Then she crawled back up, knees on either side of your head.

“You’re going to make it up to me,” she said, lowering herself onto your face without warning. Her pussy was already wet, slick against your tongue as she started grinding. “Eat me like you mean it.”

You did. Lapping at her folds, sucking on her clit, hands finally allowed to grip her thighs as she rode your face. Ryujin moaned above you, one hand fisting your hair, the other braced on the headboard. Her hips moved in sharp, needy circles.

“Fuck—yes, just like that. You’re better at this than talking to the others, huh?”

Her thighs trembled around your head when she came the first time, flooding your mouth with her taste. She didn’t give you time to recover—just slid down your body, wrapped her hand around your aching cock, and sank down in one go.

“Shit, Ryujin—” you groaned, head falling back.

She planted both hands on your chest and started riding you hard. Cowgirl, but mean. Hips slamming down, pussy clenching tight around you with every bounce. Her tits swayed with the motion and you couldn’t help reaching for them.

She slapped your hands again. “I said no touching.” But she leaned forward anyway, letting her breasts brush your face while she kept that brutal rhythm. “You don’t get to play with these until I’m satisfied.”

You sucked one nipple into your mouth anyway, earning a sharp moan and a particularly hard grind from her. Ryujin’s pace faltered for a second before she doubled down, fucking herself on your cock like she owned it. Because she did.

After a while she climbed off, breathing hard, and flipped onto her stomach. “Prone bone. Now. And you better fuck me like you’re sorry.”

You moved behind her, spreading her legs and pushing back inside that tight, dripping heat. The angle was insane—you could feel every inch as you thrust deep. Ryujin pushed her ass up to meet you, moaning into the pillow.

“Harder. Don’t you dare hold back.”

You gave it to her, hips snapping forward, skin slapping loudly. One hand reached around to rub her clit while the other pressed between her shoulder blades, keeping her pinned down exactly how she wanted. She came again like that, cursing your name, walls fluttering wildly around your cock.

But Ryujin wasn’t done.

She pushed you off, turned around, and shoved you onto your back once more. This time she faced away—reverse cowgirl—and sank back down, giving you the perfect view of her ass as she rode. Her hand reached back to choke your thigh, nails digging in.

“Tell me who you belong to,” she demanded, voice husky.

“You. Only you, Ryujin.”

“Louder.”

“Fuck— you, Ryujin. I’m yours.”

She laughed breathlessly, speeding up. The wet sounds of her pussy taking every inch filled the room. You were getting close, dangerously close, but she could tell.

“Don’t you dare cum yet.”

She slowed down torturously, edging you until you were whimpering under her. Only then did she pick up speed again, leaning forward so you could watch her pussy swallow your cock over and over.

When she finally let you finish, it was on her terms. She slammed down one last time, grinding deep as her own orgasm hit.

“Inside. Fill me up. Now.”

You groaned loud, hips jerking as you pumped rope after rope of cum deep into her pussy. Ryujin moaned through it, milking every drop, her body shaking on top of you.

For a long minute the only sound was both of you trying to catch your breath. Then she slowly lifted off, your cum leaking down her thighs. She looked back at you with a satisfied little smirk, even though the jealousy still lingered in her eyes.

She collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you close, legs tangled, head on your chest. The angry energy melted away into something softer.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes,” she muttered, tracing a finger over your collarbone. “I hate seeing you like that with them. Even if it’s nothing.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” You kissed her forehead, running your hand through her damp hair. “It’s only ever been you, Ryujin. The others are just… the group. You’re the one I can’t get enough of.”

She hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. “Better not forget again. Or next time I won’t let you cum at all.”

You chuckled, holding her tighter. The dorm was quiet now—the other members probably in their rooms with headphones on, pretending they hadn’t heard anything. Yeji might tease you about it tomorrow. Yuna would giggle. But right now it didn’t matter.

Ryujin’s breathing evened out against your skin, possessive even in sleep. You stayed awake a little longer, fingers gently stroking her back, knowing you’d take her jealousy any day if it ended like this.

-

I pushed open the apartment door, sweat still cooling on my skin from the intense gym session. The bag felt heavy on my shoulder as I stepped inside, muscles tired but satisfied. Before I could even kick off my shoes properly, Ryujin appeared from the living room like she’d been waiting by the door.

She wore one of my oversized shirts and nothing else, her short hair messy in that effortlessly cool way only she could pull off. At twenty-four, Ryujin had this sharp, charismatic energy that always pulled me in, but when she was in one of her moods, it turned into pure hunger.

“You’re finally back,” she said, voice low as she pressed against me immediately. Her hands grabbed my tank top, pulling me closer. “I’ve been thinking about you for hours. Gym clothes look too good on you.”

I smirked, setting my bag down slowly. “Missed me that much? I just walked in the door, baby. Let me shower first.”

Ryujin’s eyes narrowed playfully. She knew I was teasing. “No. I need you now.” Her hand slid down to palm me through my shorts. “Don’t make me wait.”

I chuckled, gently pushing her hands away. “Whoa, easy there. What if I said I was too tired from leg day? Maybe we should just order food and watch something.”

Her expression shifted — that mix of frustration and arousal I loved to poke at. This was our little game. I was her favorite ragebaiter, and she secretly loved when I made her chase it.

“You’re joking, right?” she huffed, pushing me toward the couch. “I’ve been wet all afternoon thinking about your cock. Don’t troll me today.”

I sat down, still grinning. “I don’t know… I’m pretty sore. Might need a massage first. Or maybe I should make you beg a little.”

Ryujin straddled my lap instantly, grinding against me. “Please, baby. I need it. I’ve been touching myself waiting for you.” She kissed my neck, biting lightly. “Don’t be mean.”

I finally gave in a little, hands gripping her ass under the shirt. “Alright, but only because you asked so nicely.” I pulled her into a deep kiss, tongues sliding as she moaned into my mouth. My hands roamed her body, squeezing her breasts through the thin fabric.

She wasted no time, sliding off my lap to pull my shorts down. My cock sprang free, already hard from her desperation. Ryujin wrapped her hand around me, stroking firmly as she looked up.

“Finally,” she breathed, then took me into her mouth. The blowjob was hungry and sloppy — exactly how I knew she liked it when she was this worked up. She sucked hard, head bobbing fast while her hand jerked the base. Spit dripped down my shaft as she took me deeper, gagging slightly but pushing through.

“Fuck, Ryujin… you’re addicted, aren’t you?” I groaned, hand in her short hair.

She pulled off just long enough to answer. “To you? Yes. Now stop talking and let me suck.”

I tugged her hair lightly, guiding her rhythm as she worked me. After a few minutes I pulled her up, flipping us so she was on the couch. I spread her legs and buried my face between them, licking and sucking her soaked pussy.

Ryujin moaned loudly, hips bucking against my tongue. “Yes… eat me, baby. I’ve been so empty without you.”

I licked her clit in fast circles, pushing two fingers inside her while she masturbated her swollen nub. She came quickly the first time, squirting on my tongue with a sharp cry, thighs shaking around my head.

But she wasn’t satisfied. “More,” she begged, pulling my hair to bring me up. “Fuck me now.”

I positioned myself between her legs and thrust in deep. The semi-rough pace felt perfect after teasing her. Ryujin wrapped her legs around me, nails digging into my back as I pounded into her.

“Harder,” she gasped. “I can take it.”

I gripped her hair, tugging it as I fucked her deeper on the couch. The sound of our bodies meeting filled the apartment. I sucked on her neck, leaving light marks while she moaned my name.

We changed positions — her riding me reverse so I could watch her ass bounce. She slammed down hard, chasing her pleasure. I pulled her hair from behind, making her arch as she rode.

“You’re such a good girl when you’re desperate,” I teased, still ragebaiting a little even now.

“Shut up and fill me,” she shot back, grinding faster. She came again, squirting around my cock as her walls clenched tight.

I flipped her onto all fours, taking her from behind with deep, powerful thrusts. One hand pulled her hair while the other smacked her ass lightly. Ryujin pushed back against me, loving the semi-rough treatment.

“Cum inside me,” she begged. “Please, baby. I need it.”

I buried myself deep and came hard, pumping thick ropes into her pulsing pussy. Ryujin trembled through another orgasm, milking me completely.

We collapsed together on the couch, breathing heavily. I pulled her into my arms, kissing her forehead softly as the roughness faded into gentle aftercare.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” I murmured, stroking her hair.

Ryujin laughed breathlessly, nuzzling into my chest. “Only for you. I can’t help it. When you come back from the gym all sweaty and strong… I lose my mind a little.”

I held her closer, rubbing her back. “I love that about you. Even when I troll you, it’s because I love seeing you like this — all needy and mine.”

We talked quietly for a long time after that. She told me how her day went, how she’d been restless waiting for me, and how these moments with me helped her unwind from her intense schedules. I shared details from my workout, how I’d been thinking about her the whole time too. The love between us felt warm and real, even after the heated sex.

Later we showered together, her hands gentle now as she helped wash me. In bed that night we went for another round — slower this time, with lots of eye contact and soft kisses. I ate her out again until she squirted, then let her ride me until we both came together, my cum filling her once more.

Ryujin fell asleep curled against me, leg thrown over mine, looking peaceful after all her desperate energy earlier. Being with a girl as passionate and addicted as her was exhausting sometimes, but it was also the best feeling in the world. I’d troll and tease her every day if it ended like this.

---

“Seoul. Tokyo. Two weeks each. You leave tomorrow.” Taeyeon slides a tablet across her desk, just past the Vice President, Strategy name plate. On it are graphs and spreadsheets, numbers generally in green and arrows pointing generally upward. She spares a glance at the clearly dripping blazer folded over the back of your chair, and the corresponding damp spot on your chest, before leaning forward and threading her fingers atop her desk.

“Seoul is doing fine. Tokyo needs to pick it up a little,” she continues, tone sharp and direct, business persona fully on and engaged. “Either way, the CEO wants a status report on both offices by end-of-month so he can decide whether to expand ops in either country. We already have the hard data we need for a business case - we just need someone on the ground to confirm the numbers. Meet with the directors of each office, let them wine and dine you, take a tour of the facilities and offices, slap together a report for me to hand to the boss when you get back. Piece of cake.”

“Sounds like a month-long vacation,” you reply, relaxing a little further into the leather chair opposite her desk.

“Consider it a thank you for the good work you did on the Hirai deal,” Taeyeon says with a shrug, taking a sip from her mug - double-shot Americano, black, extra hot. You smirk as you recall the details of the deal, which took every ounce of your attention and time for a couple of months. There were too many long nights spent in this very office, the two of you working away at this document or that. “And you’re too busy?” Taeyeon glares, but there’s no heat in the frown on her lips. “I’m going to London to check up on the office there. I’d spend too much time in Seoul fielding ‘why aren’t you married to a chaebol heir and popping out kids yet’ questions from the family.”

“Coward. Come to Seoul with me. I’ll play the handsome foreign fiance in front of your parents. Maybe we tell them there’s a bun in the oven. Maybe in the hotel room-”

Taeyeon throws a paper clip at you. Her faux-serious frown becomes a reluctant smile to mirror the one on your own. Thankfully, her promotion to a VP position a year ago didn’t change the close relationship you’d forged over almost a decade of working together, especially now that you technically reported to her. HR would’ve had a field day with the things said and done in this twentieth-floor corner office, had even a fraction of it somehow leaked beyond its walls. 

“You had your shot with me,” she says, mostly-jokingly, under her breath. You don’t miss the wistfulness in the corners of her eyes as she crosses her arms and makes a playful show of looking out of her office’s floor-to-ceiling windows at Vancouver’s dark, cloudy afternoon. “I’ve moved on.”

Silence reigns for a moment that felt longer than it actually was. The I haven’t on your lips dies there, unspoken.

“Anyway, you’ll need a translator,” Taeyeon continues, eager to change the subject before it drowned you both in memories of years past. She shuffles a few papers around randomly on her desk in an attempt to alleviate the sudden tension in the air. When she looks up at you, the wistfulness isn’t entirely gone - just pushed down by the professionalism she wore like armor. “Her file’s on the tablet. Some new kid from Marketing.”

Your eyes linger on Taeyeon’s for a moment longer before you pick up the tablet. There is something behind her eyes in that split-second - thoughts she perhaps wants to turn into words. But the moment passes as quickly as it comes. She turns her eyes to her laptop, and you return yours to the tablet.

A swipe left reveals a resume and an unfamiliar name.

“Ryujin Shin.”

“Brand new to the company - only been with us less than a year, but apparently she’s already a bit of a rock star. Got promoted to Marketing Lead in six months. Her manager says she volunteered for this assignment. She was pretty insistent that she get it, apparently. Maybe she thinks overseas experience will be good for her career.”

“Hmm,” you muse, as you review Ryujin’s resume. Degree with honors, top of her training cohort, gleaming reference letters. 

“She’s fluent in both Korean and Japanese,” Tayeon continues, “so make sure you get your translations directly from her. CEO wants real shit in the report, not a sugarcoated version from the local translators.”

You place the tablet back on her desk as you rise. “I’ll get it done, ma’am,” you state, before straightening up and giving her an exaggerated military salute. 

Taeyeon returns the salute with one of her own, a soft smile perking up the corners of her lips. For a moment she’s twenty-six again, bright-eyed, greeting you with a smile at the company orientation that she was in charge of organizing. You feel something stir in your chest, somewhere deep down where the past still lingered.

“Dismissed, Director,” she answers.

Her smile follows you out the door. It lingers even after you leave, but tinged with a sadness that she’d fought to keep hidden while you were in the room.

---

Ryujin Shin was late.

You weren’t exactly sure what to expect - her profile didn’t include a photo or even so much as a birthdate, so you treated every female that approached within twenty feet as potentially being your translator and guide for the next month. This resulted in some awkward eye contact and equally awkward smiles with random female travellers making their way through Vancouver International Airport’s departures terminal.

You’re directing one such awkward smile toward a middle-aged woman when the actual Ryujin Shin approaches. “Director?”

You turn your head to the sound and there she is - the girl from the morning prior. The one that had left half her drink on your suit jacket.

“...Ryujin Shin?”

“That’s me,” she says, shyly. She fidgets with the slim silver chain around her wrist. She’s dressed casually, in an oversized navy cardigan and wide cut jeans, but looks just as fitting for a magazine cover as she did when she was spilling iced caffeine on you the day before.  “Shall we get going?”

---

The thirteen hours over the Pacific are relatively uneventful - hours of movies on your iPad, a microwaved but surprisingly edible bibimbap, and dying more than you’d like in the latest Souls-like to test your blood pressure. Ryujin spent most of it asleep, snoring softly in the seat next to you.

It’s near midnight when the two of you arrive in South Korea’s capital city. The bright neon lights of downtown Seoul paint Ryujin’s soft features in bright blues and pastel pinks as she stares out the taxi windows with wonder, awe, and nostalgia clashing on her soft features. The taxi pulls up in front of a high-end boutique hotel that your assistant had insisted was popular with travel influencers.

Ryujin slipped into her translator duties early, helping the two of you check in to your rooms. You don’t miss the blush on her cheeks and the embarrassed wave of her hands when the desk clerk sheepishly asks her a question in Korean before shooting you a glance heavy with implication. Eventually, Ryujin receives two key cards from the clerk and hands one of them to you as you both make your way to the elevator.

“She thought we were married,” she admits, shyly, as she pushes the up arrow button on the wall. “Thought we were here for our wedding or something.”

“Cute,” you say, shooting her a smile. The blush lingers.

The elevator dings on the 10th floor, and the doors open. Ryujin heads out first, but when you make to follow her, she stops you with a raised hand.

“Company got you a suite. You’re on the 14th floor. Room 1421.”

“Oh,” you admit. “Got it.”

“Don’t forget - first meeting tomorrow is at 9am. See you in the lobby at 8?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good night, Director,” she says with a slim smile, before disappearing behind the closing elevator doors, leaving you still a little unsure as to what to make of her.

--

Your first day in the Seoul office is filled with introductions and greetings - it wasn’t your first time in the city and you were used to the overly formal introductions, but it didn’t make things any less awkward. The day starts with a meeting with the office’s leadership, each of whom rise from their seats in turn and provide you with their name, title, and what you assume to be the usual corporate platitudes and greetings.

At your shoulder, Ryujin translates.

“...Shin Yuna, Marketing Lead. She’s looking forward to working with you. Lee Chaeryeong, Operations Lead. She’s looking forward to working with you. Hwang Yeji, Legal Counsel. She’s looking forward to working with you. Choi Jisu, HR Head. She’s looking forward to-”

You turn your head to Ryujin and give her a smile. She looks sharp in a white blouse, navy blazer, and charcoal pencil skirt, hair pulled up into a professional bun atop her head. 

“I get it,” you whisper, softly, with a small smile. “They’re looking forward to working with me.”

Ryujin nods. Her cheeks blush slightly and there’s the ghost of a smile on her lips, but she otherwise returns to translating as the office director begins his opening speech.

---

“...profitability is up eighteen point nine five percent - primarily driven by… logistics improvements- no, a better word would be enhancements… that allow for faster- actually, no, I mean smoother transport of goods up from the port of Busan to manufacturing and distribution facilities in Seoul,” Ryujin says, softly but clearly. At the head of the room, the Operations Lead continues her presentation in rapid-fire Korean, gesturing to a bar graph that emphasizes the eighteen point nine five percent increase in large green numbers.

“Ask her to elaborate on what she means by ‘logistics enhancements,’” you ask Ryujin, turning your head to speak softly to her. You watch as Ryujin nods and frantically jots down notes in a messy looking notebook.

Ryujin raises her hand, interrupting the presentation, and asks your question in Korean. She corrects herself with a couple of her word choices, as though a better word had come to her just as the previous one had left her mouth. The Operations Lead takes a moment to consider her response before answering. “She says they found a way to… get better pricing agreements- no, contracts- from their suppliers - no, I mean, she used the term suppliers, but I think she means shipping specialists. The big difference that resulted in the increase was how they went from relying on trucks -I mean, truckload shipping, to high-speed rail to send goods from the Port of Busan to Seoul. The costs for shipping via trains are lesser than shipping via trucks due to-”

“They went from trucks to trains, got it,” you say, with a grin.

Ryujin nods. “Yeah,” she agrees, with a flustered smile.

“Thank her, and ask her to continue.”

The smile lingers on Ryujin’s lips as she asks the Operations Lead to continue. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as she scribbles “trucks to trains” in her notebook.

---

The setting sun is painting Seoul in gold and amber by the time the day’s meetings have wrapped up. You were used to the long working hours involved with working in Asian offices, but the jetlag made the first afternoon especially draining.

Next to you, Ryujin stifles a yawn as you both step out into the early summer evening. 

“Jetlag?” you ask as you both head towards the street and the taxis waiting there.

“Jetlag,” she repeats. She fidgets with the silver chain bracelet again, fingers tracing the delicate links - a habit of hers, you’d noticed. She flags down a waiting taxi, and you follow her into the cab as she gives the driver the address of the hotel and the car pulls away from the curb.

“Dinner plans tonight?” you ask as you watch Seoul’s downtown whiz by in a blur of concrete and glass.

There is a moment of silence. When Ryujin doesn’t answer, you give her a glance to find her eyes already on yours. She looks away shyly, fingers playing with the glimmering silver wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, probably just going to grab something from the convenience store,” she says. “Kinda tired.”

“Gotcha. I suppose I’ll do the same and call it a night early,” you admit. “Jetlag’s a bitch.”

There is an awkward, uncomfortable silence for a few more blocks. At a red light, you watch as the neon sign above a fried chicken and beer restaurant beckons weary office workers into its doors. On the outdoor tables, tired-looking office employees tuck into delicious looking chicken wings and frosted mugs of beer.

“I wouldn’t mind some of that right now,” you say, hoping to break the tension.

Silence for a few more seconds. You watch as Ryujin peers out your window and notices the sign. Her lips curl up into a small, cautious smile.

She asks the driver to pull over.

---

The fried chicken and beer restaurant is busy but comfortable, the kind of neighborhood place that catered mostly to local employees from the surrounding corporate towers grabbing a bite and a drink on their way home. Ryujin orders in Korean, and soon enough you find yourselves presented with that heavenly combination of fried chicken and light beer. A side of fries and mozzarella sticks accompany the main course at Ryujin’s insistence.

The conversation is light and casual, mostly about the day’s meetings. It’s towards the end of the meal that you muster the courage to broach the topic that had been weighing on your mind for the whole trip.

“Hey, Ryujin,” you begin. “Are we… cool? I dunno, just wanted to make sure you didn’t secretly hate me or something.”

Ryujin takes a sip of beer, likely to buy time for her to form a response. She places her mug back on the table and examines the half-eaten piece of chicken thigh on her plate for a few seconds, as though she could find the right answer to your question somewhere amidst the delicious breaded and fried poultry on her plate.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks, cautiously.

You smile to yourself as you take a sip of your own beer.

“Hmm,” you begin, feigning ignorance. “I don’t think we’ve met prior to this trip. Your file says you’ve been with the company a year or so?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmmmmm,” you continue, tapping a finger on your lips for emphasis. “No, I think I’d remember if I bumped into someone like you. So no, I don’t remember. But my suit jacket might.”

A moment passes before Ryujin’s lips break into a tentative smile.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she says, covering her face shyly with her hands. “I felt so bad.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, happy to have lightened the mood somewhat. “I didn’t really like that jacket anyway.”

“I could pay to have it cleaned?”

“Naw,” you assure. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked. It was due for a visit to the dry cleaners, anyway. Dropped it off on my way to the airport.”

Ryujin nods, returning to pushing the chicken thigh around on her plate. “Alright,” she says, “but drinks after this are on me. Least I could do for leaving half a macchiato on your jacket.”

“Sure,” you agree, excited at the prospect of getting to know her better over drinks. You take your corporate credit card out of your wallet and place it on the table before excusing yourself from the table to hit the washroom.

The waiter comes by and Ryujin uses your card to pay for the meal. She gathers her things and waits for you outside the restaurant.

Outside, she lets a long, sad sigh escape her throat, wishing you had a better memory.

---

“I was born here,” Ryujin begins as she pours you a shot of soju from the second bottle the two of you were working on. “Family moved to Vancouver when I was six, so I essentially grew up there - but somehow, coming back always feels like coming home.”

“Ahh,” you say, taking the small shot glass and tapping it to hers before downing the shot. The soju here is harder and less sweet - unlike the overly sugary versions back home. You pick at the seafood pancake on the table with your chopsticks, chasing the burn of the alcohol with the grease of fried batter. “So - what brought you to the company?”

Ryujin takes her own bite of the pancake before refilling your glasses with another shot. She takes a moment to swirl the alcohol around in the glass, not quite bringing it to her lips just yet.

“It’s the biggest game in town,” she begins. “Wanted to work with the best.”

“Fair enough. How has the first year been?”

Ryujin’s eyes leave yours for a moment, drifting to the space between you.

“Good,” she begins, the word leaving her mouth in a measured, careful way. “The orientation week in particular was… fun.”

You perk up at the mention of orientation week. The company had a mentorship program wherein every new employee was matched with a senior leader for a week during their company orientation  - one of Taeyeon’s ideas. It was during the inaugural orientation week, almost a decade ago, that you and Taeyeon had begun your friendship. You’d since taken over leadership of the program following her promotion to VP a year ago.

“That’s good to hear,” you begin. “I really enjoyed my own orientation week, and I really wanted to make sure new employees get the same experience. I’m glad yours went well.”

Ryujin nods, a soft smile perking up the corners of her mouth. The sight of it stirs you, because you’re convinced it’s the first genuine smile you’ve seen on her lips.

“It was great,” she says, eyes suddenly bright, smile a little more authentic, a little more real - as though she were waiting the whole trip to bring up this topic. “I really liked getting to know-”

Your phone, on the table between you, vibrates. The message preview on your lock screen shows a message from Taeyeon, asking if the weather in Seoul is as good as it is in London. Attached to it is a selfie - her in front of Big Ben, half a world away.

“Sorry,” you say, grabbing the phone and putting it on Do Not Disturb before replacing it face down on the table.

“It’s fine,” Ryujin says, not having missed the brief message preview or the attached photo. She downs her shot of soju - without tapping her glass to yours. “It’s getting late, and we’ve got meetings tomorrow. Shall we?”

---

“That was fun,” you say as the two of you wait for the elevators back at the hotel. “Thanks for translating those menus for me. Would’ve been microwaved rice and a can of tuna for me otherwise.” Ryujin smiles, but even the blush of alcohol on her cheeks fails to hide the awkwardness that is still lingering somewhere behind the curve of her lips.

“No worries,” she says, as the two of you step into the elevator and she hits the button for her floor. “Thanks for the food.”

“Thank the company card, not me,” you say with a grin.

She smiles back, politely, but doesn’t say anything more. The elevator doors open to her floor, and she steps out.

“First meeting’s at 9-”

“-see you at 8,” you finish.

She smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. You wave good night. As the elevator door closes again, the forced smile leaves her face, replaced quickly with a frown - just a moment too soon, just long enough for you to see. 

The elevator rises to your floor, leaving you no closer to figuring out Ryujin Shin than you were the day before.

---

“Director!” Shin Yuna exclaims, the title overly sweet and saccharine, almost sing-song in its delivery. “Do you… want to drink? With us?”

The Marketing Lead is standing a few steps apart from a dozen or so members of the Seoul office that are seemingly debating which dinner and drinks spot to hit first. Yuna - bright, cheery, and a little too handsy - skips over to you, wrapping her forearm around yours.

“Team bonding,” she says, her accent giving the English words a pleasant lilt. Her smile is wide and cheerful, and for a moment you lose yourself in the fact that an attractive young woman is asking you to join her for drinks.

“Uh-” you stammer, even as Yuna forcefully drags you towards the rest of the team, who have begun to wander towards the first destination of the night. 

“What’s wrong?” Yuna asks, lower lip extended in an exaggerated pout.

“Nothing, Yuna - it’s just-”

“Ah, I see,” she says, turning back towards where Ryujin is just appearing from the revolving door entrance to the office, eyes glued to her phone. “You need her. To… translate.”

Ryujin looks up from her phone to see you, Yuna’s arm hooked in yours.

“Ryujin-ssi!” Yuna exclaims, waving at Ryujin with her free hand more frantically than was actually necessary. “Come join us!”

Ryujin’s eyes flit to you, then at Yuna’s arm around yours, then back to your eyes.

“Sure,” she says, before moving toward you.

---

It’s somewhere between the second and third stops of the night that you finally find yourself alone with Ryujin. She is trailing just behind the crowd as it sings off-tune k-pop ballads into the warm Seoul evening. Yuna is at their head, leading them to the bright red pocha tents like a conductor leading an inebriated orchestra.

“Having fun?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she answers, turning to you with a smile that betrays the lie.

Silence for another few steps.

“Hey,” you start, stopping in place. “Ryujin,” you add, when she continues without you.

“Yeah?”

The questions come to your lips - What’s wrong? What’s your problem? Did I do something? Is this going to be the month-long business trip from hell with a translator that hates me?

“Can we talk?” you manage.

Ryujin glances over at the crowd of your colleagues as they disappear into one of the pocha tents.

“Sure,” she says, stepping towards a different one.

---

The soju arrives quickly. She hadn’t bothered to ask you what you wanted before ordering it. The bottle hasn’t been on the table for a second before Ryujin picks it up, twists the cap, and pours you both a shot. Neither of you move to take it.

“Ryujin,” you begin, cautious, wary of your word choice. “I… I’m a little confused,” you admit, honestly. “I thought things were cool between us after dinner last night. I liked… getting to know you.”

Ryujin can’t hide the small quirk in her lip, as though what you’d just said had physically hurt her.

“I-” you begin, “I feel like maybe there’s something you’re not telling me? Or something I’m missing? Because after we had drinks you seemed kind of… upset. We’re going to be working together for a month, and-”

“-and you don’t want things to be awkward,” she finishes. Her eyes finally find yours, an unreadable, blank expression on her face.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Did I fuck something up? Say something that upset you? Is this about the drink you spilled on my suit? Because I’m trying to remember if I-”

“No,” she interrupts. She takes a sip from her soju glass, but her eyes don’t raise from the table between you.

“Then what is it?” Your glass of soju sits on the table, untouched.

Silence for a few more seconds, each one far longer than it had any right to be.

“Jesus Christ,” she says, eyes rolling, before finally settling on you. “You really don’t remember me.”

“What? I just said I did. You spilled your drink on my jacket and-”

“I’ll see you at the office tomorrow,” she states, before she stands, her plastic chair scraping loudly against the concrete. She steps out of the pocha and raises her hand to flag a nearby taxi.

The silver chain on her wrist catches the fading Seoul sunset.

And you remember.

---

“My mother gave it to me,” she says, eyes dropping to the delicate silver on her wrist. “When I graduated. First one in the family to get a degree! She wanted to commemorate it somehow. It means a lot.”

“That’s awesome,” you reply, watching her fingers play with the glimmering links. “I bet she’s real proud of you.”

“She is,” she replies, eyes forlorn for a moment. You sense that she wants to tell you more, that there are thoughts right there on her lips that she debates turning into words.

She wants to tell you how much she’s looked forward to your one-on-one meetings, how she’s laid in bed at night going over everything you said and did that day with a smile on her lips. She wants to tell you about how she’s memorized the flex in your forearms as you point something out on your laptop, the way you tie your tie, the scent of your cologne. She wants to tell you that the way she bumped her knees against yours under the table “accidentally” that morning wasn’t really accidental at all. 

But she settles for something less. Something more professional, more fitting for an orientation week spent with a senior leader she only just met a few days ago.

“Anyway - you were telling me about our distribution channels in Korea?”

“Right,” you say, glancing back at the PowerPoint in full screen on your laptop. “Our manufacturing happens all over the world, but our main distribution centre is in Seoul. Goods come up from Busan…”

---

“Ryujin!” you say, throwing some cash on the table before leaving the pocha tent and catching up with her on the curb. “Ryujin. I remember.”

She turns to face you, arms crossed, upset.

“Do you?” she asks, unconvinced.

“Orientation week,” you blurt, ashamed. “We were matched up.”

Relief and disappointment war on Ryujin’s features. When she speaks, the words leave her mouth with intent, as though she’d been waiting to say them for a while. “I couldn’t give less of a shit about that corporate bullshit,” she spits. “And I get that people like you are too busy to give a fuck about lowly Marketing drones. What I care about is-”

A vehicle pulls up to the curb. The door opens. A taxi.

“-when people break their promises,” she finishes, her tone suddenly sadder. “Or forget they made them in the first place.”

She gets into the taxi alone, and it pulls away from the curb. For a second, you catch the way Seoul’s streetlights make her eyes glisten.

---

“I had a great week, Director,” she says, hands clasping her tablet to her chest like it were some sort of life preserver. “Thanks for… taking me seriously.”

“Pleasure was all mine. You’re gonna kill it in Marketing. Your comments on the Hirai marketing campaign materials were visionary - I’ve forwarded them to your boss and he’s pretty impressed. I think they’ll make a difference when it comes to the bargaining phase. And please, drop the title. I have a first name like anyone else.”

She smiles, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. She says your name out loud, as though she were testing the way it sounded. You feel something stir inside you at the sound of your name, and the smile it leaves behind on her lips.

You want to tell her that the week flew by, and that you’d wished you’d had more scheduled one-on-ones with her to look forward to next week, where you’d start discussing market demographics and somehow end up discussing which of the Sailor Scouts was your favorite. You want to tell her you are a little in love with the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, or the cute burrow in her brow when she’s concentrating on logistics figures and graphs. You want to tell her that you’ll miss her perfume - something between caramel and vanilla? - and the way she laughs at your terrible puns. You want to ask her if she’ll have lunch with you next Tuesday - and maybe dinner the Friday after that.

But you settle for something less - something more fitting of a leader during a brief, HR-mandated mentorship with a new recruit.

“Anyway,” you continue, eager to make sure she doesn’t catch on to your sudden nervousness. “Tip #2,391 before you go: the ramen place a block away from here has a pretty great tonkotsu.”

“Ooooh,” she coos. “My favorite.” She plays with the bracelet on her wrist, fingers pinching the silver links as though she could squeeze the courage she needed from them. “...I don’t suppose you’d want to join me tonight after work-”

A woman approaches - Ryujin recognizes her from the executive introductions earlier in the week; the new VP of Strategy, Taeyeon Kim. She’s all poise and professionalism, corporate success in a tailored black pantsuit. She gives Ryujin a brief nod and a token smile before turning to you.

“Budget meeting for the Hirai deal in five,” she says to you, before heading off towards the meeting rooms.

“Duty calls,” you state to Ryujin. “Ramen sounds good, though. See you at six?”

“It’s a date,” she says, smile bright.

The Hirai deal budget meeting takes all night. Ryujin eats alone.

---

It takes three knocks for her to open the door.

“Yes, Director?” she asks, arms crossed, frosty emphasis on your title. Gone are the crisp pale blue blouse and heather grey pencil skirt, replaced with a navy blue oversized hoodie and strawberry-print pajama shorts. Her hair, released from the corporate bun she wore during the day, falls in dark waves around her face.

“The ramen date. I remember. I’m sorry. I was in a meeting that day that-”

“It’s not that that fucking matters,” she interrupts, the curse word somehow sounding sharper than you’d expected coming from her. “It’s the ghosting afterward. I wasn’t expecting a Director to give two shits about a lowly newbie in Marketing, but an apology would’ve been nice.”

“That deal took every ounce of my attention for a few months,” you protest. “I’m sorry, Ryujin. I really am.”

She seems only slightly placated by your apology. Her crossed arms tighten around her small torso, as though tightening her plates of armor. “And you just totally forgot about me afterward, huh? Even after I spilled a drink on your chest accidentally-on-purpose? Even after I volunteered for this assignment, hoping you’d remember me when saw my name on the brief?”

You frown, unsure of what else to do or say.

“Do you know how it makes me feel to have someone I was into ask me who the fuck I am? Twice?” she continues. “Make me feel like I’m top of the world one moment, then forget I exist the next? No one I’ve ever known has made me feel… seen like you did - and then you went and forgot all about me the second your precious VP smiled at you.”

There is silence for a moment. She was into you? A hand uncrosses itself from her chest and moves to her mouth, as though she regretted saying the words. 

“Ryujin, I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” you manage. You look up at her and she’s covering her face with her hand now, brow furrowed, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache.

“You don’t have to say anything, Director,” she says, arms crossing again. “I’m used to not expecting anything from you.”

More silence. Her words hit you with the force of a punch to the gut. She lingers there for a moment, as though gauging your response and finding none. She moves to close the door.

“I… I’ll see you at the office tomorrow,” she says, defeat and disappointment in every syllable.

Your hand, operating out of instinct, holds the door open with your palm. She looks up at you, surprised. Your feet carry you forward until you’re standing in front of the door frame.

“I’m here now, Ryujin,” you say. “I see you.”

“Do you?” she hisses. “Did you ever? Or was I just-”

You step forward, and you kiss her.

Your hands drift to her sides, holding her close. After a moment, her hands find their way to your chest, and you fear that she’s about to push you away - but instead they wind around your neck, fingers sliding into your hairline. She kisses you back, and your tongues find each other.

You pull away first. “Fuck, Ryujin, I’m sorry. That was-”

“Stop fucking apologizing,” she spits, and then she’s kissing you again, leaving one hand around your neck to pull you into her hotel room and using the other to shut the door behind her. You both stumble backward, lips locked, until her butt brushes up against her room’s desk.

You break the kiss. You look into her eyes and find them half-lidded, full of need. You smile, and she returns it, before she leans to kiss you again.

Your hands find their way under her hoodie. You grasp its hem, testing the waters and her reaction.

“Quickly,” she says, taking the hoodie by the hem and peeling it off her body herself, “before I realize how monumentally stupid this is.”

You smirk as your mouth finds her neck and she leans her head backward to allow you better access. A soft gasp leaves her lips as you find a warm point on her neck, kissing and suckling, leaving a mark on her.

She’s topless - not having worn a bra beneath her hoodie - and you want more of her, want to taste her on your tongue. Your hands find their way beneath her butt and you lift her onto the desk, depositing her on it with a soft thud. She yelps - and you silence her with a kiss before bending to kiss a trail down her neck and to her heaving chest. Your hands snake up her sides, cupping her small, round breasts, teasing but not touching her nipples.

“Fuck, just-” she begins, the words turning into a wordless gasp as you capture one of her nipples in your mouth, tongue slick and wet and licking a flat stripe across it. You close your lips around the bud, swirling the tip of your tongue around it, feeling it tighten quickly with arousal. Her hands snake into your hair, her back arching as she offers more of her body to you.

You switch, suckling her other nipple, closing your lips around it and sucking hard. Your free hand reaches up to tease and pinch her saliva-coated breast, not leaving it unattended.

“Oh god,” she gasps, “like that, like that.” She says your name and it’s breathless and airy, the best possible iteration of it you’d ever heard.

She’s writhing now, a mess of sighs and gasps atop the hotel desk. You could’ve stayed there all night, suckling from her small, cute little breasts and the tight nipples atop them - but she has other ideas, other needs. Her hands find themselves flat against your chest and with a regretful sigh she finally pushes you away from her chest. She hops off the desk, pushing you back against the bed.

Ryujin straddles you as you sit atop it, and you’re kissing again - passionate, intense, wild. She breaks the kiss first - and when you angle your neck to resume it, she smiles and steps off the bed, standing between your spread legs.

“Off,” she hisses, bending to help you get your pants and boxers off your legs after you undo the belt buckle and zipper. You take the opportunity to rid yourself of your button-up while she lets her shorts slide down her legs to pool at her feet - and you’re both naked. She’s so slim and small and tight, her tiny waist and the fullness in her hips and thighs forming a perfect hourglass in the dim light of her hotel room.

She’s straddling you again - naked, this time, and you both let a deep sigh escape your lips as the heat between her legs makes contact with your stiffened shaft. Almost immediately she begins to gyrate and writhe in your lap, hips sliding her slick heat against your hips and cock.

“Fuck,” she hisses from behind gritted teeth, between frenzied, urgent kisses. “Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Me too, Ryujin. Fucking need to be inside you-”

“Now,” she snaps. “Fuck me now.”

“Condom,” you say, almost regretfully. “My jacket pocket.”

Ryujin lets out a sigh, hopping off your lap for a moment to retrieve your jacket for you. You fish it out of the wrapper, placing it on your tip - and you sigh, softly, as Ryujin straddles you again and rolls it down your shaft. You gasp as her slim fingers wrap themselves around you, giving you a small squeeze.

“Fuck me,” Ryujin hisses into your ear.

Your arms wrap around her and you turn her over on the bed so you’re on top. Your hand reaches between you, placing your tip at her opening. Even through the latex you can feel the heat of her, almost feel the slickness of her body as your tip divides her lips.

Your eyes find hers. She tells you without words what she wants.

You slide inside her, and she’s tight and hot, the thin barrier of latex doing little to dampen the sensations of her body wrapping itself around your shaft. You give her a moment to adjust to the stretch, the fullness - before you’re pulling out slowly, leaving just the tip inside her, and sliding back in, filling her again.

“Fuck, fuck yes,” she’s hissing into your ear, arms wrapping around your neck, thighs parting and lower legs pulling against your butt. There’s a hint of relief in the words and sighs spilling softly from her mouth, as though she were finally receiving something she’d wanted and waited for for so long. “Yes, yes, you’e stretching me out, fuck--”

Ryujin’s voice is like silk, smooth and light, and you find it difficult to reconcile the filth leaving her lips with the perfect, business-like translations she whispered in your ear from earlier in the day. To hear that voice now, urging you, begging you to fuck her harder, faster - it drove you insane.

“Harder, please, harder.”

You comply, and soon you're thrusting in and out of her cunt at a firm but consistent pace, her tight walls squeezing around you on each entry and only reluctantly letting you go on the backstroke. You kiss her again and it’s frantic, fevered. When your lips part your eyes remain locked on each other, inches apart.

“So… fucking tight, Ryujin.”

“Mmmmph,” is the only reply, at least initially - a soft, wordless moan after a particularly deep thrust that leaves her eyes rolling back into her skull for a moment. Her eyes close shut, her head tilted back to reveal the pale column of her throat. She lets a long, languid moan leave her lips when you place yours on her neck.

Your pace continues - in, out, in, out - each thrust sending another spike of pleasure up your spines. She brings her mouth close to your ear.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” she hisses. “Gonna cum on your cock, Daddy-”

The word unmakes you - ignites something dark and primal inside you that sends a jolt of sheer pleasure up your spine and into your brain. You increase your pace, her voice and the words they form giving you a high you want to chase. She moans louder, sighs louder, curses sweet words into your ear. Her walls tighten around you, pulsating; her legs lock themselves around your hips; her nails dig sharp furrows into your scalp.

“Fuck, Daddy, fuck--”

“Cum for me, baby,” reply, bringing your own lips to her ear - your turn to torture her with words. “Cum on my cock, Ryujin. Cum on my cock like a good little girl.”

Calling her that must have similarly ignited something dark and primal inside her, because almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, she cums. Her entire body spasms, her back arching off the now-sweaty mattress, her cunt pulsating and tightening exponentially around your shaft as you fuck her through the orgasm coursing through her veins.

The moan of pleasure that leaves her mouth is unholy - a wordless sound of uncontrolled pleasure tumbling wildly from her lips and into your ear. 

Your pace slows, eventually, probably for the better as a few more moments of thrusting inside Ryujin’s pulsating, vice-tight cunt probably would have undone you. She comes down from her high, aftershocks still sending involuntary spasms through her limbs. Her eyes, shut throughout her orgasm, eventually open to find yours. 

She pulls your head to her lips and you kiss, her tongue finding yours quickly and resuming the duel it had been waging for the past half hour. 

“Fuck, Daddy,” she begins, the use of that word sending a little tremor of pleasure straight to your groin. “Fuck, that felt so good.”

“You feel even better, baby girl,” you reply, burying yourself into her neck again and planting small kisses onto the side of her neck.

“Did you--?” she asks.

“No, not yet,” you reply, emphasizing your response with a twist of your hips that sends another soft moan tumbling from her lips.

“Mmmmm,” she sighs. “We better fix that.”

Her palms find your chest and she gently pushes you away. You get the hint and slowly ease yourself out of her, sitting back on your haunches. You watch, in awe, as Ryujin turns onto her hands and knees.

“Fuck me like this, Daddy.”

You want to savor the sight of her - on all fours, that round, full ass of hers presented to you, the slick, dripping cunt between her thighs begging to be filled again. You last only a second before your urges overcome your self-control. Before you know it you’re positioning yourself behind her, hands giving her firm cheeks and a soft spank that wrests a yelp of surprise from her. She looks over her shoulder back at you and the image of her - naked, back glistening with sweat, eyes half-lidded with want - is one you want to remember forever.

You bring your tip to her opening - only to find her easing away from you. Puzzled, you find her eyes still locked on you.

“Not like that, Daddy.”

“What do you mean, baby?”

Her lower lip curls under a tooth for a moment before she licks her lips - another small, lustful gesture that drives you insane. 

“I… I want-” she begins. “I want it. You. I want to feel you.”

You catch on to what she means, and know what she wants you to do, but you want to hear it from her. Want to hear that voice - the same one whispering business and corporate in your ear during the day - to say it.

“Tell me what you want, Ryujin. Use your words, baby girl.”

Ryujin’s lips curl into a wry smile, her tooth biting into her lip again. Her back arches, like a cat stretching. She pushes her dripping, slick cunt back toward your latex-covered cock, capturing your shaft between the cheeks of her ass and gyrating against it. You moan - long, low - as she grinds against you. She’s hot and slick against the underside of your shaft and you find yourself groaning at the feel of her grinding away against you.

She straightens up, presses her sweat-slick back against your chest. You reach around and wrap your arms around her torso on instinct, your hands finding and cradling her soft, small breasts, capturing and teasing her nipples between your thumbs and index fingers.

“Ryujin-” you begin, a token protest, as you place kisses on her neck and shoulder. Even though you can’t see it, you know she’s smiling. She lets a hand drift back between your bodies, cradling your trembling, covered cock.

“Daddy, please,” she says, half-gasp, half-demand. Her fingers curl around your cock. “I want to feel you inside me. Raw. Fuck me raw, Daddy.”

You tremble. Your cock twitches in her grasp.

“Fuck, Ryujin-”

“Take it off, Daddy. Let me feel you. Let me feel you cum inside me. Don’t you want to…”

“I do, Ryujin, fuck-”

“Do it, Daddy. Cum inside me. Breed me.”

That’s what undoes you. Your fingers work quickly, peeling the condom off your needy, trembling cock. 

You push her back down onto the mattress, and she lets a soft, playful little yelp out at the sudden forcefulness. Her back arches. Her eyes find yours over her shoulder.

“Daddy, please-”

You slide your bare cock inside her. She’s sublime - tight, hot, so very wet. Your hands find her hips, and you’re fucking her again. 

“Fuck!” she spits, as you fill her to the hilt for the first time - raw, uncovered - the new angle allowing you deeper inside her than you were when you were on top of her. “Yes, fuck me!”

You comply, your hands anchoring yourself on her hips as you begin to thrust in and out of her tight, slick cunt. You want to pace yourself, want to relish every entry and exit, but the tightness, the wetness, everything about Ryujin Shin is too much, too much to handle. Before long she’s throwing her hips back against you, firmly but steadily, matching you thrust for thrust.

You watch her, burn every inch of her body into your memory - the arch of her back, the sweat dripping down the column of her spine, the way the neon of Seoul’s skyline is striping her skin in alternating lines of shadow and pastel blue. You relish the feel of her body, the tightness of her velvet cunt wrapped around you, the softness of her hips, the moans and sighs that continue to spill wildly from her lips.

For a few minutes you fuck her. Minutes that feel like hours, your pleasure-addled brain suddenly unable to parse the passing of time. The sounds of your bodies meeting, her moans and your grunts, the ridiculous, sublime sight of her bent over, taking your cock - it’s all overwhelming, a heady mix of heat and wetness and pleasure that drives you insane, pulls you into a glorious high that you never want to come down from. 

For a few brilliant minutes all that exists is Ryujin Shin’s body. Not the consequences of raw sex, not the complications of your work relationship, not the obstacles in your personal relationship that you’d both have to hurdle once the high of sex has worn off - none of that exists, right here, in this moment. She’s it, she’s all.

Your hands wander her body - gripping her hips and pulling them back toward you, or placing a palm flat on her lower back, or reaching forward with one hand and grasping one of her trembling shoulders - but they settle on her wide, firm hips. Your fingers dig deeper into her skin, surely leaving bruises she’ll feel in the morning. She takes it as the sign of your impending orgasm that it almost certainly is.

“Are you- are you close, Daddy? Fuck, you’re gonna… gonna make me cum again. Don’t stop, please.”

You grit your teeth. There was no denying the pleasure quickly building to a boiling point between your legs.

“Fuck, yeah, baby girl. Getting close. Where-”

“You know where, Daddy,” she hisses, hair whipping around her as she turns her head to look over her shoulder at you. Her eyes bore into yours with an intensity that makes you tremble, her gaze holding firm on you even as her body is rocked back and forth with each thrust you make into her cunt. 

“Ryujin-”

“Cum inside me, Daddy. Breed me.”

“Fuck-”

“Daddy, please - breed me, breed this cunt, cum inside me please, fuck I’m gonna cum too cum with me please, breed me-”

Ryujin cums - and you do too. Her body spasms, quivers, turns into a tight, wet, slick vice around your cock and all you can do is bury yourself as deeply as you can inside her before you let go. 

Your cock pulsates as it sends thick, warm ropes of semen into Ryujin’s cunt - each one drawing a soft gasp from her, each one sending a jolt of pleasure up her spine that heightens her own orgasm. Your mind blanks, and nothing else exists aside from the pleasure coursing through your body.

When your eyes finally open some indeterminate amount of time later you look down to find another one of the many sights you wanted to burn into your memory - Ryujin bent over on the bed, chest and head pressed to the mattress. Between the reddened cheeks of her ass, your cock slowly withdraws, slick and wet and glistening. The well-used lips of her cunt grip your cock tightly, as though not wanting to let you go just yet.

When your tip finally slips from between her lips it’s quickly followed by a rush of warm, thick cum, dripping freely from her cunt and onto the pristine sheets below her.

Ryujin finally falls onto her side. You fall onto yours beside her. Your eyes find each other. Her hand comes up to your cheek, cradles the side of your face with a tenderness that surprises the both of you.

There is a warm smile on her lips. Her eyes glisten for a moment in the low light of the bedroom before she brings her body close to yours, tucking her head beneath your chin as your arms wrap around each other.

There are words to be said, conversations to be had. But all that matters now is the warmth of her body against yours, and the feel of her breath against your chest. Everything else can wait, and so it will.

“Stay,” she says into your chest, and so you do.

---

“I’m on the pill,” she says, on the taxi ride to the Seoul office. The morning after was awkward in some parts, sweet in others; after an uneasy parting so you could go back to your room to shower and change, you’d both met again in the lobby - both a little unsure how to navigate the uncharted waters, but knowing only that things had changed for the better between you.

“Would’ve been nice to know that before I went in raw,” you say, in English - sparing the driver an awkward few blocks of Seoul rush hour traffic.

Ryujin smiles, slyly. “Sure, but it was hot not knowing, wasn’t it? Knowing you could have bred me last night?”

She leans in closer to whisper into your ear - the way she whispered business translations, the way she whispered how close she was to orgasm.

“...knowing you could have put a baby in me?”

She leans back in her seat, giving you one last look before turning her attention to the buildings of downtown Seoul.

Your pinky fingers brush against each other on the seat. You hook yours in hers, and she doesn’t pull away.

---

To her credit, Ryujin was professional and effective with her translation duties throughout the day - mostly. It’s during a presentation by the Seoul office’s Legal lead that her facade cracks.

“...There have been some issues related to IP that they’ve had to deal with,” she says softly in your ear. “But they’ve been dealt with- …fuck.”

You turn to face her. There’s a small grimace on her face. She adjusts the way she’s sitting on her chair, her legs crossing and uncrossing beneath her pencil skirt.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, bringing her lips close to your ear as if to continue translating whatever the Legal lead was droning on about. “But every time I move, a bit of you leaks out of me. Gonna need to clean up in the washroom after this meeting.”

You’re speechless. The smirk on her lips is a victorious one.

“Anyway,” she continues, “the other thing they’ve had to deal with is patent trolls…”

The rest of the meeting goes in your ear and out the other, every small movement Ryujin makes in her seat stealing all of your attention. When the presentation ends Ryujin stands, gingerly, and excuses herself to the washroom. You watch her leave the room with a slightly awkward gait.

Across the room, Yuna catches your eye. She flashes you a knowing smile.

---

The work day ends, eventually - not that you got any work done at all. 

After work, Ryujin is waiting for you in the lobby, scrolling her phone. As you approach she holds it out to you - on it is a Google search listing of several nearby restaurants. 

“Feeling like burgers? Or more Korean food? It’s Friday night, so it’s gonna be busy, but there’s a place nearby-”

“No,” you answer, firmly, already walking past her and out the door.

“But dinner--?”

“Room service,” you answer. “Hotel, now.”

A devilish smile pulls at the corners of Ryujin’s lips as she hails a taxi.

In the hotel elevator, you don’t bother pushing the button for her floor.

---

You’re on each other from the moment you cross the threshold of your suite - lips crashing against each other, hands wandering, undressing. You only get as far as her blazer before she’s pushing you down onto the chair facing the floor-to-ceiling window that makes up one side of your suite. 

She stands in front of you, silhouetted by Seoul’s glass and concrete skyline, and undresses.

The tight white button-up first, each button revealing a little more perfect vanilla skin, marred only by the marks your lips and teeth left the night before. Soon it’s a pool of white cotton on the floor, joined quickly by her white lace bra. Her small, perky round breasts tremble slightly under your gaze, her nipples already taut and tight.

She turns to face away from you, topless, exposing herself to the city - as she undoes the zipper holding her pencil skirt tight around her wide hips. She takes her time, making you watch, making you want, as the skirt finds its way onto the floor. 

When Ryujin faces you again she’s naked save for lace panties that have been tormenting her all day with their damp stickiness. Eyes locked on you the whole while, she hooks her thumbs into the thin lace and slides them down her full, round thighs, then past her knees, until they pool on the floor and she is naked, with only Seoul’s fluorescent and neon lights to clothe her.

She steps toward you, straddles you in the chair. Your hands find her hips, soothing the bruises your grip had left there hours before.

Her hand drifts between her spread thighs. You watch, enraptured, as her middle and ring fingers slide inside her cunt for a moment. Her eyes shut, her head tilts back as she touches herself. 

When her fingers emerge, they glisten.

“Look what you did to me,” she says, softly. “I’ve been dripping you all day, Daddy. But now… now I’m empty. Need you to fill me up again.”

“Ryujin. Fuck,” you stammer, because it’s all you can say, all your brain can muster for a response.

She smiles, your weakness giving her confidence. Her hands work quickly at your belt and slacks, and soon she reveals your cock, already stiff and weeping pre-cum. You groan at the feel of her soft fingers around your shaft as she strokes you softly, timing each movement of her wrist to the sultry words leaving her lips.

“Want you to fuck me again, Daddy, and raw and deep and hard. But first…”

She bends to kiss you - only to ignore your lips entirely, as she slinks down off the chair and onto her knees.

“-first, I want to taste you.”

She licks a long, slow stripe from your base to your tip, her tongue flat and tight against your cock. 

“Wanted that for so long, Daddy. During orientation. Watching you in the office. Been dreaming about what you’d taste like-”

“Do I taste like you dreamed, Ryujin?”

“Fuck, yes, Daddy,” she says, after another long, slow lick. “Even better.”

“Suck my cock then, baby girl. Show me how much you wanted this.”

The words spur her, challenge her - and soon she’s taking your cock into her mouth. It’s all you can do to lean back in the chair and sigh as she works between your spread legs, taking you in and out of her wet, slick mouth with an enthusiasm that had been boiling over months of want and need.

When you open your eyes again it’s to look out at Seoul’s skyline. You watch as cars move on distant roads, as signs for restaurants and stores light up, as people on faraway sidewalks make their way home. You do anything but look down at Ryujin, knowing that the sight of her combined with the pleasure she is conjuring between your legs would be too much to handle, all at once.

You sigh. This was messy. Complicated. Might end up ruining one or both of your lives. But fuck if it mattered at all, right here, right now - with your cock in her mouth and a soft sigh escaping her lips as you finally look down and watch as she begins to finger herself.

She lets your cock slip from her lips after one last, slow suckle. Her tongue flicks around your tip one last time. Then she stands, eyes half-lidded, filled with want and need. She straddles you again and lowers herself onto your cock.

You think of bending to suckle from one of her soft, perky little breasts as they bounce up and down, inches from your face. You want to reach a hand up to that pale, thin throat of hers and squeeze with just enough pressure to make her gasp for her next breath. You want to reach down with both palms and squeeze her ass, thrusting up with your hips each time she impales herself on you - but you do none of those things. 

You watch. Watch as she rides you, takes you in and out of her dripping, pulsing cunt. Watch as Seoul paints her slim, tight body in gold and shadow. Watch as she ruins herself, ruins you with something that is reckless, stupid, and utterly irresistible, all at the same time.

Her hands aren’t idle, like yours are. They fondle her own breasts, pinch her own nipples. They reach forward and anchor herself on your shoulders, or dig furrows into your hair when she brings you close and increases her pace. They lie flat, palm against your chest, feeling your heart hammer a wild beat as she slows down again, bringing her face in front of yours so your noses touch, fucking herself slowly, passionately on your cock, making you feel everything. 

You wanted to talk to her, wanted to discuss this idiotic thing that you were both giving in to. You want to have a conversation about what it would mean for your professional and personal relationship. You want to ask her if this was a stupid fling borne out of a stupid week of meetings that happened a year ago. You want to ask her if this was just sex or-

“Fuck, Daddy, I’m gonna-”

Her voice - her perfect fucking voice - shatters any thought you might have had that wasn’t focused on the pleasure she was creating for the both of you with every movement of her body.

“Me too, Ryujin, fuck, you’re too-”

“Daddy, breed me, give me a baby-”

A lie, a pretend act - but no less arousing. No less utterly devastating to what remained of your self-control.

“Gonna cum, Ryujin. Ryujin--”

“Daddy--!”

She cums. You spasm beneath her as your cock fills her up. Afterward, when you’ve both stopped trembling, you feel your cum drip from her stuffed cunt, down your balls, and onto the leather of the couch.

She slides off you - and you both watch as her cunt drips more of your cum onto the couch and the slacks that you never bothered to remove. She takes you by the hand and leads you into the bedroom, into another terrible mistake, another act you will probably both regret later, when sanity somehow finds its way back into your lust-addled minds.

You follow her willingly into ruin.

---

It’s not until the next morning, as you wander a morning market together after breakfast, when you finally have your talk.

“Ryujin,” you begin, as the two of you walk down the street, past stalls selling vegetables, treats, and souvenirs. “We should talk. About this. About us.”

She sighs, takes a sip from her caramel macchiato - extra whipped cream, extra caramel drizzle - as though the caffeine and sugar would fortify her for what was about to be said.

“I want you,” she says, confidently, as though it were a phrase she’d rehearsed with her eyes closed as she lay in bed alone, dreaming of a moment like this. “I’ve wanted you since the second you walked into that meeting room in that stupid-hot suit on my first day and said your name. I’ve wanted you every second since. I want to be with you.”

You take a moment. Your heart leaps, but your brain fears.

“I want you too,” you admit, the words leaving your mouth quickly, even before you knew you were speaking them - your heart outpacing your brain, as it had gained the habit of doing around her. “But-”

“-we work together,” she interrupts. Another sip of her caffeine. Her eyes remain locked on the stalls hawking hotteok and japchae. “You’re a Director in Strategy, I’m just some newbie in Marketing. You’re older than me. Your boss is holding a torch for you, and she’s fucking perfect - ‘girlboss’ in all caps. HR will have a fit. Our colleagues will whisper; say you’re taking advantage of a younger girl, or that I’m sleeping my way into a promotion. And maybe one day we’ll end up hurting each other, and ruin one or both of our careers and/or lives in the process.”

You don’t reply. The list is long. Daunting.

Finally, she turns to you. There is a faint smile on her lips. “Did I miss anything?”

You return her smile with a slim one of your own. “No,” you admit.

“Are you for real, or do you just need a fucktoy to keep your cock warm while you’re working overseas for a month?”

Her question stuns you, catches you unprepared. But it takes you only a moment of consideration before you answer.

“I’m not sure yet,” you answer, honestly. “But I want to find out.”

Something between a smile and a frown forms her lips as she casts her eyes downward for a moment.

“That’s good enough for me,” she says. “Because that’s what I want too.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“But I want you, and you want me.”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s it,” she states, eyes forward, as though the future of your relationship existed somewhere amidst the winding lanes of the bustling market. “That’s all that matters.”

After a few more steps, your hand finds hers. Your fingers intertwine.

“That’s all that matters,” you repeat. “We’ll figure this out.”

She turns to look at you as you walk through the market. She smiles and says nothing further, because nothing further needed to be said.

---

A week and a half pass quickly. Meetings, meals, sex - it all passes in a long, hazy blur. There are candlelit dinners at Michelin-starred restaurants by the Han River, and there are nights having instant noodles outside convenience stores at 2am because you were both too lazy to have or make anything else. There is slow love making, hard, fast fucking, and everything inbetween.

The two of you navigate that first week together with the kind of eagerness and enthusiasm that is in great supply at the start of a relationship. In some ways it is like every other first week of every other relationship you’d ever been in - sweet, hot, exciting in a way that nothing else can be. In some ways it is completely different, completely unique. 

Ryujin was not like any other girl. She was professional and proper during the day and wild and needy at night - and you saw it all, every moment, a gradual transformation over the course of the day from dedicated and thorough businesswoman to the barely controlled wantonness of the night. Throughout it all she is confident, self-assured, assertive. 

But she was also sweet, caring, and thoughtful in her own unique way. She knew you, already. She asked questions during presentations even before you voiced them to her, because she knew they were questions you would ask. Without telling you, she bought you a spare charger for your phone when yours broke five days into the trip - and made sure a charged power bank was packed in your suitcase when you left the hotel room in the morning. She showed genuine interest in you - your childhood, your family, your quirky hobbies, as though she were writing a book on you and wanted to know every single detail, every single story you had to tell.

“I want you,” she said once, sometime during the second week of this ridiculous, dangerous, stupid thing you were both undertaking. Her head was on your chest as you lie together in bed atop a mattress soaked with evidence of recent lovemaking, her finger tracing random patterns on your skin above your heart. “And that includes figuring out what you keep in here.”

Neither of you knew what this was, where it would go, even how long it would last - whether the other was a terrible mistake, the love of your life, or something inbetween. You only knew you wanted to find out together, one day at a time.

It’s not until your last day in Seoul, when the two of you attend an industry gala, that Ryujin Shin inched a little more towards the ‘love of your life’ end of the scale.

---

The elevator door opens - she insisted you meet in the lobby, as she needed a few more minutes to get ready - and there she is, in a little black dress that steals the breath from your lungs. Simple, demure, utterly captivating. You realize that the ‘few more minutes to work on her hair’ was an excuse, and she just wanted to make an entrance.

The smile on her lips is confident, assured, as is every click-clack of her heels on the marble of the hotel foyer as she walks up to you, takes your hand, and leads you out to the waiting taxi - all without saying a word. 

The gala, held in an outdoor venue with plenty of string lights and stand-up tables, is busier than you’d expected. Colleagues from the Seoul office are in attendance, including Yuna in a bold red dress that’s one inch off the hemline away from sparking multiple emails to HR - if it hadn’t already. She comes close to the two of you and says she’s happy for you, shooting you both a wink as she saunters off to chat up a group of investors that spend the rest of the evening vying for her attention.

For most of the evening your mind is elsewhere - on Ryujin’s dress, and what it will look like hiked up around her hips or on the floor of your suite. Your thoughts drift to the trip to Japan, and the two weeks to follow. A new country to explore with her by your side.

You’re mid-conversation with a couple of staff from the Seoul office, and about ready to lean over to Ryujin and ask if she’s ready to head back to the hotel, when a commotion at the entrance to the venue steals your attention for a moment.

Yuna and a couple of the other leads are huddled in a crowd around a figure that has emerged from a sleek black sedan. They chat excitedly, as though they were meeting a celebrity for the first time.

“Go see who it is,” Ryujin urges. “I’ll get us a drink for the road, then we can hit it.”

You excuse yourself from the conversation to join Yuna and the others. The crowd parts, and she emerges.

“Sorry I’m late,” Taeyeon says, smile beaming. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

At the bar, Ryujin turns, drinks in hand, just in time to watch Taeyeon embrace you.

---

Author’s Note: Whelp that pretty much wrote itself. Ryujin best girl. 

​You pull her closer, letting her head rest on your shoulder. You’ve gone from a failed idol to a waiter, to a delivery driver, to a floor manager—you’ve learned that life exists in the quiet moments between the applause.

​"You're the girl who shared her chocolate with me in a cold practice room in 2017," you remind her, kissing the top of her head. "That person doesn't need a chart ranking to be real. You're my Ryujin. And if the cameras turned off tomorrow, I’d still be right here in this tiny apartment waiting for you."

​She lets out a shaky breath, her hand tightening around yours. "I'm sorry for venting. I know you've had it harder, losing your group so early..."

​"Don't be," you interrupt gently. "We've always been in this together, remember? Different paths, same heart."

​She looks up at you, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through her melancholy. "What would I do without my favorite 'failed' idol turned best-ever boyfriend?"

You let out a soft, dry chuckle, the sound vibrating in the quiet of your cramped studio. The irony isn't lost on you—here is one of the most famous women in the country, seeking solace in a room that costs less than one of her stage outfits.

​"Probably crying in your room," you say, your voice teasing but laced with a gentle, grounding warmth. "Surrounded by luxury lamp and pillows, but totally miserable because you didn’t have me here to tell you that you're being a brat."

​Ryujin nudges your shoulder with hers, a small huff of a laugh escaping her. The tension that had been keeping her shoulders hunched begins to melt away.

​"You're such a jerk," she mutters, though she leans her weight more fully against you. "I come here for sympathy, and you give me a reality check."

​"That’s my job," you retort, shifting so you can wrap an arm around her, drawing her into the heat of your side. "Everyone else looks at you and sees a brand or a chart position. I’m the only one left who remembers the girl who used to trip over her own shoelaces in the Mix Nine hallways. To me, you’re just Ryujin. And Ryujin is going to be fine, whether she’s performing for fifty thousand people or just for me in this kitchen."

​She quietens, the humor fading into something deeper and more sincere. She looks around your small space—the mismatched furniture, the stack of bills on the counter, the framed photo of the two of you from a hidden park date last year. It’s a humble life, but it’s stable. It’s real.

​"You really aren't scared of the silence, are you?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper as she traces the calluses on your palm.

​"I survived the end of my world a few years ago," you say simply. "I realized that as long as I have a floor to stand on and you to come over on your days off, the rest is just noise."

Ryujin stays silent for a long moment, her thumb tracing the lines of your palm as if she’s trying to memorize the texture of a life lived outside the spotlight. Your words seem to anchor her, pulling her out of the turbulent 'what-ifs' of the industry and back into the safety of your four walls.

​"The end of the world," she repeats softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I remember how devastated you were when the disbandment news hit. I stayed up all night on the phone with you while I was on tour in Japan. I felt so sad that I was playing stadiums while your dream was being packed into cardboard boxes."

​"I told you then, and I'll tell you now," you say, tilting your head to catch her eye. "Don't ever feel guilty for outrunning me. Seeing you fly was the only thing that kept me from sinking completely. It gave me a reason to keep working, even if it was just at a convenience store or a cafe."

​She shifts, turning her body toward you on the creaky sofa, tucking one leg under her. The oversized hoodie makes her look small, stripping away the 'Center Ryujin' armor until only your girl is left.

​"You're the strongest person I know," she whispers, her eyes shining with a mix of admiration and a lingering sadness. "You traded the stage for a 9-to-5 and didn't let it break you. I’m just... I’m scared that if the music stops for me, I won't know how to walk on the ground like you do."

​"You won't have to learn alone," you say firmly, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "If the world stops watching, then you just become mine. No schedules, no managers, no fans judging your every move. Just us. We'll go to the movies, eat at those hole-in-the-wall places I like, and you can finally sleep past 6 AM."

​She laughs then—a real, bubbly sound that lights up the dim apartment. She leans forward, resting her forehead against yours, her breath warm against your skin. "A life where I’m just your girlfriend? No dances? No makeup? Just boring, everyday Ryujin?"

​"Boring Ryujin is my favorite version," you tease, your voice dropping to a low, affectionate hum. "She’s the one who hogs the blankets and steals my fries. I'd take her over the idol any day."

She laughs, a light, genuine sound that finally reaches her eyes. You stand up, the old floorboards groaning under your feet, and offer her a hand.

​"Come on," you say, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since you're so worried about the 'end of the world,' let's have a meal. My world-famous, budget-friendly ramyun."

​Ryujin rolls her eyes but takes your hand, letting you pull her toward the tiny kitchenette. "You mean the one where you just add an egg and some green onions you stole from the cafe?"

​"Hey, it's called elevated dining," you retort, reaching into the cupboard for the familiar red packets.

​As you move around the cramped space, Ryujin leans against the counter, watching you with a quiet, focused intensity. You go through the motions—boiling the water in your one good pot, dicing the scallions, and cracking the egg with a practiced flick of the wrist. It’s a rare domestic scene for her, because she was surrounded by managers and cameras almost all the time.

​"You know," she says softly, the steam from the pot curling around her face, "Sometimes I dream about this. Not the awards or the tours. Just... a kitchen that’s too small, a cheap meal, and no one waiting for me to be perfect."

​"Well, you're in luck," you say, sliding the steaming bowl toward her on the small breakfast bar. "In this apartment, the only thing that has to be perfect is the noodle-to-broth ratio. And even that’s debatable."

​You hand her a pair of wooden chopsticks. She takes a bite, closing her eyes as she lets out a long, satisfied sigh. For a few minutes, the charts, the dwindling popularity, and the pressure of the industry fade away, replaced by the simple, salty warmth of the soup and the comfort of your presence.

​"It's good," she murmurs, her cheeks flushed from the heat. "Actually, it's better than good. It tastes like... home."

The word hangs in the air, heavy and sweet. To the rest of the world, 'home' for Shin Ryujin is a high-security luxury dorm or a shimmering stage under neon lights. But here, in the dim glow of your cramped kitchen, surrounded by the hum of a refrigerator that’s seen better days, the word finds its real meaning.

​You lean against the counter, watching her. The sharp, girl crush edges she maintains for the cameras have completely bled away. Here, she's just a girl in a borrowed hoodie, finding peace in a noodles because of the person who cooked them.

​"Home should be simple," you say softly, reaching out to brush a stray droplet of broth from the corner of her lip. "No fine dining, no pressure to perform. Just you, me, and enough salt to make us regret it in the morning."

​She chuckles, leaning into your touch for a brief second before focusing back on the bowl. "I mean it. When I'm out there, everything feels like it’s on a timer. The songs, the fame, the youth... it’s all counting down. But when I’m sitting here with you, it feels like the clock just... stops."

​She looks up at you, her gaze steady and vulnerable. "Is it selfish? Wanting to keep this little piece of 'normal' all to myself?"

​"If it is, then I'm the most selfish guy in Seoul," you reply with a lopsided grin. "Because I have no intention of sharing this version of you with anyone else."

​Ryujin ducked her head, trying to hide the blush that deepened on her cheeks, but she couldn't hide the small, triumphant smile tugging at her lips. She set her chopsticks down and reached across the narrow counter, sliding her hand into yours. Her skin was warm, and for the first time tonight, her grip felt steady.

​"The most selfish guy in Seoul," she echoed, her voice dropping into that low, raspy tone that always made your heart skip a beat. "I think I can live with that. Especially if he keeps making me ramyun."

​She stood up, the oversized sleeves of her hoodie swallowing her hands as she walked around the small breakfast bar to stand directly in front of you. In the cramped space of the kitchen, she was forced to step close—so close that you could smell the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the spicy aroma of the soup. She looked up at you, her eyes searching yours with a newfound clarity.

​"You know," she whispered, "When I was a trainee, I used to think the 'end' would be the scariest thing in the world. I watched you go through it, and I was terrified for you. But seeing you now... seeing how you’ve built this life, how you look at me without seeing a 'star'..."

​She trailed off, resting her palms against your chest. You could feel the steady rhythm of her heart through the fabric of your shirt.

​"It makes me realize that the 'end' is just a doorway," she continued. "Maybe ITZY's time will pass, and maybe the charts will keep dropping. But as long as this—this kitchen, this feeling—is what’s waiting on the other side, then I’m not scared anymore."

​You reached up, cupping her face in your hands. Her skin felt like silk under your calloused thumbs. "I'll be waiting at that doorway, Ryu. Whether it's next year or ten years from now. I’m not going anywhere."

​"Good," she breathed, rising on her tiptoes. "Because I don't think I'd know which way to walk if you weren't there to lead the way."

You lean in, closing the small gap between you, and press your lips to hers. It’s not the frantic, desperate kiss of a movie scene; it’s slow, steady, and tastes faintly of the spicy ramyun and the comfort of a long-held promise. It’s a kiss that carries the weight of every phone call from your 3 a.m. shifts, every hidden date in the park, and every year you spent cheering for her from the sidelines of a world you used to belong to.

​Ryujin sighs into the kiss, her hands sliding up from your chest to wrap around your neck, pulling you even closer. She kisses you back with a soft, hungry sincerity, as if she’s trying to breathe in the normalcy you provide.

​When you finally pull back just an inch, your foreheads remain pressed together. Her eyes are still closed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

​"I needed that," she whispers, her voice a little breathless and much lighter than when she first walked through your door. "More than the food. More than the vent."

​"I know," you murmur, your thumbs tracing the line of her jaw. "The world is loud, Ryu. But here, it’s just us. You don’t have to be 'the center' in this room. You just have to be mine."

​She opens her eyes, and the spark is back—that sharp, mischievous Ryujin glint that the public loves, but softened by the love she only shows to you. "I think I can manage that. In fact, I think I’m overqualified for the position."

​You lets out a tiny laugh and wrap your arms around her, pulling her in so tightly that there’s no space left between you. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling that familiar, comforting scent—a mix of her expensive floral perfume and the faint, clean smell of fabric softener. It’s a scent that has anchored you through the hardest years of your life, the one thing that never changed even when your career did.

​"You have no idea how much I missed this," you mutter into her skin, your voice muffled and thick with affection.

​But the heavy, emotional atmosphere shifts the moment you feel a soft, playful huff of air against your collarbone. Ryujin isn't content with just a sentimental hug anymore. Her hands, previously resting on your neck, slide down again to your chest, and she begins to pepper your neck with light, teasing kisses.

​"Ryu..." you warn with a low, shaky laugh, but she doesn't stop.

​She moves with a feline grace, her lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your jawline. Each kiss is light as a feather, but they leave a trail of fire in their wake. She’s leaning into you, her body molding against yours, using her height advantage on her tiptoes to find the exact spots that make your breath hitch.

​"What?" she murmurs against your skin, her voice vibrating with a sudden, naughty playfulness. "You said I don't have to be an idol here. This is me being 'just your girlfriend.' And your girlfriend has been thinking about doing this all through her four-hour dance practice today."

​She nips gently at the cord of your neck, a bold move that sends a jolt of electricity straight down your spine. She’s reclaiming the room, turning your quiet sanctuary into something much more charged.

​"You're being a menace," you groan, though your hands held tight her waist to keep her exactly where she is.

​"I'm being a 'boring' girlfriend, remember?" she teases, pulling back just enough to look at you with hooded, mischievous eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Is it working? Is your world still quiet, or is it getting a little loud in here?"

​You don’t say a word. The teasing glint in her eyes is all the invitation you need. Instead of answering her playful taunts, you reach down and catch her hand, your fingers locking firmly with hers.

​The sudden shift in your energy catches her off guard. Ryujin’s smirk falters for a split second, replaced by a sharp, shaky intake of breath as you begin to lead her out of the narrow kitchen. You guide her past the creaky sofa, moving toward the small bedroom that offers even more privacy than the apartement's main room.

​"Oh," she breathes, her heels clicking softly on the floorboards as she follows your lead. "So that’s how it is? No more talking?"

​You pull her through the doorway, the dim light from the streetlamp outside filtering through the blinds. You turn back to her, finally breaking your silence as you draw her into the small space between the bed and the wall.

​"You've had your ramyun, and you've had your vent," you say, your voice dropping to a low, commanding register. "The 'rest' portion of the evening is officially over, Ryu."

She backs up until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, but she doesn't look intimidated. If anything, the challenge in your eyes lights a fire in hers. She reaches up, slowly pulling the hood of her oversized hoodie off her head, letting her hair fall messily around her shoulders.

​"Finally," she whispers, a defiant, hungry smile returning to her face. "I was wondering when you were going to stop being so polite."

Beneath the hoodie, she isn't wearing a shirt or a restrictive stage outfit. She’s wearing a simple, sporty black lace bra that contrasts sharply against her pale, creamy skin. The thin straps frame her toned shoulders—the same shoulders that have danced through countless concerts. The lace cups strain slightly against the soft curve of her breasts, rising and falling rapidly as her breathing turns shallow. Seeing Ryujin like this, stripped of her 'idol' armor and standing in your bedroom in nothing but her bra and jeans, makes the reality of your relationship hit harder than ever.

She falls back onto the bed, the mattress sighing under her weight. She arches her back slightly, the movement making her breasts swell over the edges of the lace, and reaches her arms up for you.

Seeing her lies there, arched and expectant, you move like a predator, lunging over her and pinning her wrists above her head. The bed springs groan under your weight, and the suddenness of the movement draws a sharp, delighted gasp from her lips.

​"I’m done being polite, Ryu," you growl, looming over her. Your chest is inches from hers, the heat radiating off her bare skin making your head swim. "You wanted to see the version of me that isn't just a 'nice guy'? Here he is."

​Ryujin’s eyes blow wide, her pupils dilating until they're nearly black in the dim light of the room. Being pinned down by you—the one person who truly knows her—clearly ignites something primal. She tries to flex her arms, testing your grip, but you hold her firm, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of the pillowcase.

​"Show me then," she challenges, her voice a shaky, defiant whisper. She’s breathing heavily now, her chest rising and falling so rapidly that the black lace of her bra strains against her skin, the scalloped edges of the cups cutting into the soft swell of her breasts. "Show me what you’ve been holding back while I was away on schedules."

​You lean down, your nose brushing against hers, letting her feel the heat of your breath. You can see the pulse jumping in her neck, a frantic rhythm that matches your own.

​"Everything," you mutter, shifting your weight so your thigh presses firmly between her legs, feeling the friction of her jeans against yours. "I've been holding back everything."

​She lets out a low, needy moan, her head thrashing back against the bed as she realizes you aren't playing anymore. The idol, the center, the girl crush—they’re all gone. There’s only your girl, trapped beneath you in a small apartment, finally getting exactly what she wanted.

You lower your head, burying your face in the heated curve of her neck. You don't hold back, pressing your lips firmly against her skin, right where her pulse is thrumming like a trapped bird. You find that sweet spot just below her ear and let your teeth graze her skin before sucking a dark, heavy mark into her collarbone.

​Ryujin lets out a sharp, choked cry, her back arching off the mattress. "Oh god... No... people are going to see..."

​"Let them," you growl against her skin, your voice muffled and dark. "Let your stylists worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, I want everyone to know exactly who you spent your night with."

​The thought of the perfect idol having to hide your marks under layers of concealer only fuels your fire. You move to the other side of her neck, ignoring her half-hearted protests that sound more like pleas. She’s squirming beneath you, her pinned wrists straining against your grip, but she isn't trying to get away—she’s trying to get closer, her hips bucking upward to meet yours.

​"You're... you're so mean," she gasps, her voice breaking as you bite down gently on the sensitive tendon of her shoulder. Her breath is coming in ragged, uneven hitches, and you can feel the heat of her blush spreading all the way down to her chest.

​"I'm just being selfish, Ryu," you remind her, pulling back just enough to look at the dark red mark blooming on her pale skin. "Like I said I would be."

​She looks up at you, her eyes dazed and shimmering with a mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated want. She looks completely branded, her composure shattered.

You keep her wrists pinned firmly against the pillow, relishing the way she struggles beneath you—not to escape, but to find some kind of release for the tension coiling between you. Her skin is flushed a deep, beautiful pink, and the marks you've left on her neck stand out like badges of your possession.

​"Please..." she whimpers, her voice trembling. "Don't stop."

​"I'm just getting started," you murmur.

​You shift your focus, trailing slow, wet kisses down the column of her throat. You linger at the hollow of her neck, feeling the frantic vibration of her vocal cords as she moans. Your lips travel further down, crossing onto the smooth expanse of her chest, moving toward the dark lace that’s contain her small yet firm breasts.

​Ryujin’s breath catches as she feels your tongue trace the scalloped edge of the black bra. You graze the upper curve of her breast, the heat of your mouth contrasting with the cool air of the room. She’s panting now, her chest heaving so violently that the lace rubs rhythmically against her sensitive nipples, making her toes curl against the sheets.

​"You're driving me crazy," she gasps, her head tossing from side to side. "I can't... I need to touch you..."

​"Not yet," you whisper against the soft skin just above her heart.

​You use your teeth to catch the center of the bra, tugging gently at the fabric. The tension is unbearable. You can feel her heart hammering against your ribs, and the scent of her arousal is beginning to fill your senses, mixing with the lingering smell of the ramyun from the kitchen. You move your mouth to the very edge of the cup, your lips brushing the dark, darkened peak that’s visible through the thin lace.

​She lets out a high, shattered sound, her entire body shuddering as you finally close your mouth over the lace, sucking the fabric and the sensitive bud beneath it deep into your mouth.

The sensation of the wet lace against her skin, combined with the suction of your mouth, sends Ryujin into an absolute frenzy. Her hips jerk upward instinctively, seeking a friction that the heavy denim of her jeans won't yet allow. The sound she makes is raw—a desperate, broken melody that belongs only to you, far removed from the polished vocals of her studio recordings.

​"Yes.. please... right there..." she whimpers, her head thrashing as you swirl your tongue over the damp fabric.

​You don't stop there. You shift your weight, using your chest to keep her pinned while you move your mouth to the other side. You tease the second peak through the black lace, grazing it with your teeth until she’s sobbing your name. The scent of her—sweet, musk, and pure desire—is intoxicating in the small, dark room.

​You finally release her wrists, but she doesn't use her freedom to push you away. Instead, her hands find your hair, her fingers clenching and pulling you closer, forcing your face harder against her chest. She's completely lost to the sensation, her body vibrating with every breath you take against her skin.

​"I can't... I can't take this," she gasps, her voice cracking. "I want to feel you. No more clothes... please."

​You lift your head just enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen from your earlier kisses, her hair is a mess across your bed, and her eyes are glazed with a feverish need. The black bra is soaked and ruined, barely clinging to her curves.

​You reach back and find the clasp of the black lace bra. With a practiced flick of your fingers, the tension snaps, and the garment falls away. You don't just set it aside; you snatch the expensive lace and toss it blindly across the room, watching it disappear into the shadows of your small apartment.

​Now, there is nothing left between your gaze and her bare skin.

​Ryujin lets out a long, shaky breath as her breasts settle, fully freed. In the dim light, she looks like a masterpiece—the sharp lines of her dancer’s ribs giving way to the soft, pale curves you’ve been missing since the last time you had her a few weeks ago. Without the bra, the marks you left on her collarbone look even more striking, a dark contrast against her skin.

​"There," you whisper, your voice thick and heavy. "No more barriers."

​Her hands moved from your hair. She reaches down, her palms flat against your chest, feeling the frantic thudding of your heart through your shirt. She looks up at you, her eyes hooded and dark with a hunger that has been building for years.

​"Finally," she breathes, her voice a low, raspy velvet. "I'm so tired of being 'ITZY’s Ryujin.' I just want to be yours."

​She pulls you down again by the shirt, but this time she doesn't wait for you to take the lead. She arches her back, pressing her bare chest firmly against your shirt, the friction of the fabric against her sensitive nipples making her let out a sharp, jagged moan. She’s seeking you out, her mouth finding yours in a kiss that tastes of desperation and relief.

The kiss was wild and full of hunger as if you want to devouring each other mouths. And after a few minutes of frantic kissing, you break the kiss. You sit back on your heels, your eyes never leaving hers. You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head in one swift motion, discarding it onto the floor next to her hoodie (or your hoodie to be exact).

​When you lean back down, the contact is electric. Ryujin lets out a soft, shuddering gasp as her bare breasts finally press against your warm, solid chest. The sensation of skin-on-skin—without the scratchy lace or the barrier of your shirt—is a revelation. You’re both radiating heat now, your hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm where your chests meet.

​"You're so warm," she whimpers, her hands sliding up your back, her fingernails tracing the muscles of your shoulders and digging in slightly. She pulls you down harder, as if she’s trying to merge her body with yours, her legs tangling with yours beneath the weight of her denim.

​You can feel her nipples, hard and sensitive, rubbing against your skin with every shallow breath she takes. The friction is driving you both toward the edge. You bury your face in the crook of her neck again, trailing kisses down to the valley between her breasts, tasting the salt and the sweetness of her skin.

​"I've waited so long to feel you like this again," you mutter against her skin, your voice vibrating through her. "You're so busy with schedules... it was killing me."

​Ryujin’s grip on your back tightens, her breath hitching at the confession. She tilts her head back, exposing her throat to you, her eyes closed in pure, unadulterated bliss. She’s no longer the idol on a pedestal; she’s the girl who stayed by your side when your world fell apart, and right now, she’s completely yours.

Your hand slides down from her waist, your fingers hooking under the firm denim of her waistband. Ryujin’s hips immediately arch off the bed to give you better access, a soft, broken whimper escaping her lips as she feels your palm press against her stomach.

​You find the button of her jeans and pop it open with a sharp clack that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. As you slowly pull the zipper down, the sound of the teeth parting seems to heighten the tension to a breaking point. You slide your hand inside, moving past the silk of her underwear until your fingers finally brush against her heat.

​Ryujin’s reaction is instantaneous. Her eyes fly open, glazing over as she lets out a high, keening moan that she buries in your shoulder. She’s soaking—completely, devastatingly ready for you—her body trembling under your touch.

​"You're so wet for me, Ryu," you whisper darkly into her ear, your fingers beginning a slow, rhythmic glide that makes her legs kick out instinctively.

​"Because of you," she gasps, her voice trembling and raw. She’s panting now, her head thrashing back against the pillow as you find the sensitive center of her pleasure. "I don’t want... anyone else... ever."

​She clenches around your fingers, her muscles pulsing in a frantic rhythm as she nears the edge. The world she was so worried about doesn't exist anymore; there is only the sensation of your hand, the weight of your body, and the overwhelming reality that she is finally, completely home.

But you don't let her linger in that state for a second longer. You pull back just enough to hook your thumbs into the waistband of her denim, and with a firm, decisive tug, you slide her jeans down over her slender hips and off her legs, tossing them to the heap of discarded clothes on the floor.

​Following her, you quickly strip out of pants and your boxers, feeling your length spring free, heavy and pulsing with a need that has been building for weeks. You reach down and hook your fingers into the thin, black lace of her underwear, sliding the final barrier down her long, toned legs until she is completely bare beneath you.

​Now, Ryujin lies before you in all her natural beauty—trembling, exposed, and radiating a heat that fills the small space between you. Your eyes roam over her, taking in the sight of her soft, neatly groomed pussy, already glistening and swollen from the attention you’ve given her. The sight of her wetness, clear and shimmering against her pale inner thighs, makes your cock throb painfully as it stands tall and rigid, aching to be inside her.

​"Stay right there," you murmur, your voice thick with a hunger you can no longer contain.

​As you settle back onto the bed and move between her legs, the skin-to-skin contact is a shock to the system. The tip of your cock brushes against her sensitive entrance, and Ryujin lets out a low, needy sound, her hips tilting upward instinctively to find you. She’s incredibly hot and slick, her body opening up for you as if she were made to hold exactly this much of you.

​"Look at me, Ryu," you whisper, cupping her face and forcing her to meet your gaze.

​She looks up, her expression a beautiful, messy blur of vulnerability and fierce desire. There’s no idol mask left, only the girl who chose you over the comfort of her own world.

​"I've got you," you promise, your voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering. "It's just us."

​As you slowly, carefully begin to sink yourself into her, the tight, velvet heat of her pussy gripping you firmly, Ryujin’s fingers dig into the muscles of your arms. Her head falls back as she lets out a long, shattered breath, her body stretching and molding to yours as you finally, truly, become one.

The sensation is overwhelming. As you bottom out inside her, the friction of your skin meeting hers feels like a circuit finally closing. Ryujin’s internal muscles clench around you in a series of desperate, pulsing tremors, her body adjusting to your size as she takes all of you in. She lets out a jagged, high-pitched moan that is quickly swallowed by the shadows of the room, her eyes rolling back for a brief second in pure, sensory overload.

​"You're so... you're so big," she gasps, her voice barely a whisper, strained and breathless. She wraps her legs tightly around your waist, her heels digging into your lower back to pull you even closer, wanting to erase every millimeter of air between you.

​You stay still for a heartbeat, buried deep within her wet, clinging heat, letting the sheer reality of the moment sink in. You can feel her heart thudding against your chest, a frantic rhythm that matches the pulse of your cock inside her. She feels like velvet and fire, her pussy slicking your length and drawing you in further with every ragged breath she takes.

​"Ryu..." you groan, your forehead dropping against hers as you begin to pull back, only to slide back in with a slow, heavy thrust.

​The sound that rips from her throat is raw and unpolished—the sound of a woman who has forgotten the entire world exists outside of this bed. Her hands migrate from your arms to your hair, her fingers tugging at the strands as she meets your rhythm with a desperate hunger. Every time you push forward, you feel the way she stretches for you, her wetness making each slide a smooth, heated friction that threatens to snap your control.

​"Don't... don't be gentle," she pleads, her hips bucking upward to meet your next downstroke. "I want to feel everything. Make me forget... make me forget it all."

The moment she pleads for more, any lingering restraint you had snaps. You shift your grip, pinning her hands above her head again, but this time it’s not for play—it’s to anchor her as you begin to drive into her with a hard, relentless rhythm.

​The slow, romantic connection shifts into something primal and desperate. The sound of your bodies colliding—a wet, rhythmic slapping—echoes through the small, quiet bedroom. Ryujin’s breath is forced out of her in sharp, rhythmic hitches with every heavy thrust. She’s no longer the composed, cool center of ITZY; she’s a woman losing her mind in your arms, her toes curling and her back is arching on the bed

​"Is this... what you wanted?" you grunt, your voice thick and strained as you bottom out against her again and again.

​"Yes! Please... more!" she cries out, her voice breaking. She’s completely unraveled, her face a mask of pure, agonizing pleasure. Her inner muscles are squeezing you so tightly it feels like she’s trying to pull your very soul into her.

​You can feel the friction building, the heat between your thighs becoming almost unbearable as her slickness coats your entire length. Every time you drive forward, you hit that sensitive spot deep inside her, sending her into a fresh wave of tremors. Her head thrashes from side to side on the pillow, her sweat-dampened hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks.

​"You're mine," you growl, leaning down to bite her shoulder as you pick up the pace even more, your movements becoming a blur of friction and heat. "In this room, you're only mine."

​"Yours... only yours..." she whimpers, her voice trailing off into a high-pitched keen as she nears the edge. Her internal walls begin to pulse rhythmically around you, a sign that she’s seconds away from shattering.

You can feel Ryujin's body tightening, her entire frame vibrating with the force of the climax building within her. You don't slow down; instead, you drive even harder, your thrusts becoming short and powerful, ensuring she has no choice but to let go.

​"That's it, Ryu... give it to me," you command, your voice a dark, guttural rasp.

​She lets out a shattered, breathless cry as she finally breaks. Her eyes blow wide and then flutter shut as her climax hits her like a tidal wave. She arches her back one last time, you let go of her wrists and her fingers immediately finding their ways, digging painfully into your forearms. Her internal muscles clench around you in a long, staggering series of contractions. She’s sobbing your name now, the sound muffled against your neck as she spills over the edge, her heat flooding you as she shakes uncontrollably.

Despite the intense, rhythmic clenching of her body around you, you grind your teeth and hold back, forcing yourself to stay steady while she shatters. You want to feel every single vibration of her release, to witness the moment the world-famous Shin Ryujin completely loses herself to the pleasure only you can give her.

​As her body finally begins to go limp, her muscles still twitching with the aftershocks of her climax, you don't stop. You keep your weight heavy on her, but you slow the pace down to a punishing, agonizingly deep crawl. You pull nearly all the way out, feeling the slick, hot suction of her pussy clinging to your head, before sliding back in until you hit the very back of her.

​"I’m not done with you yet," you murmur against her damp skin, your voice dark and filled with a lingering hunger.

​Ryujin lets out a weak, dazed moan, her eyes barely opening as she looks up at you through a haze of bliss. She’s completely spent, her skin glowing with sweat and the flush of her orgasm, but the sight of you still looming over her, your eyes burning with a heat that hasn't faded, makes her breath hitch all over again.

​"You're... you're still so hard," she whispers, her hand reaching down between your bodies to feel the thick, pulsing vein along your length. "I thought... I thought you were coming with me."

​"I wanted to see you break first," you hook your arms under her armpits, hauling her up from the mattress. Ryujin gasps, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist as you sit back on the bed, bringing her flush against your chest. The transition is seamless; you never slip out, and the change in angle sends a fresh jolt through both of you as you bottom out even deeper.

​"There," you groan, your hands settling firmly on her hips. "Look at me, Ryu."

​She’s breathless, her breasts heaving against your bare chest, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face. She grips your shoulders for balance, her eyes fluttering open—they are dark, unfocused, and shimmering with a mixture of love and raw lust. She looks down at where your bodies are joined, watching the way your cock buried deep inside her clenching heat, and then she begins to move.

​Ryujin sets the pace, lifting herself up and sliding back down your length with an agonizingly slow, grinding motion. She’s using her dancer's strength, her core tight as she rolls her hips, making sure she feels every inch of you.

​"You... you're doing this on purpose," she whimpers, her head dropping onto your shoulder as she picks up the tempo. "You're trying to make me... go again."

​"Maybe I am," you whisper into her ear, your hands digging into her soft skin to guide her rhythm.

​You’re close—the friction of her tight, wet heat is testing the very limits of your resolve—but you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to stay steady. You want to see her eyes go wide one more time; you want to feel her shatter against you while you're looking right at her. You reach up, one hand cupping her jaw to tilt her face toward yours, while the other thumb finds her clitoris, adding a sharp, electric pressure to her rhythmic grinds.

​"Don't hold back, Ryujin," you command. "Ride me until you can't breathe."

Ryujin doesn’t need to be told twice. She lets out a low, guttural growl that sounds more like a challenge than a whimper. Grabbing your shoulders for leverage, she begins to move with a frantic, desperate intensity. She’s no longer just sliding; she’s slamming herself down onto you, her hips moving in a way that makes your vision blur.

​The wet, rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting fills the small room, drowning out the distant hum of the city. Every time she descends, your length buries itself to the hilt, and you can feel the precise moment her internal walls clench around you in a dazed, reflexive rhythm.

​"I going to... Oh god... I'm going to—!" She breaks off into a jagged, high-pitched cry, her head thrashing back.

​Her core is a furnace, tighter and slicker than before, as she nears her second peak. You watch her face—the way her brows furrow in pleasure, the way her lips part to let out those raw, unedited sounds. You keep your thumb moving against her, fueling the fire until she’s literally vibrating in your arms.

​"Go on then," you strain out, your own voice sounding like gravel. "Break for me again."

​With one final, violent slam of her hips, she hits the point of no return. Ryujin's entire body stiffens, her fingers digging so hard into your shoulders that they’ll surely leave marks, and she screams your name into the quiet apartment. Her pussy pulses around you in frantic, rhythmic waves, milk-warm and incredibly tight, as a second, even more powerful climax rolls through her. She collapses against your chest, her heart hammering like a drum against your ribs, her breath coming in short, sob-like gasps.

​You’re right there—right on the edge, pulsing and heavy, your body screaming for the same release. But you hold it.

​"Not yet," you growl into her ear, the heat of your breath making her shiver even as she’s limp with exhaustion. "I told you, Ryu. I'm being selfish tonight."

​Before she can even process the words, you shift your weight, easing her off your lap but refusing to let her go. You flip her over onto her hands and knees in the center of the bed, her body still trembling and slick with sweat. The marks you left on her neck and shoulders are vivid in the dim light, and as she arches her back instinctively, she looks like a hauntingly beautiful vision of total surrender.

​You move behind her, your knees digging into the mattress as you grip her hips. Without a second of hesitation, you drive back into her from behind. The new angle allows you to go even deeper, hitting her with a blunt, heavy force that draws a sharp, surprised sob from her throat.

​"Oh yes..." she moans, her head dropping as she tries to find her rhythm again.

​You don't give her a rhythm; you give her power. You drive into Ryujin with a relentless, primal energy, your hands leaving dark thumbprints on her hips as you pull her back to meet every thrust. The sound of the impact is loud and wet, a raw testament to how much she’s opened up for you.

​You watch the way her ass ripples with every movement, the way her hair swings as she gasps for air. The visual is intoxicating—the sight of her pale, rounded ass shaking with the force of every heavy, lunging thrust you drive into her. Each time you bottom out, your pelvis slaps against her with a wet, echoing crack that seems to vibrate through the floorboards. Ryujin is a mess of beautiful contradictions: the fierce, untouchable idol reduced to a desperate, panting girl who can’t stop begging for the very thing that’s breaking her.

​"I can't... I'm going to... again!" she screams, her voice cracking as her forehead presses into the mattress.

​You reach down, sliding your hand underneath her stomach to pull her hips even higher, angling her body so you can drive upward, hitting her deepest, most sensitive spot with brutal precision. Your cock is gorged to its absolute limit, the velvet heat of her pussy gripping you so fiercely it’s nearly painful. The friction is blinding now, a searing heat that threatens to turn everything to ash.

​"Stay with me, Ryu," you groan, your muscles locking as the wave of your climax begins to roar up your spine.

​You can feel the exact moment her body gives up. Her internal walls begin to spasm in violent, rhythmic contractions, milking you with a desperate intensity that shatters your final bit of control. Her back arches into a bow, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets as she falls into a third, devastating orgasm.

​The sensation of her clenching around you is too much. You let out a raw, primal roar, your hips snapping forward in one final, bone-deep surge. You bury yourself to the very root, your pulse exploding inside her as you release weeks of bottled-up desire in heavy, scalding pulses that fill her to the brim.

You stay locked deep inside her, your body rigid as the final pulses of your release ebb into her. Ryujin is trembling violently beneath you, her forehead pressed into the bed, her breath coming in long, broken sobs of pure relief. The air in the room is thick, heavy with the scent of sex and the cooling sweat on your skin, but neither of you moves. You feel every throb of her heart echoing against your own.

​Gradually, the tension leaves your muscles, and you sink down, pulling her back against your chest as you roll onto your side. You don't pull out; you stay joined, wanting to prolong the feeling of being one for as long as possible. Her skin is slick and hot against yours, and as she settles back into your body, she lets out a soft, shaky sigh that hitches in her throat.

​"You're still shaking," you whisper, your voice a low rumble against the back of her neck. You press a tender kiss to the spot where your teeth had marked her earlier.

​"I needed that so much," Ryujin breathes, her voice small and raw. She reaches back, her fingers finding your hand and interlacing them over her stomach, holding onto you like a lifeline. "Now all my worries are gone."

​You tighten your grip on her, pulling her even closer until there isn't a single inch of space between you. The silence of the apartment is a stark contrast to the chaos of the night, but for the first time in years, the quiet doesn't feel lonely. It feels like a shield, protecting the two of you from the world waiting outside the door.

​"You don't have to be worry anymore," you mutter, closing your eyes and breathing her in. "Because no matter what happens, I'm here for you."

​Ryujin turns slightly in your arms, looking back at you with eyes that are finally clear, filled with a soft, glowing affection that no camera has ever captured. 

"Good," she whispers, pulling your face down for one last, slow, lingering kiss that tastes like a promise. "Because I don't think I could survive it without you."

You smiles and tighten your hold on her, a silent vow passing between you in the stillness. The 'real world' is just a few hours away, lurking behind the sunrise, but for now, the air is still and the bed is warm. You watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders until her breathing finally evens out into the deep, peaceful slumber of someone who has finally found where they belong.

​As the heavy pull of exhaustion finally wins, you finally close your eyes, burying your face in the scent of her hair. There are no more stages to perform on, no more secrets to keep, and no more distance to bridge. There is only the quiet rhythm of two hearts beating in sync and the long-awaited peace of a night where nobody has to say goodbye.

Shin Yuna. Of ITZY. Standing near a low-slung booth, looking almost lost amidst the decadence. She’s dressed down in a fire-engine red cropped shirt that shows a toned stomach, and low-rise skinny jeans. 

The simplicity is a lie. On her tall, slender frame, those jeans are a fucking masterpiece, clinging to the dramatic swell of her hips and the round curve of her ass. It’s a casual outfit that screams “look at me”. And you are. Your mouth goes a little dry. 

What the hell is a top-tier idol like her doing in a pit like this? Oblivion is for has-beens, low-tier actors, idols, and influencers desperate for a taste of real scandal. Not for a star shining as bright as Yuna.

Heat uncurls in your gut. Maybe she’s here for the same reason everyone else is. The unspoken rule of Oblivion: everyone is fair game. The pretense of celebrity melts away under the lights, replaced by a raw, transactional hunger. She knows what this place is. She has to. Unless she’s naive, or playing some stupid game.

You push off the pillar, smoothing your suit jacket. Your task is nothing. You have time. A smile, polite and fan-like, is plastered on your face as you approach.

“Excuse me, Miss? I’m sorry to bother you, but… are you Shin Yuna? From ITZY?”

She turns, those doe-like eyes widening slightly. A tinge of surprise, then a practiced, professional warmth. “Oh. Yes, that’s me.”

“Wow. I’m a huge fan,” you say, the lie smooth as silk. “I just had to say hello. It’s an honor to see you here.” You keep your distance, respectful.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy gesture that makes your dick twitch. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Are you enjoying the atmosphere?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the writhing dance floor.

“It’s intense,” she says with a light laugh. “A little different.”

You’re about to lean in, to ask if she’d like a drink away from the noise, when a shadow falls over you. A presence, sharp and protective. Shin Ryujin slides next to Yuna, her arm a casual but definite barrier. Her gaze, when it lands on you, isn’t warm. It’s assessing, cold, and utterly dismissive.

“Everything okay here, Yuna?” Ryujin’s voice is lower and flatter than her group mate’s.

“Yes, unnie! This gentleman is a fan,” Yuna says, her voice sweet.

Ryujin doesn’t look at you like you’re a fan. She looks at you like you’re a stain on the carpet. “That’s nice. The staff usually don’t bother the guests, though.” A direct hit, delivered with a razor-thin smile.

Annoyance, hot and acidic, burns in your throat. You want to wipe that superior look off her face. You rough bitch. But you keep the mask. The good guy. The harmless fan.

“My apologies,” you say, taking a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Just paying my respects. I will leave you to your evening.” You offer Yuna one last smile. “Really nice to meet you.” You turn and walk back to your pillar, the pleasant smile dropping from your face the moment your back is to them. 

Cockblocking cunt.

You watch them from your post. Yuna sips a cocktail, Ryujin a vigilant sentinel at her side, her eyes constantly scanning the room. The game is delayed, not over. You wait. You have nothing but time.

The opportunity comes maybe twenty minutes later. Ryujin says something to Yuna, then stands, smoothing her own jeans. She weaves through the crowd, heading toward the hall where the restrooms are. Finally.

You don’t pounce. Amateurs pounce. You just shift your stance, catching Yuna’s eye from across the room. You hold it for a second, then look away, a faint smile on your lips. You do it again a minute later. She’s alone, a little adrift. She notices.

And then, to your surprise, she’s the one walking toward you. A flutter of triumph in your chest.

“Excuse me?” Yuna says, holding out her phone. She smells like fresh roses and earthy. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I got this message from the club system? I just want to make sure I’m reading it right. My English isn’t perfect.”

You take the phone. The screen glows with a simple, stark text from Oblivion Management: Shin Yuna. Your queue is now active. Proceed to the VIP elevator for ascension to Floors 3-5. Welcome.

Fuck. VIP. Of course. She’s not just visiting; she’s been upgraded. Your chance, your little fantasy is evaporating. The VIP floors are another world, guarded by real professionals, not extras like you. The anger is sudden and violent, a white-hot spike behind your eyes. But you keep it buried.

“Congratulations,” you say, handing the phone back, your voice filled with genuine-sounding awe. “You’re a VIP now. That’s a big deal here.”

Her face lights up with a mix of confusion and excitement. “Really? Oh! I didn’t expect that.”

“It’s an honor,” you say, the words tasting like ash. You see an opening, a sliver of a chance. “It can be a maze up there. I’d be happy to guide you to the elevator, make sure you get to the right place.”

She nods, grateful. “Thank you, that would be—”

“What’s going on?”

Ryujin is back. She inserts herself between you and Yuna, her posture rigid. Her eyes dart from Yuna’s face to yours, suspicion etched into every feature.

“Unnie! I got a message. I’m a VIP now! He was just helping me understand it,” Yuna explains, showing Ryujin her phone.

Ryujin scans the message, then checks her own phone. Her brow furrows. “I didn’t get anything.”

“I can wait with you,” Yuna offers immediately, lacing her arm through Ryujin’s. “Until your queue comes up.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ryujin says, though her jaw is tight. “You should go. It’s fine. I’ll wait here.” She forces a smile for Yuna. “Go have fun. I’ll call if I need anything.”

You seize the moment, layering on a coat of false courtesy. “With your permission, Miss Ryujin,” you say, tilting your head, “I can make sure she finds the VIP elevator. Wouldn’t want her to get lost.” 

You see the conflict in Ryujin’s eyes. She doesn’t trust you an inch, but causing a scene, denying Yuna her VIP access with a staff member offering help, would look bad.

She hesitates, then gives a short nod. “Fine. Straight to the elevator. No detours.” Her eyes drill into yours, a silent threat.

“Of course,” you say smoothly.

You lead Yuna through the pulsating crowd, your hand hovering near the dimple of her back without touching it. You point out the matte-black doors of the VIP elevator, manned by a guard in a far better suit than yours.

“Right through there,” you say.

Yuna turns, giving you that dazzling smile. “Thank you so much for your help. Really.”

You nod, your own smile feeling like a grimace. “My pleasure. Have a good time up there.”

She steps toward the elevator. The guard looks at you, then at his tablet. He holds up a hand, stopping you both. “Staff clearance is for the main floor and basement only. You can’t go up.”

Fucking hell. The frustration is a live wire in your veins. One obstacle after another. Your molars grind together so hard you hear the scrape. You force yourself to breathe.

Yuna looks back at you, gives an apologetic little shrug, and then the guard scans a code on her phone. The elevator doors sigh open, revealing a plush, mirrored interior. She steps inside, turns, and offers a final, small wave.

The doors slide shut, swallowing her whole. Your prey. Gone.

You stand there for a long moment, staring at your own distorted reflection in the polished black metal. The throbbing bass, the laughter, the scent of sweat and perfume—it all feels suddenly abrasive, mocking. 

You exhale, a long, slow stream of air that does nothing to cool the furnace now burning in your chest. You turn on your heel and walk back to your useless post by the pillar, your hands curling into fists at your sides. 

The night is long. The VIP elevator has just swallowed your opportunity. But down here, in the gutter of Oblivion, plans can change. Rules can bend. And frustration like yours doesn’t just fade away.

The walk back to your pillar is a slow burn of simmering rage. Your eyes scan the room, not for trouble, but for a new target. And they find her immediately.

Shin Ryujin.

She’s back at the booth. One leg crossed over the other, a picture of composed impatience. But you see the subtle tells. The manner in which her thighs press together tightly, a slow, unconscious squeeze as well as the way her fingers tap a restless rhythm on the table. 

She’s waiting, and she’s not happy about it. A few people stop by—a bleary-eyed actor you recognize from a third-rate drama, a giggling influencer with too much filler. 

Ryujin offers them tight, polite smiles, exchanges a few words, but her eyes keep drifting toward the hall where Yuna disappeared. She’s the guard dog left behind, and she’s getting anxious.

A new plan, clicks into place in your mind. Yuna or Ryujin. It doesn’t fucking matter. One is sweet nectar, the other is spiked liquor. 

Your cock, hard and aching with frustrated intent, isn’t a picky eater. It just wants to be fed. And to feed it, you need to get past those walls. You need to get on her good side, even if it’s just for a moment.

You move to the nearest service bar, your extra-staff lanyard getting you a nod from the overworked bartender. “Something for a guest,” you say, your voice all business. 

You order a mocktail, something fruity and innocent-looking in a tall glass. While the bartender’s back is turned, crushing ice, your hand dips into the inner pocket of your cheap suit. 

A small, clear vial. Two drops of a colorless, odorless liquid—a little something you “acquired” for nights just like this. It’s not a knockout drug. It’s a loosener. A greaser for the wheels of inhibition. You stir it with a straw, watching it vanish into the vibrant red liquid.

Glass in hand, you approach her booth. She sees you coming and her posture stiffens, that familiar cold assessment returning to her eyes.

“Miss Ryujin,” you say, placing the drink on the table in front of her with a respectful nod. “A complimentary drink. Non-alcoholic. You look like you could use a refreshment while you wait.”

She doesn’t touch it. Just stares at you. “I didn’t order this.”

“I know. My apology,” you say, taking a half-step back, putting your hands in your pockets in a non-threatening gesture. 

You let your voice soften, lacing it with contrition. “For earlier. I overstepped. I let my fanboy side get the better of me when I should have been professional. It won’t happen again. I truly mean no harm.” You meet her gaze, holding it with what you hope looks like sincere regret.

She studies you for a long, silent moment. The music thumps around you. Finally, she uncrosses her legs, but the wariness doesn’t leave her face. She doesn’t say a word.

Good enough. You’ve planted the seed. “I’ll leave you to it,” you say, giving another small, polite nod. “Please, let me know if you need anything at all.” You turn, beginning to walk away, counting the steps in your head.

One. Two. Three—

“Wait.”

You stop, turning back slowly, an eyebrow raised in polite inquiry.

She’s looking at the drink, then back at you. “What’s it like?” she asks, her voice is quieter now, less confrontational. “Up there. On the VIP floors. Is the performance really that grand?”

Jackpot.

Her words are an electric jolt of victory straight to your groin. She has no idea. Neither of them does. It’s almost laughable, the sheer, shocking naivety of it. They walked into the lion’s den thinking it was a petting zoo.

You let a carefully crafted look of mild surprise cross your face. “I thought everyone who came here knew what Oblivion was about.”

Ryujin shrugs, a defensive gesture. “A senior recommended it. Said it was a good place for a side gig during our free time. To network.”

The lie you weave is smooth, effortless. “Ah. I see. Well, the VIP floors are exclusive. The performances are fancy. But,” you lean in slightly, lowering your voice as if sharing a confidence, “getting the queue message doesn’t always mean you will perform. Sometimes, you’re just invited to watch. To be part of the audience. Yuna might just be a spectator up there as we speak.”

She digests this, her eyes searching your face for deceit. You hold steady, the picture of a little awkward but helpful staff member. She gives a slow nod. “So it’s nothing shady, then.”

The laugh you suppress is almost painful. “Of course not,” you say, your voice the very sound of reassurance. A big, fat, beautiful lie. “It’s all about prestige. An experience.” You offer her a warmer smile. “Your queue will probably come through soon. They usually stagger invitations.”

Ryujin lets out a long, slow exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction. The anxious guard dog is being soothed. Her eyes drop to the tall, red glass on the table. She reaches for it, her fingers wrapping around the stem.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice still guarded but lacking its earlier ice.

“My pleasure,” you reply. You watch, your heart hammering a violent rhythm against your ribs, as she brings the glass to her lips. She takes a sip. Then a longer, deeper drink, her throat working as she swallows. The fruity concoction must be to her taste, or her thirst is greater than her suspicion.

You don’t wait for her to finish. You’ve seen what you needed to see. The hook is baited and set.

“I should get back to my post,” you say quickly, giving her one last, professional smile. “Enjoy your drink, Miss Ryujin.”

You turn and walk away toward a shadowed alcove near the service corridor. From there, you have an unobstructed view of her booth. You lean against the wall, the cool plaster a contrast to the feverish heat under your skin.

She finishes the drink, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink. A few minutes pass. She checks her phone again, frowns, and sets it aside. She runs a hand through her dark hair, then rubs at her temple. 

The first sign. A slight flush begins to creep up her neck, visible even in the strobe-lit gloom. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, the movement less controlled now. She fans herself briefly with her hand.

The chemical is doing its work. Not dulling her, not putting her to sleep. It’s peeling away the layers of control, of caution. It’s making the room warmer, the lights more hypnotic, the wait more intolerable. It’s softening the edges of her sharp vigilance.

You wait. You let the drug and the environment work in tandem. She declines another drink from a passing waiter with a shake of her head, but her movements are looser. 

She leans back in the booth, her gaze drifting across the dance floor, no longer laser-focused on the elevator. The protective hawk is becoming a drowsy dove.

The good guy act has served its purpose. The apology, the free drink, the reassuring lies—they were the keys to the cage. Now, the cage door is swinging open. Your new prey is sitting there, her defenses chemically compromised, alone in a sea of predators where you are the one who knows the terrain best.

You push off the wall, adjusting the front of your trousers where your erection strains the fabric.

The chemical fire works its way through her system beautifully. You watch from the shadows as Ryujin’s composed edges begin to melt. A sheen of sweat glistens on her collarbones, exposed by her off-shoulder white shirt. She fans herself again, then presses her palms to her flushed cheeks. Her breaths, from this distance, look deeper, less controlled.

When she stands up, it is a swaying, unsteady lurch. Her hand slaps down on the table to steady herself, her cocktail glass tipping over. She takes one wobbling step away from the booth, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

This is your cue.

You’re behind her in three silent strides. Your arms go around her torso, ostensibly to catch her, but you pull her back onto your chest. 

Her firm ass directly grinds the thick, rigid line of your cock straining your trousers. You rut against her ass once, a deliberate motion disguised as catching her weight.

“Whoa there! Easy, Miss Ryujin. Are you alright?” Your voice is right by her ear, thick with false concern.

She stiffens, a jolt of awareness fighting through the chemical haze. She tries to push your arms away, but her strength is sapped. “I’m… I’m fine. Just dizzy. You can let go.” Her words are slurred, her breathing coming in heavier pants.

“You’re not fine. You’re about to fall. Let me take you to the staff rest area, it’s quiet there,” you say, your hands sliding down from her ribs to her hips, holding her firmly.

“No,” she insists, a weak tremor in her voice. “I said let go.” She tries to wrench herself sideways, but her legs are uncooperative rubber.

“Too bad,” you murmur, the pretense of helpfulness evaporating like smoke.

You shift your grip, one arm locking around her waist, the other hooking under her arm. She’s tall, but you’re bigger, and the drug has made her dead weight. 

You half-drag, half-carry her away from the main floor, toward a dim, soundproofed corridor marked ‘PRIVATE’ with a small, red light above the archway. The real VIPs go up. The extracurricular activities happen down here.

She mumbles incoherent protests, her head lolling. To test her, to taste her resistance, your hand on her waist slips down, roughly palming her full ass through her skirt, squeezing hard to make her gasp. 

At the same time, you duck your head and press your wet, open mouth to the hot skin of her neck, biting down on the tendon before lapping at it, then sucking her earlobe between your teeth.

“S-stop… get off… Eugh!” she shouts, but it’s a weak, breathy sound, lost in the muffled bass from the main room. Her struggle is pathetic, a feeble twitching against your iron-clad hold.

You reach an unmarked door, shove it open with your shoulder, and kick it shut behind you. The room is small, utilitarian: a large, padded platform masquerading as a bed, a shelf with towels, a table with sex stuff, and harsh overhead lighting.

With a contemptuous heave, you shove her onto the padded surface. She lands on her back with a soft whump, her skirt riding high up her thighs. For a moment, she just lies there, dazed, chest heaving.

You stand at the foot of the platform, your eyes raking over her supine form. You pull your cheap suit jacket off and let it drop to the floor, your tie follows. You yank your shirt over your head, kicking your shoes off simultaneously. Your bare chest expands with a deep, anticipatory breath.

Ryujin tries to push herself up on her elbows, her vision swimming. “What… what are you doing…?”

You climb onto the platform, kneeling between her splayed legs. You don’t touch her yet. You just loom over her, a dark shape blocking the single light from the ceiling.

“Don’t worry about me,” Your voice is a low, cruel rasp. “Worry about Yuna. She’s probably having so much fun upstairs by now.”

Ryujin’s bleary eyes sharpen with a fragment of clarity. “Yuna…?”

You unbuckle your belt, the click-clack of the leather unnaturally loud in the small room. “Yeah. Pretty, tall Yuna. You know how many dicks in this club have set their eyes on her? 

She’s one of the most popular gooning topics around here. Everyone’s had a piece of her in their fantasies. And now she’s up there, in the VIP rooms, where fantasies become receipts.”

Her brain, fogged and slow, struggles to parse your words. “What… what the hell do you mean by that?” she slurs, confusion and dawning horror warring on her face.

You don’t answer with words. You answer with your hands. Both shoot out and grab the bare skin of her exposed thighs, just above her knees. Your grip pinning her limbs in place.

“NO!” The scream is raw and sudden, fueled by a last surge of adrenaline. She tries to spring up, her legs kicking out between your arms, her feet scrambling against the sheets.

It only excites you more. Shifting one hand from her thigh to her throat. You don’t squeeze to choke yet—you press down, pinning her upper body to the bed, using your weight to immobilize her. 

“Stay. Down,” you grunt.

Your other hand releases her thigh and goes to the side zip of her skirt. You yank it down in one harsh rip.

Her free hands fly up, clawing weakly at your solid, bare chest and shoulders. Her nails scrape harmlessly over your skin, a kitten’s protest. 

Her eyes, wide with terror and chemical confusion, stare up at you as you loom over her, her skirt now open, her vulnerability laid bare beneath the denim. 

The fight is leaching out of her, replaced by a terrifying, drugged helplessness

Normally, on nights like this, you like to take your time. Savor the fear, the trembling, the slow unraveling of a victim’s will. 

But the image of Yuna disappearing behind those elevator doors, the sight of Ryujin’s haughty face cracking under the haze—it’s pushed you past the point of patience. You are a wire pulled taut, and she is the only ground.

You make quick work of her safety shorts.

Your hand rips at the thin, black fabric stretched over her hips. The material, meant to protect her modesty from the world, is no match for your raw strength. 

There’s a loud, satisfying rrriiippp as you tear the sides apart, yanking the ruined scrap down her thighs and discarding it somewhere on the floor. 

She’s left in nothing but her open, unzipped skirt bunched around her waist, her underwear—a plain, white cotton pair—damp with a hint of betrayal.

“No… get off… ugh!” she whimpers, her voice cracking.

You don’t even bother to remove the underwear. You just hook a finger under the crotch and pull it aside, exposing her pussy to the dim light of the room.

It’s smooth and puffy, freshly shaved or waxed or whatever idols do for maintenance. There’s not a single hair covering the soft, swollen lips. And despite her terror, her body is betraying her. 

The flesh is glistening, sticky, and wet, a thin sheen of natural lubrication spreading down her crack. 

The drug courses through her veins loosening every muscle, every nerve, turning her fear into a heat that seeps out of her most intimate places.

Her arm flails, hitting your forearm with weak slaps as your other hand maintains the pressure on her throat. She’s heaving, her chest rising and falling in panicked bursts, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

You loosen your grip on her throat to let her breathe, then slide your hand down. Two fingers find her slit. You rub them along her puffy lips, spreading the moisture, pressing to part them. 

She jerks and thrashes beneath you, but her body is a rag doll. “Oh, look at that,” you say, a chuckle bubbling up from your chest. “You’re soaking already. You can tell me you don’t want this, but your cunt is singing a different song.”

You bring your slick fingers to your mouth. You suck them clean, tasting her sweet, drug-spiced nectar. “Fuck. That’s good.”

Her face contorts in a grimace of shame and horror. “N-No… don’t…” The words are barely a whisper.

“Relax,” you say, the command dripping with mock gentleness. “Or this might be painful.”

You fumble with your own trousers, yanking the waistband down, freeing your cock. It springs out, thick and hard, and engorged, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. She sees it, her eyes widening in sheer terror. She tries to close her thighs, but you’re between them.

Your free hand guides the tip to her entrance. You nudge the slick flesh with the blunt, swollen head, teasing her, pressing just slightly before pulling back. Her body goes rigid as a board. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She shakes her head frantically, a mute plea.

“Shhh,” you coo. “It’s going to be okay.”

With a small push, your cockhead slips inside her pussy. Her body seizes. A strangled gasp escapes her as the thick crown stretches her entrance, forcing its way into her warm channel. 

She is a virgin to this, at least to this kind of violation. Her pussy clenches around the intrusion, trying in vain to push it out. Tears finally spill from the corners of her eyes, rolling down her temples and into her hair. 

She is fully aware now—the haze is not enough to dull the reality of the thick, foreign flesh invading her private body part. She is helpless. Raped. Her dignity shatters with every inch.

You release your cock, using that hand instead to grip her meaty inner thigh. You push it down on the mattress, spreading her wider, making her completely open and vulnerable. 

Then you move your hips. A slow, grinding push. Your cock sinks deeper into her pussy, claiming territory her body has never surrendered. The tight, wet heat is intoxicating. A low groan drawn from deep in your chest escapes your mouth.

“Fuck,” you breathe. “I didn’t expect your pussy to be this good.” You laugh, a dirty sound that makes her grimace through the tears streaming down her face. “Look at you. Crying like a baby. But your body is loving every second of it.”

You pull back, then you snap your hips forward as the last remaining length of your cock spears into her pussy in one sudden deep thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin is loud. 

She lets out a choked scream, her back arching off the bed, a pain so sharp and immediate it cuts through the drug’s fog. 

Her nails dig into your forearms, not to push you away but just to hold onto something, anything, as the full length of you buries itself inside her, hilt-deep, pressing her cervix.

You pause for a moment, savoring the tight, raw feel of her convulsing. Her sobs are silent now, muffled by the hand you clamp over her mouth, the other hand pinning both of her wrists above her head. She is completely at your mercy, split open, filled to the brim, utterly consumed.

Your voice is a ragged whisper in her ear as you begin to move, slow at first, then with a building, merciless rhythm. “You’re going to take every last drop of my cum, and you’re going to hate yourself for how much you’ll enjoy it by the end.”

Your hips find a rhythm, a piston-like tempo that shakes the luxurious mattress. Each thrust is a reclaiming of every ounce of control she’s ever had. The room fills with the wet schlick-schlick of your cock driving into her soaked pussy, and the muffled, broken whimpers losing the battle against your palm.

“Mmnnngh—nngh, hngggh, s-stop—”

Her muffled pleas vibrate through your hand, through her skull, as her body jerks with every impact. Her eyes are rolled back, tears mixing with sweat, her makeup smearing into a tragic mess. 

Her thighs tremble, spread wide and helpless, one pinned down by your hand, the other jerking weakly beside your hip. You pull your hand off her mouth to better enjoy her cries.

“Please, no, it hurts, oh god, it hurts, please, why are you doing this, please—” The words tumble out in a broken, shrill flood, each one punctuated by the crack of your balls meeting her ass.

“Because you’re a stuck-up bitch who thought she was too good for this club,” you snarl, your face hovering inches above hers. “You thought you could just sit there, looking down your nose at me, protecting your little princess Yuna? Look at you now. Look at what’s buried inside that cunt.”

Your hand cracks across her cheek. The slap is sharp, a bright red handprint blooming on her flushed skin. Her head snaps to the side, but your cock stays buried inside her, throbbing. 

She sobs, a raw, ragged sound. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, please—I won’t—I won't tell anyone—please stop—”

You laugh, withdrawing your cock almost fully then slam home again, a single, devastating thrust that makes her entire body arch off the bed. “No, shit. Of course you won't. Just stay still, bitch.” You slap her other cheek for good measure, harder. Her head lolls, vision spinning.

Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and wet, and you press down on it as you continue fucking her. Her eyes go wide in shock, her mouth open in a scream that won’t come out. “No! Gahhh—No—! Stop touching me there! Oh shit— nnghh—” 

Her words dissolve into a moan, involuntary and shameful. Her body betrays her, her inner walls clenching and fluttering around your shaft, coating you in another wave of creamy, drug-induced slickness. It leaks out around your cock, staining the sheets beneath her.

“Look at that,” you say, pulling out slightly to watch the milky cream gather at her entrance before ramming back in, making it foam. “Your useless cunt is weeping for me. Soaking my cock. And yet you’re lying there like a dead fish. A whore who can’t even admit she loves it.”

“I don’t—I hate it— aaahhhnngh—” She chokes on a strangled cry as you angle deeper, hitting a spot that makes her stiffen, her back arching so far it seems like a bow. Her hands ball into fists, her nails scoring the sheets, her knuckles white.

“Hate it? Hmm?” You slow down just for a second and pull her skirt up. You grip her chest through her off-shoulder shirt, roughly squeezing her small but firm tits, twisting her nipples through the fabric. She howls. 

“You’re dripping, your cunt is strangling my cock, and you say you hate it? What will Yuna say when she finds out her unnie is a lying, moaning whore?”

At the mention of Yuna, Ryujin’s face contorts with a fresh wave of anguish. 

A mournful sob escapes her. “Don’t—don’t mention her—please—she can’t know—she can’t— ohhh nnnghh—”

“She won’t know,” you hiss, your pace quickening again, reverting to the hammering. “She’s too busy being a pretty little doll for the VIPs. But you, poor Ryujin, they’ll find you here, pregnant with my cum, and I’ll tell everyone you begged for it.” 

Her weeping intensifies, her body stiffening, a shudder running through her like an electric current. She tries to close her legs, but you wedge your knees between them, forcing them apart.

Your hand flies again, this time landing on her breast, a loud slap on the flesh that echoes in the small room. She whimpers, her mouth open, a string of drool running from the corner of her lips. Her eyes are unfocused, alternating between terror and a haze.

“It hurts… I’m so tight… you’re too big…” she gasps, her voice barely audible.

“That’s because you’re a tight little virgin,” you grunt, your strokes becoming shorter, faster, brutal. “A tight, pathetic little virgin who’s never been properly stuffed. Aren’t you grateful? I’m giving you this experience for free. My cock is worth more than your entire group’s revenue.”

Her hands weakly push at your chest, sliding off sweat-slick skin. “Please… slow down… I can’t… I can’t take it… mmmyyaaahhh!” A sharp moan escapes as you hit her deepest part again.

Her pussy clenches in a convulsive, convulsing spasm; not pleasure, but overwhelming stimulation burning through her nerve endings.

You feel your own building release, a tightening in your balls, a shuddering in your spine. You don’t slow down. You chase it, your hips a blur, your balls slapping her ass with wet thwacks. The room is filled with the sounds of your grunts, her broken sobs, the squelching of your pistoning cock.

“You feel that, slut?” you growl, leaning down to bite her neck, hard to bruise. “I’m about to cum. And I’m going to cum right inside your worthless cunt. I’m going to fill you up with my cum. You’ll be carrying my bastard, knowing every time you look in the mirror that you were too weak to stop me.”

She thrashes, a last, desperate attempt. “No! Not inside! Pull out! Please, God, no! I’m not on—I’m not safe! Please! AAAAHHH!” Her scream is piercing, her body going rigid, stiff as a board. 

Her inner walls clamp down, not with pleasure, but with pure panic, a vice-like resistance that only makes your own climax more violent.

Your hand snaps out, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you. “Look at me,” you snarl through gritted teeth. “Look at the man who owns you.”

Her tear-streaked face, contorted in agony, stares up at you with droopy, broken eyes. And you feel it. The surge, the peak, the explosion. 

A groan rips from your throat as you slam deep one final time, your cock twitching violently as you pump load after thick load of hot, sticky cum deep into her womb. 

She feels a hot, foreign flood spreading inside her, filling her to overflowing. Her body convulses, her legs shaking, her toes curling, a pathetic, strangled wail escaping her lips as she sobs through her own helpless climax of fear and overstimulation.

You stay there, buried to the hilt, panting, savoring the feeling of her spasming around your cock. Her body is limp, broken, a heaving wreck on the mattress. Cum drips out around your shaft, a viscous, creamy mixture staining the sheets.

You pull out slowly, letting the cum ooze out of her gaping, used pussy. “Don’t think this is over, Shin Ryujin. We have all night.”

You pull out of her pussy with a wet squish, your cock glistening with a mixture of her juices and your cum. 

Ryujin lies there, a crumpled, trembling heap on the mattress. Her chest heaves with hitching breaths, her eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing. Her legs are splayed wide, cum slowly oozing out of her swollen, reddened pussy.

You step off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor. Your own breathing is heavy, a sheen of sweat cooling on your skin. You rummage through the pile of discarded clothes, your fingers closing around the familiar weight of your phone. You pull it out, the screen lighting up with a soft glow.

You unlock the phone, swipe to the camera app, and flip it to video mode. You hold it up, framing the scene before you.

Ryujin's splayed and shuddering frame fills the screen. Her off-shoulder shirt is bunched around her neck, revealing her small, perky tits with their hardened, abused nipples. 

Her skirt is a wrinkled mess around her waist. Her thighs are smeared with a mixture of sweat, her own creamy fluids, and your cum. 

Her pussy is a wreck; swollen and gaping slightly, a thick rivulet of white cream trickling down her tiny asshole. 

Her face is a degradation, tear tracks cutting through smeared makeup, hair plastered to her forehead, lips swollen from biting back screams, her eyes are glazed, barely blinking.

You zoom in, capturing the details. The slap marks on her cheeks, the bite bruise on her neck, the convulsive twitching of her inner thighs. She's not moving, just lying there.

"Look at that. Shin Ryujin. One of the most famous idols in Korea. And now? Now she's just a used, cumbucket piece of meat."

She flinches at your words. Her hand twitches, trying to move, but it falls back. She doesn't have the strength to cover herself, to hide.

You pan the camera down, lingering on her quivering thighs, her messy cunt. You squat down, getting a close-up of the cum leaking out of her, mixing with her own slick. "This is what happens when you play guard dog for the wrong people. You should have minded your own business."

You reach out with your free hand, two fingers pressing her pussy hole, pushing them inside just enough to scoop up a generous glob of your mixed cum. You bring it to her lips, smearing it across her mouth.

"Taste yourself," you order. "Taste what happens to good girls who wander into bad places."

Her lips quiver, but she doesn't have the strength to turn her head away. The cum smears over her lips, some trickling into her mouth. She gags, a dry, retching sound.

You stand up, holding the phone steady, capturing her pathetic state. You will need this insurance - insurance that she won't talk, won't report. Insurance that the proud Shin Ryujin will be forever chained to this moment.

You drop the phone onto the bed beside her and climb back onto the mattress. Your cock, still slick and half-hard, hangs heavy between your legs. 

You fist your hand in her tangled, sweat-soaked hair, and yank her upper body upward into a rough, sitting position. Her head lolls, her neck barely able to support itself, her eyes glassy.

"Wake up, slut," you sneer, giving her hair another tug that makes her whimper. "You're not done yet. You're going to clean me up. I need to get back to work."

She blinks, trying to process your words through the fog of violation and drugs. Her mouth opens, a weak protest forming, but you don't give her the chance. You guide your semi-erect cock to her lips, pressing the cum-coated head against her mouth.

"Open," you command, your voice cold. "Suck. Make it clean. Every last drop."

She hesitates, her eyes welling up with more tears. But the threat in your gaze is apparent. Her lips part, trembling, and you push forward. 

The head slips past her lips, and her warm, wet mouth envelopes your shaft. Her hands come up weakly, clutching your thighs for support, her nails digging into your skin as she tries not to gag.

"Good girl," you murmur, your hips beginning to move in slow, shallow thrusts. "Use that tongue. You're an idol, right? You must know how to please. Show me."

She gags a wet sound, but you don't stop. You fuck her mouth, savoring the sensation of her soft lips wrapped around your shaft, her tongue clumsily attempting to clean the taste of her own shame from your skin. 

Your cock is hardening again, the heat of her mouth and the sight of her tear-streaked face beneath you working its magic.

And while she works, you reach for your phone and hold it up, the camera clicking rapidly, snapping picture after picture. Ryujin, on her knees, her lips stretched around your cock, her hands clutching your thighs, her eyes red and vacant. Perfect blackmail material.

"It's hard not to get a second wind with a mouth this pretty," you say, "But I've got two hours left on my shift. Damn shame."

You pull back, your cock slipping from her lips. She slumps sideways, falling back onto the bed, gasping for air, drool stringing from her mouth.

You turn away, reaching for the small drawer beside the bed. It slides open with a soft hiss, revealing a handful of small, white pills. You scoop them up and turn back to her.

"Time for a little nap, Ryujin," you say, your voice almost casual. "You've got a long night ahead."

You climb on top of her again, straddling her chest, one hand gripping her jaw, forcing her mouth open. She struggles weakly, her hands batting at your arms, but she's too far gone to put up any real fight. You shove the pills past her lips, pressing them to the back of her throat.

"Swallow," you order. She chokes, her eyes wide with panic, but you hold her jaw shut, rubbing her throat until she has no choice but to obey. The pills go down dry, scraping against her esophagus, making her gag again.

You slap her face one final time, a stinging blow that makes her head snap to the side. Her eyes flutter, the drugs already taking hold. Her limbs grow heavier, her breathing shallower. Within moments, her eyes roll back, and she goes limp, unconscious.

You climb off the bed, pulling on your trousers, your shirt, your tie. You dress quickly, efficiently, adjusting your collar in the dim light. 

You glance back at her, a broken, motionless figure on the mattress. Cum still stains her thighs, her face is a mess, and she's completely out cold.