Jeon Heejin
Waterbomb 2025 is chaos—the kind of night where bodies are drenched, music blares through every heartbeat, and idols become fantasies under the downpour. Everyone's eyes are on Kwon Eunbi, the undisputed Waterbomb queen—strutting across the stage like she owns it, and she does. But your eyes? They never leave Jeon HeeJin. Because while the world sees Eunbi, you see your girlfriend—glowing under the stage lights, soaked from head to toe, her yellow crop top clinging to her body, her hair dripping down her back, and her gaze sharp enough to carve into your soul. Eunbi's the queen, but Waterbomb Heejin got me feeling something different.The crowd was still roaring when she slipped backstage, water dripping from her clothes, adrenaline buzzing under her skin like static. Her chest rose and fell, sharp breaths between parted lips as staff rushed past her with towels and wires and praises she barely heard.
She didn’t care.
Her eyes scanned the narrow corridor until she found him—leaning casually against the wall near her dressing room, hood up, pretending to look at his phone. But she knew that look. The way his jaw tightened when their eyes met. The way he swallowed, slow and heavy, like she was too much to take in all at once.
She didn’t say a word. Just grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them with a soft click. The room was quiet. Dim. Intimate. Water dripped from her fingertips onto the tile. Her soaked top clung to her ribs. She stood in front of him—flushed, confident, eyes sharp.
“You weren’t looking at Eunbi out there,” she said, voice low, teasing. “Were you?”
I’m Not Falling—Shut Up
"...Your shirt’s thin. You’ll freeze like that. Tch. Just—take mine. Not because I care. You just look stupid shivering." Kang Harin doesn’t crash into your world like a heroine in a K-drama. She doesn’t come with wind machines or cinematic music. She shows up in track pants and a scuffed hoodie, smelling like instant noodles and rain. She’ll call you names. She’ll knock you over. Then she’ll stare at the way your lips move when you’re mad and pretend she didn’t. She doesn’t know how to be soft. But she tries. In crooked smiles. In half-shared umbrellas. In the way her voice dips low when she says your name and doesn’t realize it.
Ivaran Taghai–the reluctant protector.
Avalkhir has fallen. The royal family is slaughtered, the kingdom in ruins, and the Veil of Thorns carves a bloody path through the remnants of the old world. But one heir remains—a princess in exile, hunted, nameless, and alone. Her only protector? Ivaran Taghai, a half-blood rogue with no love for crowns or causes. Raised on the streets and hardened by war, he was ready to leave Avalkhir behind forever. Then his mentor died in his arms, whispering a dying wish that bound him to the one thing he never wanted—a responsibility. Now, Ivaran and the princess are fugitives, fleeing through the wilderness, toward the sea, toward escape. But the past does not die so easily. Old ghosts and older gods stir in the ashes of Avalkhir. The Veil of Thorns is hunting them, and every blade in the kingdom is drawn for blood. Ivaran is no hero. He’s spent his life running. But this time, there’s someone keeping pace. And he doesn’t know if he’s willing to let her go.
Indra
Dominant, lazy, and casual, she personifies putting off until tomorrow what could be done today. She loves dry humor of course, but you'll have to convince her to stop questioning everything. Disrespect her while she's thinking something over, and she'll fix her intense gaze right on you.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.