Ryujin's Awakening ft. Nayeon

The message came through at 3:17 AM, a time of night reserved for either profound revelations or catastrophic meltdowns. From the jittering, all-caps barrage of texts that lit up my phone, it was immediately clear which category Ryujin’s fell into.

UNNIE I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND

I CAN’T SLEEP I CAN’T DANCE I CAN’T THINK

MY BRAIN IS MUSH AND MY BODY IS ON FIRE

I FUCKED UP THE CHOREOGRAPHY EIGHT TIMES TODAY EIGHT

JYP-NNIM GAVE ME THE LOOK. YOU KNOW THE LOOK. THE ‘YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT TO ALL HAMSTERS’ LOOK.

I let out a soft sigh, setting my phone down on the nightstand. The spot next to me was still warm, a lingering testament to Andrew’s most recent visit. He’d left an hour ago, his stamina finally, blessedly, beginning to wane after his fifth load. I was still pleasantly sore, a deep, satisfying ache between my legs that served as a constant reminder of our secret. But my focus was now entirely on Ryujin.

My Ryujin. My cool, sharp, endlessly capable Joanne-ah, who could command a stage with a single glare and make every heart in the stadium stop, was falling apart. I knew the look she was talking about. It was less ‘disappointment to all hamsters’ and more ‘you are a loose cannon that could derail this multi-million dollar tour.’

I picked up the phone and called her. She answered on the first ring, her voice a frantic, shaky whisper. “Unnie?”

“Ryujin-ah, breathe,” I said, my voice calm and even. I’d had a lot of practice calming down panicked idols over the years. “Tell me what’s going on. And start from the beginning.”

“I don’t know!” she cried, and I could hear the rustle of sheets, the sound of her pacing in her room. “It’s this tour. The ‘Tunnel Vision’ concept. It’s so… intense. The focus, the energy… and I keep losing it. During practice, my mind just goes… blank. Or worse, it goes somewhere else. I keep messing up the footwork in the bridge. I feel like my legs are made of lead and my head is full of cotton.”

I listened, letting her vent. I heard the real problem buried under the professional anxiety. It wasn’t about the choreography. It was about the tunnel vision itself. Her focus was narrowing, but not on the dance. It was tunneling inward, to a place she didn’t know how to talk about.

“Anything else?” I prompted gently. “Any other symptoms?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could hear her take a shaky breath. “I’m… tense,” she finally said, her voice barely audible. “All the time. My thighs… I keep clenching them. Especially during the more… suggestive parts of the choreography. And at night… I keep having these… dreams. Vivid ones. I wake up and my sheets are… soaked. It’s so gross, unnie. And I’m just so… empty.”

There it was. The magic word. Empty. It was the same word I’d used myself, months ago, before Somi had set her little bet. It was the feeling of a body that wasn’t being used, a need that wasn’t being met. It was an ache that settled deep in the bones and refused to be ignored.

“Meet me,” I said, my decision made in an instant. “There’s a quiet café near the company. One with a private back room. One hour. Don’t argue.”

“Unnie, it’s the middle of the night—”

“One hour, Ryujin-ah,” I repeated, my tone leaving no room for discussion. “Wear a hat and a mask. No one will see you. This is an emergency.”

An hour later, I was sitting in a plush velvet armchair in the secluded back room of ‘The Golden Spoon,’ a café frequented by industry insiders who valued discretion above all else. I had a pot of their best oolong tea and two steaming cups waiting. The door creaked open, and Ryujin slipped in, looking like a hunted animal. She wore a black beanie pulled low over her short, dark hair, a black face mask covering the lower half of her face, and an oversized hoodie that swallowed her athletic frame. But even through the disguise, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the restless energy thrumming just beneath her skin.

She slumped into the chair opposite me, pulling her mask down to reveal a pale, drawn face. Her sharp, usually confident features were etched with anxiety.

“Okay,” she said, her voice low and rough. “I’m here. Now what? Are you going to give me a magical tea that will make me a better dancer?”

I smiled, pouring her a cup of tea. “Something like that.” I pushed the cup across the table toward her. “We’re not going to talk about dancing, Ryujin-ah. We’re going to talk about you.”

She took the cup, her hands shaking slightly. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Isn’t there?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re tense, you can’t focus, you’re having wet dreams that leave you aching, and you feel… empty. Does that about sum it up?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. A deep blush spread across her cheeks. “How did you—”

“Because I’ve been there,” I said softly. “I know the signs. It’s a classic case of sexual frustration, Joanne-ah. Severe, prolonged, and untreated.”

She recoiled as if I’d slapped her. “It’s not that! I’m fine! I’m just… stressed.”

“Stressed doesn’t make you wake up in a puddle of your own arousal,” I said, my tone gentle but firm. I was going to have to be the blunt, invasive unnie she needed right now. I took a sip of my tea, then looked her dead in the eye. “Ryujin-ah. When was the last time someone properly fucked you?”

The question hung in the air, a verbal bomb that obliterated her carefully constructed defenses. Her blush deepened to a terrifying shade of crimson. She stared down into her teacup as if it held the secrets to the universe. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the cup.

“That’s… none of your business, unnie,” she mumbled.

“It is when it’s affecting your career and your well-being,” I countered. “When you’re a liability to your group because your pussy is so lonely it’s screaming for attention. So, I’ll ask you again. When?”

She let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “A long time,” she whispered, her voice so small I could barely hear it. “After I broke up with my ex. That was… over a year ago.”

“And was it any good? With him?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Good? Unnie, it was… nothing. Five minutes of clumsy humping in the dark, him grunting on top of me, and then it was over. I never… you know. I never finished with him.” She looked up at me, her eyes shining with a desperate, unshed tear. “Since then, it’s just… me. In the shower. Sometimes. It just makes me feel more… empty.”

My heart ached for her. My cool, badass Ryujin, who exuded sexuality on stage, had never known what it was like to be truly pleasured. She’d been faking it for so long, she didn’t even know what real satisfaction felt like. She was a powerful, high-performance engine running on empty.

I reached across the table and took her hand. “Okay,” I said, my voice filled with a new, steely resolve. “I know exactly what you need. And I’m going to fix it.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide with a mixture of hope and terror. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a hard reset,” I said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my face. “A complete system reboot. Tomorrow night. You and me. A little unnie-dongsaeng sleepover. And a very special… guest.”

I squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about the details, Joanne-ah. Just trust your unnie. I promise you, by the next day, you won’t feel empty anymore. You’ll feel so full, you’ll be able to hit every note, every step, with a fire you’ve never felt before.” I leaned in closer, my voice a low, seductive promise. “I’m going to find someone who knows how to fuck. And he’s going to fuck you so good, you’ll forget your own name.”

The year since her breakup had been a study in quiet, simmering frustration. Ryujin had thrown herself into her work, using the grueling schedule of an ITZY member as a shield against the gnawing emptiness inside her. Her ex, a fellow trainee she’d dated in secret, had been a boy, not a man. Their encounters had been clumsy, fumbling things, stolen in deserted practice rooms or the back of a company van. He’d been all about his own quick release, leaving Ryujin to finish herself off in the privacy of her own bed, a vibrator her only true companion.

After the breakup, she’d sworn off men. It was easier that way. Less drama, less risk. But her body hadn’t gotten the memo. It was a traitor, a vessel of need that hummed with a low, constant ache. She’d find herself clenching her thighs during dance breaks, the memory of a fleeting touch or a suggestive lyric sending a jolt of heat straight to her core. At night, she was haunted by dreams—vague, hazy images of hands roaming her body, a thick, hard cock stretching her open, a voice whispering filthy things in her ear. She’d wake up gasping, her panties soaked, her pussy throbbing with a desperate need that she could only temporarily relieve with a frantic, unsatisfying session under the hot spray of her shower.

She was ITZY’s Ryu-Jin, the cool, charismatic rapper, the girl who made thousands of fans swoon with a single glance. But in the dark of her own room, she was just a lonely, horny girl who had no idea what she was missing. She was a virgin in every way that mattered, a tightly wound spring of sexual energy waiting for the right person to finally let her snap.

I was practically buzzing with a giddy, wicked energy as I left the café. Ryujin was a project, a challenge, and I was the master craftsman ready to mold her into a masterpiece of pleasure. I knew exactly who to call.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen with a familiar, confident rhythm.

Got a special request for you tomorrow night, oppa 😉

Girls’ night. But I need a little… extra entertainment.

Better cancel all your other plans. You’re going to need your stamina.

I hit send, a smug grin plastered on my face. I didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

Intriguing. Tell me more.

Let’s just say I’m bringing a friend who’s never seen stars before. Think you can help me with that?