#eunbi loops

[unt1tled]

eunbi

© tantapic

[jupiterpilgrim]

After All

Kwon Eunbi x male reader

word count: 20k

commissioned fic

The clock’s ticking past midnight, and Eunbi’s apartment is a battlefield of empty soju bottles, crumpled napkins, and half-eaten trays of tteokbokki scattered across her sleek kitchen island. It’s her 30th birthday, and you're resting on her couch, nursing a lukewarm beer you’ve been sipping for the last hour, more out of habit than any real desire to get trashed. The private party’s been a chaotic little mess—just a handful of her closest friends, some industry folks she trusts not to leak shit, and you, her self-appointed babysitter for the night. The music’s still humming low from her Bluetooth speaker, but the vibe’s shifted from rowdy laughter to a quieter, sloppier haze now that everyone’s stumbled out the door. You’re watching her sway around the living room in a pair of mismatched socks—one pink with little stars, the other a plain gray that’s probably yours from some sleepover months back—her hair a wild tangle from all the times she’s run her hands through it while belting out karaoke off-key. She’s drunk as hell, giggling at nothing, and you can’t help but grin despite the ache in your legs from chasing her around all night.

She’s been clinging to you since the third shot of peach soju hit her system, her arm looped through yours like you’re her personal anchor, dragging you into every conversation with slurred enthusiasm. “You should’ve seen his face when I told him I’m 30 now—30!—like, bitch, I’m still hotter than your girlfriend,” she’d crowed earlier, leaning into you so hard you nearly toppled into the snack table. For everyone else, she’s Kwon Eunbi, the idol with the killer voice and curves that make headlines, but for you, she’s just Eunbi—Eunbi who used to steal your crayons in third grade, who’d cry when you beat her at Mario Kart, who’d text you at 3 a.m. during her trainee days just to say she missed your dumb jokes. Now, she’s flopped onto the floor in front of the coffee table, legs splayed out, her oversized hoodie riding up to show a sliver of her stomach as she tries to stack beer cans into a wobbly tower. “Look, I’m an architect,” she declares, tongue poking out in concentration, and you snort, knowing damn well it’s gonna collapse in three seconds flat.

The party’s over, and you’re the last one standing—well, sitting, technically—because there’s no way you’re leaving her like this. She’s a disaster when she’s sober, let alone after a night of drinking her age in shots. You’ve already started picking up the wreckage, tossing plastic cups into a trash bag while she watches you with hazy eyes, chin propped on her hand like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “You’re so good to me,” she mumbles. “Yeah, yeah, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out in a pile of kimchi fries,” you shoot back, grabbing a sponge to tackle the sticky mess on the counter where someone—probably her—spilled a whole bottle of soda. She laughs, loud and unfiltered, then hiccups, and it’s so ridiculously Eunbi that you can’t help but chuckle too.

She’s still chattering away, even as you move around her apartment, picking up streamers and wiping down surfaces. “Did you see Chae’s face when I did that twerk? She was, like, scandalized—I’ve got moves, right? Tell me I’ve got moves.” She’s trying to wiggle her hips from her spot on the floor, but it’s more of a sad little shimmy, and you bite back a laugh. “Oh, you’ve got something, alright. I think the word’s embarrassing, though,” you tease, dodging the balled-up napkin she chucks at you. It misses by a mile, landing somewhere near the TV, and she pouts, all dramatic and exaggerated, like she’s auditioning for a rom-com. “You’re so mean to me. Always so mean... And yet, here you are, cleaning my shit up like a good little boyfriend.” The word slips out casual as hell, but it lands like a grenade, and you freeze for half a second, sponge dripping in your hand, before brushing it off with a grunt. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive, dumbass. And I’m not your boyfriend—yet.”

That “yet” hangs in the air, and her eyes lock onto yours, wide and suddenly sharper despite the drunken flush on her cheeks. You both know about the pact—some stupid, half-serious promise you made back when you were hormonal teens sneaking cheap beer behind her parents’ garage, laughing about how if you both hit 30 and still hadn’t found “the one,” you’d just marry each other. It was a joke, or at least it started that way, but now here you are, 30 and single, and she’s 30 and single, and she’s staring at you like she’s daring you to bring it up first. You don’t. Instead, you turn back to the counter, scrubbing harder than necessary, while she drags herself up off the floor, stumbling over to you with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. “You’re staying, right?” she asks, leaning against the counter so close her elbow bumps yours, her voice dropping into that bossy tone she gets when she wants something. “Gotta tuck me in, make sure I don’t die in my sleep or whatever.”

You smirk, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye—she’s a mess, mascara smudged under her eyes, lipstick faded into a pink stain, but still unfairly gorgeous. “Yeah, ‘cause I’d hate to explain to your fans why their precious Eunbi choked on her own drool. I’ll stay, but you’re sleeping on the couch if you puke on me.” She grins, triumphant, and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a sloppy half-hug that smells like soju and her floral perfume. “My hero,” she coos, sarcastic as hell, but there’s a flicker of something real in it. You shake it off, steering her toward the bedroom with a hand on her back, her weight leaning into you more with every step. She’s still rambling—about the party, about how you’re the only one who gets her, about how she’s gonna make you cook her hangover soup tomorrow—and you’re only half-listening, too focused on getting her to bed without tripping over the rug.

By the time you hit the hallway, she’s practically dead weight, her head lolling against your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. You nudge her bedroom door open with your foot, the soft glow of her fairy lights spilling out, and ease her onto the mattress, where she flops down with a groan. “You’re the best,” she slurs, grabbing your wrist before you can pull away, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looks ready to pass out. “Don’t go far, ‘kay? Need you here.” It’s the alcohol talking, you tell yourself, but the way her fingers linger on your skin feels too deliberate, too loaded. You mutter something about getting her water, slipping out of her hold, and as you head back to the kitchen.

You’re back in her bedroom, a glass of water in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other, figuring she’ll thank you later for not letting her wake up looking like a raccoon with last night’s makeup smeared everywhere. The fairy lights are still doing their thing, casting a warm, golden glow over the room, and Eunbi’s sprawled out on her bed, one arm flung over her face like she’s trying to block out the world—or maybe just the spins. Her hoodie’s ridden up again, showing off that stupidly toned stomach she’s always flexing on Instagram, and her socks are half-off, one dangling from her toes like it’s staging a breakout. She looks like a hot mess, but it’s Eunbi, so she’s still pulling it off somehow. You set the glass on her nightstand and nudge her leg with your knee. “Hey, drunkass, sit up for a sec. You need water or you’re gonna hate me tomorrow.”

She groans, dramatic as fuck, but peels her arm off her face and squints at you, eyes glassy and unfocused. “You’re so bossy,” she mumbles, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips, sloppy and real, and she fumbles to prop herself up on her elbows. Her hair’s a disaster, falling into her face, and you reach over without thinking, brushing it back with your fingers. She leans into it, just a little, and for a second, it’s quiet—just the hum of the speaker still looping that lo-fi track and her breathing, slow and heavy. You hand her the water, and she takes it with both hands like a kid, gulping it down so fast some of it dribbles down her chin. “Classy,” you tease, wiping it off with the washcloth before she can bitch about it, and she snickers, batting your hand away halfheartedly. “Shut up, you love me,” she slurs.

You’re about to fire back—something dumb like “yeah, when you’re not a walking tornado”—but she cuts you off, setting the glass down with a clumsy clink and grabbing your wrist again, pulling you closer. “You remember that pact we made?” Her voice is softer now, less playful, and there’s this edge to it that makes your stomach twist. You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you play dumb anyway, raising an eyebrow. “What, the one where we said we’d rob a bank if we ever got broke? ‘Cause I’m still down, but you’re the one with the idol cash now.” She doesn’t laugh, though, just shakes her head, and her grip tightens, nails digging into your skin a little. “No, dumbass. The marriage one. When we were, like, sixteen? Said if we hit 30 and no one else locked us down, we’d just marry each other. You swore on it—pinky promise and everything.”

You try to laugh it off, because that’s your go-to when shit gets real—deflect, joke, anything to keep it light. “Yeah, I also swore I’d get a tattoo of your face on my ass, but you don’t see me running to the parlor,” you say, but it sounds weak even to you. She’s not buying it, and her eyes are searching your face now, all hazy and drunk but piercing, like she’s peeling back every layer you’ve ever put up. “Don’t bullshit me,” she says, and there’s that commanding tone she gets sometimes, the one that makes people sit up straight and listen, even when she’s three sheets to the wind. “We’re both 30 now. I’m 30 today. And you’re here, and I’m here, and—fuck, dude, why not? Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

Your heart’s doing some wild shit in your chest, pounding like you just ran a marathon, and you tell yourself it’s the alcohol talking. She’s plastered, emotional, probably doesn’t even mean it—she’ll wake up tomorrow and laugh her ass off at the thought, right? But she’s looking at you like she’s dead serious, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and there’s this raw, messy love in her voice that’s fucking with your head. “Eunbi, you’re drunk as hell,” you manage, voice rougher than you mean it to be. “You don’t just decide to marry someone ‘cause you had too much soju and feel mushy. Sleep it off, yeah? We’ll laugh about this in the morning.” You try to pull your wrist free, but she’s not letting go, and now she’s sitting up fully, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so she’s right in front of you, close enough that you can smell the peach liquor on her breath, her free hand landing on your chest, fingers curling into your shirt.

“I’m not joking,” she says, quieter but fiercer, and her hand slides up, brushing your neck, her thumb grazing your jaw. “I’ve been thinking about it—today, this year, maybe longer. You’re my best friend, you dick. You’ve stuck with me through every breakup, every stage, every meltdown. I’ve got you too—always have. So why not? We’d kill it together.” Her voice wavers, and her eyes are shiny now, not just from the liquor, and it’s shredding you because she’s never this open, this raw.

“Eunbi, chill,” you say, softer, because snapping at her feels wrong when she’s spilling her soul like this. “You’re not thinking clear. You’re an idol—your life’s a circus, your fans would riot, and I’m just… me. The dude who can’t keep a cactus alive. You don’t mean this. Not really.” But your words are faltering, because she’s leaning in, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you down ‘til her forehead’s almost touching yours. “I don’t care about that,” she whispers, breath hot against your lips, and fuck, she’s so close you can taste the peach soju, feel the heat of her. “I don’t care about any of it if I’ve got you. I love you, you moron. Always have.”

It’s a fucking knockout blow, and your brain’s short-circuiting, every nerve screaming to just give in. Her lips brush yours—just a ghost of a touch, soft and trembling—and you almost lose it, almost let her pull you under. Your hands are on her shoulders, and for a split second, you’re kissing her back, tasting the liquor and the years of unspoken shit between you. But then your brain kicks in, screaming she’s drunk, this isn’t right, not like this. You pull back, heart pounding, hands shaking as you hold her at arm’s length. “Eunbi, no,” you say, firm but cracking. “Not like this. You’re wasted—you need to rest, not… this.” She whines, reaching for you again, but you dodge, standing up fast, chest heaving. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Just… get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She flops back on the bed, pouting hard, but her eyes are already drooping, the fight draining out of her. You grab the blanket, tucking it over her as she mumbles something incoherent, and you’re left standing there, reeling, wondering if you just dodged a bullet or broke something delicate.

—

A week’s rolled by since Eunbi’s wild 30th birthday bash, and it’s been radio silence from her end—zero texts, no drunk voicemails, not even a meme tossed your way, which is weird as hell because she’s usually blowing up your phone with random shit. You’ve been keeping busy, trying not to overthink it, but she’s been creeping into your head more than usual—those sloppy, half-serious words she slung at you about loving you, about wanting to marry you, the way she clung to you like you were her lifeline… The next day, though, she seemed fine. Hungover, but fine. Almost as if she had forgotten about the whole accidental confession that alcohol had caused. But you can't be completely sure. So when your phone buzzes on a lazy Thursday afternoon and it’s her name lighting up the screen with a casual, “Hey, dinner at my place tonight? 7ish?” you don’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I’m in,” you shoot back, already mentally mapping out your evening. You figure it’s a good excuse to check in on her, make sure she’s not still recovering from that hangover or, worse, avoiding you for some reason you can’t pin down. On your way over, you swing by the market down the street from her place. You grab a six-pack of Heineken because you know she likes it cold, and a bottle of that fancy grapefruit soda she’s obsessed with—non-alcoholic, just in case she’s still swearing off the hard stuff after last week. Walking out, you catch her face plastered on a billboard across the street, all glossy lips and sultry eyes, selling some new makeup line. It’s surreal, seeing your goofy childhood buddy up there like some untouchable goddess, but then you smirk because you know she’d probably laugh her ass off at the idea of anyone calling her that.

You get to her apartment a little early, buzzing up from the lobby, and when she opens the door, it’s like she’s flipped a switch from the drunk disaster you left last week. She’s all sweet smiles and soft edges, pulling you into a hug that lingers a beat too long, her hair smelling like lavender and something expensive. “Hey, you,” she says, voice warm, and you’re already shrugging off your jacket, holding up the drinks like a peace offering. “Brought supplies,” you say, and she laughs, grabbing the soda bottle with a little “Ooh, you remembered!” that makes you feel oddly proud. Her place looks better than it did post-party—clean, cozy, with a few candles flickering on the counter, the kind that smell like vanilla and money. Dinner’s already set up, a spread of takeout containers from that Korean BBQ joint you both love, the one with the spicy pork that makes your nose run. She’s got the table laid out casual but cute—mismatched plates, a couple of chipped mugs for water, and a playlist humming through her speaker, some chill lo-fi beats that don’t drown out the vibe. You settle in across from her, cracking open a beer while she digs into a pile of kimchi, and it’s easy at first—catching up, joking about how she’s pretty sure she scared off half her friends with her karaoke rendition of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” last week. You’re laughing, she’s laughing, and it’s like old times, except she’s quieter than usual, her eyes lingering on you when she thinks you’re not looking.

You’re halfway through your second beer, picking at some bulgogi with your chopsticks, when you catch her staring again—chin propped on her hand, a little smile tugging at her lips, but her gaze is steady, almost heavy. It’s not the usual Eunbi chaos you’re used to, the teasing or the loud cackling; it’s something else, something that you’re not ready to name. She’s been weird all night, not bad weird, just… off, like she’s holding something back. You set your chopsticks down, wiping your hands on a napkin, and finally just go for it. “Okay, what’s up with you? You’re being all quiet and stare-y, it’s freaking me out.” She blinks, caught, then laughs—a soft, nervous sound that’s not her usual full-on snort. She leans back in her chair, twirling her mug between her fingers, and you can tell she’s gearing up to say something big. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she says, and it lands like a sucker punch, totally out of left field. You freeze, beer bottle halfway to your mouth, because what the hell do you even say to that? She’s not done, though—she sets the mug down, leans forward, and it’s like the floodgates open. “Not just you, like, in general. The pact. Us. Everything. I’ve been replaying it all in my head—how we’ve been through every dumb phase together, how you’re always there, how you stayed last week when I was a total mess. You’re… you’re special to me, you know that, right?”

It’s a lot, and you’re just sitting there, letting it wash over you. Her words hit hard because, fuck, you’ve been thinking about her too—more than you’d admit out loud. That night on her couch, her drunk rambling about marrying you, it stuck with you, wormed its way into your brain and wouldn’t leave. You’ve been seeing her everywhere, not just on billboards but in random shit—like the way the light hits your coffee in the morning and reminds you of her smile, or how you caught yourself humming one of her songs in the shower yesterday. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool even though your heart’s doing some dumb acrobatics in your chest. “Yeah, well, you’re kinda special to me too,” you mumble, and it’s not smooth, but it’s honest, and her face lights up like you just handed her the moon. She stands up, motioning to the couch with a little “C’mon, let’s chill,” and you follow, grabbing your beer and the soda bottle because you’re not ready to let go of something to fidget with.

The couch is comfier than the kitchen chairs, and you sink into it, kicking your shoes off while she curls up next to you, closer than she needs to be but not close enough to make it weird. The TV’s off, but the candles are still going, casting this warm glow that makes the whole room feel smaller, softer. She’s got her legs tucked under her, sipping that grapefruit soda, and she’s still watching you, but now it’s less intense, more curious. “So, the pact,” she starts, and you groan, half-laughing, because of course she’s circling back to that. “You seriously wanna talk about that now?” you ask, but she’s already nodding, all earnest. “Yeah, I do. I mean, we’re thirty, dude. No one’s swooped in to lock us down. And I keep thinking… maybe that’s not a bad thing? Like, maybe it’s been you this whole time and I was just too dumb to see it.” She’s laying it all out, and it’s messing with you, because you’ve been wondering the same damn thing. You take a long pull from your beer, stalling, then set it on the coffee table with a clink. “I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admit, and her eyes widen, like she wasn’t expecting you to meet her halfway. “Not just the pact, but… you. How you’re always the one I wanna call when shit’s good or bad. How you get me in a way no one else does.”

She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours, and it’s electric, that tiny contact sparking something you’ve both been dancing around. “So what are we doing about it?” she asks, voice low, and there’s this challenge in her eyes, like she’s daring you to make a move. You’re not sure who leans in first—maybe it’s her, maybe it’s you—but suddenly you’re kissing, slow and tentative at first, then deeper, her hands sliding up your chest while yours find her waist. It’s not fireworks or some movie bullshit; it’s better, realer, like coming home after being gone too long. When you pull back, she’s grinning, breathless, and you’re both laughing because it’s ridiculous and perfect all at once. “Guess we’re doing this, then,” she says, and you nod, still dazed. “Guess we are.”

It’s like someone flipped a switch—everything’s electric, buzzing, and you can’t get enough. The kissing started soft, almost careful, but now it’s deeper, hungrier, her hands gripping your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. You’re only just now clocking how goddamn gorgeous she is, and yeah, she��s always been a knockout, but this is different. She’s not the Eunbi you’re used to, the one who’d roll up to your place in sweats and a messy bun, no makeup, eating takeout straight from the box. Tonight, she’s all done up—hair falling in loose waves, a slinky black top that hugs her curves just right, and a skirt that’s short enough to make your brain short-circuit. She’s got this subtle shimmer on her skin, probably some fancy highlighter shit from one of those brands she’s always posing for, and her lips are glossy, tasting faintly of cherry when you kiss her again. You pull back for a second, breathless, and the words just tumble out: “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” It’s cheesy as hell, but you mean it, and her face lights up—big, goofy smile and all—before she swings a leg over you and climbs into your lap. Her petite frame settles against you, but there’s nothing delicate about the way she presses herself close, her chest—those full, perfect tits—squishing against you.

She tilts her head back as you lean in, kissing along her neck, all soft skin and that lavender scent mixed with something warmer, sexier, like her body’s radiating heat just for you. Your lips brush that spot under her jaw, and she lets out this little sigh—half moan, half giggle—that sends a jolt straight through you. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, fingers digging in, and you’re hyper-aware of every inch of her, the way her thighs grip your hips, the slight shift of her weight when she adjusts herself. You nip at her collarbone, and she squirms, laughing softly before her voice drops, low and needy: “Take me to the bedroom.” It’s not a question—it’s Eunbi, all commanding and sure, and fuck if that doesn’t make you want her even more. You don’t hesitate, sliding your hands under her ass—firm, perfect—and hoisting her up. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind you, and you can feel her grinning against your shoulder as you carry her down the hall. Her skirt rides up, and you’re palming bare skin, her body warm and solid against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t trip over the random pair of sneakers she left by the door.

You nudge the bedroom door open with your elbow, the space dimly lit by a lamp on her nightstand, casting everything in this soft, golden glow. Her bed’s a mess—sheets tangled, a couple of pillows shoved to one side—but it’s hers, and that’s enough. You ease her down onto the mattress, and she lands with a little bounce, propping herself up on her elbows, skirt hiked up around her hips, black lace peeking out from underneath. She’s watching you, eyes dark and playful, and you’re just standing there for a second, taking her in—hair splayed out, lips parted, that top clinging to her like a second skin. “Drawer,” she says, nodding toward the dresser across the room, her voice cutting through the haze in your head. “Top one.” You quirk an eyebrow, stepping over to it, and when you slide it open, there’s a strip of condoms sitting right there next to a tube of lip balm and some tangled jewelry. You pick one up, turning it over in your hand, and glance back at her. “You planning this or what?” you ask, half-teasing, half-serious, because it’s Eunbi—she’s always got something up her sleeve. She chuckles, kicking off her heels so they clatter to the floor, and shrugs. “Just in case, you know. Figured if we’re doing this whole pact thing, might as well be ready.”

You smirk, tossing the foil packet onto the bed beside her, and she scoots back, making room as you climb over her. She’s pulling you down by the front of your shirt, kissing you again—harder this time, all tongue and teeth, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have. Then you start kissing her body, starting at that delicate stretch of her neck, soft and warm under your lips, and she sighs, this tiny, breathy sound that’s got your heart thudding loud enough you’re sure she can hear it. You trail lower, brushing your mouth over her collarbone, then down to her chest, where her black top’s still clinging to her like it’s got a personal grudge against you. Your hands roam, sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her tits, and she arches into you, a quiet “Mmm” vibrating against your lips. You tug at her top, and she lifts her arms, letting you peel it off—black bra underneath, lacy and sheer, doing a piss-poor job of hiding how hard her nipples are. Her skin’s flushed, a little sweaty from the heat building between you, and your hands slide up, cupping her tits through the fabric—full, heavy, driving you absolutely insane. You’ve always known she’s stacked, it’s not news, but feeling them like this, in this moment, is frying your brain. “Can I take this off?” you murmur, tugging at her bra strap. She giggles, this light, playful sound that cuts through the tension, and nods, arching her back a little to give you room. “Go for it, perv,” she teases, but her eyes are locked on yours, dark and wanting, and you’re fumbling with the clasp like it’s your first time because holy shit, this is Eunbi—your Eunbi—and it’s actually happening.

The bra comes off, and you toss it somewhere—floor, chair, who gives a fuck—and just stare for a second, because her breasts are unreal. Big, yeah, but it’s more than that—they’re perfect, soft curves sloping into these gorgeous, rosy areolas, nipples already perked up like they’re begging for you. You’ve seen her in bikinis, tight shirts, all that, but this? This is next-level, and you’re still wrapping your head around the fact that you’re here, with her, like this. “You can touch,” she says, voice softer now, a little shy, and your hands move before your brain catches up, fingers brushing over her skin, careful at first, like you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you go too fast. She’s warm, silky, and the way she sighs—quiet, needy—sends a shiver down your spine. You squeeze gently, testing the weight of her in your palms, and she tips her head back, lips parting. “You like this?” you ask, because you need to hear it, need to know you’re not screwing this up. “Yeah,” she breathes, “so much. I can’t believe we’re doing this.” You laugh, a little shaky, and say, “Me neither. You don’t think it’s weird?” She shakes her head fast, reaching for your wrist to keep your hand on her. “No way. It’s you. Feels right. And, uh, it’s making me really fucking horny.”

That hits you like a truck, her saying it so plain, so Eunbi, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and wrap your lips around one of her nipples, sucking slow and deliberate. She moans, loud and surprised, her back arching into you, and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. “Oh—fuck,” she gasps, and you feel her hand slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan against her skin. “Keep going,” she begs, voice cracking, and you don’t need to be told twice. You swirl your tongue, flicking over the hard peak, then switch to the other one because you’re greedy and she’s letting you, her fingers tightening in your hair like she’s anchoring herself. You’re lost in it—her taste, the little whimpers she’s making, the way her body shifts under you, restless and wanting. When you finally pull back, catching your breath, her face is pure lust—eyes half-lidded, cheeks pink, lips wet from biting them. She stares at you like you’ve just rocked her world, and then she says, “You need to fuck me. Like, right now,” all commanding and desperate, and it’s not even a question—you’re nodding, already on board, because there’s no way you’re saying no to her.

You’re both scrambling then, a frantic, clumsy rush to get naked. You yank your shirt over your head, nearly choking yourself in the process, and she’s laughing—god, that laugh—even as she wiggles out of her skirt, kicking it off her ankles. You’re down to your boxers, and she’s peeling off her panties, black lace that matches the bra you yeeted earlier, and you’re trying not to stare too hard because you’ll lose it before you even start. She’s sprawled out on the bed now, legs parted just enough to make your mouth dry, and you shove your jeans off, kicking them into the chaos of her room. Your boxers follow, and when you straighten up, condom packet in hand from where it’s been chilling on the bed, she’s looking at you—really looking—and her eyes widen. “Damn,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows, “you’ve been holding out on me. Should’ve jumped you years ago.” You laugh, but it’s strained because she’s naked and staring at your dick like it’s a revelation, and your ego’s taking a victory lap while your nerves are screaming.

You rip the foil open with your teeth (smooth, you hope) and roll the condom on, hands shaking a little because she’s watching you, all impatient and gorgeous, and you’re still processing that this is your best friend, the girl who once cried on your shoulder after a shitty audition, now spread out and waiting for you to fuck her. “You good?” you ask, climbing back onto the bed, settling between her thighs, and she nods, reaching for you, pulling you closer. “So good,” she murmurs, her voice husky, and you feel her hand on your hip, guiding you like she’s done this with you a million times. You line up, heart pounding, and she’s warm, wet, ready—fuck, it’s Eunbi, and it’s perfect. You stop there, hovering, because once you start, there’s no going back, and you’re both teetering on the edge of something huge—best friends to lovers, a pact turning real, all of it crashing together in this sweaty, messy, incredible moment.

She shifts under you, impatient, and you catch her smirk, that little challenge in her eyes. “You gonna make me wait forever, or what?” she says, and it’s so her—bossy, bratty, the Eunbi you’ve known forever but with this new, wild edge. You grin, leaning down to kiss her quick and hard, and mutter, “Hold on, princess, I’ve got you.” Her laugh’s cut off by a gasp as you ease in, and yeah, this is happening, and it’s better than you ever dreamed. Her nails dig into your shoulders, and she’s whispering your name like it’s a secret she’s been keeping too long, and you’re gone—lost in her, in this, in the insane, beautiful reality of you and Eunbi finally crossing that line.

You sink into Eunbi, and it’s like the world tilts—everything narrows down to the heat of her, the way her pussy grips you, tight and wet and so fucking perfect it’s almost too much. You’re on top of her, your chest pressed against hers, her tits squashed between you, soft and warm, and you can feel her heartbeat hammering against your ribs, matching the wild thud of your own. The condom’s doing its job, but it barely dulls the sensation; she’s addictive, like some drug you didn’t know you needed until now. You start moving, slow at first, just to feel her out, but she’s already rocking her hips up to meet you, and that’s it—you’re gone. You thrust harder, pinning her to the mattress with your weight, the bed creaking under you, and she melts into it, legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper. Her breath’s hot against your neck, little gasps and moans spilling out every time you drive into her, and it’s driving you insane.

You kiss her, messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth clashing, because you need more of her—need to taste her, feel her everywhere. She kisses back just as hard, her hands sliding up your back, nails scratching trails you’ll probably feel tomorrow but don’t give a shit about now. “Fuck, you’re so good,” she mutters against your lips, voice all shaky and wrecked, and it’s unreal hearing her like this. You pull back just enough to look at her—face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted—and it’s a punch to the gut how gorgeous she is, how much you’ve always wanted this without even knowing it. “You’re killing me,” you say, and she cracks a grin, all smug even while she’s getting railed. “Good,” she shoots back, “you deserve it for making me wait this long.”

Her legs tighten around you, heels digging into your ass, and you pick up the pace, slamming into her harder, the slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside her gasps and your grunts. The bed’s a mess—sheets twisted, pillows shoved aside—and her room smells like sex and that lavender shit she loves, mixing into something heady and overwhelming. You bury your face in her neck, kissing and sucking at the skin there, leaving marks because fuck it, she’s yours now, right? She tilts her head to give you more room, moaning your name—your actual name, not some dumb nickname—and it’s like a jolt straight to your dick, making you thrust even deeper. “Shit, say that again,” you rasp, and she does, over and over, each time a little louder, a little needier, until it’s a chant that’s got you drunk on her.

You shift, propping yourself up on your forearms so you can watch her—watch the way her tits bounce with every thrust, the way her stomach tenses, the way her hands claw at your shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t keep it in, and she laughs, breathless, her voice hitching when you hit just the right spot. “Took you long enough to notice, dumbass,” she manages, but then you angle your hips and she’s gasping instead, all “Oh—fuck, there, right there,” and you know you’ve got her. You keep at it, relentless, because she’s squeezing you so tight it’s like she’s trying to pull you in and never let go, and you’re happy to oblige—hell, you’d live here if she asked.

Her hair’s fanned out on the pillow, dark strands sticking to her sweaty forehead, and you brush it aside, kissing her again because you can’t not—she’s too much, too perfect, too everything. “Always knew you’d be trouble,” you murmur against her mouth, and she nips at your lip, grinning. “You love it, though,” she says, and yeah, you do—love the way she’s unraveling under you, love the way she’s still somehow calling the shots even when she’s pinned beneath you, love that this is Eunbi, your best friend, the one person who’s been there through every stupid fight and late-night rant, now moaning like she can’t get enough. You slide a hand down her side, gripping her hip to pull her closer, and she arches, meeting every thrust like she’s daring you to go harder. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, bossy and hot, and you groan, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

The rhythm’s steady now, hard and fast, and she’s matching you, rolling her hips up in time, her thighs trembling against your sides. You can feel the sweat slick between you, her skin sliding against yours, and it’s filthy and raw and so fucking good. “You feel so amazing,” you say, because you need her to know, and she nods, eyes fluttering open to lock on yours. “You too,” she breathes, and there’s this moment—brief, electric—where it’s not just sex, it’s you and her, years of friendship crashing into something bigger, something real. Then she’s grabbing your face, pulling you down for another kiss, and it’s sloppy, uncoordinated, but you don’t care because she’s grinding up against you, chasing whatever’s building between you, and you’re right there with her, lost in the heat and the want.

You shift again, hooking one of her legs over your shoulder, and she gasps, loud and sharp, her hands fisting the sheets. “Fuck, that’s—yeah, keep going,” she says, and you do, driving into her at this new angle that’s got her shaking, got you seeing stars. Her other leg’s still wrapped around you, pulling you in, and you’re pressed so close it’s like you’re trying to fuse into her. “You’re insane,” you mutter, half-laughing. She smirks, even now, and says, “You’re welcome,” like she’s doing you a favor, and maybe she is—maybe this is the best damn favor anyone’s ever done you. You kiss her again, swallowing her moans, and keep going, hard and steady, because she’s still melting under you, still begging for more with every thrust, and you’re not about to disappoint her—not now.

You’re deep in it with Eunbi, pounding into her like there’s no tomorrow, the bedframe rattling with every thrust, and it’s this wild, relentless rhythm that’s got sweat dripping down your back and her moaning into your mouth. Her pussy’s tight and slick around you, pulling you in with every move, and you’re pressed so close her tits are mashed against your chest, her nipples hard against your skin. She’s clawing at your shoulders, legs locked around your hips, and you’re both lost in it—grunting, gasping, chasing that high together. It’s been nonstop, a blur of heat and need, and you’re so wrapped up in how fucking incredible she feels that you barely register the way her breath hitches, sharper now, like she’s shifting gears. Then she’s pushing against your chest, not hard, just enough to get your attention, and her voice cuts through the haze, all raspy and commanding: “Wait—let me ride you.” You freeze for a split second, brain catching up, but she’s already moving, nudging you back with that bossy little smirk she’s always had, and fuck if it doesn’t make you want her even more. You let her take the lead—because it’s Eunbi, and she’s been running this show since you started—and flop back onto the bed, pillows bunching under your head as she straddles you, confidence and hunger in her eyes.

She doesn’t waste a second, swinging a leg over you and settling on your lap, her hands flat on your chest as she lines herself up. You’re still hard as hell, cock twitching when she grips you, giving you a quick stroke that has you biting your lip to keep from groaning too loud. Then she sinks down, slow at first, taking you in inch by inch, and—shit—it’s a whole new kind of torture, watching her take control like this. Her pussy’s so wet you can hear it, this filthy little sound mixing with her moans as she bottoms out, hips flush against yours. “Oh fuck, that’s good,” she breathes, head tipping back, and you can’t tear your eyes off her—her hair’s a sweaty mess, sticking to her neck, and her body’s glistening in the dim light of her room. She starts moving, rolling her hips in this smooth, deliberate way that’s got you gripping the sheets, and her tits—those big, perfect tits—swing with every bounce, heavy and hypnotic. It’s sexy as hell, seeing her dominate you like this, owning every second, every thrust, and knowing she’s getting off on your cock just as much as you’re losing it over her.

She’s not quiet about it either—Eunbi’s never been shy, but this is next-level. “Goddamn, your cock’s so fucking good,” she says, and she’s looking down at you now, eyes dark and wild. “I can’t believe how perfect you feel—shit, I’m gonna be addicted to this.” Her hands slide up her own body, cupping her breasts, squeezing them hard enough that her fingers sink into the soft flesh, and she groans, loud and unfiltered, like she’s putting on a show just for you. You grin, chest heaving, and shoot back, “That’s no problem, babe. Once we’re married, you’ll get this dick every damn day.” It’s half a joke, half a promise, but the way her eyes light up, you know it lands. She laughs, this bright, giddy sound that’s so her—your best friend, your partner-in-crime—and leans down, still riding you, her hips never missing a beat. Her lips crash into yours, and it’s messy, her moaning into your mouth while she grinds down harder, chasing whatever’s building in her.

You’ve got your hands on her hips now, fingers digging into the curve of her ass, helping her move because you can’t just lie there and take it—you need to feel her, need to meet her halfway. She’s bouncing faster, tits swaying right in your face, and you’re mesmerized by the way they jiggle, the way her nipples brush your chest every time she leans forward. “You like this, huh?” she pants, smirking down at you, and you nod, too caught up to play it cool. “Fuck yeah, you’re killing me,” you say, voice rough, and she giggles again, squeezing her own tits harder, thumbs flicking over her nipples. “Good. Been wanting to ride you forever—should’ve known you’d be this fun to fuck.” It’s classic Eunbi, that mix of teasing and raw honesty, and it hits you square in the chest—years of friendship flipping into this, into her on top of you, talking dirty like it’s nothing, like it’s always been leading here.

Her pace picks up, hips snapping down with this wet, rhythmic slap that’s got your head spinning, and she’s loud now—moans, curses, your name tumbling out like she can’t help it. “Fuck, you’re so deep,” she gasps, one hand braced on your chest, the other still kneading her breast, and you can feel her tightening around you, hot and slick and relentless. You slide a hand up her thigh, gripping hard, and she shudders, leaning into you more, her hair falling over her face like a curtain. You brush it back, wanting to see her—see the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut when you thrust up to meet her, matching her rhythm. “You’re so fucking sexy like this,” you tell her, because it’s true, and she grins, breathless, leaning down again to kiss you, her tongue sliding against yours in this sloppy, perfect mess. “Takes one to know one,” she murmurs against your lips, and you laugh, the sound catching in your throat when she clenches around you, riding you harder.

She’s in total control now, hips rolling and grinding, and you’re just along for the ride—literally—watching her take what she wants, loving every second of it. Her thighs flex against your sides, strong and soft all at once, and you can’t stop staring—at her face, her body, the way she’s so into it, so into you. “God, why didn’t we do this sooner?” she says, and you groan, hands roaming her back, her ass, anywhere you can reach. “Beats me,” you mutter, “but we’re here now, so fucking enjoy it.” She nods, kissing you again, and it’s all heat and want, her tongue tangling with yours as she keeps moving, keeps fucking you like she’s got something to prove. Her breasts bounce against you, and you’re tempted to grab them, but she’s already got that covered, squeezing them herself, moaning louder every time she shifts just right.

“You’re stuck with me now,” she says, grinning through a moan, and you fire back, “Like I’d ever wanna get rid of you.” It’s cheesy, yeah, but it’s real, and she leans into it, kissing you deep, her hips never slowing, her body pressed so tight against yours it’s like you’re one person. You’re drowning in her—in the feel of her, the sound of her, the fact that this is Eunbi, your best friend, riding you like she’s claiming you for good. And honestly? You’re totally fucking fine with that.

The rhythm’s relentless, her pussy squeezing you so tight it’s like she’s got you in a vice, all wet and hot and addictive. She’s panting hard, sweat beading on her forehead, her hair sticking to her neck in damp strands, and you can feel her starting to unravel, her movements getting sloppier, more desperate. Then she grabs your shoulders, nails digging in, and her voice comes out all shaky and raw: “Fuck, I’m close—I’m gonna cum on your dick.” It’s like a switch flips in you—her saying that, so filthy and sure, lights something wild up in your chest. You wrap your arms around her back, locking her against you, her skin slick against yours, and take over. You thrust up into her, hard and nonstop, slamming into that tight, pink heat with everything you’ve got, and she screams—this loud, wild sound that bounces off the walls, pure pleasure ripping out of her.

“Shit, babe, cum for me,” you say, the pet name slipping out natural as hell, and her eyes widen, like it’s flipped some switch in her too. She’s a mess now—moaning your name, clawing at your back, her tits pressed so tight against you they’re practically suffocating, and you love it. “Oh my god—yes, fuck, keep going,” she gasps, her head tipping back, exposing her throat, and you lean in, kissing the sweat-salted skin there, tasting her as you pound into her. Her pussy’s making these wet, sloppy noises, loud and obscene, and it’s driving you insane, every thrust sinking you deeper into her, her walls fluttering like she’s about to lose it. “I’m gonna cum—fuck, I’m cumming,” she cries, and then it hits—her whole body locks up, trembling hard against you, her thighs shaking around your hips as she comes apart. It’s intense, like she’s shattering, her moans turning into these broken little gasps, and you hold her tight, arms wrapped around her like you’re keeping her from flying off the bed. You slow down, just enough to let her ride it out, and kiss her—deep, slow, her lips trembling against yours as she tries to catch her breath.

When you pull back, her eyes are wide, glassy, staring at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. She’s still shaking, her chest heaving, and then she says it, voice soft but so fucking clear: “I love you.” It’s not a whisper, not a throwaway—it’s real, raw, like the orgasm cracked something open inside her. “Oh my god, I love you,” she repeats, almost laughing, like she can’t believe she’s saying it but can’t stop either. Your heart does this stupid flip, because—fuck—you’ve always felt it too, buried somewhere under years of dumb jokes and late-night hangouts. “I love you too,” you say, grinning, and it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever said. “Always have.” Her face lights up, this mix of shock and joy, and she grabs you, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue and desperation, like she’s trying to pour everything she’s feeling into it. You kiss her back just as fierce, hands sliding up her back, fingers digging into her skin, and she’s still clenching around you, still riding the aftershocks, but now she’s got this fire in her eyes. “I’m gonna make you cum, babe,” she says, and the way she calls you babe—affectionate and possessive—makes your dick twitch inside her.

She pulls off you then, slow and deliberate, and you almost groan at the loss of her heat, but she’s already moving, sliding off your lap with this sexy little smirk. “Sit on the edge,” she says, nodding toward the bed, and you don’t argue—why would you? You scoot over, planting your feet on the floor, legs spread, and she’s on her knees in front of you in a flash, smooth skin and wild hair, looking up at you like she’s about to ruin you in the best way. Your cock’s still hard, slick with her, and she reaches for the condom, peeling it off with this slow, teasing tug that has you gritting your teeth. “Don’t need this anymore,” she mutters, tossing it aside, and before you can process that, she’s stroking you—light, loose, her fingers barely grazing you but enough to make you hiss. Then she leans in, purses her lips, and spits on your dick—straight-up, no hesitation, this wet little glob sliding down the shaft, and it’s filthy and hot and so fucking Eunbi. You groan, head tipping back, and she grins, all smug, before scooting closer, her hands cupping her tits and pushing them together.

She wraps those big, perfect breasts around your cock, and—holy shit—it’s unreal. Soft, warm, squeezing you tight as she slides them up and down, the spit and her sweat making it slick and smooth. “You like that, babe?” she asks, voice low and playful, and you nod, too choked up to talk properly. “Fuck yes,” you manage, and she laughs, this bright, happy sound that’s so at odds with how dirty this is—but that’s her, always been her, mixing sweet and wild like it’s nothing. Her nipples are hard, brushing your thighs as she moves, and you can’t stop staring—her tits swallowing your dick, the way her hands press them tighter, the little moans she lets out like she’s getting off on this as much as you are. “Always wanted to do this,” she says, looking up at you through her lashes, and you believe her—there’s this hunger in her eyes, like she’s been holding back for years, same as you. “Should’ve known you’d be perfect for it,” you say, and she winks, sliding her tits down slow, then back up, dragging it out just to fuck with you.

Her pace picks up, hands working her breasts around you, and she’s talking now, all breathy and hot: “God, your cock feels so good like this—gonna need this all the time now.” You groan, hands fisting the sheets because she’s relentless, the wet slide of her skin against you driving you up the wall. “You’ve got me whenever you want,” you tell her, and it’s a promise—pact or not, she’s got you hooked. She leans forward, kissing the tip of your dick where it peeks out between her tits, and it’s so soft, so unexpected, you nearly lose it right there. “Good,” she murmurs, lips brushing you as she speaks, “because I’m not letting you go, babe.” That word again—babe—and it’s doing shit to you, making this feel bigger than just sex, like it’s always been more with her. She keeps going, tits bouncing around you, her eyes locked on yours, and it’s intense—passionate, dirty, and so fucking personal, like she’s rewriting every rule you ever had about what you are to each other. You’re hers, she’s yours, and this—her on her knees, fucking you with her tits—is just the start.

You’re so fucking close you can feel it building, this tight, hot pressure in your gut. She knows it too—can tell by the way your breath’s hitching, the way your hands are gripping the sheets like they’re your lifeline. Her eyes lock on yours, dark and wicked, and she smirks, slowing down just enough to drag it out, to make you squirm. Then she gets naughtier, leaning in close, her voice dropping to this sweet, needy little whine that hits you hard. “Cum for me, babe,” she begs, lips pouting like she’s pleading for her life. “Please—give it to me, I need it.” It’s so hot, so filthy coming from her—Eunbi, your best friend turned lover, begging like she’s starving for you—and it’s shredding what’s left of your self-control.

She doesn’t stop there, oh no—she’s on a mission now, pushing you right to the edge. “Mark me,” she says, voice trembling with want, “make me yours forever—cover me in you.” Her tits slide up and down faster, squeezing tighter, and she’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in her world. “That’s what you want, right? To make me yours?” There’s this challenge in her tone, daring you to deny it, but fuck, you can’t—because it is what you want, more than anything. “Yeah,” you rasp, “that’s exactly what I want—been wanting it forever.” Her smile turns feral, triumphant, and she leans in closer, her breath hot against your cock as it peeks out between her breasts. “Then do it,” she whispers, “cum on my tits—make me yours, babe.” It’s the babe that does it, that little pet name she’s claimed for you, dripping with affection and ownership, and you’re done for. She picks up the pace, relentless now, her hands pressing her breasts together so tight it’s almost painful, and you can feel it—the heat, the pressure, the way she’s moaning like she’s getting off on this as much as you are.

“I’m gonna cum,” you groan, head tipping back, and she lights up, this eager, hungry glint in her eyes. “Yes—fuck, do it,” she moans, and it’s like she’s egging you on, her voice wrapping around you, pulling you over the line. You explode—thick, hot jets shooting out, painting her tits in messy streaks, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You moan loud, this guttural sound ripping out of you, and she’s right there with you, gasping, “More, babe—give me more!” like she’s addicted already. And you do—cum keeps coming, splashing across her chest, dripping down between her breasts, and she’s loving it, tilting her head back so it catches the light, all glossy and hypnotic. Her skin’s glistening, covered in you, and you’re shaking, legs weak, watching it spread, marking her like she asked. She’s grinning, this wild, delighted smile, and her hands slide over her tits, smearing it around, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of trophy. “Look at you,” she says, voice husky and proud, “fucking wrecked me—made me yours.”

You’re panting, chest heaving, and when you finally look at her—really look—she’s a vision: hair a sweaty mess, cheeks flushed, cum streaked across her chest like some dirty masterpiece. There’s this beat of silence, just the two of you breathing hard, staring at each other, and then you say it again, because it’s bursting out of you: “I love you.” It’s raw, unguarded, and her face softens, that smug edge melting into something adorable, something real. Her lips curve into this shy, perfect smile, and she crawls up the bed, straddling your lap again, her messy, cum-slick tits pressing against your chest as she leans in close. “I love you too,” she whispers, and it’s not just words—it’s everything, years of friendship crashing into this moment, turning it into something permanent. You grab her face, pulling her into a kiss, tasting of sweat and sex and promises neither of you can take back.

She pulls away, just enough to look at you, her forehead resting against yours, and you’re still reeling from it all—the titjob, the way she begged, the way you lost it all over her. “You need to be mine,” you say, “what just happened—it’s different, Eunbi. I’ve never felt anything like this.” Your hands slide down her back, gripping her ass, holding her there like you’re afraid she’ll slip away. She nods, eyes shining, and says, “I want that—I wanna be yours, only yours.” It’s quiet, serious, and you feel it settle in your bones—this isn’t just a hookup, not some pact gone wild. It’s you and her, rewriting the rules, crossing every line you ever drew, and there’s no going back. She kisses you again, hard and possessive, her tongue claiming you like she’s sealing the deal, and you’re all in—heart pounding, hands roaming, totally fucking smitten by the girl who’s been your everything since day one.

She breaks the kiss, sliding off you, and you’re still dazed, watching her move. She grabs a towel from the floor—some random thing she must’ve tossed earlier—and wipes herself down, casual as hell, like she didn’t just change your entire world. “Guess we’re official now, huh?” she says, smirking, and you laugh, this shaky, relieved sound, because yeah, you are—official, exclusive, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. “Damn right,” you say, pulling her back to you, her body warm and sticky against yours. “You’re stuck with me, babe.” She grins, all teeth and mischief, and says, “Good, ‘cause I’m not letting you off easy.” And that’s it—friendship torched, replaced with this messy, beautiful thing that’s all yours, all hers, forever marked by the night she begged for you and you gave her everything.

—

A few months fly by since that wild night with Eunbi, and it’s been this whirlwind of figuring shit out together—dates squeezed between her insane idol schedule, late-night takeout sessions at her place, and sneaky hookups whenever you can steal a moment. You’re not just best friends anymore; you’re together, like, for real, and it’s messy and amazing all at once. She’s still the same Eunbi—teasing you over dumb stuff like how you always burn the toast, or laughing her ass off when you trip over her heels she leaves lying around—but now there’s this extra layer, this warmth when she looks at you, and you catch yourself staring at her like a total sap sometimes. Then, out of nowhere, it happens: the wedding. You’d talked about the pact turning real, half-joking at first, but one day she just looks at you over coffee and says, “Let’s do it—let’s get married,” and you’re like, “Fuck yeah, let’s do it.” So you plan it quick—nothing huge, just enough to make it official—and the news drops like a bomb on her fans. Twitter’s a mess, all “EUNBI’S MARRIED???” and “WHO’S THE GUY?”, but she’s not fazed. She’s not quitting the idol life—hell no, she’s too good at it—but she’s all in with you, and that’s what matters. Her inner circle, though? They’re not shocked at all. Her manager just smirks and says, “About damn time,” and your mutual friends—ones who’ve watched you two dance around each other since high school—act like they’ve been holding their breath for this forever. “Finally,” one of them texts you, with a string of eye-roll emojis, and you can’t help but laugh because maybe they’re right—maybe everyone’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

The wedding day hits, and it’s this perfect mix of chaos and chill, set in this sleek little venue just outside the city—modern vibes with big windows, fairy lights strung up everywhere, and a view of the skyline that’s straight out of a movie. You’re in a sharp black suit, nothing too flashy, but Eunbi picked it out and said you looked “hot as hell,” so you’re feeling yourself. She walks in, and—fuck—she’s unreal. Her dress is this slinky, off-white number that hugs her curves perfectly, simple but sexy, with a slit up the leg that’s got you sweating already. Her hair’s down, loose waves framing her face, and she’s got this glow, like she’s lit up from the inside. The ceremony’s small—her parents, yours, a tight crew of friends, and her group members who’ve basically adopted you as their brother-in-law already. You stand at the front, palms sweaty, heart doing flips, and when she walks toward you, grinning like an idiot, you’re nervous as shit but so damn excited you can barely stand it. The officiant’s some cool, laid-back guy you found online, keeping it short and sweet—no cheesy vows, just the basics, because you and Eunbi agreed you’d rather wing it than read some scripted crap. You slip the ring on her finger—a thin gold band with a tiny diamond she insisted on because “I’m not flashy, babe”—and she slides yours on, her hands steady even though her eyes are glistening.

You say “I do,” she says it back, and then you’re kissing her—harder than you probably should in front of everyone, but the cheers and whistles from your friends drown out any awkwardness. She’s laughing against your lips, and you pull her close, her body pressed against yours, and it’s like the world clicks into place. The reception’s a blur of good vibes—there’s a playlist blasting all her favorite songs, a mix of Iz*One, her solo hits and some random 2000s throwbacks you both love, and you’re dancing like idiots, her spinning you around until you’re dizzy. She’s giggling, tipsy on champagne, and you’re right there with her, sneaking kisses between bites of cake—chocolate with raspberry filling, her pick because she’s obsessed with anything sweet and tart. Her mom hugs you tight, whispering, “Take care of her, okay?” and your dad claps you on the back, grinning like he’s proud as hell. Eunbi’s dad just nods, all stoic, but you catch him smiling later when he thinks no one’s looking. Your mom’s crying, of course, and Eunbi teases her about it, which makes everyone laugh.

At one point, you snag a quiet moment—just you and her on the venue’s balcony, city lights sprawling out below, the air cool against your flushed skin. She’s leaning against the railing, dress fluttering in the breeze, and you wrap your arms around her from behind, chin on her shoulder. “This is real, huh?” you ask, because it still feels surreal—married to your best friend, the girl who once dared you to jump into a freezing lake just to see if you’d do it. She turns in your arms, looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and nods. “Yeah, babe, it’s real—and I’m freaking out a little, but in a good way.” You laugh, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, soft and slow this time. “Me too. Nervous as shit, but excited. We’re in this together, right?” She smiles, that wide, goofy one that’s always gotten you, and says, “Always. We’ll figure it out—new life, new rules, whatever. Just don’t burn the house down trying to cook, okay?” You snort, because yeah, fair point, and pull her closer, her head tucking under your chin like it’s made to fit there.

The party winds down, friends stumbling out with hugs and sloppy goodbyes, and you’re left standing there with Eunbi, her hand in yours, rings glinting under the lights. You’re both a little buzzed, a little teary from the emotional rollercoaster, but so fucking happy it’s ridiculous. She drags you back inside to grab one last dance—some slow, sappy song she loves—and you sway together, her cheek against your chest, your arms tight around her. “You’re my husband now,” she murmurs, testing the word, and you grin, this dumb, lovesick thing that won’t leave your face. “And you’re my wife. Still can’t believe it.” She tilts her head up, kissing you deep, and it’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise, a kickstart to whatever this new chapter’s gonna be. The night ends with you driving back to her place—your place now, technically—her hand on your thigh, the city blurring past, and you’re both quiet, soaking it in. It’s the start of something huge, scary, thrilling, and you’re diving in headfirst, together, like you always have.

—

The first few weeks of married life with Eunbi are this weird, hilarious mix of disbelief and dumbassery, like neither of you can wrap your heads around the whole “husband and wife” thing. You’re stumbling over the words, especially when you’re drunk—slouched on the couch with a beer in hand, her giggling over a glass of wine, and you’ll slur out, “Hey, wife, pass me the remote,” and she’ll cackle, tossing a cushion at your face instead, yelling, “Shut up, husband, get it yourself!” It’s all a joke, this exaggerated play-acting that cracks you both up, but then there’s the sex—holy shit, the sex—and it’s like a whole other level of unreal. You’re fucking like newlyweds, which, duh, you are, but it’s not just hot—it’s mind-blowing, the kind of sex that leaves you both sweaty and panting, tangled in sheets, staring at the ceiling like what the fuck just happened? Afterward, though, it’s not just hormones—it’s this quiet, gooey moment where you’re lying there, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair, and you’re hit with it: you’re in love, stupidly, totally in love. She’ll mumble something sleepy like, “You’re stuck with me now, babe,” and you’ll kiss her forehead, muttering back, “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” and it’s cheesy as hell but true.

Work’s a trip too—word got around fast that you’re hitched to Kwon Eunbi, the idol, and it’s this running gag now. Your coworkers rib you constantly, like, “How’s it feel being Mr. Superstar?” or “Dude, you’re living a K-drama,” you just laugh, grinning, because yeah, it’s wild, but you’re lowkey proud of it. Meanwhile, Eunbi’s in beast mode—working on her new solo album, late-night studio sessions and vocal takes, while filming some reality show where she’s probably charming the pants off everyone. She’s busy as fuck, always on the go, but when she comes home—your home now, her sleek apartment with the killer view—she’s all smiles, kicking off her sneakers and collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic groan. “Missed you, loser,” she’ll say, and you’re already there, tossing her a water bottle, rubbing her shoulders because she’s wrecked from dance practice. She takes care of you too—cooking ramen at 2 a.m. when you’re both starving, or dragging you to bed when you’ve been up too late scrolling Tiktok. You’re texting nonstop when she’s away—dumb memes, her sending selfies with captions like “Your wife’s hot, deal with it,” and you firing back, “Yeah, my husband’s a snack too, what’s new?” It’s this constant thread, keeping you tethered even when her schedule’s a nightmare.

Weeks bleed into months, and you settle into this rhythm that’s equal parts new and familiar. Waking up next to Eunbi is the best damn part of your day—her sleepy face is adorable, all puffy cheeks and half-open eyes, hair a tangled mess across the pillow. She’ll grumble something incoherent, swatting at you if you try to wake her too early, but then she’ll roll over, snuggling into your chest like she’s claiming you, and you’re just lying there, grinning like an idiot because this is your life now. Mornings are a vibe—she’ll shuffle around the apartment in a tank top and panties, legs bare, that perfect ass on display, and you can’t help yourself. You’ll catch her mid-pancake flip or while she’s brewing coffee, sliding up behind her, hands on her hips, kissing her neck until she squeals and shoves you off—except half the time she doesn’t, and it turns into more. “Babe, I’m gonna burn the eggs!” she’ll laugh, but then you’re spinning her around, pinning her against the counter, and breakfast’s forgotten. One thing leads to another—her legs wrapped around you, tank top shoved up, panties on the floor—and you’re fucking right there in the kitchen, her moaning into your mouth, messy and desperate like it’s still the honeymoon phase. The friendship’s still there, rock-solid, just layered with this new heat—she’ll still roast you for leaving socks everywhere, but now it’s followed by a kiss that lingers too long to be platonic.

The apartment’s your little bubble—her minimalist decor mixed with your random junk, like the beat-up guitar you insist you’ll learn to play someday, or the stack of takeout menus you’ve hoarded “just in case.” She’s got her awards lined up on a shelf, shiny reminders of her idol life, but she’s just as happy sprawled on the couch with you, bingeing some trashy Netflix show, her feet in your lap while you argue over who’d survive a zombie apocalypse. When she’s wiped from a long day—voice hoarse from recording, body aching from choreography—you’re there, running her a bath, making her laugh with dumb impressions until she’s relaxed again. She does the same for you—when work’s kicking your ass, she’ll show up with coffee and a playlist, pulling you out of your funk with that smile that’s always worked on you. Months in, it’s routine but never boring—waking up to her, trading texts, coming home to each other. The sex is still fire, the love’s deep, and the friendship? Stronger than ever, like marriage didn’t just add a ring but superglued what you already had.

—

After months of Eunbi being swallowed whole by her insane schedule—tour dates stacked back-to-back, promo shoots, and those late-night studio sessions that left her voice raspy and her texts to you half-asleep—you finally catch a break. Her new solo album’s a hit, the tour’s wrapped, and she’s got some rare free time stretching out ahead of her like a gift. You’re quick to cash in on it, begging your boss for that long-delayed vacation you’ve been sitting on forever, and when it’s approved, you don’t even hesitate—Paris. It’s been on Eunbi’s bucket list since you were just best friends, back when she’d sprawl across your couch with a bowl of popcorn, scrolling through Instagram, sighing over pics of the Eiffel Tower and croissants, saying, “One day, dude, I’m dragging you there with me.” Now, here you are, married to her, making it happen. You book the flights, snag a cute little Airbnb near Montmartre with a balcony that’s begging for lazy mornings, and when you land in the city of love, it’s like the universe hands you both a gold star—perfect weather, crisp and cool, with that golden Paris light making everything look like a postcard.

The first big stop is the Eiffel Tower, because, well, you can’t not. It’s this crisp afternoon, the kind where the wind’s just chilly enough to justify the scarf Eunbi insisted you pack, and she’s bouncing around like a kid, her puffy jacket zipped up tight, a beanie squashing her hair flat. She’s got her phone out, snapping pics like a tourist—selfies with the tower looming behind you, her dragging you into frame even though you’re grumbling about how you hate photos. “Babe, come on, we need this for the memories!” she says, grinning, and you can’t say no to that smile, so you let her pose you—arm around her waist, her leaning into you, the iron lattice of the tower stretching up into the sky as if it were the Eighth Wonder of the World. You take some too, catching her off-guard when she’s laughing at some dumb joke you made about the French berets, her eyes crinkling, cheeks pink from the cold. There’s this one shot—her dazzled by the view, smiling, hair flying in the wind, the tower sharp in the background—that you know’s going straight to your lockscreen when you’re back home. You climb up to the second level, her dragging you by the hand, and when you’re looking out over the city—Seine glittering below, all those rooftops sprawling out—she squeezes your fingers, whispering, “This is fucking unreal,” and you’re nodding, too choked up to say much because yeah, it is, and it’s her you’re here with.

Nights are for romantic dinners, and Paris delivers hard. You find this little bistro near the Seine, tucked away with ivy crawling up the walls, candles flickering on every table, and a menu that’s all in French but smells like heaven. Eunbi’s in this slinky black dress she packed “just in case,” and you’re in the one nice jacket you own, feeling like a king when she keeps stealing glances at you over her wine glass. The waiter’s rattling off specials in this thick accent, and you’re both pretending to understand, nodding like idiots until you just point at something with “canard” in it—duck, you figure—and hope for the best. It’s delicious, rich and tender, paired with this red wine she picked that’s got her giggling after two sips. “You’re my husband,” she says out of nowhere, twirling her fork, “and we’re in Paris—how did we get here?” You laugh, reaching across the table to grab her hand, thumb brushing her ring. “Beats me, but I’m not complaining.” The food keeps coming—crusty bread, some creamy soup she moans over, and a dessert that’s all chocolate and raspberries, which she feeds you a bite of, smirking when you get some on your chin. It’s intimate, easy, and you’re falling harder for her under the soft glow of the restaurant, the hum of French chatter around you making it feel like you’re in some dreamy movie.

You wander the city too—not just the big stuff, but the little streets, the ones with cobblestones and pastel storefronts selling macarons and flowers. She’s obsessed with the patisseries, dragging you into every one she spots, and you’re stuffed on croissants and éclairs by day three, but you don’t care because she’s licking powdered sugar off her fingers and laughing at you when you try to speak French to the cashier and butcher it. “Stick to English, babe,” she teases, but she’s proud anyway, you can tell. One evening, you’re strolling along the Champs-Élysées, lights twinkling, her arm looped through yours, and she stops to watch some street musician playing accordion. She’s swaying a little, humming along, and you pull her into this goofy slow dance right there on the sidewalk, people dodging around you, some smiling, some rolling their eyes. “You’re such a dork,” she mutters, but she’s grinning, her cheek pressed to your chest, and you feel like the luckiest guy alive.

Back at the Airbnb, it’s all cozy vibes—big windows letting in the night, a bottle of cheap wine you grabbed from a corner store, and her curled up against you on the tiny couch. You’re both buzzed, talking about everything—how she wants to come back for your anniversary, how you’re gonna frame that Eiffel Tower pic for the apartment. She’s in one of your hoodies, legs thrown over your lap, and you’re playing with her hair, twirling it around your fingers, when she looks up at you, all soft and serious. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did,” she says, voice quiet, “but this—us, here—it’s like… more.” You swallow hard, because fuck, you feel it too, this deep, steady thing that’s bigger than Paris, bigger than the wedding. “Same,” you say, leaning in to kiss her, slow and lazy, tasting wine and her, and it’s like every cheesy love song rolled into one perfect moment.

The days blur together—museums where she drags you to see Monet paintings and you pretend to get it, boat rides on the Seine where she’s snapping pics of you instead of the scenery, late mornings tangled in bed because neither of you wants to get up. You’re falling harder in the city of love, not just because it’s Paris, but because it’s her—Eunbi, your wife, the girl who’s always been it for you. By the time you’re packing to leave, suitcases stuffed with souvenirs and her whining about how she didn’t get enough macarons, you’re already planning the next trip. “We’re coming back,” she declares, zipping her bag, and you grin, pulling her into a hug. “Hell yeah, we are.”

—

You and Eunbi stumble through the door of your apartment, jet-lagged as hell from the Paris trip, dragging suitcases that feel like they’ve gained ten pounds from all the souvenirs and random shit you couldn’t resist buying. The flight back was a nightmare—turbulence, a crying baby two rows up, and Eunbi accidentally spilling her in-flight coffee on your lap—but you’re home now, and that’s all that matters. You’re both wrecked, clothes rumpled, eyes heavy, but there’s this quiet, happy buzz between you, like you’ve just pulled off something epic. Paris was a dream—croissants flaky enough to make you cry, the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night, Eunbi dragging you into every cute café she could find—and you’re still riding that high. After kicking off your shoes and leaving a trail of bags by the door, you both agree a bath’s non-negotiable. The tub’s big enough for two, thank God, and you sink into the hot water together, her back against your chest, steam curling up around you. She’s got her hair piled into a messy bun, and you’re just soaking there, letting the ache melt out of your bones, laughing about how she almost got pickpocketed by some slick dude near Notre-Dame but scared him off with her death glare. “I’m a badass, babe,” she says, smirking, and you kiss the top of her head, muttering, “Yeah, my badass wife.”

Clean and lazy, you flop onto the bed in nothing but towels, still damp, too tired to bother with clothes. The mattress feels like heaven after long hours of flying, and you grab your phone, scrolling through the Paris pics—Eunbi cheesing in front of the Louvre, you pretending to hold up the Arc de Triomphe, a blurry selfie of you two kissing on a Seine river cruise. She scoots closer, resting her chin on your shoulder, and you can feel her smiling against your skin. “Paris was my dream, you know,” she says, voice soft, “and doing it with you? Fucking perfect.” You turn your head, catching her eyes, and there’s this warm, mushy thing in your chest because yeah, it was perfect—wandering Montmartre, getting lost in those winding streets, her laughing so hard at your shitty French accent that wine came out her nose. But then she goes quiet, scrolling through more pics, and her vibe shifts—nostalgic, almost wistful. “Remember when we were just friends?” she starts, and you know she’s about to dive deep. “Like, all those late nights at my old place, me bitching about auditions, you bringing me ramen because I was too broke to eat out. I told you stuff I never told anyone—how scared I was I’d flop, how I thought I’d never make it. You just got me, always did, and I was so fucking blind to how obvious it was.”

You laugh, setting the phone down, rolling onto your side to face her. “Obvious, huh? Guess I was clueless too—thought you were just my annoying best friend who stole my fries and cried during horror movies.” She smacks your arm, grinning, but there’s this tenderness in her eyes. “We were idiots,” she says, “all those years, and it was right there. Like that time you stayed over after my first big show, sleeping on that shitty couch because you didn’t wanna leave me alone—I should’ve known then.” You nod, remembering—her buzzing with adrenaline, you half-dead from cheering so loud, crashing out with her head on your shoulder. “Yeah, or that time you dragged me to the beach at 3 a.m. just to scream at the ocean after that dickhead dumped you,” you add, and she snorts, burying her face in the pillow. “God, I was a mess. But you were there—always were.” It’s heavy, this trip down memory lane, but it’s sweet too, stitching together all those moments that led to now—married, in love, still the same dumbasses but better.

The next day, you’re up and at it, hitting the grocery store like some normal-ass couple, which still feels wild to you. Eunbi’s in a hoodie and sweats, hair tucked under a cap to dodge any fans, and you’re pushing the cart, bickering over whether to get the spicy ramen or the mild one. “You’re such a wimp,” she teases, tossing the spicy pack in, and you fire back, “Says the girl who cried eating hot wings last week.” She hip-checks you, laughing, and it’s easy, domestic, but then you’re in the cereal aisle, and she gets quiet again, picking up a box of Frosted Flakes like it’s a time machine. “Did you ever, like, feel something back then?” she asks, not looking at you, and you lean against the cart, thinking. “Yeah, sometimes,” you admit, “like when you’d hug me a little too long after a bad day, or that time you fell asleep on me during movie night—I’d catch myself staring, wondering, but I’d shove it down ‘cause I didn’t wanna fuck us up.” She nods, chewing her lip, then says, “Me too. That summer at the lake house, you in those stupid board shorts—I’d catch myself staring, thinking, ‘Shit, he’s hot,’ but I’d panic and pretend it was nothing.”

You laugh, loud enough that some old lady glares at you from the next aisle, and Eunbi shushes you, giggling. “We’re so dumb,” she says, but it’s fond, and you grab her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. “Guess we figured it out eventually,” you say, and she squeezes back, smiling. Then it shifts—future talk sneaking in over canned goods. “You think we’ll have kids someday?” she asks, casual but not, and you shrug, grabbing some soup. “Yeah, maybe—little terrors running around, half you, half me. They’d be cute as hell, though.” She grins, tossing in some pasta. “They’d get your dumb laugh and my killer vocals—unstoppable.” You’re both laughing now, plotting this hypothetical life—where you’ll live, how you’ll juggle her career, maybe a dog first because “practice parenting,” she says. It’s light but real, this shared dream unfolding between shelves of snacks and detergent.

—

You and Eunbi are knee-deep in moving boxes, the new apartment a chaotic sprawl of cardboard, bubble wrap, and random shit you didn’t even know you owned. It's an improved version of her old place, providing more space to build a future. The hardwood floors gleam under the afternoon sun, but right now, they’re a minefield of half-unpacked crap—your old gaming console tangled in cords, her collection of stage outfits spilling out of a suitcase, a lamp you’re pretty sure you broke two moves ago but keep hauling around anyway. She’s in cutoff shorts and one of your old tees, hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail, and you’re in sweats. Music’s blasting from her portable speaker, some upbeat pop track she’s humming along to, and you’re both trying to make this fun, even if you’re sweaty and half-dead from the effort.

“Pass me the scissors, babe,” she says, wrestling with a box labeled Kitchen Stuff in her stylized handwriting. You rummage through the mess on the counter, find them under a pile of takeout menus, and toss them her way—except your aim’s trash, and they clatter onto the floor, sliding under the fridge. She shoots you a look, one eyebrow cocked, and you grin, shrugging. “Oops, my bad—guess you’re diving for those.” She groans, dramatic as hell, and drops to her knees, fishing them out with a string of fake curses—“You’re useless, I swear”—but she’s laughing, and you’re laughing, and it’s this dumb, perfect chaos that’s so you two. You grab a box of books next, slicing it open with a pocketknife, and start stacking them on the shelf—your beat-up sci-fi novels next to her glossy idol photobooks, a weirdly cute mashup of your worlds. Then she yelps behind you, and you spin around to see her tangled in a string of fairy lights she was trying to hang. “Help me, you asshole!” she cries, flailing, and you rush over, untangling her while she’s giggling so hard she’s useless.

It’s a mess—boxes tipping over, you tripping on a stray sneaker and nearly face-planting into the couch, her dropping a mug that—thank fuck—doesn’t break but rolls under the coffee table instead. “We’re a disaster,” you say, crawling to grab it, and she’s sprawled on the floor, catching her breath, nodding. “Yeah, but we’re our disaster.” You finally get the mug, plop down next to her, and you’re both just sitting there, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, the apartment looking like a tornado hit it. But it’s starting to feel like home—her vinyl records leaning against the wall, your dumb bobblehead collection on the windowsill, a framed pic of you two from Paris already up on the mantle. She hops up eventually, brushing off her shorts, and declares, “Break time—I’m not touching another box ‘til I’ve got something cold in my hand.” You follow her to the kitchen, where she digs out a bottle of lemonade she bought on the way here—tart and sweet, just how she likes it—and pours two glasses.

You crash on the couch, the one piece of furniture you’ve managed to set up right, and she flops next to you, legs slung over your lap. The lemonade’s perfect, cutting through the sticky heat of the day, and you both just sit there, sipping, staring out at the new place. “Not bad, huh?” you say, nodding at the view—tall buildings glinting in the sun, a sliver of green from some park nearby. She leans her head on your shoulder, glass sweaty in her hand, and hums. “Yeah, we did good, babe. This feels… right.” There’s this quiet pride in her voice, and you get it—new apartment, new chapter, all that sappy shit you’d never say out loud but totally feel. The boxes are still a nightmare, but the bones of the place are solid—open living room, a bedroom big enough for her to hog the bed like she always does, a little nook she’s already eyeing for her music gear. You’re pleased as hell, and she is too, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm like she’s content just being here with you.

Then she shifts, sitting up a little, and you can tell she’s got that look—the one where she’s about to drop some random thought that’s been bouncing around her head. “You know what’d make this place even better?” she says, smirking, and you raise an eyebrow, waiting. “A dog. Or maybe a cat. Something fuzzy to trip over all this crap we’re unpacking.” You laugh, because of course she’d go there—she’s been dropping pet hints since you got married, pointing at every dog on the street like a kid at a candy store. “A dog, huh? You gonna walk it when you’re filming at 3 a.m.?” you tease, and she shoves you, spilling a little lemonade on your shirt—oops, clumsy strikes again. “Okay, fine, a cat then—low maintenance, just sits there looking cute, like me,” she says, batting her lashes, and you snort, wiping at the wet spot. “You’re not low maintenance, babe, but I see your point. A cat could work—curl up on all these boxes we’re too lazy to finish.”

She grins, sipping her drink, and you’re both picturing it now—some fluffy little gremlin padding around, knocking over her awards or shedding on your couch. “We could name it something dumb,” you say, “like… Croissant, after Paris.” She cackles, nearly choking on her lemonade. “Croissant? Oh my god, yes—or Baguette, keep it French.” You’re cracking up, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt, and it’s so easy, so you two. The apartment’s still a wreck, boxes everywhere, but it’s yours—hers and yours—and that’s enough. You lean over, kissing her quick, tasting lemonade on her lips, and she smiles against you, murmuring, “Love you, you dork.” “Love you too, klutz,” you shoot back, and you’re both just sitting there, happy as hell, plotting a future with a pet called Croissant (or Baguette).

—

Time slips by in this sneaky, quiet way, and before you even clock it, the new apartment’s not just a place with your stuff—it’s home. The boxes are long gone, replaced with little touches that scream you and Eunbi: her vinyls stacked by the record player, your dumb gaming chair shoved in the corner, a shelf of Polaroids from Paris and random nights out. The fairy lights she got tangled in that first day are strung up over the couch now, glowing soft at night when you’re bingeing shows or screwing around—sometimes literally. Croissant, the fluffy tabby cat you adopted a few months back, rules the place like a tiny dictator, knocking over coasters and napping on Eunbi’s laundry. You’ve settled into this rhythm—her coming home from shoots or studio sessions, you cooking something half-decent or ordering takeout when you’re both too wiped, the two of you texting dumb shit all day like “don’t forget cat food” or “miss u, loser.” It’s normal, cozy, and yours. Then, bam, it’s your first wedding anniversary, and you’re both looking at each other like, “Holy shit, we made it a year—how’d that happen?”

You’re at this swanky little restaurant for the occasion, tucked into a corner booth with dim lighting and candles flickering on the table, the kind of spot that’s romantic without being try-hard. Eunbi’s across from you, and—fuck—she’s stunning. She’s in this sleek black dress, sleeveless with a deep neckline that shows off her collarbones and just enough cleavage to make your brain stutter, the fabric hugging her curves like it’s custom-made. Her hair’s down, waves falling over her shoulders, and she’s got this subtle red lip thing going that’s driving you quietly insane. You’re in a dark button-up, sleeves rolled to your elbows because she said it makes you look “stupidly hot,” and you’re trying not to stare too hard, but it’s a losing battle. The waiter drops off a bottle of wine—some fancy-ass Pinot she picked—and you pour, clinking glasses with this goofy grin because you still can’t believe you’re married to her. “To us, babe,” you say, and she smirks, tapping her glass against yours. “To us—and to not killing each other over who gets the remote.” You laugh, sipping, and the wine’s smooth, warming you up as the night kicks off.

She’s glowing tonight, not just from the dress or the candlelight, but from this quiet happiness that’s been building since you tied the knot. You’d caught her interview earlier this week—some glossy magazine sit-down where she talked about married life, and she’d gone off about you in the best way. “He’s my rock,” she’d said, “keeps me sane when everything’s crazy—plus, he’s not bad to look at.” The host had laughed, and she’d added, “No, seriously, I lucked out—he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You’d read it on your lunch break, grinning like an idiot at your desk, and when you texted her, “Saw the interview, you’re too nice,” she’d shot back, “Just facts, babe—deal with it.” Now, sitting here, you bring it up, leaning in a little. “That interview you did? You made me sound like some perfect dude—my ego’s never recovering.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, twirling her wine glass. “Oh, please, you love it. And it’s true—you’re my favorite person, even when you’re hogging the blankets or leaving the wet towel on the bed.” You chuckle, reaching for her hand across the table, and she laces her fingers with yours, her thumb brushing your knuckles like it’s second nature.

The food comes—some fancy pasta for her, steak for you—and you’re digging in, trading bites like you always do, her stealing half your fries because “they taste better off your plate.” It’s easy, flirty, the kind of night where every look feels loaded. “You look fucking incredible tonight,” you say, and she smirks, leaning forward so the dress dips just enough to tease. “Thanks, husband—you clean up pretty nice yourself. Been thinking about jumping you since we left the house.” You nearly choke on your wine, laughing, and she’s got this wicked grin, loving how she still catches you off guard. “Keep talking like that, and we’re not making it to dessert,” you warn, and she shrugs, all innocent. “Who needs dessert when I’ve got you?” It’s cheesy, but it lands—your chest does that warm, tight thing it always does when she’s being cute and hot at the same time.

Between bites, you start tossing around plans for your next trip—anniversary’s got you both in this dreamy, let’s-do-something-big mood. “So, where we headed next, babe?” you ask, popping a fry into your mouth, and she lights up like you just handed her the keys to the world, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Okay, hear me out—I’ve been obsessed with the idea of Italy lately. Like, picture it: Rome, all that ancient ruin shit, pizza straight from Naples, maybe a boat ride in Venice.” You nod, already picturing it, your grin spreading wide. “Hell yeah—pasta every day, you in one of those flowy sundresses? I’m sold.” She laughs, sipping her wine, the sound bright and teasing. “You just wanna see my ass in something skimpy, don’t you, perv?” “Caught me,” you shoot back, winking, and she kicks you under the table—light, playful, but her foot lingers against your shin. “Guilty as charged,” you add, and she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“But real talk,” she says, leaning in a little, her voice dropping softer, “I love that we do this—jet off somewhere, make memories. Paris was unreal, but I’m itching to keep it going with you.” You squeeze her hand across the table, her fingers warm against yours, and you’re feeling all mushy inside. “Same, babe—anywhere, as long as I’ve got you with me.” She smiles, that soft, heart-melting one, but then she tilts her head, tapping her glass with a nail. “Okay, but what about Greece? Santorini’s been all over my feed—those white houses, blue roofs, insane sunsets. We could just chill on a beach, drink ouzo ‘til we’re stupid.” You lean back, chewing it over. “Fuck, that sounds dope—lounging on some cliff, staring at the ocean, you in a bikini? Yeah, I could get behind that.” She snorts, shaking her head. “You’re so predictable—always about the outfits.” “Can you blame me? You’d kill it,” you say, grinning, and she flicks a breadcrumb at you, laughing when it bounces off your chest.

“True, true—I’d rock a bikini or a toga, whatever vibe we’re going for,” she says, then takes another sip, her eyes glinting with ideas. “But what about Iceland? Kinda random, but hear me out—hot springs, northern lights, all that rugged, wild shit. We could rent one of those cozy cabins, fuck around in a geothermal pool.” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, damn, that’s a curveball—I’m picturing you naked in a hot spring, steam everywhere, me freezing my balls off ‘til I jump in with you. I’d be down.” She cackles, nearly choking on her wine. “You’d look so dumb shivering—‘save me, babe, I’m too pretty to die!’” she mimics, and you kick her back under the table, both of you cracking up. “Hey, I’d make it sexy—you’d be all over me,” you say, and she shrugs, smirking. “Maybe. But Italy’s still my top pick—gelato on the Spanish Steps, you trying to pronounce ‘carbonara’ and butchering it. I need that in my life.”

You laugh, picturing it—her in sunglasses, licking a cone, you stumbling over Italian like an idiot. “Alright, Italy’s got my vote too—Rome’s got that Colosseum vibe, and I’d kill for some real-deal pizza. But Greece is tempting—could do both, you know, hop from pasta to tzatziki.” She tilts her head, considering it, then nods. “Ooh, a double whammy—greedy, but I like it. We could start in Rome, eat our weight in carbs, then bounce to Santorini for the beach-and-booze combo. You’d look hot with a tan, babe.” “And you’d look hotter soaking it up—deal,” you say, squeezing her hand again, and she leans forward, her foot sliding up your calf now, teasing. “You’re just imagining me half-naked everywhere, huh?” “Pretty much,” you admit, grinning, and she kicks you again, harder this time, but her laugh says she’s right there with you.

“Seriously, though,” she says, her voice softening, eyes locking on yours over the candlelight, “I love this—us planning shit, going places. Paris was fucking magic, but wherever we end up next, I just want it to be you and me, making it ours.” You feel that sappy warmth bloom in your chest again, her words hitting deep, and you rub your thumb over her knuckles. “Same, babe—doesn’t matter if it’s Italy, Greece, Iceland, wherever. You’re my vibe, my home—gonna keep chasing that with you.” She smiles, big and real.

And that's how the night goes on, slow and sweet—more wine, her laughing at your dumb jokes, you sneaking glances at how the candlelight catches her eyes. She’s talking about her solo album, how the reality show’s a pain but worth it, and you’re just listening, smitten, because she’s so her—driven, funny, gorgeous. “You’re proud of me, right?” she asks out of nowhere, and it’s so sudden you almost fumble your glass. “Are you kidding? Fuck yeah, I’m proud—watching you kill it out there, then come home to me? You’re unreal.” Her smile goes soft, a little shy, and she leans over the table, kissing you quick but deep, the taste of wine on her lips. “Love you,” she whispers, and you murmur it back, “Love you too,” feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.

—

You stumble into the apartment with Eunbi, the door barely clicking shut before the vibe shifts—there’s this thick, electric tension crackling between you, built up from the whole ride home. It started at the restaurant, those flirty little jabs over dinner, her foot brushing your leg under the table, but the car ride? That’s where it kicked into overdrive. She’d leaned over at a red light, smirking, whispering, “You keep looking at me like that, babe, and we’re not making it to the bed,” and you’d fired back, “Try me—I’ve got plans for that dress.” Now, the air’s buzzing as you kick off your shoes by the door, her tossing her purse onto the counter with a clatter, Croissant darting out of the way like he knows shit’s about to go down. You’re both giggling, a little tipsy from the wine, but it’s more than that—it’s the heat, the want, the way she’s glancing over her shoulder at you like she’s daring you to make the first move. You head for the bedroom, already peeling off your blazer, letting it flop onto the chair in the corner, and she’s right behind you, kicking off her heels one by one, the soft thud of them hitting the hardwood echoing in the quiet.

You’re loosening your tie, watching her in the mirror as she fumbles with her second shoe, and you can’t help yourself—you step closer, hands sliding around her waist, lips brushing her neck. “You’re taking too long,” you murmur, voice low, and she laughs, swatting at you half-heartedly. “Chill, babe, I’m—oh, fuck it,” she says, turning in your arms, and before you know it, she’s shrugging out of that black dress like it’s nothing. It pools at her feet, and—holy shit—she’s standing there in lingerie, this lacy red set that’s all straps and sheer fabric, hugging her curves in a way you weren't prepared for. You’re frozen for a hot second, and then she’s on you, hands grabbing your face, kissing you hard. Her lips crash into yours, red lipstick smearing across your mouth, and she’s climbing you like a tree—legs wrapping around your waist, pushing you back toward the bed. “I’ve been horny all fucking night,” she breathes against your lips. You stumble, hitting the mattress with her on top, and she’s straddling you, hair falling wild around her face, lipstick marks blooming on your cheek, your jaw, everywhere.

“Jesus, Eunbi,” you manage, laughing a little, hands gripping her hips as she grinds down just enough to make you groan. “You’re a menace—you know that dress was killing me, right?” She smirks, and starts unbuttoning your shirt with quick, eager fingers. “Good, that was the point—now get this off, I need you naked, like, yesterday.” You help her out, shrugging the shirt off your shoulders, tossing it somewhere—fuck if you care where—and then you’re pulling her down, kissing her back, hungry and messy. Your lips find her jaw, her throat, that soft spot under her ear that makes her shiver, and you’re murmuring against her skin, “You’re so fucking beautiful—hot as hell, babe.” She moans softly, and you keep going, kissing down her neck, her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint floral of her perfume. Your hands roam—over her back, her ass, squeezing through the lace, loving every inch of her like she’s a goddamn miracle, which, yeah, she is.

She pushes you back, flattening you against the bed with this look in her eyes—half-lidded, wild, all in charge. “Stay,” she says, like you’re her personal plaything, and you’re not arguing—why would you? Her hands are on your belt now, fumbling with the buckle, and you lift your hips to help her out, grinning as she curses under her breath. “Why are these so complicated—there, got it,” she mutters, yanking the belt free, and then she’s tugging your pants down, taking your boxers with them in one impatient pull. They hit the floor, and you’re bare under her, cock hard and twitching as she sits back, straddling your thighs. She wraps her hand around your cock, stroking slow and deliberate, her thumb brushing the tip just to fuck with you, and she’s staring—straight into your eyes, unblinking, like she’s memorizing every hitch in your breath. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” she says, and then she leans down, lips hovering over you. You hold your breath, and she gives the tip this gentle, teasing kiss—barely there, but enough to make your hips jerk, a low groan spilling out before you can stop it.

She pulls back, smirking at the mess she’s already making of you, red lipstick smudged from all the kissing, her lingerie a stark contrast against the pale sheets. “Been thinking about this all night,” she admits, stroking you again, her grip tightening just enough to drive you nuts, and you’re gripping the bedspread, trying to keep it together. “Yeah?” you rasp, voice rough, “Same—couldn’t stop watching you, thinking about getting you home.” She laughs, this low, sultry sound, and shifts closer, her thighs brushing yours, the lace of her bra scratching faintly against your chest when she leans in. “Well, we’re here now, babe—so what’re we gonna do about it?” she asks, then she leans in, breath hot against the tip, and you feel the first brush of her lips—soft, barely there, a tease that’s got your hips shifting impatiently. “Relax, babe,” she murmurs, “I’ve got you all night.”

She starts slow, like she’s testing the waters, her tongue flicking out to swirl around the head, wet and warm. You groan, low and rough, hands fisting the sheets. She takes her time, lips wrapping around the tip, sucking gently, just enough to make your head spin but nowhere near enough to satisfy. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and playful under those long lashes, and she smirks around you, knowing exactly what she’s doing—drawing it out, making you squirm. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate,” she says, pulling off for a second, her hand pumping you in this lazy rhythm while spit glistens on her lips. You open your mouth to fire back, but then she dives in again, and whatever smartass reply you had dies in your throat.

She slides her mouth down further now, taking you in deeper, her tongue flat against the underside, pressing hard enough to make your toes curl. It’s wet, messy, the sound of it—soft little sucks, the slick slide of her lips—mixing with your ragged breathing, filling the room. Her hair’s falling forward, brushing your thighs, and you reach down, threading your fingers through it, not pushing, just holding on because you need something to ground you. She hums, this pleased little noise that vibrates through you, and shifts her weight, one hand bracing on your hip while the other grips the base of your cock, guiding it exactly where she wants it. She’s teasing still, not going all in, bobbing her head slow and shallow, lips stretching around you, leaving red streaks from that lipstick she knows drives you wild. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you rasp, voice scraping out, and she pulls off just enough to flash you a grin, spit-slick and smug. “Yeah? You’re welcome, babe—been dying to taste you all night.”

Then she dives back in, and this time she’s not playing around—she takes you deeper, throat relaxing as she swallows you down, inch by inch, until her nose is brushing your skin and you’re seeing stars. It’s tight, hot, her tongue working in these lazy, filthy swirls that make your hips buck involuntarily. She gags a little, just once, but doesn’t stop—pulls back slightly, then goes again, deeper still, like she’s determined to take all of you. You’re a wreck, groaning her name, “Eunbi—shit,” and she’s loving it, you can tell—her eyes water a bit, but she’s locked on you, watching every twitch, every gasp, feeding off how gone you are. Her hand’s moving too, stroking what her mouth can’t reach, twisting just right.

You tug her hair a little, not hard, just enough to get her to look up again, and when she does—fuck, that sight. Her lips stretched around you, cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy with lust and effort—it’s pornographic, but it’s more than that, it’s her, giving you everything like it’s her goddamn mission. She pulls off for a breath, panting, her hand still working you, slick and fast, and she’s grinning, all proud and messy. “You taste so fucking good,” she says, voice wrecked, and then she’s licking you, long, slow stripes from base to tip, like she’s worshipping every inch. You’re shaking, thighs flexing under her, and she just keeps going—sucks the head again, harder this time, then slides down, swallowing deep, her throat fluttering around you. It’s overwhelming, and she’s relentless, switching between teasing little licks and full-on deep-throating like she’s trying to unravel you piece by piece.

Now she shifts lower, her lips brushing down past your shaft like she’s exploring every damn inch of you. She gets to your balls, and—fuck—she doesn’t hesitate, taking one into her mouth with this slow, deliberate pull that’s got your back arching off the sheets. Her tongue’s swirling, wet and warm, and she’s sucking just hard enough to make your head spin, a low groan ripping out of you before you can stop it. She pops off, grinning up at you, spit shining on her lips. “God, babe, I fucking love your cock—like, I’m obsessed with it, with you.” She dives back in, licking them sloppy and slow, her hands stroking your thighs, and you can feel the drool dripping down, leaving everything slick and messy in the best way. “You’re so perfect,” she mumbles against you, sucking the other one now, her tongue flicking in this filthy little dance that’s got you shaking. “I could do this all night—fuck, I’d live down here if you let me.”

She’s relentless, leaving your balls soaked and heavy, and you’re barely coherent, hands tangled in her hair, tugging just to feel her moan against you. Then she pulls back, sitting up on her knees, and you’re still catching your breath when she hooks her fingers into the sides of her red lace panties. She tugs them aside, not even bothering to take them off, the fabric stretching tight against her hip as she exposes herself—glistening, wet, ready. She climbs up your body, straddling you again, her thighs flexing as she positions herself right over your cock, and you can feel the heat radiating off her before she even touches you. “Wait—babe, no condom,” you say, voice rough, half-lost in the haze but still aware enough to clock it. She freezes for a second, looking down at you with those dark, hungry eyes, and shakes her head. “Don’t need it,” she says, firm, desperate, “I want you raw—need it, babe, I’m so fucking horny I can’t think straight.” You blink, brain scrambling to catch up, and choke out, “You sure? Like, really sure?” because this is big—first time without that barrier, and you’re not about to fuck this up.

She leans down, hands braced on your chest, her face so close her breath’s hot against your lips. “Yes, I’m sure—you’re the man of my life, my husband, nothing’s more important than this, than you.” Her voice is all heat, full of conviction, and it hits you square in the chest—lust, yeah, but something deeper too, that trust you’ve built over years crashing into this moment. She’s practically vibrating with want, her nails digging into your skin, and you nod, hands sliding to her hips. “Okay, fuck—let’s do it,” you say, and her grin’s pure fire, wild and needy. She doesn’t waste a second—lines you up, the tip of your cock brushing her entrance, and then she sinks down, slow at first, taking you in inch by inch. Holy shit—it’s different, raw, the heat of her pussy bare around you, no latex in the way, and it’s like your whole nervous system lights up. She’s tight, wetter than ever, and the feeling’s so intense you gasp, fingers gripping her ass.

“Oh my god,” she moans, loud and unfiltered, head tipping back as she bottoms out, her thighs trembling against your sides. “Fuck, babe, you feel—so—fucking—good,” she stutters, rocking her hips a little, adjusting, and you can feel every pulse, every flutter of her around you—it’s unreal, addictive. “You’re huge—shit, I can’t get enough,” she pants, and she’s already moving, lifting up just to slam back down, her hands splayed on your chest for balance. You groan, deep and guttural, because this—this is next-level, the slick, hot slide of her taking you raw, her walls gripping you like she’s claiming you all over again. “Eunbi—fuck, you’re killing me,” you manage, and she laughs, this breathy, horny sound that’s a synthesis of lust and power. “Good,” she says, “I want you wrecked—been thinking about this all night, feeling you bare inside me.”

You’re mesmerized, watching her—lipstick-smeared mouth parted, eyes half-shut, her body moving like sin itself. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, hands roaming up her back. She leans down, kissing you sloppy and deep, tongue tangling with yours as she grinds down. “Love you—love this,” she murmurs against your lips, and then she’s off again, sitting up, riding you harder, like she’s trying to break you, her hips slamming down with this relentless, hungry rhythm, and the raw heat of her pussy—bare, tight, and so fucking wet—has you teetering on the edge of sanity. You’re lost in it, hands gripping her ass, feeling her clench around you with every thrust, when you slide your fingers up her back, fumbling with the clasp of that red lace bra. It’s been taunting you all night, barely holding her in, and now you’re done waiting. The hooks pop free, and she shrugs it off quick, letting it fall on the bed like it’s nothing. Her big tits spill out, heavy and perfect, bouncing with every move she makes, and—fuck—you can’t take your eyes off them. They’re gorgeous, full and round, nipples already hard and begging for attention, and you can’t help yourself. “Goddamn, babe, I fucking love your tits,” you say, voice rough with want, staring up at her like she’s a goddess—which, let’s be real, she is. She smirks down at you, smug and horny, and leans closer, her voice dripping with heat. “They’re all yours, babe—always have been.”

You reach up, hands greedy, cupping them as she keeps riding you, her skin soft and warm under your palms. They fill your hands perfectly, heavy and plush, and you squeeze, thumbs brushing over her nipples because you know how sensitive they are, how they drive her wild. She gasps, this sharp little sound that shoots straight to your dick, and her pace falters for a second, hips stuttering as you tease her. “Fuck—yes, play with them,” she moans, arching her back to push them closer, and you’re in heaven, kneading them, rolling her nipples between your fingers until they’re tight little peaks. She’s panting now, her nails digging into your chest, leaving half-moon marks, and you can feel her getting wetter, slicker, her thighs trembling against you. “You love that, huh?” you say, grinning, voice all gravel and lust. “Love how I can’t get enough of these perfect fucking tits.” She nods, breathless, and bites her lip, that red lipstick smudged and sexy as hell. “Yeah—fuck, I love it—keep going, babe, don’t stop.”

Then she shifts, slowing her hips just enough to lean forward, dangling those heavy breasts right in your face like an offering. “Suck them,” she says, more like a command than a request, and you don’t need to be told twice. You lift your head, wrapping your lips around one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive tip, and she moans—loud, shameless, this sound that’s pure sex. Her tits are so full, so soft against your mouth, and you’re obsessed—sucking one, then the other, tasting her skin, feeling her shiver as you tease with your teeth, just a graze because you know it makes her crazy. “Fuck, yes—harder,” she gasps, her hands in your hair, pulling you closer, and you oblige, sucking deeper, your tongue swirling, lips tugging until she’s squirming, her breath hitching like she’s about to lose it. “You’re so fucking good at that,” she pants, her hips grinding down on you again, slower now but deeper, like she’s savoring every inch of you inside her.

You switch, taking the other nipple into your mouth, one hand squeezing the free one, rolling the wet peak between your fingers, and she’s a mess—head tipped back, hair spilling wild, moaning your name like a prayer. “God, babe, your mouth—fuck, I could ride you all night just for this,” she says, and you groan against her, the vibration making her gasp again. You pull back for a second, just to look—her tits glistening with your spit, flushed from the attention, nipples swollen and red—and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. “You’re so fucking sexy,” you tell her, kissing the valley between them, then licking a slow stripe up to her collarbone. “These tits—they’re mine, yeah? All fucking mine.” She nods, desperate, leaning down to kiss you, sloppy and deep, her tongue tangling with yours as she grinds harder. “All yours—always,” she whispers against your lips, then pulls back, offering them again, pressing them into your face. “Suck them more—please, babe, need it.”

You dive back in, hungry, sucking one nipple while pinching the other, and she’s riding you again, her pussy so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. She’s loud—moaning, cursing, this stream of dirty talk spilling out like she can’t help it. “Fuck, you feel so good inside me—love your cock, love your mouth—gonna fuck you ‘til I can’t walk,” she says, and you’re matching her energy, thrusting up to meet her, hands full of her tits, squeezing as you suck, tongue flicking fast. Her breathing’s ragged, her body trembling, and you can tell she’s losing herself in it—libido dialed up to a hundred, chasing that high with you. You bite down, just a little, and she cries out, this raw, needy sound that’s got you feral, sucking harder, loving her with every flick, every thrust, every filthy word bouncing between you. She’s all yours, and she’s making damn sure you know it—riding you raw, tits in your face, owning this night like it’s hers to take.

“Fuck, babe, your cock’s so good,” she groans, her hands braced on your chest for leverage as she grinds down harder. Then she looks down at you, eyes dark and glassy, and smirks, panting, “I’m already close—wanna make your wife cum, huh?” It’s half a taunt, half a plea, and it lights you up like a match to gasoline. “Fuck yes,” you say, voice rough, hands sliding up her thighs, “wanna feel you lose it all over me.”

She grins, this wicked, horny flash of teeth, but before she can ride herself over the edge, you take charge—grabbing her hips, flipping her onto her side in one smooth move. It’s a position you know she loves—spooning her from behind, one arm hooked under her leg to lift it just enough, giving you all the access you need. She twists her head back to look at you, all flushed and needy, and you dive in, kissing her neck, lips dragging slow and wet over that sensitive spot that always makes her shiver. “Goddamn, you’re perfect,” you murmur against her skin, hands roaming up to her tits, squeezing them hard as you thrust into her, deep and steady. They fill your palms, soft and heavy, nipples still swollen from earlier, and you can’t get over how much you love them—love her. “I fucking love you, Eunbi—so much,” you say, and she moans, this soft, broken sound that hits you right in the chest. “Love you too—fuck, don’t stop,” she breathes, turning her head more, catching your lips in a kiss.

You’re pounding into her now, her pussy so wet it’s obscene—slick sounds mixing with her gasps, her walls fluttering around you like she’s right on the edge. Your hand’s still on her tit, kneading it, thumb flicking the nipple just to hear her whimper, while your other arm’s wrapped around her, holding her tight against you. She’s kissing you back, messy and fierce, her tongue sliding against yours, her teeth grazing your lip as she moans into your mouth. “So good—fuck, you’re so deep,” she pants between kisses, her voice shaking, and you can tell she’s close—her breathing’s all ragged, her body tensing, thighs trembling against you. You slide a hand down her stomach, fingers finding her clit, and she jolts, a sharp “Oh—shit!” spilling out as you start rubbing, slow circles at first, teasing her. “Yeah, babe, right there—fuck, you know me so well,” she groans, her head tipping back against your shoulder, giving you more of her neck to kiss, to bite, as you pick up the pace.

Your fingers are relentless now, rubbing her clit faster, slick and swollen under your touch, and she’s losing it—moaning loud, no filter, just pure, horny need. “Gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” she stutters, words cutting off as you thrust harder, angling just right to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Your lips are on her neck, sucking a mark into her skin, and you growl against her, “Come on, babe—cum for me, let me feel my wife fall apart.” She’s kissing you again, frantic, her hand grabbing yours on her clit to press it harder, guiding you. “Yes—yes—fuck, right there!” she cries, and then she’s done for—her whole body locks up, shuddering hard against you, her pussy clenching tight around your cock as she cums, wave after wave ripping through her.

She’s trembling, gasping, her walls pulsing around you so hard it’s like she’s trying to pull you in deeper, and you don’t let up—fucking her through it, slower now but still deep, your fingers still teasing her clit until she’s squirming, oversensitive and wrecked. “Oh my god—babe, fuck,” she pants, turning her head to kiss you again, softer this time, but still sloppy, her tongue weak from how hard she just came. You pull your hand off her clit, wrapping it around her waist instead, holding her close as you kiss her back, tasting the sweat on her lips, the raw need still lingering there. “You’re so fucking hot when you cum,” you murmur, nipping at her jaw, and she laughs, this shaky, blissed-out sound, her chest heaving against you. “Only for you, babe—shit, you’re too good at this,” she says, voice hoarse and satisfiedll.

You slide your cock out of her, slow and deliberate, and she lets out this soft, needy whimper, her body twitching like she’s already missing you inside her. You climb up, hovering over her, and kiss her deep—lips crashing together. Her hands grab at your shoulders, pulling you closer, and she’s kissing you back like she’s starved for it, her breath hot against your mouth. “Fuck, babe,” she pants when you pull back, “I’m never using a condom with you again—shit, that was too good. Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?” Her words hit hard, your cock throbbing hard, already aching to get back inside her, and you groan, nodding. “Yeah, fuck condoms—your pussy’s too hot, too tight bare. Can’t believe we waited this long.”

She smirks up at you, all lazy and satisfied but still burning with that wild edge, her eyes flicking down to where your cock’s hovering just above her. You shift, brushing the tip against her entrance—slow, teasing, dragging it through her slick folds—and she whimpers again, hips twitching up like she’s desperate for it. “Still horny,” she murmurs, voice soft but loaded with want, her fingers digging into your arms. You grin, leaning down to nip at her ear, your breath hot against her skin. “Then beg for it, babe—beg for my cock like a good girl.” She shudders under you, and—fuck—when she starts talking, it’s like gasoline on the fire in your gut. “Please, babe—please fuck me,” she says, eyes locked on yours, wide and pleading. “Need your cock so bad—want you raw, want you deep, please.” It’s filthy and hot, and your dick pulses in your hand, rock-hard and ready, just from hearing her like that—your wife, begging for you like she’s losing her mind.

But she doesn’t stop there—she’s too far gone, too horny, too slutty. “Fuck me hard,” she demands, her tone shifting, sharper now, commanding, her legs spreading wider like she’s daring you to hold back. “Want your cum inside me—need it, babe, fill my fucking womb with your thick cum.” That’s it—that breed kink she’s throwing at you, raw and unfiltered, and it’s got your cock throbbing so hard you can feel your pulse in it, your whole body lit up with horny, primal need. “Keep going,” you growl, teasing her entrance more, sliding the tip in just an inch then pulling back, making her squirm. “Tell me how bad you want it.” She moans, frustrated and desperate, her hands clawing at your back, leaving red streaks. “Goddamn it, I want it so bad—fuck me ‘til I can’t walk, babe, pump me full—please, I need your cock, need you to fuck me raw and hard, want your cum dripping out of me.” You can’t resist her anymore—she’s got you hooked, and you’re ready to give her everything.

You line up, gripping her hips, and slam into her—no warning, no easing in, just a hard, deep thrust that makes her scream, this raw, guttural sound that bounces off the walls. Her pussy’s tight, hot, and so fucking wet, swallowing you whole, and you don’t hold back—pounding into her with a rhythm that’s fast and brutal, the bed shaking under you. “Fuck, yes—like that!” she yells, her voice breaking, hands flying to the headboard to brace herself as you rail her, her tits bouncing wildly with every slap of your hips against hers. You lean down, kissing her neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks, and she’s moaning, arching into you, her walls clenching tight like she’s already chasing that next high. “You’re so fucking perfect,” you growl against her skin, one hand sliding up to squeeze her tit again, thumb flicking her nipple as you fuck her senseless. “Gonna give you what you want—gonna fuck you raw ‘til you’re full of me.”

She’s kissing you back now, sloppy and frantic, her tongue tangling with yours as she moans into your mouth, her legs hooking around your waist to pull you deeper. “Harder—fuck, harder,” she gasps, breaking the kiss, her nails raking down your back, and you oblige—slamming into her so hard the headboard bangs against the wall, a steady thud-thud-thud that matches her cries. Her pussy’s loud—wet, squelching sounds every time you bury yourself in her, and she’s dripping, soaking your thighs, the sheets, everything. “Love this—love you—fuck, don’t stop,” she pants, her voice all over the place, needy and fierce, and you can feel her getting close again, her body tensing, her breath hitching. You slide a hand down, rubbing her clit fast and rough, and she bucks against you, whimpering, “Yes—fuck, right there—gonna lose it again.” You’re relentless, pounding her into the mattress, loving the way she’s unraveling—your wife, your horny, insatiable wife, begging for your cock, your cum, like it’s all she’s ever wanted.

Sweat’s dripping down your back, her legs locked around your hips, pulling you in deeper with every brutal thrust, and you can feel it building, that tight coil in your gut winding up fast. “Fuck, babe, I’m close,” you groan, voice ragged, and her eyes light up, wild and hungry, like that’s the magic word she’s been waiting for. She’s already a mess—hair plastered to her forehead, red lipstick smeared across her lips and your neck, tits bouncing hard from how rough you’re going—but hearing you’re close flips a switch in her. She moans, loud and desperate, and suddenly she’s moving, pushing against your chest with this frantic energy. “Get on your back—now,” she demands, and before you can process it, she’s shifting her weight, shoving you down flat on the bed. You hit the mattress with a grunt, and she’s on top of you in a flash, straddling you, her thighs clamping tight around your hips like she’s claiming you all over again.

She doesn’t waste a second—grabs your cock, slick with her juices, and lines it up, sinking down hard, taking you to the hilt in one smooth, greedy drop. “Fuck—yes,” she gasps, head thrown back, and then she’s riding you, bouncing with this fierce, relentless rhythm that’s got the whole room shaking. Her tits swing wild above you, heavy and perfect, and you grab her hips, digging your fingers into her flesh, thrusting up to meet her every time she slams down. “Cum for me, babe—cum with me,” she pants, her voice breaking, eyes locked on yours, dark and pleading. “I want it—want you to fill me up.” Your cock throbs hard at that, and you groan, gripping her tighter. “Gonna give you so much cum, babe—promise you’ll get it all,” you say, and she nods, frantic, her nails raking your chest. “That’s all I want—fuck, just you, all of you,” she moans, and then she’s leaning forward, one hand planting on your neck, fingers curling just enough to squeeze, this light pressure that makes your head spin and your dick pulse even harder inside her.

She’s riding you like a woman possessed now, hips slamming down with wet, filthy slaps, her pussy so soaked you can feel it dripping down your thighs, pooling on the sheets. “Breed me,” she says, voice low and dirty, and that hits you in a way you weren't expecting, your whole body lighting up with raw, primal want. “Fuck, I need it—want you to breed me, babe, pump me full,” she begs, bouncing harder, her hand tightening on your neck, and you’re gone. “Yeah? Want me to knock you up?” you growl, thrusting up harder, your hands sliding to her ass, spanking her once just to hear her yelp. “Gonna fill this tight little pussy—breed my slutty wife like she deserves.” She moans louder, this wild, unhinged sound, and squeezes your neck a little more, her eyes rolling back. “Yes—fuck, yes—do it, breed me, make me yours forever,” she chants, her voice shaking with how bad she wants it, and it’s pushing you right to the edge.

“Keep talking,” you rasp, voice thick with lust, and she does—oh, she fucking does. “Cum in me—fucking breed me, babe, want your cum so deep I can feel it for days,” she demands, her hips grinding down, circling just to tease you, her pussy clenching tight like she’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. “Make me drip with it—fuck, I need it, need you to fill me up, give me everything.” Her hand’s steady on your neck, not choking, just holding you there, pinning you under her as she rides you harder, her tits bouncing in your face, her thighs trembling from the effort. You’re thrusting up to match her, slamming into her so hard the headboard’s banging again, and you’re growling, “Gonna breed you so good—fill that pussy ‘til it’s overflowing, babe, you’re mine.” She’s losing it, whimpering and gasping, her walls fluttering like she’s about to break again, and you can feel yourself tipping over, the heat pooling fast, your cock throbbing inside her with every filthy word.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, do it, breed me now!” she moans, loud and desperate, her hand slipping from your neck to brace on your chest as she bounces even harder, her pussy so wet it’s obscene, squelching loud with every thrust. You grab her hips, yanking her down one last time, burying yourself as deep as you can go, and—fuck—it happens. You explode inside her, hot and thick, pulsing hard, flooding her pussy with everything you’ve got. It’s intense, raw, this primal rush of unloading bare into your wife for the first time, and she feels it—gasps sharp, her eyes going wide, then squeezing shut as she screams, “Yes—fuck, yes!” Her body shakes, convulsing as she cums too, her pussy clamping down tight, milking you for every last drop like she’s determined to drain you dry. You’re still pumping into her, thick spurts spilling out, and it’s a lot—more than you expected—coating her insides, seeping out around your cock where you’re still buried deep.

She’s trembling hard, collapsing forward onto your chest, her breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you wrap your arms around her, holding her tight as she shudders through the aftershocks. “Fuck—babe, I feel it—feel you,” she pants, voice breaking with this mix of awe and satisfaction, her hips twitching like she’s still chasing it, still squeezing you inside her. Your cock’s softening but still nestled in her, and you can feel the mess—your cum dripping out, slick and warm, pooling where you’re joined. “Love you—fuck, I love you so much,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your collarbone, and you pull her closer, kissing the top of her head, your voice rough but soft. “Love you too, babe—always.” She shifts, just enough to look up at you, her eyes hazy but glowing, a tired, blissed-out smile tugging at her lips, and you’re both just lying there, tangled up, sweaty and spent, your cum still leaking out of her pussy onto the sheets.

“That was—fuck, insane,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the moaning, and you nod, running your fingers through her hair, still damp with sweat. “Yeah—best anniversary ever,” you say. She nuzzles into you, murmuring, “Gonna want that again—raw, full of you."

Your cock’s still inside her, softening now, and you can feel the sticky mess of your cum and her wetness seeping out, pooling on the sheets beneath you. It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing syncing up, the faint hum of the city outside the window, and Croissant probably prowling around somewhere in the apartment. You’re both spent, limbs heavy, but there’s this glow between you—raw, real, like you’ve just peeled back another layer of each other. You run your fingers through her tangled hair, brushing it back from her face, and she hums, nuzzling closer, her lips brushing your collarbone in this lazy, affectionate way. “Fuck, babe, I could stay like this forever,” she mumbles, voice all hoarse and sleepy, and you chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah, me too—but we’re a mess, and these sheets are screaming for mercy.”

She groans, dramatic as hell, shifting just enough to look up at you with those hazy, post-sex eyes, her cheeks still flushed. “Ugh, don’t make me move—I’m dead, you killed me with that dick.” You laugh, and nudge her side. “Come on, you’ll thank me later. Hot bath, you and me, clean slate—sounds good, right?” She squints at you, pretending to think it over, then flops back down with a huff. “Too lazy—carry me or I’m not going.” You sigh but you’re grinning, because this is Eunbi—stubborn, bratty, and all yours. “Fine, princess,” you say, and with a grunt, you scoop her up, her legs dangling over your arm as you haul her off the bed. She yelps, clinging to your neck, and you can feel the wet mess of her pussy against your skin as you carry her, your cum still dripping out of her, leaving a trail you’ll deal with later.

You make it to the bathroom, kicking the door open with your foot, and set her down on the edge of the tub. She’s still pouting, arms crossed like she’s mad you made her move, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. You turn on the faucet, hot water rushing out, steam curling up into the air, and grab that fancy lavender bath bomb she loves—the one she says makes her feel “expensive.” “You’re spoiling me now,” she teases, watching you drop it in, the water fizzing purple and bubbling up fast. “Only the best for my wife,” you shoot back, winking, and she finally cracks, that big, goofy grin breaking through. You help her out of the last scraps of her lingerie—those stretched-out panties still clinging to one side of her hips—and she slides into the tub with a sigh, sinking in up to her shoulders, the water lapping at her skin. “Get in here, babe,” she says, patting the space behind her, and you don’t need convincing, you climb in, settling behind her, pulling her back against your chest.

The water’s hot, soothing the ache in your muscles, and her body fits against yours like it was made to—her head resting on your shoulder, your arms wrapping around her waist under the surface. Bubbles pop softly around you, the lavender scent filling the room, and it’s quiet, peaceful, a stark shift from the feral fucking you were lost in not twenty minutes ago. You trail your fingers over her stomach, lazy circles, and she hums, this content little sound that makes your heart squeeze. “This is nice,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at you, her eyes soft, no trace of that wild hunger now—just love, pure and simple. “Yeah, it is,” you say, kissing her temple, and she nestles closer, her wet hair sticking to your skin. “Better than the bed?” you ask, smirking, and she laughs, soft and tired. “Okay, maybe not better—but close. You’re too good at this husband thing.”

You chuckle, grabbing a sponge from the side and dipping it into the water, running it over her shoulders, down her arms, washing away the sweat and stickiness of the night. “Gotta keep my wife happy—can’t have you complaining about me on your next interview,” you tease, and she twists around, splashing you lightly, water dripping down your face. “Oh, please—I’d just brag about how you fuck me stupid and then run me a bath after,” she says, grinning, and you laugh, wiping the water off your eyes. “Fair—guess I’m stuck being perfect then.” She leans back again, letting you wash her, and it’s intimate—not the loud, messy intimacy of sex, but this quiet, tender thing where you’re just together, taking care of each other. “You know,” she says after a beat, voice quieter now, “I didn’t think it’d feel like this—marriage, us. Thought it’d be the same old shit with a ring, but… it’s more. You’re more.”

Her words hit you, soft but heavy, and you pause, sponge hovering over her collarbone, water trickling down her skin. “Yeah,” you say, throat tight, “you’re more too—like, I didn’t know I could love someone this much ‘til you.” She turns her head, catching your lips in a kiss—not hungry this time, but slow, deep, the kind that says everything you’re both too tired to put into words. Her hand finds yours under the water, squeezing, and you kiss her back, tasting lavender and her, your heart thudding steady against her back. “We’re gross, huh?” she whispers when she pulls away, smiling, and you laugh, resting your forehead against hers. “The grossest—stupid in love, the whole deal.”

The water’s cooling now, but you don’t care—you stay there, wrapped up in each other, her body slotted against yours like a puzzle piece. You wash her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, and she sighs, eyes closed, totally relaxed. “You’re too good to me,” she mumbles, and you shake your head, even though she can’t see it. “Nah, just right—you deserve it, babe.” She doesn’t argue, just lets you rinse her off, the suds swirling away in the purple water. When you’re done, you don’t rush to get out—there’s no hurry, no next thing. It’s just you and her, the steam fading, the night settling soft around you. “Love you,” she says, and you pull her closer, her wet skin sticking to yours, your voice low and sure. “Love you too—forever, yeah?” She nods, sleepy and safe in your arms, and you hold her tight, the bathtub your little world, the end of a wild night melting into something warm, steady, romantic as hell—the kind of love you’ll carry into every night after this one.

[iznsfw]

You are now obliged to write an Eunbi smut

Waterbombed

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

5,835 words

Categories | daddy kink, anal, jealousy, squirting, breast worship, fingering, titfucking, spanking, slight exhibitionism

Sorry not sorry for the Eunbi spam—I promise I'll write the other members and other idols after this. Waterbomb Festival Eunbi is just too hot.

Enjoy.

Tokki 🐰: oppaaaaaaaaa

This can't be good. Eunbi's bombing your phone again with ridiculous messages designed to attract your attention. It won't work today, though. You've got a lot to do, and besides that, she's equally busy. She's out there performing in some festival Woollim booked, and it's safe to say that it should have brought about only peace in your office cubicle. No videos, no flirty texts, no nada—that's how it should have been.

But one thing you've learned when dating Kwon Eunbi is to expect the unexpected. Too bad you didn't keep that in mind when you finally gave in and picked up your phone. Work can wait for a few minutes, right?

You: What is it ?

Tokki 🐰: have you seen my performance yet :]

You don't think so. The day's been too packed to make space for a quick watch.

You: Not yet love im busy

Tokki 🐰: you should oppa

becauseeeee

i really enjoyed performing at the waterbomb festival!!!!!

Waterbomb Festival?

Isn't that—

It slowly hits you, as if the information were a hesitant slap on the shoulder. Thoughts come blending into each other in your head and forming a quaky conclusion. Could it be…?

Open another tab on your work desktop. You quickly flock to YouTube. Never mind if your boss sees the history through the internet router. You have to know if your suspicions are true. 

Your experienced fingers spell out a search query into the curved search bar. In flash-paced impulse, you type out: "권은비 워터밤."

Then there it is: several fan-recorded videos of your girlfriend, your ever-so-precious and playful Eunbi, dressed in nothing but a flimsy bikini top and a see-through cardigan. Her hair is soaked from the sprays and shots of water coming at her, but she's smiling—she looks like she's having the time of her life.

The played previews of the videos are endless loops of her chest rippling and bouncing with her wide movements, even cutting to a clip where she's running her hands up her exposed body, grinding her hips down as if you were there on the stage with her, invisible yet still present. 

No wonder she didn't want you to attend. You insisted, but she asked that you did what you had to do. 

You're a good man. At least, you try to be. Eunbi's her own person and you're completely fine with whatever she does, even suggesting the kinds of tattoos she could pick out when she went to get some. They're what gave you the inked places to kiss her.

But she knows what she was doing with this. It's impossible not to discern that.

Look around before closing the tab with shivering breaths, then pick up your phone.

You: ????? 

You told me it was a festival

Not the WATERBOMB festival

Tokki 🐰: oh come on whats the difference 

and you don't own me >:(

i can do whatever i want

:PPPPP

She's got a point, but her intent with this is so obvious, with the lewd expressions she fires the audience and all, that—

You: Oh

So that's how it's going to be, huh.

It's maddening how your picture of her jumping around giggling as she types another message to you is probably accurate. 

Tokki 🐰: yes :3

can you come pick me up?? 

The audacity of this girl sometimes.

But forget it; as any good boyfriend would, you're picking her up. You'll do more than pick her up. 

-

Getting there in the guise of her manager isn't easy. You've had to negotiate with him, explaining that you'll pick her up on your own and save him the trouble. I'm a friend of hers, you said. I just want to congratulate her performance, you added. He gave you suspicious looks, but once he saw her name in your contacts, he ultimately agreed.

Driving through the crowd isn't easy either, but you manage to do it. You have your emotions to thank for that. Lust and jealousy, as you've learned, are like demons—they possess you, control you to the point that they invade other aspects of your life. Asmodeus sure likes tinkering with you, and you're just sitting there in the driver's seat letting him? If that's the case, you'd have to attend the Waterbomb Festival itself to wash yourself of hell's flame.

Heat begins to fill the room when you see her though. You'd adlib a pun into the script here, say a joke about how it's only hot because Eunbi is. But you're too turned on by the sight of her tits on display, poorly contained by the thin bikini and held together by one single button of the transparent cardigan.

Her smile pushes you on. She knows what you're here for, but she loves playing dumb as much as she loves provoking you. It's all going according to her plan.

Every bit of her insane curves sway in an aesthetic, almost rehearsed way at you as she approaches. Her hair is still wet, and maybe there's another thing wet, too; her thighs squirm together too much to be merely out of the soaked sprays aimed at her at the festival.

Eunbi's eyes sparkle. Makeup can't fabricate that glimmer.

"Daddy," she says, with conviction. With meaning. 

The hair on the back of your nape rises.

Eunbi's pushing you to the empty seat in the room, soon filling your lap with her soft presence. "You really came? I thought you were mad at Eunbi."

There she is again with the third-person thing. The daddy thing, too. She knows it's your weakness, hearing a pretty girl like her who pretends not to know of her effect on people get on her knees and call you what she shouldn't. You won't lie; it's insanely hot, but when she's grinding her round ass down on your growing bulge with that tiny bite of her lower lip, you, as usual, aren't passive. You aren't moved by her coaxing. You refuse to be. 

"Watch it," you warn anyway, a hand on one of her womanly hips. You massage it, a cautionary message written in your movements. Now you brush a thumb over her midriff and draw small gasps out of her.

"I'm n-not doing anything." 

Innocent as her voice is, her outfit isn't—the patterned bikini top barely holds on to her plentiful breasts, and the cardigan is useless anyway with how clear its seams are. 

"Daddy," Eunbi says again, the pout on her lipsticked mouth growing, "don't tease."

"I'm not doing anything," you say, happy to use her line against her. 

You love and live to see the weak expressions on her face when you trail your hands gently to the scope of her tits. If they barely fit the bikini, what more in your hands? They're too soft in your fingers as you gingerly toy with them. Her nipples poke the fabric of the top and brush your palms.

Eunbi's gasps frequent. "Please."

"What is this, baby?" you ask. "You go to a festival made for perverts and you make a scene anyway. And now you want me to take this off—"

Unbutton the single thing holding the cardigan together, slipping it off her shoulders. The bare, revealed body in front of you is something the Waterbomb Festival goers were able to see first—just under the gauze of the poor outerwear. It triggers an unhinged emotion in you, something that goes like: mine mine mine.

"—call you a good girl—"

Eunbi's lips are pursed as you touch her everywhere. She's completely soaked after her viral feat at the festival, but there's another thing down below that's wetter. Showing herself off to everybody, men and women alike, has her wet to the core. 

Your touch teases yet lingers, stays yet strays. She grinds down on your lap needily. 

"—and expect me to fuck you? Really?"

Eunbi's truly all bark but no bite. Her feistiness through texts doesn't translate in real life, wherein she completely melts when you just let your fingertips glide along her waiting skin. Just look at her heaving bosom, her large eyes—she's passiveness itself.

"But you, you liked seeing me up there, daddy," she stammers. Eunbi swallows the moment your hand rests on her cheek. "H-hah, you liked watching me."

She cries out too loud for subtleness at the sudden spank thrown at her tits. 

"Is this what you wanted those men at the festival to do to you?" Slap her bouncing tits again, squeezing before throwing another blow. "Slap your big fucking tits, dick you down right there on the stage for everyone to see?"

"Mmm, ah, you ask too many questions, daddy. Oh– oh my god—"

"If you want to be such a bad girl," you say, a harsh squeeze from your right hand on her boob, "you'll get fucked like one."

Pull down the narrow cup of the bikini to suck on her nipples. Replace the redness on the flesh from your slaps to redness from your mouth. You've placed your hand on skirted ass to keep her on your lap, because she's not going anywhere—she'll stay here, here where you can teach her a lesson. 

You dare to bite just a little. Beneath your palm, Eunbi's form curves and she screams.

"D-daddy!" 

"Sensitive, aren't we?" you ask with a smirk. Your tongue flattens as it licks greedily at her nipples, then retreating to her collarbone and neck. Still, her bountiful breasts are your main focus. 

"Please fuck me. I need it, I can't—"

"Take the skirt off. Bend over." 

Eunbi whines, but you fire her with a look of warning. Hence, she slips out of the white jean skirt. She doesn't even wear safety shorts underneath. Instead, it's a single thong that matches the plaid pattern of the top. She might as well be at a beach with how little clothing there is on her curvaceous body.

Your blood boils, but it settles when she does bend over obediently on your lap, and you enjoy the sight of her breasts dangling before settling on the soft plush sofa. 

"Someone might see, daddy," she protests, though she's already folded in half on the furniture. "The others, they're gonna look."

"You had no problem with that earlier," you say. Circle your palm over the exposed fat cheeks and clench your hand around one, just like you did with her tits. "I should fuck you at the door, make everyone see the sexy little thing they saw at the festival is mine."

"Noooo, please, daddy! The company'll be mad and my fans…oh, my fans—"

"Quiet, baby girl. Let me use you."

Eunbi nods, albeit her shadowed eyes are closed. She whimpers through pursed lips as the first spank capsizes. Her ass moves beautifully, as if it were a dancer just like her. It's hypnotizing, and for that you hit her more. 

"Oh, oh yes, daddy, oh my god," she cries out, her voice thin. "I love it when you spank me. M-makes me want to cum all over you."

"Not a chance after the shit you pulled out there."

Her thong is sticky with her juices. Feel it with your middle finger briefly. Dare to slip through the side to touch her waiting pussy. Eunbi sobs a little, reversing her ass into you, but is met with a spank instead. She winces.

Eunbi's ass is, to be brief, amazing. But even with that you'll go on to say how much you love the supple flesh bouncing in front of you, becoming red from the assault of your hand, clenching to bear the teasing. It's already a surprise that you haven't fucked her senseless already when she's lying stomach first on your lap in a tiny two-piece set, but you love to keep her on edge hankering for you to use her. 

"So you won't let me cum?" asks Eunbi, as if she were really disappointed that she'd be denied something she doesn't deserve. "That's not fair."

"Do you think it's fair to me?" 

"Oh, oh, daddy—" Her legs quake once your fingers nevertheless stuff her hole, and start moving at a pace too early to be set and too much to handle.

Your digits push past her slick walls and fill her over and over. "Presenting what's mine for everyone to see, Kwon Eunbi. And I thought you were a good girl."

"Ohhh, but I am!" Eunbi protests, on the verge of pleasure-induced tears. 

You just know where to touch her, where to fuck her pretty cunt at to reduce her to cum and tears. Nothing's a better combination. Stuff a third finger, and Eunbi gets too tight that you can barely fit. You have to spread your fingers a little to make space, yet she still squeezes down.

Through her struggles and cries she doesn't fail to move her crotch into your fingers. It's like she's in a battle of choices: to have you stop or have you go on forever. 

"I just wanted to have fun, daddy! I wanted you to punish me, to fuck me—"

"Well, you got what you wanted then, little brat. Cum for me. Cum for daddy."

Her screams fire off into the atmosphere like warnings. They have every right to send cautionary messages; Eunbi's a force to be reckoned with when she cums. At times, she'd yell and sob without shame as she came around your cock, tear the sheets with how hard she grasps at their fabric. But now, at a public waiting room backstage at the festival, she's got nowhere and no one to help her bear her orgasm.

So, while you violently fuck her hole with Eunbi-stained digits, her moans start off as what they were, evolving into louder and louder forms, until she's cumming, cumming all over your fingers as if her pussy were one of the water guns itself. Her squirt doesn't miss her thong, but it also doesn't leave your lap empty in its wake.

Oh, and she's screaming. She's crying out your name in pitched tones, carving your thrusts into stronger forces. "Shit, daddy, please!" Eunbi cries, struggling in your lap and squeezing down hard. "Please, daddy, I don't want to ruin your clothes!"

That's sweet of her, but frankly: "I don't care. Cum all over them. Just keep on squirting for me, baby. That's it."

Pull out to rub at her core, forcing more of her girl cum to eject into the air. Eunbi's legs flail and weaken. Her hips gyrate into your finger and flinch after you start spanking her impossibly wet cunt.

"Thank you, daddy," she says between gaspy gibberish and whimpers. She can barely see anything but stars. "My daddy, thank you, daddy, keep spanking my little pussy like that, mmm, I love you, daddy."

Alternate between spanking and rubbing so that the sofa is absolutely stained with her, so that anyone who comes in the room after the session will know that the Kwon Eunbi was railed here. So they know that they can gawk at her amazing body all they want, but she's yours. Yours, and no one else's. 

Eunbi bears it for a few seconds, hips lifting and descending. But it soon becomes too much to bear, for she implores, in a tired voice, "Daddy… stop. Too much."

No problem at all. Stop, like she asked. You never take things too far unless she wants you to, even when she's been bad, which reminds you: "But you're still a bad girl. You need to make it up to daddy."

"I know what to do!" she says, in a sudden cheerful voice she uses when she does her radio gigs. "I can make daddy feel better with this!"

Her legs are still weak, but she gets off your lap with the help of her own eagerness. Eunbi's always so ready to make you feel good.

She kneels, tugging your belt and pants off. Her animated expression at the sight of your cock is adorable, and as you ruffle her hair, you realize you just have to tell her:

"You're so fucking pretty, Eunbi."

Eunbi beams. Her cheeks flush. "Thank you, daddy."

"I bet you'll look even prettier fucking your huge tits on my cock."

"You don't have to tell me what to do," giggles Eunbi. "I'm a big girl."

She completely tears off the bikini top. Her wondrous boobs free themselves from the fabric, baring their flesh to you. It's an attempt to make you drool at the mouth and go bogey-eyed, and you can't say that it isn't successful. 

She squeezes her assets and plays with her nipples. Her fingertips brush and circle over the pink patch of skin as she moans seductively. The knot in your stomach tightens.

"Eunbi," you reprimand her. 

"What?" she says, eyes full of faux innocence. "I was so horny after you fingered me, daddy. You're just so hot when you're mad."

"I'll be madder if you don't let me fuck you."

She laughs. "Don't worry, daddy. Just sit there and relax for me, okay?" Eunbi raises a thumb questioningly.

Lower lip pinned under her teeth, she guides her large breasts to your cock. It takes no effort at all for her to slip your cock between. It's not unexpected either that the big soft skin imprisoning you feels amazing. With their size and impossibly smooth texture, you've no other choice but to moan loudly.

The backside of your length enjoys the space between her tits, while the rounded sides revel in their booby trap. Not a pun, you swear, especially not when your girlfriend's titfucking you, but there's no coherent thought when she's doing it. When she's smiling naughtily. When she's compressing her tits around your length like it's determined to keep you there forever. When—

"You're doing so fucking good, baby."

"Of course," she says happily. "Daddy made me cum even though I was a bad girl, so I'll always be good for him."

"Consider this your punishment, then."

"How is it a punishment if I love it?" 

"Don't start."

Another warning she doesn't heed. "I already have."

Her chest heaves and rests while being instructed by her hands. Eunbi lets a run of spit stream down her cleavage and on your cock as lubricant. Wipe the drool from her chin and offer it to her mouth. Her eyes sparkle with delicateness as she sucks on your thumb. The soft lips wrapping around your finger causes you to wonder what they'd feel like around your girth.

(Next time.)

"Gently," you have to remind her. The constriction of her bust around your cock is a little too much. So is her eager looks. "There's no rush here."

"But I want you to cum," Eunbi says. "I want you to cum all over my big tits you love so much. You love me, don't you? Then cum for me, daddy, show me you love your little baby girl, please?"

Fuck, it's tempting. You'd love to pepper her beautiful face and bust with your cum. She'd look so pretty in it while still keeping the look of pureness in her irises. But you have to hold out. 

She toys with your cock, slapping it against her boob then running its tip on her nipple. Your heart skips a beat, and she smirks. Seems like you're not doing a good job of keeping your daddy persona, but she's good enough to continue rubbing your firm veins on her skin. 

Eunbi's chest is a real-life fleshlight. Soon, your hips start to move of their own accord, and you're meeting her thrusts now, only with a little more force. There's the friction to chase after, too, and you're right at its heel. You're winning the race, already; you can almost taste it—

"Ohhh, daddy!" she says delightfully. Your cum rains on her chest and neck like a storm. The thunder can be your groans that instead of fearing, she relishes. 

"F-fuck," you say. "Fucking brat, take it all—"

Eunbi listens this time. She removes her bosom from enveloping your cock and attaches her mouth to it instead. You've trained her well; she shoves her face all the way down your length, effectively taking it all in her tight throat. Her neck flexes and relaxes. It stimulates you and has your legs bouncing.

Her eyes remain sealed onto you. The brightness in them that they hold so often tells you more than words could: she loves being your good girl as much as she loves being a brat. She loves riling you up but also loves being good and letting you have your way with her. It's what Eunbi keeps living for, and some may say it's an addiction, but if it is, she'd never want to recover. Not if it means having your warm cum down her throat and your hand tangled in her hair.

You call her a good girl more times than you can count. Ruffle her hair all the while and wipe the tears forming in her eyes when she whimpers. It takes a while getting her to get all of your cum—her throat extracts more from you, and it ends up with her gagging just a little. Finally, she makes the move to breathe.

Pants ride her shoulders, but Eunbi smiles. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she says. "Let's go home now—"

"Oh, no, Eunbi, we're not done."

"H-huh?"

You pull her up and into your lap, her butt parked only a little away from your cock. Eunbi wears a shocked look on her face, and it only adds up to the hotness of her wearing nothing but a Burberry thong while on your thighs.

"I still have to teach you a lesson," you tell her between firm squeezes on her butt. "You think I forgot?"

"Why?" she whines. Her hands fidget with your shirt. "I've been a good girl, haven't I? You got to cum!"

"And I'm not stopping." Guide her hips to dance along the head of your length. Brush against her engorged clit. Tease her slit. "Fucking ride my dick."

You push her down. Eunbi cries out, her nerves still on a high after her previous orgasm. To be fair, you're a little sensitive, too, but you look forward anyway to cumming in her tight little pussy. It could happen any time when she's just so fuckable, her busty self bouncing and squirming on your girth, and her face never failing to not hide the pleasure she's going through. You can feel her twitch and spasm, but of course, you keep slamming her down on your lap like she's a little rag doll.

"Daddy!" she screams. "Please, oh fuck, you're so big!"

She's a little greedy herself. If you wanted to fuck her till she came and begged you to stop, she wanted it more. She's wild and unhinged as she rides you, impaling herself with your rod though you cumming in her would do more bad than good, but when it pokes every good spot and stretches her tiny cunt better than any toy or a couple of fingers, she might as well do it with no regrets.

Kiss her collarbone and keep a hand on her ass to guide her. Squeeze; her moans break. Then Eunbi's looking at you with crazed eyes, deluded and dizzy with pleasure, as you slap her fat ass and let her wet core press its walls around your penis like a trap. This whole thing's a trap if you really looked at it, from the appearance at the Waterbomb Festival to the outfit she's wearing, but if that were so, you'd want no parole. If being jailed in her hole means getting this delicious tightness and hearing her whiny loud moans every second, you'd appeal for a life sentence.

She might as well be liquid—the roll of her hips is too fluid to be that of a human. But you've seen her fancams from the festival and guess that it was a manifestation, a prophecy for this to happen. Your cock can't be anything other than solid, however. Eunbi's too sexy a girl for your erection to be nonexistent.

"That's it, Eunbi." Lean back a little into the wet sofa to let her do her thing. "Ride that fucking cock. Fill that tight pussy."

"I will, daddy," she responds, nodding as if in a spell-cast trance. Maybe it's true; the heat brewing in the small of her stomach is too good to be true. "Yes, please, I love your big cock, it feels so good inside me."

You don't even have to guide her anymore. She's fully fucking herself on you, her stamina never failing her. Her full thighs strain and her pussy clenches down with a slippery yet firm grip. Groan, then slap her ass. She hums happily. Your relentless upward thrusts and slaps just burn her lust into a complete fire. 

It's a surprise your legs don't collapse on the way to carrying her and fucking her against the wall. It gives you more opportunity to stuff her with you harder. Eunbi's legs spread more, her breathing ragged, and you're kissing her again. You press your lips on hers, then on her neck for which she closes her eyes appreciatively, then her collarbone. There isn't one part of her you don't love. You'd paint her with your cum three times a day like a daily meal if you could.

For now, you binge on lust with her. You eat more of her than you should. But who's making the rules? Whoever they are, let it be known you're breaking them—skin slapping against skin grows louder, almost syncing with Eunbi's repeated moans and your pumps. Her hips and yours create a rhythm together to make it work, to make your cock fit inside her, but she ends up weak and tired anyway.

"Please, daddy. S-suck my tits. I need your mouth on me so bad. Can you give your baby girl what she wants, daddy?" Her pout prods you on. "You can, right?"

"Of course." 

Latch your mouth on one of the bouncing circles of flesh. Nibble, suck, spit, suckle—that's your beginning loop of actions for her. But it becomes frenzied after a while because of how good her folds swallow you, how soft her breasts are. Even as your actions become less and less sequenced, she moans. You never want to hear anything else.

"Yes, yes, yes. Thank you. I, I'm gonna cum soon. Keep fucking me like that and I promise, I promise I'll squirt around your s-stupidly big cock. I will, I will, just fuck me, oh my god. Oh, daddy!"

Eunbi stays true to her word, especially with your thumb toying her clit. She lets out another rush of cum on your crotch. It's wet, it's plenty, it's oh-so-hot when she's screaming helplessly like that, struggling to keep up with your speed. 

Pull out so more of her can spray all over you. If people don't hear your little session in this waiting room, they'll see evidence of it—it ends up on the floor, the sofa, the wall, and your soaked clothes on the ground. Maybe Eunbi's back could have imprinted a mark on the wall too after how hard you fucked her. It's too easy for adoring fans and nonchalant staff alike to find out what happened to their beloved Kwon Eunbi after the festival, and you have a feeling that it's part of what makes Eunbi squirt so much now.

Go south. Keep your fingers on her hips to help her stand. Then, flick your tongue on her clit to help her go through the long stretch of her orgasm.

"Ahh, fuck!" 

Her core tightens again. Her hips flinch and recoil, but you keep firing your sharp little licks long after her climax subsides. 

"Oh, daddy," Eunbi sighs, dizzy, "that felt so good."

"Can you go for more?" 

You're met with a curious look. It's as if she's wondering herself: could she?

"I want to fuck your ass, too, Eunbi." Squeeze her cheek, and her other cheek turns red. "Won't you let daddy fuck this perfect little thing?"

Eunbi shivers. She walks over to the windowsill, steps shaky, and places her hands on it. Then, she looks back at you, coaxing you on. And you have to admit that it's quite the sight, because there she is, in only skimpy underwear and her breasts bare of any covering. 

It's the fact that she's so willing to go and expose herself through the uncurtained window and show everyone who gets to fuck her that makes you approach her. 

"Naughty girl."

Eunbi nods. What's there to deny? Her eyes shut after you spank her.

"If I get to fuck your ass every time you go to Waterbomb," you say, trailing her wetness to her asshole as lubricant and lathering it with her arousal, "I'd let you go here daily."

Eunbi giggles. "So you're not mad anymore, daddy?" she asks hopefully.

Your cock rubs her hole. It teases her, keeps her on the tips of her toes. "Maybe."

Push, just a little. Already she's clenching down unintentionally. Eunbi hisses and shuts her eyes.

"Ffffuck, hnn." Her hands drum a tortured song on the windowsill while her voice strains a melody of darling cries and whines. "Haaah, daddy, you're so big. I don't think I can take it."

"Of course you can," you say, choosing to be gentle this time, "'cause you're my good girl, right?"

"Y-yes. I'll take it for you, daddy—I can do it."

"That's my Eunbi."

Kiss her neck and slowly plunge more inches in her. She keeps letting out soft cries. Her face, showcasing her eyes shut tightly and mouth slightly hung open, reflects into the window. You wonder which group's performing now, and if the audience is too enamored by their song to see the previous sex doll that is Eunbi being fucked at the window. That somehow encourages you alongside her soft moans of pleasure. 

It's Eunbi's first time with anal, and she never imagined she'd experience it here, at a place where anybody can see her pleasure and struggle. She clamps a palm on her mouth.

"Daddy… ahhh, it's so big, daddy!" she cries softly.

"I know. Just spread that tight ass for me, will you? So you can take daddy better?" Smile when she follows your orders. "Thank you, baby. You ready?"

"Mmm." Eunbi hums hesitantly. "Yes."

She said she was, so there's no hesitance on your end in relentlessly fucking her asshole. It gapes a little with the help of her fingers, but Eunbi still wails. Stroke after stroke of your length fills her up and she isn't sure how to deal with the pleasure and pain it brings about. 

Her textured, pink walls might be a close competitor in terms of tightness with her pussy. With how closed its walls are, it nearly refuses to take you in. Try rubbing at her clit. As a result, it clenches around you tighter. Eunbi sobs and huffs as she tries with every inch of her spent body to take you in. 

"Nnnn, daddy! S-so big, so good, it's so good!"

Open her up. Spread the tight cheeks by spanking them. The backside before you grinds and gyrates in response. There's more wetness now on Eunbi's legs, trickling down her skin. Maybe it's sweat? Squirt? Cum? No time to think about it when you're focused on how damn tight she is.

Somehow, your pats and rubs on her core make her tighter. She's restricting you fully, forcing you to draw your hips all the way back to slam inside her. With each, she gasps, as if surprised, and begs again. Begs for more, although her ass is too tight to take more than a few pleasured inches in. Begs you to use her, spank her, which you do although you don't really understand the rest of her sentences. It's all garbled and messy, just like your swift thrusts.

"Pound me, fuck me! Fuck me for everyone to see, daddy, make me cum!"

Now that part's clear as day. You love Eunbi too much to not do what she says.

A few seconds in she relaxes a little. Hence, the rest of your dick goes inside her. You let out a soft groan at how good it feels: finally filling her to the hilt. You kiss her sweaty back, rub her clit, tell her how much of a good girl she is. It takes effect; she grows tighter and more relaxed at the same time. How it's possible, you've no idea, for you live in the present wherein you're fucking Kwon Eunbi's tight ass to no end.

Rub her little midriff. "You want me to fill this pretty stomach with my load, baby? You want me to cream your ass?" 

"Yes, daddy!" 

Now, trail your finger down to her clit where you rub furiously. "Want me to make you squirt again?" 

"Fuck! Daddy!" Eunbi's legs twitch and she throws her head back. "Yes, yes, make me cum, make me cum!"

That you do. Keep the tempo of your thrusts and rubs unsynced so as to let her experience the pleasure from both ends. Let your other hand squeeze and pinch her nipples, and let the fact that only you get to toy with them, not the audience. Not one single man out there gets to fuck her like this, even in his dreams. 

You smile for a bit until you blow your load inside her tight hole. Eunbi's feet finally lose balance and she falls back into you. Continue to thrust in her to ease your climax while she rains her squirt all over the pane and wall. Let a few fingers inside her pussy, too, and the silver rain grows stronger. Plentier. Better.

"So fffucking big, thank you, daddy," she mumbles coherently enough. She kisses your jaw tiredly. "Feels so good in my ass, thank you, I love you, thank you… the best…"

Her repeated whispers are adorable. You wince as you pull out. You're fully and completely drained, and you don't have to guess to know that she is, too.

"Calm down now."

"Okay, I will…" 

"I love you, too, by the way." Your lips meet hers. She kisses back happily.  "Don't forget that."

"Won't… forget…" Eunbi nods. Her heart pounds as fast as yours. "We'll go home now? For real this time?"

"For real this time," you chuckle. Stroke her hair. 

You let her robe fall around her spent body and drive her home. The janitors have a tough time cleaning up the room, luckily only assuming someone spilled water. The scent of sex still hangs around, though.

She's your passenger princess on the way home, but the next three times she'll attend the Waterbomb Festival, she's your toy. You're flying with her to Japan to fuck her anytime, just as a firm reminder that as much as she's loved to show off in the events, you love fucking her more.

[magnagaruzenmon]

Stay Alive

The first part of heavy metal, and woo this is a doozy to start on…fuck you dino. Also happy new years. I hope you've been having fun with Daigo's holiday specials, because this is the last one for now

I just wanna thank @coldfanbou and @lustspren for writing cool stuff. No smut yet needed to world build hope that’s okay.

“Ah, come on, Daigo, it’ll be fun! Picture this: a three-day music festival entirely dedicated to girl groups. Some of your favorites—Dreamcatcher, Twice, Eunbi, and so many more! How could you say no to that?”

Jonas’s enthusiasm was infectious, but I wasn’t in the mood. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The chaos from recent riots at music festivals played on a loop in my mind—overcrowding, fights breaking out, people getting hurt. I’d seen it up close before, and I wasn’t eager to put myself in the middle of it again.

“I don’t know…” I hesitated, glancing at the stack of bills on my counter that never seemed to shrink. “It’s just—with all the violence lately, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Jonas let out an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line. “Daigo, you’re killing me here. Look, I need someone I can trust for this gig. You’ve got experience, you’re good under pressure, and—let’s be real—you’re the biggest fangirl I know when it comes to these groups.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Fangirl? That’s rich coming from the guy who cried when LOONA disbanded.”

“That was different, and you know it!” Jonas shot back, feigning indignation. “Tell you what, though. You help me out this one time, and I’ll sweeten the deal: I’ll get you backstage access for your top three groups. You can say hi, do the whole meet-and-greet thing, and—” he paused for dramatic effect, “I’ll pay you double time.”

“Double time and a meet-and-greet?” I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You must be desperate.”

“Desperate doesn’t even cover it,” Jonas admitted. “But I know you, Daigo. You’ll do it. You just need a little incentive.”

I leaned forward, considering his offer. The idea of meeting Dreamcatcher, Twice, and Eunbi backstage was tempting. Hell, it was more than tempting—it was a dream come true. But I wasn’t about to let him off easy.

“Okay,” I said, dragging the word out. “I’ll do it. But on one condition: you pay me in advance for the regular eight-hour shifts. When overtime inevitably hits—and we both know it will—you can pay me after.”

I expected him to balk, to try to negotiate or talk me down. Instead, Jonas practically shouted into the phone. “Fine! Deal!”

I sighed, shaking my head. “You’re way too excited about this. I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

“Only if you don’t bring something for your bias to sign!” Jonas teased, and before I could respond, he added, “I’ll send you the details. And, Daigo? Thanks, man. I owe you big time.”

As I hung up, I stared at my phone, torn between dread and anticipation. The job might be chaos, sure, but the thought of meeting my idols backstage was enough to nudge me into action. Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so bad.

The first two days of the festival passed in a blur. I worked with Lightsum alongside a guy named Dinozen, a chill dude with a sharp sense of humor, and covered the super-secret IZ*ONE reunion stage with someone named Dexter, a no-nonsense guy who seemed to have everything under control. Unsurprisingly, the girls were all the sweetest. Chowon, Sakura, and Eunbi even signed my photocards, which was an experience I’d never forget.

Hyewon, though, surprised me. She noticed my Night of the Living Dead phone case while I was setting up security near the backstage area.

“Oh my God, is that Romero’s Night of the Living Dead?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she leaned in closer to get a better look.

“Yeah,” I said, holding up the phone so she could see it better. “You’re a fan?”

“Are you kidding? I love zombie movies. Do you like Train to Busan?”

“Of course! A classic,” I replied, and we spent a few minutes geeking out about the genre before she got whisked away for rehearsals.

The last day of the festival was intense, to say the least. The lineup was packed: IVE, LE SSERAFIM, QWER, GFRIEND (yes, Eunha and Lil Uzi Vert were there), KISS OF LIFE, Dreamcatcher, and finally, Twice.

For the first two stages, Sakura, Chaewon, Yujin, and Wonyoung spotted me lingering around during the early morning soundchecks.

“Did you even sleep last night?” Wonyoung called out, grinning mischievously as she approached with the others in tow.

“Barely,” I admitted, stifling a yawn.

“You’re here earlier than us! Are you secretly a sasaeng?” Sakura teased, elbowing me lightly as the others burst into laughter.

“Yeah, what’s your bias list?” Chaewon added with mock suspicion, crossing her arms and squinting at me.

“Okay, first of all,” I said, holding up a finger, “I’m not a sasaeng. Second, I’m here working. You know, security?”

“Uh-huh. That’s what they all say,” Yujin quipped.

“Don’t worry, oppa, we’ll keep your secret,” Wonyoung said, winking.

“Oppa?!” I exclaimed, rolling my eyes at their antics. “You’re all impossible.”

Truth be told, I didn’t mind. Their teasing broke the ice, and by the end of their set, they were thanking me profusely for keeping everything running smoothly.

Later, I found myself working security for GFRIEND. Eunha caught me lingering backstage and decided to strike up a conversation.

“You’re awfully quiet for a security guy,” she said, tilting her head. “Do we intimidate you?”

“Not at all,” I said with a smirk. “I’m just professional. But since we’re chatting—big fan, by the way.”

Eunha grinned, leaning in slightly. “Oh? Do you have a favorite song?”

“‘Time for the Moon Night.’ No contest.”

“Good choice,” she said, clearly pleased. “You’ve got good taste. But…” She paused, her expression turning playful. “What’s your bias list for Twice?”

“You’re not getting that out of me,” I said, laughing.

“Oh, come on!” she said, punching my arm lightly before getting called away for rehearsal.

QWER was an entirely different vibe. From the moment they showed up, they were absolute chaos gremlins. Magenta spotted my Ultraman keychain dangling from my belt and let out a gasp loud enough to make heads turn.

“Is that Ultraman?!” she exclaimed, running over.

“Yeah. You a fan?”

“Am I a fan?!” she said, practically bouncing on her heels. “Ultraman Tiga is my favorite! What about you?”

We ended up on a massive tangent about tokusatsu, until Hina chimed in about Final Fantasy when I mentioned I love girls who can fight like Tifa from FFVII. “Tifa’s the best, hands down,” she said, crossing her arms as if daring anyone to argue.

“Agreed,” I said, nodding. “What’s your go-to build for her?”

“Oh, don’t get her started,” Chodan cut in, laughing. “But seriously, what’s your take on League of Legends?” After hearing me say someone was inting in the previous conversation.

That led to another rabbit hole of nerd talk, with Chodan grilling me about champs and strategies while Magenta playfully teased her for his “tryhard vibes.”

After their performance, Magenta pulled me aside. “Hey, if you want a job after this, come to Korea,” she said, a surprising seriousness in her tone. “I’m sure we can find a spot for you.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking it was just more teasing. “Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

“No, really,” she said, locking eyes with me. “Think about it. You’d fit in.”

Her sincerity caught me off guard, but before I could respond, she was already running off to join the others.

Sure! Here’s an expanded version of the scene with more dialogue and detail:

Dreamcatcher’s set was a whirlwind. They came in, stole the show with their energy and charisma, and left just as quickly. It was clear they were pros, used to the hectic schedule of being on tour. I barely had a chance to speak with them, but as I was walking backstage, Yoohyeon caught sight of my shirt peeking out from under my security uniform.

“Wait—is that a Kaiju No. 8 shirt?” she asked, pointing excitedly.

I froze, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Big fan of the series.”

“Same here!” Yoohyeon said, her eyes lighting up. “Dami got me into it. Isn’t Kafka’s transformation just the coolest?”

Dami, standing nearby, smirked. “Yoohyeon keeps trying to get everyone in the group to read it.”

“It’s worth it!” Siyeon chimed in, adjusting her jacket. “But, seriously, where’d you get that shirt? I’ve been looking for merch everywhere.”

I laughed nervously. “Online. Limited drop, though, so it might be hard to find now.”

“Lucky,” Dami said, shaking her head. “Anyway, we’d better go. Tour schedule’s tight.”

They waved as they hurried out, leaving me feeling both starstruck and a little bummed that I didn’t have more time to talk to them.

As Dreamcatcher’s bus pulled away, Twice was arriving. Their energy was palpable even before they stepped out, fans screaming from behind the barricades as they made their way inside. I was checking the perimeter when I heard a familiar voice.

“You were at our LA concert a few years ago.”

I turned to see Dahyun, smiling warmly as she approached. For a second, I was stunned.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “How did you remember that?”

Dahyun tilted her head, still smiling. “We don’t have many fans that look like…you, so I always try to remember their faces. Plus, you brought that light-up ring instead of our Candybong.”

I laughed, embarrassed but also flattered. “Yeah, the Candybong was sold out, so I improvised.”

“Well, it worked! We all thought it was cool.”

Before I could say anything else, the ground beneath us seemed to shift. setting everyone on edge.

“What was that?” someone whispered behind me.

And then the screams began.

From the crowd near the main stage, people started to thrash and convulse, their movements jerky and unnatural. Others began growling, their voices guttural and animalistic. The sight was surreal—like something out of a horror movie.

“Everyone, move!” I yelled, springing into action.

I turned to Dahyun and the rest of Twice. “Get to the evacuation buses. Now!”

They didn’t argue, following my lead as I herded them and the remaining girl groups backstage toward the buses. The screams and chaos grew louder as the infected began attacking others in the crowd, tearing into them with horrifying ferocity.

“Keep moving!” I shouted, adrenaline surging as I kept the idols together, forming a protective barrier between them and the chaos.

One by one, the groups boarded the buses. I stayed behind to make sure everyone was accounted for, scanning the area for any stragglers.

“Daigo, get on!” someone shouted from inside the last bus.

As I turned to board, a hand grabbed me, yanking me backward with incredible strength. The bus door shut just as I lost my footing.

The man who had grabbed me was no longer human. His eyes were bloodshot, black veins bulging across his face and neck like spiderwebs. He growled, the sound primal and terrifying, before lunging at me.

I struggled against him, barely managing to shove him off, but not before his teeth sank into my arm. Pain shot through me as I kicked him away, slamming a nearby door into his face before scrambling to my car.

Blood was dripping from my arm as I started the engine, my hands shaking. My phone buzzed with an emergency alert:

“EMERGENCY ALERT: FERAL RAGE VIRUS OUTBREAK IN LOS ANGELES. AVOID INFECTED INDIVIDUALS. IF BITTEN, SELF-ISOLATE IMMEDIATELY.”

A wave of dread washed over me as the words sank in. A zombie apocalypse—and I’d been bitten.

By the time I got home, I was running on autopilot. I found a note from my family on the kitchen counter:

“We evacuated. Stay safe. We love you.”

I smiled faintly, relieved that they had made it out, even as the reality of my situation settled in. I sat down on the couch, clutching my arm as I waited—waited for the inevitable.

But as the hours passed, nothing happened. No fever, no loss of control, no primal urge to attack. Just silence.

Something was wrong—or maybe something was right. Whatever it was, I wasn’t turning. At least, not yet. 28 weeks later

California had been decimated by the undead in a matter of days. The infection spread faster than anyone could have predicted, turning the Golden State into a graveyard of abandoned cities and roaming hordes of the infected. Military barricades crumbled, evacuation plans failed, and those who were lucky got out while they could. Planes were packed with desperate refugees, cars clogged the highways leading east, and boats left the coastlines overcrowded with those willing to risk open waters.

For me, leaving wasn’t an option.

I didn’t have the luxury of escape, not because I couldn’t find a way out, but because of the bite on my arm. By the time the infection reached its peak, there were no confirmed cases of immunity. A bite was a death sentence—or worse, an eternity as one of the infected. The thought of being trapped in that kind of existence kept me grounded, unwilling to risk spreading the infection to anyone else.

But something strange happened.

I didn’t turn.

Days turned into weeks, and then months. The black veins that had crawled up my arm after the attack faded away within hours, leaving only a faint scar where the infected’s teeth had punctured my skin. I waited for the fever to come, for the primal urges, for the hallucinations people had described before losing themselves. None of it happened.

In fact, the only time I got remotely sick was from a bad batch of shrimp I’d scavenged off an abandoned food truck near the Santa Monica pier.

At first, I thought maybe I was just a late bloomer, that the virus would eventually catch up to me and take over. I avoided people, avoided crowded safe zones, not wanting to risk spreading whatever was inside me. I spent most of my time moving quietly through the ruins of Los Angeles, scavenging supplies and avoiding the Zs as best I could.

The thing was, the Zs avoided me too.

It wasn’t immediate, but over time, I started noticing that they didn’t react to me the way they did to others. If I stayed still, they would stumble past as if I weren’t even there. If I walked into a horde, they would part like a school of fish around a predator.

It was unsettling at first, terrifying even, but I couldn’t deny the advantage it gave me. I became a ghost in the city, slipping through once-busy streets and long-abandoned suburbs. I didn’t need to hide anymore.

Whatever was inside me, whatever had stopped the virus from taking hold, had made me different.

And in a world where survival was everything, being different wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

At first, surviving felt like an achievement. I kept moving, kept scavenging, and avoided any unnecessary risks. But as the weeks bled into months, that sense of urgency faded, replaced by something else: boredom.

The excitement of sneaking through an abandoned city, the thrill of dodging Zs, even the satisfaction of finding a can of beans in the back of an overturned truck—it all started to feel routine. The days blurred together.

Wake up. Scavenge. Avoid Zs. Sleep.

For a while, I wandered aimlessly. I retraced old memories, revisiting places I’d once loved. The Santa Monica Pier, now eerily quiet except for the creak of its abandoned rides. Griffith Park, where the Hollywood sign still stood, a crumbling symbol of a bygone world. But eventually, even nostalgia wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness.

So I headed south.

San Diego seemed as good a place as any to settle. The Zs were thinner here, the population having fled or been wiped out in the first waves of the outbreak. The weather was mild, the ocean breeze cutting through the silence, and the naval base offered plenty of resources for the taking if I could get past the wreckage.

I found an old house in a quiet suburb, tucked away behind overgrown trees and hedges. It was small but sturdy, with thick walls and a decent vantage point from the second floor. The backyard had a rusted swing set, a reminder of the family that had once lived here.

Over time, I turned it into my safe haven.

The front door was reinforced with scrap metal I’d scavenged from a nearby junkyard. Windows were boarded up, and the second-floor balcony became my lookout point. I rigged up a crude rainwater collection system with a tarp and some old gutters and managed to get a small solar panel working, enough to power a single lightbulb and charge my radio.

I spent my days scavenging for supplies, fortifying the house, and exploring the surrounding neighborhoods. Grocery stores, gas stations, and even old military supply depots had been picked clean, but every once in a while, I’d find something useful—tools, canned food, medicine.

It was a life, I suppose.

But it was also mind-numbingly dull.

I tried to keep myself busy. I’d read old books I found in abandoned houses, patch holes in my clothes, and even attempted to learn how to cook properly with the limited ingredients I had. But there were only so many ways to make canned beans and rice interesting, and only so many times I could read Dune before the words started to blur together.

The worst part was the silence.

I used to think I hated noise—traffic jams, crowded malls, loud neighbors. But now, I would have given anything to hear another human voice, even just in passing. The only sounds were the distant groans of Zs, the wind rattling through broken windows, and the occasional creak of the house settling under its own weight.

Sometimes, I’d sit on the roof at night, staring at the stars and wondering if there was anyone else out there. Were there other people like me, survivors trying to rebuild? Or was I really the last one left, wandering through the ruins of the world?

Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: this life wasn’t sustainable.

I needed a purpose. Something to do, somewhere to go. Anything to break the monotony.

But until then, I kept moving through the same routine, day after day, wondering how long I could keep going before the boredom consumed me entirely.

Life alone in San Diego wasn’t just about surviving anymore—it was about mastering survival. The boredom had driven me to find ways to fill my days, and in doing so, I’d turned what was once a simple safe house into a fortress of modern conveniences.

The first breakthrough came with the solar panels. I’d stumbled across a half-abandoned solar farm about a mile from my safe house. It had been overrun with Zs, but they didn’t notice me as I worked my way through the facility, scavenging what I could. I started small, hauling back a single panel and an inverter to test if I could rig it up to charge my car battery. When that worked, I went back for more.

It took weeks of trial and error, piecing together wiring and jerry-rigging connections, but eventually, I had enough solar power to light my house, charge a working phone, and even run a small TV. The TV only played old DVDs I found in people’s basements or streaming content saved offline, but it was better than staring at the walls in silence.

Next, I tackled the water situation. Collecting rainwater was easy enough, but I wanted something more. I scavenged pipes, valves, and even an old water heater from a hardware store and figured out how to reroute collected water through the system. After several failed attempts—and one near-disaster involving a busted valve and a flooded basement—I managed to create a working setup. Hot water was a luxury I never thought I’d have again, but on cold nights, a hot shower made all the difference.

Siphoning gas was easier than I expected, though it came with risks. I learned to be fast and cautious, always checking my surroundings before sticking the hose into an abandoned car or truck. Over time, I built up a stockpile of fuel, which I stored in metal barrels I kept in the garage. The gas wasn’t just for the occasional use of my car but also for running a small generator when the solar panels didn’t get enough sunlight.

The freezers were my crowning achievement. I found a pair of them in a strip mall appliance store that had been untouched—probably because most people didn’t think about long-term food storage during the chaos of an apocalypse. Getting them back to my safe house was a nightmare involving a borrowed pickup truck, a makeshift ramp, and more muscle than I thought I had. But once I hooked them up to the solar grid, they became indispensable.

One freezer was stocked with frozen food I’d scavenged from long-abandoned grocery stores, still surprisingly edible thanks to the cold temperatures in the freezers I’d found them in. The other I filled with supplies I processed myself—vacuum-sealed meats, vegetables, and even some wild game I managed to hunt with a crossbow I’d picked up along the way.

Over time, I built up reserves that would have made a doomsday prepper jealous: shelves lined with canned goods, jars of pickled vegetables, packets of instant coffee, and more tools and spare parts than I’d probably ever need.

I even managed to get my hands on a working smartphone, though the lack of cell service meant it was little more than a glorified camera and notepad. Still, I found ways to make it useful, storing downloaded survival guides, maps of San Diego, and even the occasional audiobook.

It wasn’t the life I’d imagined for myself, but it was a life nonetheless.

Yet as I sat in my makeshift living room one evening, surrounded by the quiet hum of the solar-powered TV and the faint glow of LED lights, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the silence pressing down on me. I had everything I needed to survive and more, but I still felt the gnawing emptiness of isolation.

I’d conquered boredom with ingenuity, but what I couldn’t conquer was the longing for human connection. For someone to talk to, to laugh with, to share all these little victories with.

The sound of glass crunching underfoot woke me, followed by the unmistakable creak of the front door being pushed open. I sighed, sitting up and grabbing the mattock I kept leaned against my nightstand. Another break-in. It had been months since any zombies had even stumbled across my safe house, and I’d started to think I was truly alone out here.

Guess not.

Descending the stairs quietly, I prepared for the worst. My muscles tensed as I reached the ground floor, but when I rounded the corner into the living room, I froze at the sight of the intruders. They were surprisingly not undead.

A group of about ten people stood huddled together, illuminated by the dim glow of my solar-powered lights. Among them were familiar faces that stopped me dead in my tracks: Loona alum Hyeju, Twice’s Jeongyeon and Dahyun, Yunjin from Le Sserafim, Chodan from QWER, and Yena from IZ*ONE.

Their wide-eyed stares mirrored my own surprise, though for different reasons.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence and hefting the mattock onto my shoulder, “you could have just knocked.”

The group flinched slightly, but Dahyun and Chodan were the first to recover.

“Daigo?” they said in unison, their voices filled with disbelief.

I nodded, leaning the mattock against the wall. “The one and only. Now,” I said, gesturing toward the group, “how can I help you survivors out?”

Dahyun stepped forward, her face a mix of relief and confusion. “We didn’t think… I mean, we heard rumors that someone was living out here, but we didn’t expect it to be you.”

“Well, here I am,” I said, crossing my arms. “Looking exactly like I did last time you saw me, minus the security guard uniform.”

Chodan laughed, though it was more from nerves than humor. “Leave it to Daigo to survive the apocalypse and somehow look like he’s thriving.”

“I’ve had some practice,” I replied, motioning toward the group. “Now, you all look like you’ve been through hell. Sit down, and let’s figure out what you need.”

Hyeju finally spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. “We’re out of options. Supplies are running low, and we’ve been moving nonstop for weeks. We need food, shelter—anything you can spare.”

Yunjin, standing close to Hyeju, added, “We didn’t mean to break in. We thought this place was abandoned.”

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at the reinforced door now hanging slightly ajar. “Does this look abandoned to you? The lights didn’t give it away?”

Yena chimed in, her tone apologetic. “In our defense, we’ve seen plenty of powered-up places that were overrun. We didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Fair enough,” I said, letting out a breath. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today. Follow me.”

I led the group into the dining room, which I’d converted into a makeshift supply depot. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with canned goods, first aid supplies, and neatly folded clothes. Two freezers hummed quietly in the corner, a rare sound in the apocalypse.

“Holy crap,” Jeongyeon whispered, her eyes scanning the room. “You’ve got more here than most of the settlements we’ve passed through.”

“Like I said,” I replied, opening one of the freezers to reveal vacuum-sealed packages of meat and frozen vegetables, “I’ve had practice. Take what you need, but don’t get greedy. This isn’t a charity.”

The group quickly got to work organizing supplies, redistributing their belongings, and planning what they needed most. Meanwhile, Dahyun lingered near me, her expression unreadable.

“You really made it out here on your own,” she said softly, her voice tinged with disbelief and something close to admiration. “I thought… I thought you might’ve been gone, like everyone else.”

“Would’ve been,” I replied with a small, wry smile, “but I got bit. Bright side? Didn’t turn.”

Her brows furrowed slightly as she digested that information. “You’re immune?”

“Guess so. Though it wasn’t a walk in the park,” I admitted. “But what about you? Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Dahyun shrugged, her gaze dropping to the floor. “We’ve been running since day one. Some of us made it; others didn’t. It’s been… rough.”

I nodded, understanding more than I wanted to. “I can imagine. Well, you’re safe here for now. Take a breather. You’ve earned it.”

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, and she gave me a small, grateful smile before joining the others.

For the first time in months, my house felt alive. Voices filled the air as the group settled in, sharing stories and laughter over the first real meal they’d had in days. They were hesitant at first, like the silence of survival had been ingrained into their instincts. But as the night went on, the weight on their shoulders seemed to lift, even if only temporarily.

After everyone had eaten and showered, Chodan approached me, her sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

“You know,” she began, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, “you’re living like a king here. You could easily take your talents to a settlement and help a lot of people.”

I sighed, setting my water bottle down and rolling up my sleeve to show her the faint remnants of my bite mark.

“I’m infected. Can’t really risk being around people. I could turn at any moment.”

Chodan raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Really?” she said, before lifting her shirt just enough to reveal a faint scar near her side.

My brain short-circuited for a moment. It had been months since I’d seen anyone this close, let alone someone this… distracting. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in my face.

“Relax, caveman,” she teased, lowering her shirt. “Just showing you my bite mark. I got bit three weeks ago. The gestation period is supposed to be 48 hours max, and yet… here I am. Still human. So, either we’re both lucky, or we’re both immune. Oh, and by the way,” she added with a mischievous grin, “Dahyun got bit too. Day before yesterday.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked, looking over at Dahyun, who was now watching us with a sheepish expression.

“It’s true,” Dahyun admitted, stepping closer. “I was afraid to say anything at first, but… then I collapsed. As you can see i got better.”

I nodded slowly, piecing it together. “Well, I got bit 28 weeks ago—so I guess I’m either immune or just incredibly unlucky.”

Chodan’s eyebrows shot up. “Twenty-eight weeks? That’s… day zero.”

I nodded again. “Yeah. It happened during the initial outbreak.”

Her expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “Did you hear anything on the first day? There were reports of a high-pitched whine right before people started turning.”

I frowned, thinking back. “Nope. Didn’t hear a thing.”

Chodan’s eyes widened. “Oh. Then you’re truly immune.”

I squinted at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if delivering a secret. “The virus can’t infect you at all. If you didn’t hear the sound, it means your body isn’t affected by the signal it sends. You can’t turn, period.”

“But,” I interjected, “when I got bit, my veins turned black.”

“Did you have any other symptoms? Fever? Rage? Loss of consciousness?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Nope. Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” Chodan said, standing upright again. “You’re not a regular immune, though. You’re not a Slayer either.”

“Wait—Slayer?” I asked, now thoroughly confused.

Hyeju, who had been quietly observing, chimed in. “Slayers are people who’ve had the virus evolve them instead of killing or turning them. We’re stronger, faster… better, basically.”

I glanced around at the group, now realizing the mix of reactions on their faces. “Wait—you’re all Slayers?”

Chodan grinned. “Me, Hyeju, and Dahyun, yeah.”

“Oh, thanks for explaining it so thoroughly, Hyeju,” I said, shooting her a grateful look.

Hyeju smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome, Daigo. Oh, and thanks for the food.”

“You’re very welcome,” I replied, shaking my head. Of course, my safe house had gone from a sanctuary to a den of superpowered survivors in less than a day.

After the group had cleaned themselves up and prepared to leave, I directed them to the vehicles scattered throughout the neighborhood.

“They should still be working,” I explained, gesturing to the trucks and sedans.

The group looked at me in surprise. “Wait, you’ve been keeping all these in working condition?” Dahyun asked, her eyebrows raised.

I shook my head. “Not exactly. I haven’t repaired them or anything major, but I’ve kept the batteries charged, fluids topped up, and tires inflated. Basic upkeep,” I said with a shrug.

A few of them smiled as they hopped into the trucks. The group packed quickly, clearly practiced in loading supplies efficiently, though their movements carried the exhaustion of constant survival.

As the last of the supplies were loaded, Chodan and Dahyun approached me. They exchanged a glance before Dahyun stepped forward, her voice almost pleading.

“Please come with us,” she said.

Chodan chimed in, her tone more assertive. “We kind of need someone like you.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning casually on my mattock. “You need a socially awkward hothead?”

Chodan laughed, but Dahyun shook her head, her expression serious. “No. A leader.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sincerity. My gut reaction was to brush it off, but something in her tone gave me pause. I mulled it over for a moment before sighing. “Sure. Why not?”

The group let out a collective breath of relief, and I found myself helping them secure the last of their supplies before climbing into my car and following their convoy.

When we arrived at their settlement near the military base, my optimism took a nosedive. The place was barely holding together. Makeshift walls surrounded a cluster of tents and scavenged buildings. People wandered the grounds with hollow eyes, looking malnourished and weary.

“Jeez,” I muttered under my breath. “This is what you’re working with?”

As we parked, Eunha stood with a young man near the entrance. They were holding hands, their expressions tinged with equal parts hope and surprise as they saw the trucks pull in.

Yunjin jumped out of one of the vehicles, her voice ringing with triumph. “We got food! And water!”

The settlement erupted into cheers, a wave of relief sweeping over the ragged residents.

I, however, was less than impressed. “Wait, wait, wait,” I called out, holding up a hand. “You have access to water, energy, and military-grade weapons, and yet you look like you’re on the brink of starvation?”

The young man was the first to respond, his voice heavy with frustration. “The base proper is overrun. If you’re so eager to fix it, be my guest.”

I turned to the group, stunned. “So you’re telling me you haven’t even secured the base?”

The residents nodded sheepishly. I groaned, rubbing my temples. Without a word, I popped the trunk of my car and began pulling out weapons: a pair of customized gauntlets and boots I’d tinkered with during my long months alone.

“What are you doing?” one of the settlers asked nervously.

I sighed, strapping on the gear. “Making sure you all don’t die,” I muttered.

Before I could head toward the base, Chodan and Dahyun stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

“You can’t go in there,” Chodan said firmly. “There are rippers and changers inside.”

I froze, the names sparking a connection in my mind. Rippers—zombies with bladed arms capable of slicing through steel—and changers—fast, intelligent zombies that evolved in real time. Apex predators in a world of monsters.

“Are there whippers and spitters?” I asked, scanning the group for confirmation.

Everyone looked at me blankly. “What?” Chodan asked.

“Big zombies that spew acid, napalm, or spikes,” I clarified. “Or ones with long tongues that whip around like grappling hooks?”

Chodan and Dahyun exchanged a glance before shaking their heads. “No. None of that,” Dahyun said.

I gave them a thumbs-up. “Great. Then I’m going in, pummeling anything that moves and isn’t human, and we’ll secure the base so we can all stop living in this mess.”

I started toward the base, but Chodan stepped closer—so close I could feel her breath on my chest. My heart stuttered for a moment, and I cursed my brain for its caveman reaction.

“Daigo,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “For how I fight? Not really. Besides, as long as I follow the first rule of zombie apocalypses, I’ll be fine.”

The group stared at me, confused. “What’s that?” Dahyun finally asked.

I grinned. “Be smart, not scared.”

Without another word, I climbed the fence.

Before I could take another step, Chodan effortlessly vaulted over the fence after me in a single, graceful bound. I looked at her and realized she could easily fend off whatever was in there.

Chodan smirked, falling into step beside me. “You’re going to need me in there,” she said.

I glanced at her, then back at the base. “Guess we’ll see.”

We walked in with weapons raised, every sense heightened as we approached the entrance to the base. The stench of rot and decay hit us like a wall, the ground littered with body parts and unidentifiable chunks of flesh. The once-pristine military structure was now a grotesque tableau of death. Every step squelched against blood-soaked concrete, a grim reminder of what waited for us inside.

The first zombie to spot us let out a guttural screech, its twisted body lurching forward at an unnatural speed. Its milky-white eyes locked onto me as it sprinted, claws outstretched. I snapped my fingers, and flames erupted from my gauntlets and boots, wrapping around them like living entities.

With a single step forward, I swung my fist. The punch connected with the zombie's head, obliterating it in an instant. The headless body collapsed to the floor in a heap, twitching violently before going still.

I glanced over at Chodan, who raised an eyebrow in surprise, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Not bad,” she said, her tone impressed but still teasing.

I shrugged, brushing off her compliment. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Over the next few minutes, more zombies emerged from the shadows, drawn by the noise and the scent of fresh prey. Five of them charged at me in quick succession. I moved through them with a fiery ferocity, each punch igniting their decaying flesh. With every strike, I could feel the heat coursing through my body, the fire making short work of the infected.

Just as I finished off the last one, I turned to see Chodan spring into action. She unsheathed a short katana—I think it’s called a wakizashi or something like that—and moved with a lethal grace that was mesmerizing. Each slice of her blade was precise, every motion deliberate.

She ducked and spun, her strikes fluid and elegant as she danced through the undead. Her blade flashed in the dim light, leaving trails of crimson in the air. Within moments, the horde around her lay in pieces. It wasn’t just impressive—it was downright sexy. (What can I say? I like women who can fight, and after six months of isolation, watching Chodan in action was… distracting, to say the least.)

Together, we made our way deeper into the base, clearing out every corridor, room, and hallway we came across. Along the way, we gathered access cards and files, carefully choosing the ones that weren’t completely soaked in blood or viscera. Mapping out the base was crucial if we wanted to make it a safe haven.

Two grueling hours later, we emerged from the base, our task for the day complete.

The camp was waiting for us when we returned. Their faces lit up in shock and awe at the sight of us alive and—well, mostly intact. Thanks to the fiery nature of my weapons, I was relatively clean, save for a few smudges of soot. Chodan, on the other hand, looked like she’d walked straight out of Kill Bill. Her clothes were drenched in blood, and her katana was dripping crimson.

The group stared for a moment before breaking into cheers. Their joy was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the exhaustion.

Over the next two weeks, the slayers and I worked tirelessly to clear the rest of the base. The deeper sections were overrun, and each encounter with the infected felt like a battle against time and attrition. We couldn’t risk leaving a single zombie behind, knowing even one could cause a mini-outbreak once the camp moved in.

During this time, we also worked to fully map out the base, identifying areas that could be repurposed for agriculture, water purification, and living quarters. One of the larger open-air courtyards became the designated zone for growing vegetables and fruits, a necessary counterbalance to the endless supply of fish we’d soon be consuming.

By the end of the second week, we had restored power to the base and set up a desalination system to provide fresh water. The once-derelict military base was beginning to transform into a functional, self-sufficient community. By the end of the month, we had fortified the perimeter, secured resources, and established a sustainable living environment that could endure the apocalypse indefinitely.

Yet, despite our progress, I couldn’t shake the restless feeling gnawing at the back of my mind.

Sensing this, Yunjin and Hyeju decided to lift everyone’s spirits by organizing a celebration. The party was small but lively, with music, laughter, and a rare sense of warmth filling the air. People danced and shared stories, the weight of survival temporarily forgotten.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt connected—to them, to this place, and maybe even to something greater than myself.

The celebration was in full swing by the time I made my way to the center of the courtyard. Lanterns we’d scavenged from the base cast a warm glow over the party, and the air buzzed with a mix of laughter, music, and the clinking of makeshift cups. For the first time in months, the weight of the apocalypse seemed to lift, even if only temporarily.

I leaned against a crate of supplies, enjoying the scene as I nursed a glass of something Yunjin had proudly labeled “party punch.” (It tasted like motor oil with a hint of lemon, but hey, it was the thought that counted.)

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Dahyun making her way toward me. Her smile was soft, and there was something unspoken in her eyes. “Hey,” she said, holding up her cup as she leaned against the crate beside me.

“Hey,” I replied, offering a small smile.

“I was just thinking,” she began, “none of this would’ve been possible without you. Clearing the base, organizing everything—you’ve done more in a few weeks than we’ve managed in months.”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “It’s not like I did it alone. You all worked just as hard.”

She shook her head, her expression earnest. “Don’t sell yourself short, Daigo. You brought people together. That’s not something everyone can do.”

Before I could respond, Chodan appeared on my other side, seemingly out of nowhere. She slid in smoothly, her confident smirk firmly in place. “Are we talking about how great Daigo is? Because I’ve got a list.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her sudden arrival. Dahyun stiffened beside me, her relaxed posture shifting as her grip tightened on her cup.

“Didn’t realize I had a fan club,” I joked, trying to ease the tension.

Chodan ignored me, her gaze focused on Dahyun. “You’re right, though,” she said, her tone just a little too pointed. “Daigo’s been a real asset. Honestly, I don’t know how we managed without him.”

“Guess you’ll have to start getting used to it,” Dahyun replied, her smile polite but strained. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Chodan tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Oh, I don’t know. He might decide to come on a few missions with me. You know, something more exciting than farming and base maintenance.”

“Farming is exciting when it’s keeping people alive,” Dahyun shot back, her voice calm but firm. “Not everyone needs to play the hero to make a difference.”

I glanced between the two of them, sensing the subtle sparks flying. “Uh, you guys okay?” I asked, trying to break the tension.

“Perfectly fine,” Dahyun said quickly, taking a sip of her drink.

“Just fine,” Chodan echoed, crossing her arms as she leaned closer to me. “Speaking of heroes, Daigo, you’ve got to tell me how you learned to fight like that. I’ve never seen anyone take on a group of zombies the way you did.”

Dahyun raised an eyebrow. “It’s not all about fighting. He’s got other skills too, like keeping the base running and making sure we don’t starve. That’s just as important.”

“Of course,” Chodan replied smoothly, her tone dripping with faux agreement. “But let’s be real—there’s no base to run if you can’t keep it safe.” She turned to me, her expression playful but loaded. “Right, Daigo?”

I felt like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh… I mean, both are important?”

Dahyun rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression now. “Nice save,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly against mine.

Chodan laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Guess that’s why he’s the leader, huh?”

The three of us stood there for a moment, the awkwardness lingering but not entirely unpleasant. As the party carried on around us, I couldn’t help but feel a little flattered, even if the attention was overwhelming.

Yunjin’s voice cut through the noise, calling everyone to the center for a toast. I used the opportunity to excuse myself, slipping away from the growing crowd and finding a quieter corner to breathe.

As I leaned against the wall, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. The apocalypse sure had a funny way of complicating things.

The camp had grown exponentially since we first cleared the base. Word spread fast, and survivors from across the region trickled in, desperate for safety and stability. Among the newcomers were two slayers: Hyewon, a quiet yet sharp-eyed scout from a decimated group, and Tsuki, a high-energy fighter with a knack for unconventional tactics.

Their arrival was a turning point.

I was inspecting the desalination system one morning when Hyewon approached me, her movements were measured but purposeful. She didn’t say much at first—just hovered nearby, watching as I adjusted a valve. Finally, she spoke.

“You really run this place?” she asked, her tone neutral but her eyes cautious.

“I guess so,” I replied with a shrug. “Not much of a title, but I try to keep things running smoothly.”

She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “You treat slayers… differently.”

“Differently how?”

“Like people,” she said simply. “My last group didn’t.”

Before I could respond, Tsuki bounded up, her energy a stark contrast to Hyewon’s reserved demeanor.

“This place is amazing!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. “Food, water, even showers! And no one’s looking at us like we’re monsters.” She paused, giving me a wide grin. “You’re the boss, right?”

“I wouldn’t call myself that,” I said, standing up and wiping my hands on a rag. “But I try to keep everyone alive.”

“Well, count me in!” Tsuki declared, sticking out her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyewon, still standing a few feet away, added quietly, “Me neither.”

At first, their attachment was subtle. Hyewon would shadow me during supply runs, her sharp eyes scanning for threats. Tsuki, on the other hand, was more overt, always offering to help with repairs or sparring with other slayers under my supervision.

But as more survivors arrived, the camp’s dynamics began to shift. With new faces came new opinions—and new power struggles.

One evening, after a long day of clearing more space in the base for new arrivals, a meeting was called in the main hall. It was supposed to be a discussion about resource management, but it quickly spiraled into a debate over leadership.

“Daigo’s done a great job, but we need more structure,” a man named Mark, one of the newer arrivals, said. “We can’t just rely on one person’s decisions.”

“I agree,” chimed in Lisa, a former teacher who’d quickly become a voice for the non-slayer survivors. “We should have a council or something. It’s too risky to have all the power in one person’s hands.”

“I don’t think he’s been abusing it,” Dahyun countered, her voice calm but firm.

Mark shot her a look. “That’s not the point. The camp’s grown too big for one person to handle.”

Before I could speak, Tsuki jumped to her feet.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, her voice rising. “Daigo’s the reason this place isn’t a pile of ash. If it weren’t for him, half of you wouldn’t even be here!”

Hyewon, still seated, added quietly but pointedly, “He treats slayers like equals. That’s more than I can say for most of you.”

The room grew tense, the divide between slayers and non-slayers suddenly glaring.

“I’m not saying we don’t appreciate him,” Mark said, his tone defensive. “But this camp belongs to all of us, not just the slayers.”

“And yet you’re here because of us,” Chodan interjected, standing next to Dahyun. “You think you’d survive a day out there without us?”

The argument grew louder, voices overlapping as the group fractured into factions. Some sided with Mark and Lisa, calling for more democratic leadership. Others, particularly the slayers, stood by me, pointing out the unique challenges we faced in keeping everyone alive.

I raised my hand, and slowly the room quieted.

“Enough,” I said, my voice firm but not angry. “This isn’t about me, or anyone else. It’s about survival. We can figure out the leadership structure later. Right now, we focus on what matters: keeping this camp safe and functional.”

The room was silent for a moment, then Lisa spoke up. “Fair enough. But this conversation isn’t over.”

She and Mark left the hall, and slowly, others followed, leaving only the slayers and a few loyal survivors. Tsuki crossed her arms, glaring at the door.

“They don’t get it,” she muttered.

“They’re scared,” I said, leaning against the table. “Can’t blame them for that.”

Hyewon stood, her gaze steady. “You’re too nice, Daigo. But that’s why we trust you.”

Chodan nodded, and even Dahyun offered a rare smile.

As the others filed out, I sat alone in the hall for a while, the weight of the growing camp pressing down on me. Leadership wasn’t something I’d ever asked for, but it seemed I didn’t have much of a choice.

Later that night I found myself struggling to sleep. My quarters were as simple as it got: a small bed with a lumpy mattress, a desk buried under maps and scavenged files, and a single lamp casting just enough light to keep the darkness at bay. After the day I’d had, all I wanted was to pass out. But sleep wasn’t coming easily. Too many faces were swimming in my head—worried faces, hopeful faces, faces looking to me for answers.

I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, when a soft knock came at the door.

“It’s open,” I called, too tired to sit up.

The door creaked open, and I glanced over to see Chodan stepping inside. She looked calm, but I knew her well enough by now to notice the subtle tension in her posture.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Figured you’d still be awake.”

“Barely,” I muttered, letting my head fall back onto the pillow. “What’s up?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked over to the bed and knelt down beside me. Before I could ask what she was doing, I felt her hands on my shoulders.

“What are you—”

“You’re tense,” she interrupted, already working at the knots in my muscles. “Let me help.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Her hands were strong, and as much as I wanted to protest, I couldn’t deny it felt good. So I just sighed and let her work, the tension slowly melting away.

“You’ve got your hands full,” she said after a while, her tone light. “Especially with your little ducklings.”

“My what now?” I asked, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

“Hyewon and Tsuki,” she said with a smirk. “They’ve imprinted on you like a couple of baby ducks.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes. “They’re not ducklings. They’re just… adjusting.”

“Adjusting to following you around like lost puppies?” she teased. “You can’t take two steps without one of them popping up to ask if you need anything.”

“They’re slayers,” I said defensively. “They’ve been through hell. Of course they’re going to stick close to someone who treats them with basic respect.”

Chodan’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “And that’s exactly why they follow you, you know. Most people don’t look at us the way you do.”

“The way I do?”

“Like we’re just people,” she said quietly. “Not monsters. Not weapons. Just… people.”

I was silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. “Because you are just people,” I said finally. “You didn’t ask for this any more than the rest of us asked for zombies. You’re just trying to survive like everyone else.”

Chodan’s hands stilled on my shoulders, and when I looked over, her expression was softer than I’d ever seen it.

“That’s not how everyone sees it,” she said. “Since more survivors started showing up, Dahyun and I… we’ve felt it. The whispers, the stares. It’s like we don’t belong here anymore. Like we’re dangerous.”

I sat up, brushing her hands aside so I could look her in the eye. “You belong here,” I said firmly. “Both of you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

She studied me for a long moment, then smiled—a small, genuine smile that made her look younger, almost vulnerable. “You’re a strange guy, Daigo,” she said. “But I think that’s why people follow you. Even when they don’t agree with you, they trust you.”

I chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Strange, huh? I’ll take it.”

Chodan tilted her head, her smile turning sly again. “You know, you’ve done more than any of us. You’re not a slayer, but you’ve taken down more zombies than all of us combined. And you’re immune on top of that. It’s like you’re something else entirely.”

“Just a guy with a lot of stubbornness and a decent punch,” I said with a shrug.

She shook her head. “No, you’re more than that. You’ve earned a title.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A title?”

She nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Yeah. From now on, you’re ‘The Vanquisher.’”

I laughed, shaking my head. “The Vanquisher? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin. “But it fits. You’re the guy who doesn’t back down, no matter what’s in front of you. And you’ve given all of us hope. You deserve it.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I managed, “Thanks, Chodan. That… means a lot.”

She stood, stretching and giving me one last playful look. “Get some rest, Vanquisher. Tomorrow’s another busy day.”

As she left the room, I lay back down, the weight on my chest feeling a little lighter. For the first time in weeks, I drifted off to sleep with a small smile on my face.

The door to my quarters closed softly behind Chodan, but her teasing smirk lingered in my mind as I lay back down. Her parting remark about my “little ducklings” had been a low blow. She wasn’t wrong, though. Tsuki and Hyewon had latched onto me like lost kids, which wasn’t a problem—until you factored in Chodan and Dahyun, who had both been… friendlier lately.

I didn’t know what to make of it. They were strong, capable women, and maybe I was imagining things, but their lingering glances and playful jabs felt like more than camaraderie. It was something I’d need to ask them about. Tomorrow, I decided.

Only tomorrow didn’t start the way I planned.

The yelling pulled me from a restless sleep. I threw on my boots and stepped out into the chilly morning air to find Gil, Eunha’s boyfriend, squaring off with one of Martin’s goons.

“You left her to die!” Gil snarled, shoving the guy hard enough that he stumbled.

Martin’s man pushed back, and before things escalated further, I stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

Gil’s chest was heaving, his hands clenched into fists. “Eunha’s out there, Daigo. Alone. She got bit because of them!”

Martin sauntered up, wearing his usual smug expression. “It’s simple,” he said, shrugging like this wasn’t life and death. “She wasn’t cut out for supply runs. Not my problem.”

For a second, I was too stunned to respond. I glanced back at Gil, who looked ready to explode, and said the only thing I could. “Let’s go get her.”

The commotion had drawn a crowd. Lisa’s group, always eager for drama, arrived first. Mark wasn’t far behind, his posse trailing like shadows.

“What’s going on?” Lisa asked, her tone sharp.

“This crazy bastard is going to help that lovesick idiot find his zombie girlfriend,” Martin sneered.

I ignored him, turning instead to Chodan and Dahyun, who had pushed their way through the growing throng. I handed them the site keycards without a word. If something happened to me, they’d keep the camp together.

Before I could leave, Tsuki and Hyewon appeared, weapons already strapped on.

“We’re coming with you,” Tsuki said, her tone resolute.

I sighed but didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the fight. The four of us set out, Gil fuming silently at my side while Hyewon and Tsuki kept pace behind us.

Once we were out of earshot of the camp, my frustration boiled over.

“Those idiots are going to get everyone killed,” I growled, my voice low but seething.

Gil, Tsuki, and Hyewon stopped in their tracks, stunned.

“They’re so caught up in their fear and egos that they’re making stupid choices,” I continued, pacing now. “And when they screw up, people die. Or worse, they turn into slayers.”

Gil looked at me, shocked. “I… I didn’t realize…”

I stopped and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my temper in check. “It’s not your fault, Gil. You’re good. They’re the ones twisting everything. These supply runs? They’re not about survival. They’re about power. Credibility. They’re trying to build themselves up while tearing the rest of us down.”

The others didn’t reply, their silence heavy. We reached the edge of the horde soon after. Eunha was there, fighting for her life, her movements erratic but fierce.

I whistled, drawing the zombies’ attention away from her. “Let’s get her out of this mess.”

When we returned to the camp, Eunha was barely conscious. Her slayer transformation was starting, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant. I sent Gil to the infirmary with her while I headed back toward the center of camp.

That’s when I saw them—a new group of survivors, all slayers. And among them, three familiar faces: Momo Hirai, Sana Minatozaki, and Mina Myoui.

Dahyun’s cry of joy echoed through the air as she ran to embrace her friends. The reunion was heartwarming, but it didn’t last long. Lisa, Mark, and Martin arrived like clockwork, their expressions darkening the moment they spotted the new arrivals.

“Who are they?” Lisa demanded, her voice like a whip crack.

Sana stepped forward, her radiant smile disarming. “We’re survivors, just like you. And we’re slayers. We can help.”

The word “slayers” hit like a bomb. I watched as Lisa’s face twisted in disgust, while Mark and Martin exchanged uneasy glances.

“No,” Lisa said, her voice dripping with venom. “We have enough slayers already.”

Something inside me snapped.

I stepped forward, my presence enough to silence the crowd. “I am sick and tired of your bullshit,” I said, my voice low and measured, every word cutting like a blade.

The tension in the air was palpable as I continued, “We’re all just trying to survive, and you three are doing the absolute most while somehow doing the least. You put people in danger, then leave them for dead. Why? For what? Por qué? 무어?”

Lisa, to her credit, didn’t back down. “You protect these freaks because two of them are your paramours,” she spat.

The camp went deathly quiet. My vision blurred at the edges as my anger surged. For a brief moment, I felt something—something primal, something dark—stir within me.

I stepped closer to Lisa, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Do you know what the Black Rage is?”

She hesitated, but her defiance didn’t waver. “No.”

I leaned in, my gaze locked on hers. “It’s from Warhammer 40k. There’s a militia cursed with it because their leader, Sanguinius, sacrificed himself to save the galaxy. It’s a state of murderous blind rage that festers in the soul, brought out under massive stress. Your words, Lisa, are pushing me there.”

She paled but didn’t respond.

I straightened, addressing the entire camp now. “If you don’t want slayers here, you can leave. But while I’m leading this settlement, you will treat them with respect and dignity. Am I clear?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, Lisa turned and stormed off, Mark and Martin trailing behind her.

As I looked back at the camp, my eyes met Sana’s. She smiled softly, a look of gratitude and understanding that made the tension in my chest ease just a little.

Scene: “The Breaking Point” (Revised Ending)

The silence was unbearable as Lisa stormed off, Mark and Martin following behind like shadows. I exhaled deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. The crowd began to disperse, though I could feel their eyes on me—some wide with awe, others wary, as if they’d seen something they couldn’t quite explain.

My knuckles ached. I looked down and realized my fists were clenched so tightly they’d gone white. Slowly, I loosened them, flexing my fingers as I willed the anger to fade.

That’s when I heard it—a whisper, faint but undeniable.

“Daigo?”

I turned to see Tsuki and Hyewon standing nearby, both looking more shaken than I’d ever seen them. Tsuki’s usual bubbly demeanor was gone, replaced by an unease that didn’t suit her. Hyewon seemed like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.

The two exchanged glances before Tsuki stepped forward hesitantly. “Your eyes…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What about them?” I asked, frowning.

“They… changed,” she said. “For a second, they weren’t… normal.”

Hyewon nodded, adding softly, “And we heard something.”

“What do you mean, something?” I asked, feeling a knot form in my stomach.

“It was like… a crack,” Tsuki said, her hands gesturing as if she could grasp the sound. “Not outside. Inside you. Like something broke open.”

I stared at them, my mind racing. A part of me wanted to brush it off, to say they were imagining things. But the way they looked at me—half in awe, half in fear—told me they weren’t exaggerating.

“I don’t know what you think you saw or heard,” I said finally, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. “But I’m fine.”

Tsuki frowned, stepping closer. “Are you? Because I don’t think anyone else could have stood up to Lisa like that. Or said what you did.”

Hyewon nodded again, her voice gaining strength. “You didn’t just talk to them, Daigo. You commanded them. It was… different.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I’m just tired of their crap, that’s all.”

“But it’s more than that,” Tsuki pressed. “You don’t act like the rest of us. You don’t feel like the rest of us. Even the slayers here—none of us have done what you’ve done. It’s like…” She hesitated, searching for the right words.

“Like what?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.

“Like you’re something else,” she said, meeting my eyes with a mixture of curiosity and reverence.

Hyewon nodded one last time, her expression solemn. “Something more.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. I didn’t know how to respond, so I didn’t. Instead, I turned and walked away, their voices echoing in my mind.

Scene: “Something More” (Expanded)

Something more.

The words lingered in my head like an echo, an itch I couldn’t scratch. As I made my way back to my quarters, exhaustion hit me like a freight train. My legs gave out beneath me, and the world went dark.

When I came to, the sterile smell of the infirmary greeted me. My body ached in ways I couldn’t describe. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, and the soft glow of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

A familiar voice pulled me back to reality. “Well, you did turn,” the nurse said, her smile a mix of wariness and curiosity.

I frowned, propping myself up on the thin cot. “I’m immune,” I replied, my voice gravelly.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into an almost playful smirk. “Didn’t say normal,” she retorted.

She moved to the counter and grabbed a set of charts and X-rays, holding them up for me to see. “Take a look at this.”

The first X-ray showed something alien—a massive growth in my chest, a twisted knot of tissue that seemed to intertwine with every major organ. My stomach churned just looking at it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, the unease creeping into my voice.

“That,” the nurse said, flipping to the next image, “was in your chest.”

I blinked. The second X-ray was… different. The growth was gone. In its place was something just as bizarre: a second heart, perfectly formed and sitting comfortably next to the first.

I stared at the images, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. “How?” was all I managed to say.

The nurse set the charts down and folded her arms. “When you were exposed to the necrophage virus, your body didn’t react like a normal immune person’s. Instead of fighting it off or succumbing to it, your body… evolved. It built that growth to house the virus, to contain it. And then, over time, your body started to metabolize the virus, integrating it into your cells.”

I rubbed my temples, trying to keep up. “So, what? I was a carrier?”

The nurse shook her head. “Not quite. The virus never spread from you like it would from a typical carrier. Instead, it stayed inside that structure. But yesterday, something changed. That growth cracked open. Your body finished… whatever it was doing.”

I felt a cold sweat forming. “What does that mean? Am I a slayer now?”

The nurse tilted her head, studying me like I was some rare specimen. “Honestly? I don’t know what you are,” she admitted. “But here’s what I do know: your body has fully integrated the virus into its DNA. You’ve got new cells—ones I’m calling D-cells, because, well…” She grinned. “Your name’s Daigo. Thought it was fitting.”

I rolled my eyes, but her grin didn’t falter.

“These D-cells are doing things I’ve never seen before,” she continued. “They’re healing you, regulating you, enhancing you. And that second heart? It’s not just an extra organ. It’s part of the whole system now, like your body’s leveling up in ways I can’t fully understand yet. I’ll need to do more tests, but…” She hesitated.

“But what?” I pressed.

She leaned in slightly, her tone turning serious. “Daigo, you’re not human anymore. Not entirely, anyway.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I sat there, letting them sink in.

After a moment, I swung my legs off the cot and stood up, testing my balance. My body felt… different. Stronger. Lighter, even.

The nurse watched me carefully. “Also,” she added with a sly smile, “don’t tell anyone about this. I’m the only one who knows, and honestly? I like you in charge. My boyfriend is a slayer and you make us feel welcome. Don’t want anyone getting ideas.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just don’t go growing a third heart or sprouting wings, okay?” she teased, already jotting down notes on her clipboard.

I walked out of the infirmary, her words replaying in my mind. Not human anymore.

And yet, as unsettling as that was, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for the future.

I barely made it ten steps from the infirmary when I heard hurried footsteps behind me. I turned just as Dahyun came barreling toward me, her eyes wide and shimmering with emotion. Before I could say a word, her arms were around me, clutching me like I was about to disappear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

“For what?” I asked, startled.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still gripping my jacket. “For Momo, Sana, and Mina. For bringing them in, for standing up for them. For keeping them safe.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of her gratitude. “Dahyun, they’re survivors. Of course I’m going to protect them.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No, it’s more than that. You didn’t just let them in; you defended them. You treated them like people. You don’t know how rare that is for slayers—how rare that is for us.” Her voice wavered on the last word, and I realized she was trembling.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “Hey, it’s okay. They’re here now. You don’t have to worry about them anymore.”

Her grip on my jacket tightened. “You don’t understand. Do you know what it felt like to see them again? To see their faces after thinking I’d never—” She stopped, her voice catching in her throat.

I waited, giving her the space to collect herself.

“They were my family,” she continued softly. “Before all of this, before the outbreak… we were together. We were everything to each other. And then I lost them. I thought I’d never see them again.”

Her tears spilled over, but she didn’t seem to care. “And now they’re here, alive, because of you.”

I didn’t know what to say. Words felt inadequate, so I did the only thing I could think of: I pulled her into a hug. She buried her face in my chest, her sobs muffled against me.

“You’re safe now,” I said quietly. “All of you.”

For a moment, we just stood there, the weight of everything unspoken between us.

When Dahyun finally pulled back, her expression had shifted. The tears were still there, but her gaze was steady, determined.

“You’re more than just a leader, Daigo,” she said. “You’re… you’re a protector. For all of us.”

I scratched the back of my neck, feeling a little uncomfortable with the intensity of her praise. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

She smiled, a mixture of sadness and warmth. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Before I could respond, she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. It wasn’t romantic—it was more like a gesture of gratitude, of trust.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice steady now. “For everything.”

Scene: “Two Heartbeats”

As Dahyun hugged me, her head pressed against my chest, I noticed her shift slightly. Her body stiffened, and she pulled back just enough to stare at me, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wait…” she whispered, her hands pressing gently against my chest. “Daigo…”

I froze. “What is it?”

Her gaze darted to my chest, then back to my face. “I… I felt two heartbeats.”

I tried to play it off, forcing a dry chuckle. “You must be imagining things. Probably the adrenaline—”

“Don’t lie to me,” she interrupted, her tone firm, her eyes narrowing. “Daigo, I know what I felt.”

For a moment, I debated what to say. The nurse’s words about keeping it secret echoed in my mind. I let out a slow breath, keeping my voice calm but firm.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” I said, lowering my voice. “Not a soul. Promise me.”

Dahyun’s eyes widened, but she nodded. “I promise. But… Daigo, what’s going on? What’s happening to you?”

I hesitated, knowing I owed her some explanation. “It’s… complicated. I’ll explain later, okay? Just trust me for now.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded slowly. “Okay. But I’m not letting this go.”

“Fair enough,” I said, offering her a faint smile to ease the tension. “Just… keep it between us.”

She nodded again, reluctantly letting the subject drop, but the concern in her eyes didn’t fade as she walked away.

Scene: “Confrontation”

Later that evening, I was back in my quarters, sprawled on my bed, trying to process everything. My body felt heavier than usual, like my own heartbeat—their rhythm—was a constant reminder that I was no longer the same.

A knock on my door snapped me out of my thoughts. Before I could answer, the door creaked open, and Dahyun and Chodan stepped inside.

I sat up, my instincts telling me this wasn’t a casual visit. “What’s up?”

Chodan folded her arms, her gaze sharp. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ us, Daigo. Dahyun told me.”

I shot Dahyun a look, but she raised her hands defensively. “I didn’t tell her everything! Just… enough. We’re worried about you.”

Chodan stepped closer, her voice softer now. “She said you’ve got two heartbeats. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this. “Close the door,” I said.

Dahyun obeyed, and both of them sat down on the edge of the bed, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity.

“I went to the infirmary earlier,” I began. “After I collapsed. The nurse ran some tests… and apparently, I’m not human anymore.”

Both of their eyes widened.

“Not human?” Dahyun echoed.

Chodan leaned forward. “Explain.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the weight of their stares. “The virus… the necrophage or whatever it’s called. It didn’t infect me like it does everyone else. My body ignored it, adapted to it instead. It built this… structure in my chest to house the virus, and eventually, it merged with me on a cellular level.”

Dahyun looked horrified. “So… you’re infected?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Not like that. I’m immune, but the virus evolved inside me. It’s part of me now. My body has these new cells—D-cells, the nurse called them. They heal me, regulate me, even enhance me a little. But when that structure in my chest broke open, it triggered something… different. That’s when the second heart formed.”

Chodan whistled low, sitting back. “Damn. That’s… a lot.”

“You think?” I said dryly.

Dahyun looked at me, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“The nurse told me to keep it secret,” I admitted. “If people find out, it could cause chaos. They already look to me as a leader. If they knew I wasn’t… normal, it could go either way. They’d either worship me like some kind of savior or fear me like a monster. Neither is good for the camp.”

Chodan nodded slowly, processing. “Okay, I get it. But Daigo, you can’t keep this to yourself. If something happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” I cut her off, my tone firmer than I intended. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. And for now, the fewer people who know, the better.”

Dahyun hesitated, then reached out to place a hand on mine. “We won’t tell anyone. But you have to promise us something.”

“What?” I asked.

Chodan leaned in, her tone serious. “If anything changes—if you start feeling worse, or different—you come to us. No hiding, no tough-guy act. Deal?”

I looked between them, seeing the genuine concern in their eyes. I nodded. “Deal.”

Dahyun exhaled in relief, and Chodan gave me a faint smirk. “Good. Now get some rest, Vanquisher. You’ve got a camp full of idiots to deal with tomorrow.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Thanks for the reminder.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, I hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Hey… can you two stay the night with me?”

Dahyun and Chodan both turned to me, their eyes widening in surprise. They exchanged a quick glance, silent communication passing between them, before Dahyun gave a small smile and nodded.

“Of course,” she said softly.

“Sure thing, big guy,” Chodan added, her tone teasing but warm.

I felt a small wave of relief as they started settling in. At first, there was some debate about the sleeping arrangement.

“You’re in the middle,” Chodan declared, pointing at me.

Dahyun laughed, shaking her head. “No way. If he’s in the middle, he’ll be too stiff to sleep. I’ll take the middle.”

Chodan raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” Dahyun replied, giving her a playful shove.

In the end, Dahyun ended up sandwiched between us. Somehow, it felt… right. Too right.

As we all lay there, I couldn’t help but notice the way their warmth seeped into me, calming a part of my mind that was always on high alert. Their presence, their quiet breathing, the shared comfort—it was disgusting how good it felt.

I slept better that night than I had in years.

The morning light filtered through the cracked blinds, and I woke to find Dahyun already sitting up, her hair slightly mussed as she stretched. Chodan was still sprawled out, half-asleep, but her eyes opened when she noticed me stir.

“Morning,” Dahyun said with a smile, her voice soft and pleasant.

Chodan grinned lazily, propping herself up on an elbow. “You look like you actually slept for once.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I did.”

As I sat up, I glanced between them, both looking so at ease, so… perfect in this moment. My chest tightened with something I couldn’t quite name, and before I could stop myself, the words came out.

“Okay, it’s official. I love both of you.”

The room froze. Dahyun’s cheeks turned a deep red, her lips parting in surprise. Chodan, for once, looked genuinely caught off guard, her usual confidence replaced with wide eyes and a blush creeping up her neck.

“W-What?” Dahyun stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chodan let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of her head. “Well, uh… that’s one hell of a way to start the morning.”

I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling more exposed than I ever had in my life. But I pressed on, because if I didn’t say it now, I might never.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt either of you,” I said, my voice quieter now. “But I also don’t want to be alone anymore. I… I don’t think I can handle choosing between you. I care about both of you too much.”

They both stared at me for a long moment, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I couldn’t read the room.

Dahyun finally broke the silence, her voice trembling but sincere. “We… we don’t want to hurt you either, Daigo.”

Chodan nodded, her usual bravado replaced with something softer. “Yeah. We get it.”

The tension eased slightly, and I gave them a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. For understanding.”

I stood up, stretching and preparing myself for another day in the chaos outside. “Let’s just take things one step at a time, okay?”

As I headed for the door, I glanced back at them one last time. Dahyun was fiddling with the hem of her shirt, her blush still lingering, while Chodan gave me a look that was equal parts amused and thoughtful.

I stepped outside, the weight of the camp’s problems settling back onto my shoulders. But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The morning air was crisp, the faint hum of the camp stirring to life all around me. But the moment I stepped into the central yard, I could feel the tension in the air like a cord stretched too tight. Mark, Lisa, and Martin were waiting for me near the supply tent, their expressions carefully neutral. Too carefully neutral.

“Daigo,” Lisa greeted, her voice dripping with faux warmth. “We wanted to have a word with you about some… concerns.”

I stopped a few feet from them, crossing my arms. “Concerns about what?”

Martin stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back like some kind of self-appointed general. “Leadership. We’ve been talking, and we’re worried you might be… overburdened.”

The words were polite, but the tone was anything but.

“Overburdened,” I repeated, my eyes narrowing.

Mark, who had been quiet until now, leaned against a nearby crate, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not personal, Daigo. It’s just… you’re young. This camp needs someone with experience, someone who knows how to make the hard calls.”

I felt a flicker of something at the edge of my vision—something imperceptible to anyone else but clear as day to me. My mind was racing, processing their every movement, every twitch, every glance they cast at each other. Their words didn’t align with their bodies.

Lisa’s arms were crossed tightly, her fingers gripping her elbows like she was holding herself together. Her gaze darted between Mark and Martin when she spoke, looking for approval she didn’t fully trust she’d get.

Martin’s jaw was clenched, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he were bracing for something. He avoided making eye contact with Mark altogether, his focus squarely on me.

Mark’s relaxed posture was an act, his fingers tapping a subtle rhythm on the crate’s edge. The tapping stopped every time Lisa spoke, only to resume when Martin chimed in.

They weren’t united. Not really.

They weren’t a team; they were a loose coalition of distrust, bound together by their mutual disdain for Slayers—and for me.

“You think I’m ill-suited for leadership,” I said, cutting through whatever diplomatic phrasing they were about to throw at me.

Lisa hesitated, her lips parting as if to argue, but Martin stepped in quickly. “We just think the camp might benefit from a more… collective approach.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “A collective approach where the three of you call the shots.”

Mark smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not saying that. We just think you’ve got a lot on your plate. You’ve been making some questionable calls, like bringing in more Slayers. It’s upsetting people.”

I tilted my head, my mind still cataloging every twitch and glance. Lisa didn’t agree with Mark’s phrasing; her lips pressed into a thin line when he spoke. Martin didn’t either—his fingers flexed briefly, like he wanted to grab Mark by the collar and shut him up.

They weren’t here for the camp. They were here for themselves.

“You know what I think?” I said, my voice calm, almost conversational.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I think the three of you don’t trust each other any more than you trust me,” I said bluntly. “And the only thing keeping you from tearing each other apart is your shared desire for power.”

Their reactions were immediate, though none of them spoke. Lisa’s arms uncrossed, her hands balling into fists. Martin’s shoulders squared, and his mouth opened as if to argue, but I cut him off.

“You think because I’m younger than you, you can manipulate me. Make me doubt myself. Convince me that I’m not capable of leading this camp. But let me tell you something.”

I took a step closer, my voice low but firm.

“I’ve seen what fear and desperation do to people. I’ve seen what happens when you let ambition cloud your judgment. This camp doesn’t need more politicians. It needs people who are willing to get their hands dirty. People who put survival over ego.”

Lisa took a step back, her confidence faltering. Mark’s smirk disappeared entirely, replaced by a tight-lipped glare. Martin, for all his posturing, looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

“I don’t trust you,” I said plainly. “Not because you disagree with me, but because I see through you. And if you think you can divide this camp, undermine me, or turn people against each other, let me make one thing clear: I won’t let that happen.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Are we done here?” I asked, my tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Lisa opened her mouth, then closed it, glaring at me like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Mark and Martin exchanged a glance, their earlier bravado now replaced with unease.

“Yeah,” Martin finally muttered, his voice lacking the confidence it had earlier. “We’re done.”

They turned and walked away, their uneasy silence speaking louder than any argument could have.

Lust’s voice slid into my thoughts before I even saw her.

“Brooding doesn’t suit you, Daigo.”

I turned and found her leaning against a pole, arms crossed, watching me like I was some puzzle she’d already figured out. Lust always had this effortless confidence about her, like she knew exactly where she stood and where everyone else didn’t.

“Lust,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “What do you want?”

She tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Saw you dealing with the Three Stooges over there. Figured I’d save you before your brain melted from their bullshit.”

I huffed out a faint laugh despite myself. “Thanks, but I’m good. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

She pushed off the pole and took a slow step forward, her smirk fading into something more serious. “Alright, then. Let’s cut to the chase. We need to talk about the Slayers’ place in this camp.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, but I kept my face blank. “Go on.”

She gestured around us with a sweep of her arm. “This camp is crumbling, Daigo. You can feel it, can’t you? The survivors are scared of us. Some of them outright hate us. And those three idiots you just dealt with? They’re not going to stop until they take control. They see us as a threat—something they can’t predict, something they can’t control.”

“They’re wrong,” I said firmly.

“Of course they are,” she shot back with a shrug. “But what does that matter? What matters is perception. And right now, we’re the monsters under their beds, the things keeping them up at night.”

I folded my arms, trying to keep my frustration in check. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” she said, stepping closer, “is that maybe it’s time for us to move on.”

Her words threw me off balance. “You’re suggesting the Slayers leave the camp?”

“Not all of us,” she clarified. “But yeah, most of us. Think about it, Daigo. We’re stronger, faster, harder to kill. We don’t need the same resources they do. Half of them are terrified every time we walk past. We could be more useful out there—clearing zones, securing supplies, doing what we do best—without dragging this camp deeper into its own mess.”

I clenched my jaw, my thoughts racing. She wasn’t wrong. The tension between the Slayers and the regular survivors had been growing for weeks. Still, leaving? That felt like giving up.

“And what about the people here?” I asked. “The ones who rely on us? The ones who see us as hope?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she dropped the smirk she always wore like armor. “You think I don’t care about them? I do. But you can’t save everyone, Daigo. And if we stay here too long, we’re just going to make things worse—for them and for us.”

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit. I looked away, staring at the horizon as doubts churned in my mind. “And where would we go?”

“That’s the thing about Slayers, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quieter now. “We don’t belong anywhere. We carve out a place for ourselves, or we die trying.”

I let her words sink in, the weight of them pressing down on my shoulders. She wasn’t wrong, but leaving wasn’t a decision I could make lightly.

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, finally breaking the silence. “But I can’t make this decision on a whim.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said, her tone softer now. “You’re the leader. It’s your call. But think about it—for all our sakes.”

She turned to leave but paused and glanced back over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got a good heart, Daigo. Even if you’ve got two of them now.”

A few days later, I woke up to chaos. Shouting, pounding on my door—it felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Still half-asleep, I fumbled for my gauntlets and boots, instinct kicking in. Before I could even ask what was happening, the door slammed open, and a tide of bodies surged into my quarters.

They were on me before I could process anything. Arms grabbed at me, forcing my weapons from my hands. I swung once, twice, but there were too many. Too many voices, too many hands pulling me down. My head was spinning, and the shouts all blurred together until they were just noise.

“Traitor.” “Unfit.” “You’ve failed us.”

I heard bits and pieces, but none of it made sense. The more I struggled, the tighter they held me, their grip like iron as they dragged me out into the open. The morning sun was too bright, and the cold bit into my skin as if punishing me for something I didn’t even understand.

I tried to speak, but no one was listening. I stumbled as they pushed me forward, my boots scraping against the ground. The gauntlets weighed heavy on my wrists, my only connection to the strength I once thought I had.

They forced me past the camp’s main gates. My camp. The place I’d fought to protect. The people I’d bled for. And now, I was being tossed out like I was nothing.

The crowd gathered, a sea of faces filled with contempt, distrust, and apathy. No one spoke for me. No one stood in my defense.

Mark stood at the front, smug as ever, his voice carrying over the noise like a judge pronouncing a sentence. “You were a fool to think you could lead this place. You were never cut out for it. Now, get out.”

I clenched my fists, the leather of my gauntlets creaking under the strain. “You think this will end well for you?” My voice sounded weak even to me, the weight of it all pressing down.

Mark just smirked. “It’s not about you anymore.”

With that, he shoved me hard, sending me stumbling into the dirt. Behind me, the gates slammed shut, the echo like a final punctuation to the betrayal.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My chest felt hollow, like someone had reached in and pulled out whatever kept me standing all this time. My gauntlets and boots—the only things they’d left me—felt like relics of a life I no longer belonged to.

I got to my feet eventually, numb and directionless, and started walking. Each step away from the camp felt heavier than the last. The cold air stung my face, but I didn’t bother wiping the tears that streaked my cheeks. They froze against my skin like scars.

By the time I reached my old safe house, I felt like a ghost, moving on autopilot. My motorcycle sat there, still as I’d left it, a reminder of a time when I thought I was building something good. I climbed on, gripping the handlebars, and kicked it to life.

I drove for hours, the road stretching endlessly ahead of me. California disappeared in the rearview mirror, replaced by the barren landscapes of Arizona. At a checkpoint, a guard asked for my name and my race.

“Daigo,” I said, my voice dry. “And I’m a Vanquisher.”

The guard laughed. “Well, you’re definitely not a zombie. Too funny for that.”

I forced a chuckle, but it felt hollow.

Eventually, I found myself in Colorado. The air was quiet there, too quiet. There were no zombies, no people, no purpose. Just me and my thoughts. I settled into a rhythm: work, eat, sleep. Repeat.

But the loneliness clawed at me. Nights were the worst. I’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Dahyun, Chodan, my ducklings. The camp. Even the ones who betrayed me. I missed them all, and the ache never went away.

Twenty-eight days passed like that. I told myself I was healing, but really, I was just surviving. Then I heard the news: a new group of slayers was moving into the area. I didn’t think much of it until I saw their vehicles rolling in.

The sight of familiar license plates made my chest tighten. I sat on my porch, sipping fruit punch, watching them unload. It was all too familiar. Too close to home.

Then I heard their voices. Two voices I’d know anywhere.

“Do you hear that?” “Yeah, it sounds like someone on this block has two hearts.”

I froze, my drink forgotten, and stood. When I saw them—Chodan and Dahyun—my heart felt like it might break all over again. They turned, and when they saw me, Chodan’s eyes welled up with tears as she rushed forward to hug me.

“Hey, big guy,” Dahyun said, her voice soft but steady.

I tried to smile, but it faltered when I saw the two men behind them. Slayers, obviously, their postures protective as they approached. My heart sank as Chodan and Dahyun introduced them—boyfriends.

I nodded, polite and distant, the ache in my chest threatening to swallow me whole. “Daigo,” I said, offering a handshake. “Just an old friend.”

They smiled, the moment slipping through my fingers like sand, and left me standing there.

As I walked back into my empty house, I felt the weight of my exile all over again. Even now, even here, I was still on the outside looking in.

[nervousnotion]

nervousnotion's top kpop songs jan-june 2024 | gg edition ✨

1. heya ive 2. supernova aespa 3. armaggedon aespa 4. eenie meenie chungha 5. easy le sserafim 6. zombie everglow 7. cosmic red velvet 8. sabotage kwon eunbi 9. i'm ready chungha 10. red rover yuqi 11. doll idle 12. accendio ive 13. super lady idle 14. rockstar lisa 15. loop yves 16. balloon in love sunmi 17. yoyo rescene 18. rooftop yooa

tagging @taeminie @yglesbian @negrowhat @blackpink @clairedaring

@queenoftherodeoo @yoohyeon @sunmisbf @kwon-eunbi

& anyone else who wants to round up their faves so far this year! i might make a boygroup version of this but like idk if i'd even have a top 10 the boys rlly flopped this year....

[fillinforlater]

Masterlist No. 1 to 50

Here are my first 50 fics in order by release, starting with my debut. When you scroll down, you can find a lot of crazy other stories like and unlike it. Some of them have more than two idols. Feel free to back read whatever you like. You can also go through the rest of my NMS:

One-Shot Masterlist

Series Masterlist

IZ*ONE Masterlist

(Fic span: 13th September 2021 - 7th June 2022)

Castle of A Thousand Spiders - ft. Eunbi

Dazed - ft. Yeji, Yoojung

Say It Again - ft. Yerin

Commitment - ft. Dahyun

Classmating - ft. Minju

Welcome aboard, human - Spaceship: Horizon - Prologue

Unexpected ft. Hitomi - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 1

Cumming Home ft. Mina (TWICE) - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 2

Lawless ft. SinB, Eunha - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 3

Lucid Dream I ft. Giselle - Spaceship: Horizon - Interlude

-10-

Healing ft. JiU - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 4

Lazy but Laid - ft. Luda - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 5

The Star in Space - ft. Sakura - Spaceship: Horizon - Season Finale

Commas, Colons, Cumming - ft. Eunha, Umji

Four Cherries - ft. Chaewon, Mina, Sana, Minju

Ominous Oracle - Spaceship: Horizon - Prologue 2

Legendary Cookies - ft. Yuri, Sakura, Eunbi, Hyewon, Minju

Loathing Love: Lucky Loser ft. Hyewon, Eunbi

Cumforting ft. Minju (Sequel to Classmating)

Snake Invasion ft. Sana (Quickie: Phone Part 1)

-20-

The Smart Duck ft. Yena - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 6

Bunny Upside Down ft. Nayeon (Quickie: Phone Part 2)

Loathing Love: Liable Lady ft. Eunbi, Hyewon

Angel of Infinity +0 ft. Minju (Quickie: Phone Part 3)

Angel of Infinity +1 ft. Minju, Tzuyu (Quickie: Phone Part 4)

Angel of Infinity +2 ft. Minju, Yiren, Tzuyu (Quickie: Phone Part 5)

A Collection for a Special Date: Part I ft. Minju 

A Collection for a Special Date: Part II ft. Minju (fluff)

A Collection for a Special Date: Part III ft. futa!Minju

Not-So-Cute ft. Jiheon - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 7

-30-

Scandal ft. Dahyun (Quickie)

Hot Helping Hands ft. Momo, Chaeyoung (Quickie)

Eleven to One: Impossible Taming ft. Ahn Yujin (Eleven to One Universe)

Changer ft. Xiaoting (Quickie)

The Neighborhood knows ft. Minju (Quickie)

Eleven to One: Easily Tempted ft. Yujin, Minju (Quickie) (Eleven to One Universe)

Plank ft. Heejin - Spaceship: Horizon - Part 8

Needy. Greedy. Breedy ft. Minju (Collab)

[The one] who won [?] ft. Gaeul, futa!Chaehyun, futa!Dayeon

Let It All Out ft. Somi (Quickie)

-40-

Eleven to One: Into the Next ft. Yujin, Eunbi (Collab) (Eleven to One Universe)

In Vino Veritas ft. Heejin (Quickie)

Carry a Stranger ft. Yoojung (Quickie)

Energy Restored ft. Jeongyeon (Phone: Part 6)

[These] two [won] too ft. Chaehyun!, Dayeon!, Mashiro, Xiaoting, ChoiYujin!, Gaeul, AhnYujin, Rei! (Kep1er & IVE)

Eleven to One: Mandatory Lesson ft. Yujin (Collab) (Eleven to One Universe)

Revelation in a Shower ft. Gowon

Loathing Love: Lusty Loop ft. Hyewon, Yuri

LOYAnaL ft. Chaewon, Winter (Quickie)

Labyrinth of the Six ft. E:U, Sihyeon, Aisha vs Yoohyeon, Sua, Gahyeon

-50-

GO BACK TO THE MAIN MASTERLIST POST

[gallivantingheart]

Use Your Mouth as an Anchor

masterlist | next

🍵 chapter 1: lychee 🍵

who?: soonyoung/hoshi x (f)reader

word count: 834

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: some course language

genre: social media!au, princess diaries II !au, humour, romance, mild angst

warnings: none, as of yet

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

The office after a news cycle was simultaneously quiet and loud. The stress reset before building again. So the coffee in your hand - an order excessively complicated with oat milk - looked like it would actually have time to be consumed today.

Your Head Editor, Minhyuk, points at you with a finger guns through the opening of his office doorway as you come past, his dark hair styled to perfection. He always looks like such a slacker.

“Hey Chon. That piece on Wednesday? Damn fantastic. How did you know?” He marvels with his keen smirk.

You wink and shoot finger guns back. “I have my sources.”

At minimum being the cook’s assistant and the assistant footman - they were old school  buddies of yours. Somehow despite your job, most forget that your family is infamous for their longstanding claim to the Amaide crown. Maybe it’s the fact you don’t mention your name very often or that you live in a rundown cottage on the opposite side of the island. It helps if people forget.

Your colleague, Wonwoo, has a desk that backs onto yours, his long limbs stretching out beneath his desk. He usually runs a portion of the entertainment section and is often rubbing shoulders with the most affluent for the best gossip. It’s surprising, seeing as he’s so quiet, but he’s always had a way of bringing out the most in others. Both of you also tend to overlap in terms of events and sources for articles.

“Another glowing review from our Head Editor.” He says dryly.

“Of course.” You hum as you spin and preen in your chair. “If only I got more than that. With Eunbi on maternity leave I was secretly begging for the assistant editor’s gig. If only for a little bit.” You put your fingers close together and squint through them to see his rolling eyes. “Just a taste.”

“One day, but I’m sure that at this point Minhyuk’s only keeping you in this position because of your Royal contacts. No one could fill your shoes. They made this role just for you, remember?” He’s softly spoken and very mild about it as he adjusts the wire frames of his glasses.

You groan and loll your head back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I might gain a conscience about it.”

Just as Wonwoo is chuckling at your complaints, the office executive assistant whizzes through the office, dropping off post and internal communications for the day. A heavy, textured envelope lands on your desk from over your shoulder, frisbee-ed haphazardly. The magnolia tinted envelope is serious and makes your stomach swoop. Your name and work address are looped in formal cursive in the available space, along with a singular lemon printed post stamp. The envelope is sealed with navy wax, the Park family coat of arms. Your hands shake and your aren’t graceful at all with the letter from the Royal house. It takes you a few times to scan the writing and take in its meaning. Holy crap.

You spin to face Wonwoo, sitting with your firmly planted feet and legs apart in your dress trousers. He blinks, eyes sparking in surprise.

“What?” He asks.

You lean forward across the walkway, waving the heavy paper under his chin. “This is an invite to the royal family’s welcoming soiree. The King and Queen have been away on business in Korea for at least three months - at least publicly. This will be the night they celebrate their official return.” You getting an invite, of all people?

It’s no secret that your family is weird, unhinged, delusional. Whatever you wanted to call their obsession over the rightful heirs to the Amide royal line. Your uncle led the charge, having always been an eccentric to say the least. Swearing till he was blue in the face that the Chon bloodline were the rightful heirs to the Amaide throne and future of the people. The irony there being that he was a man who had a slim chance of getting within breathing distance of that title and power. Worse is that your whole family indulged his outlandish claims, treating them as gospel. Why else had you split to South Korea for your studies as soon as you could? Protect yourself from that drivel and disgusting brain rot. Unfortunately your studies eventually ended and you had to return to the hellfire that was your family. Landing you here as a Royal Correspondent at Genoa Post, the leading news outlet in Amaide.

So, back to the matter at hand. Why would the Park family invite the heir to their greatest enemy into their home? Was this invite extended to any of your other family?

It felt so much like walking into the lion’s den, vastly different from fishing for next week’s news reel from the back doors and harmless shadows.

“What do I do?” You hiss.

Wonwoo stares for a long moment at the paper between you before shrugging. “I guess you go and find out.”

[poppinlovemp4]

49-52 for the ask game ☺️💜

yayy thank you for the ask!!

49. your favorite kpop songs from this year?

keeping it short and listing my top10 in release order: water by ten, remember by chen, butterfly effect by artms, sabotage by kwon eunbi, bubble by red velvet, heaven by taeyeon, deep ocean by wayv, deja vu by taemin, can't get you by jaehyun, flowers by aespa

sorry for listening to 99% just sm releases as if it's my fault

50. did you get into any new groups this year?

if you can believe it i joined weishenville just this year... i was aware of them but highly resistant to anything involving nct brand though i did listen to 127's better bsides + sticker 😭 and look at me now.

51. which kpop song do you think will be your most played song this year?

exo gravity. like i'm 100% sure i looped it for a concerningly long time... poppin love second though probably

52. which groups did you listen to most this year?

exo by far.. wayv. rv... uhhh usually shinee would be on the roster too but i think i mightve listened to their solos more than their group songs this year? jongtae are both pretty high up there for sure

[biolums]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

ABBLE MASHMOUTHS MY BESTFRIEND HIIIIIII ive been busy painting my room i slept in it after painting last night and i think the paint fumes made me come back wrong or smth fr. anyways HIIIII

uhhh heres five songs i like rn

1. siren by riize (did they ever release more like her. i miss her fr)

2. misfit by nct u

3. Loop by yves (🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻)

4. walk by nct 127 (wuh wuh whawhuwhuwhuh..)

5. sabotage by kwon eunbi

[possession1981-moving]

the past few days i’ve been looping three somi songs two bbrave girls songs two tbz songs an eunbi song and now a tan song and that’s like 90% of my musical diet

[dumbasswhatever]

Glitch by eunbi and loop by yves are girlfriends and they have unimaginable sex

[iznsfw]

Who tickles your daddy kink the most? Wonyoung or Eunbi?

It's fascinating to see Wonyoung climbing so high on your bias list 😮

It all started with that clip with Wonyoung saying "Daddy" 😂.

Have you ever secretly wished that Eunbi would say the word Daddy on camera too?

If a clip of Wonyoung and Eunbi saying 'Daddy' keeps looping when you're writing, how long do you think before you need to take a break? 😉

Ohhh that first question is tough. Both are cute tokkis and everything. So... let's analyze!

Tokkinacci Analysis of The Two Best Bunnies

Wonyoung

Wonyoung is the type of girl to be saying it teasingly. She really enjoys how your face changes when she calls you that. The fact that she's said it on camera like you mentioned was so powerful that it made me change my no Annyeongz rule.

Her cute coy accent is everything. I'd assume she'd be pretty bratty too since she works hard to get what she wants, and that doesn't change when she's riding you hard for you to breed her.

Also, yep, she climbed a lot on my IZ*ONE bias list, right after Eunbi. I admire her a lot since she's so successful and professional. She's 19 with a net worth of millions and the income always there for her and I'm turning 21 on the 7th with... yep, nothing going on xD

Eunbi

She looks so cute in this picture, not to mention looking like such a good girl—

My best girl. I think she's the more passive one since she likes being told what to do instead of the other way around for once. On a tough day, she'd cuddle up to you and whine daddy, and you don't have the heart to tell her no.

Skl that's partly what inspired me to write Home. After watching a domestic type of(no sex though) scene in Fast X, I started writing it. Coming home to your baby girl would be a dream.

Unlike Wonyoung, she hasn't said daddy except for those mistranslated Bubble/Universe messages, but she has said mommy/mom/eomma, which makes you think...🤔

She looks so cute with the bangs, just like her baby tokki Wony. So I guess I have to say that she ticks my daddy kink the most by a very slight difference. Eunbi's my ult out of all the IVESSERAZONE girls so it isn't surprising that I'd like her to fuel me more.

I think I'd need to take several breaks, just to gather all that "inspiration."

On a different day, I would choose Wonyoung, but until then, Eunbest girl <3

[miirohs]

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nationality: indian

birth month: march

fav movies/series: song of the sea, ultraman: rising, talladega nights, umbrella academy, spiderman (itsv/atsv)

current fav songs: humble - kendrick lamar, new drop - don toliver, loop - yves ft. lil cherry, armageddon - aespa, hanabi - ikimonogakari, motospeed 24 - bibi

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nationality:　chindo + lao/thai

birth month:　january

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current fav song:　siren by ateez

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@yuzchaes @gigittamic @aericita @iluvrei @wonjuii

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[elfinkyy]

GFRIEND - Sunrise

[fillinforlater]

Series Masterlist

The is the part of my Masterlist with every series and it's chapters/parts/adventures. It starts off with my biggest series', further down you find my CYOAs and Quickie series'. I hope you enjoy!

All fics that are not part of a series are either in my One-Shot Masterlist or in my IZ*ONE Masterlist!

ONE-SHOT MASTERLIST HERE

IZ*ONE MASTERLIST HERE

Stats: 13 Series with 73 fics, 6 Active Series'

Original Series: Spaceship: Horizon

Season 1

Prologue - Welcome aboard, human (setup, no smut)

Part 1 - Unexpected (ft. Hitomi of IZ*ONE)

Part 2 - Cumming Home (ft. Mina of TWICE)

Part 3 - Lawless (ft. SinB and Eunha of GFRIEND)

Interlude - Lucid Dream I (ft. Giselle of aespa)

Part 4 - Healing ft. (JiU of Dreamcatcher)

Part 5 - Lazy but Laid (ft. Luda of WJSN)

Season Finale - The Star in Space (ft. Sakura of IZ*ONE)

Season 2

Prologue - Ominous Oracle (no smut)

Part 6 - The Smart Duck (ft. Yena of IZ*ONE)

Part 7 - Not-So-Cute (ft. Jiheon of fromis_9)

Part 8 - Plank (ft. Heejin of LOONA)

Interlude - Lucid Dream II (ft. futa!Karina of aespa)

Part 9 - Critical Clamps (ft. Yeri of Red Velvet)

Part 10 - A Train to Drain (ft. 7 Idols of 7 groups)

Season Finale - How did we get here? (ft. Sakura and Yena)

indefinite hiatus

+

Eleven to One-Universe (with @sooyadelicacies)

Yujin - Impossible Taming (Smut Timeline 1)

Yujin - Mandatory Lesson (Smut Timeline 2)

Yujin - Torrential Takeover (ft. Hyewon) (Smut Timeline 3)

Yujin - Easily Tempted (ft. Minju) (Smut Timeline 4)

Yujin - Into the Next (ft. Eunbi) (Smut Timeline 5)

Yujin - Costly Consequences (Smut Timeline 6) 

Minju - Punitive Punishment (ft. Yujin) (Smut Timeline 7)

Hyewon - Boundless Breeding (Smut Timeline 8) 

Yujin - Award Show Vibrations (ft. Minju) (Smut Timeline 9)

Minju - Fine Feet (Smut Timeline 10)

Eunbi - Fulfilling Filling (ft. Hyewon) (Smut Timeline 11)

Yujin - Needy Bold Confession (Smut Timeline 12)

Chaewon - Hate You Lots (ft. Yujin, Minju) (Smut Timeline 13)

Chaewon - What's to Hate? (ft. Minju, Yujin) (Smut Timeline 14)

Yujin - Scandalous Shooting (Smut Timeline 15)

Yena - Pet Play (Smut Timeline 16)

Chaewon - Smart Submission (ft. Minju) (Smut Timeline 17)

Yujin - Hotel Roommating (ft. Yena, Minju, Chaewon) (Smut Timeline 18)

to be continued

+

Original Series: T[w]o find each other (Idol x Idol)

Part 1 - [The one] who won[?] (ft.Gaeul, futa!Chaehyun, futa!Dayeon)

Part 2 - [These] two [won] too (ft. IVE and Kep1er, futa!) 

Part 3 - T[w]o find love, [never three] (ft. Gaeul, futa!Chaehyun)

finished

+

Original Series: Classmating

Minju - Classmating (Part 1)

Minju - Cumforting (Part 2)

--Minju - Cumpany (Part 3) (in planning)

+

Original Series: L4

Part 1 - Loathing Love: Lucky Loser (ft. Hyewon & Eunbi)

Part 2 - Loathing Love: Liable Lady (ft. Eunbi & Hyewon)

Part 3 - Loathing Love: Lusty Loop (ft. Hyewon & Yuri)

Part 4 - Loathing Love: Lavish Lies (ft. Eunbi, Hyewon & Yuri)

finished

+

Original Series: Blonde (Female Reader)

Gaeul - Chapter I

Gaeul - Chapter II

Gaeul - Chapter III

indefinite hiatus

+

Original Series: On her (with @sooyadelicacies)

Part 1 - On her knees (ft. Xiaoting of Kep1er, Monday of Weeekly)

Part 2 - On her bottom Part 1 (ft. Miyeon of (G)I-DLE)

Part 3 - On her bottom Part 2 (ft. Kazuha of LE SSERAFIM)

Part 4 - On her stage (ft. Jennie of BLACKPINK) (Quickie)

Part 5 - On her paws (ft. Hyunjin of LOONA) (Quickie)

Part 6 - On her back (ft. Irene of Red Velvet)

Part 7 - On her jeans (Part 1 of 3) (ft. Minji of NewJeans)

Part 8 - On her jeans (Part 2 of 3) (ft. Minji & Hanni of NewJeans)

Part 9 - On her jeans (Part 3 of 3) (ft. ???)

+

Original Series: My Kinky Wife & Her Crazy Bandmates

Part 1 - ----FRAGILE (ft. Chaewon)

Part 2 - FEAR---- (ft. Yunjin)

indefinite hiatus

+

Original Series: HCHQ (futa!idols)

Part 1 - Double Team (ft. Yunjin, Kazuha)

Part 2 - tripleD (ft. Yunjin, Kazuha, Gaeul)

--Part 3 - ??? (in planning)

+

Original Series: Possession of the Queen (Female Reader)

Doyeon - Chapter I 

Doyeon - Chapter II

--Doyeon - Chapter III (in planning, finale)

+

Quickie Series: A member for the members (Idol x Idol) (with focus on futa!Sohyun)

Prelude - An unexpected D-Day (ft. Mashiro of Kep1er)

Part 1 - Expect the Unexpected (ft. Nien of tripleS)

--Part 2 - Expectations were Met (ft. Yooyeon of tripleS)

--Part 3 - Unexpected, but welcome (ft. xxx of tripleS)

--Finale - An expected D-Day (ft. xxx of tripleS)

+

Quickie Series: Phone 

Part 1 - Snake Invasion (ft. Sana of TWICE)

Part 2 - Bunny Upside Down (ft. Nayeon of TWICE)

Part 3 - Angel of Infinity +0 (ft. Minju of IZ*ONE)

Part 4 - Angel of Infinity +1 (ft. Minju and Tzuyu)

Part 5 - Angel of Infinity +2 (ft. Minju, Yiren and Tzuyu)

Part 6 - Energy Restored (ft. Jeongyeon of TWICE)

Part 7 - No Manners (ft. Lia of ITZY)

Part 8 - Return of the Angel +1 (ft. Minju and Shuhua)

Part 9 - Return of the Angel +2 (ft. Minju, Bomi and Shuhua)

Part 10 - Return of the Angel +3 (ft. Minju, Shuhua, Eunha and SinB)

indefinite hiatus

+

Quickie: 1st Chose-Your-Own-Adventure (CYOA)

Start - Double Stacked (ft. Rei of IVE & Chaehyun of Kep1er)

Option 1 - Double Stacked - One More (ft. Chaehyun) 

Option 2 - Double Stacked - I’m spent (ft. futa!Rei) 

finished

#