kdr4m4luv3r

[kdr4m4luv3r]

Hey everyone!! This is my tumblr account where I'll post one shots and story lines about some of my favorite k drama actors. I also have TikTok where I post edits which I'll post here as well!! My TikTok account is @/kdr4m4luv3r as well. I'm planning on writing a fanfiction for Woo Do Hwan and his character in Bloodhounds so stay tuned!!

[kdr4m4luv3r]

Can't stop thinking about him 😭🙏

[yuckiemouth-deactivated20250610]

who gon catch this kitty first?

[kdr4m4luv3r]

That's me in the intro, anyways there are literally no edits of him wtf

[kdr4m4luv3r]

My man y'all

[kdr4m4luv3r]

My first fanfiction and it's Kim Gun Woo x fem!reader

The plot is mostly if not all from My Name (I love that drama so I had to write the backstory like similar)

My Name x Bloodhounds

A/n: I'm actually so exited for this hopefully you like it!!

Warnings: mention of death and fighting

Vows of Vengeance

Chapter One: The Starting Point

You woke up to the sound of your phone buzzing across the nightstand, faint rays of morning light creeping through the half-open blinds. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced at the screen. A notification from your father. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll send you some money today, don’t worry about it.”

You sighed and rolled out of bed, not bothering to reply. It had been weeks since you last saw him, weeks since his silence weighed on you, and it felt like the distance between you had grown farther than any amount of physical space could. The money was always there when you needed it, but it wasn’t the money you were after. It was your father. But he never seemed to show up when you needed him most.

Throwing on your school uniform quickly, you ignored how stiff and uncomfortable it felt against your skin—much like the life you had to live every day. Your father’s reputation had ruined everything for you. No one wanted to be your friend; no one wanted to be near the daughter of a man who had killed someone. The whispers were constant, their cruel words cutting through you like knives. You could feel their eyes following you as you walked through the school halls. Alone. Always alone.

At lunch, you sat by yourself at the farthest corner of the cafeteria, your eyes glued to the table, not daring to look up. Your phone vibrated again, pulling you from your thoughts. Another notification from your father. You didn’t check it, retreating into the music, the only solace you had left. The low hum of the melody was like a shield against the world.

When you returned home, you threw yourself onto the couch and plugged your phone into the charger, letting the music fill the quiet apartment. Closing your eyes, you tried to ignore the gnawing emptiness in your chest. Another notification. This time, it was a payment confirmation. Your father had sent you the money.

You didn’t reply.

And then your phone rang. It was him. You hesitated for a moment before answering, the voice on the other end unmistakable.

“Why haven’t I seen you in three weeks?” you said, your voice colder than you intended. "You promised you’d come see me."

“Y/N, you know it’s not that simple,” your father replied, his voice sounding distant, like he was in another world entirely. “I’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been busy?” you repeated, your voice rising. "Busy killing people, busy making enemies? You don’t get to do this. I don’t even know who you are anymore."

The line went silent for a beat, and then he sighed. “I’m doing this for you, you know.”

“I don’t need your money. I need you to show up. I need you to be my father.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you quickly regained composure.

“I’ll come by later,” he said, trying to reassure you. But you both knew it wasn’t going to happen. He never showed up when he said he would.

Later that night, when you heard a knock at the door, your heart leaped in your chest. You rushed to the door, barely thinking before swinging it open, expecting to see your father standing there. But instead, you were met with the harsh sound of gunfire, your father’s body crumpling before your eyes. The blood soaked the floor, the world around you spinning.

Your father never had a chance to explain himself. His body fell to the ground in front of you, lifeless, leaving nothing but a horrible silence in its wake.

The next morning was just as numb. You found yourself standing at his funeral, the cold wind cutting through you as you stared at the coffin. The weight of his death, the emptiness of everything, was suffocating. People whispered around you, but you couldn’t focus on them. You could barely even think.

Among the mourners, a man in a tailored suit caught your eye. He was tall, his presence commanding attention even in the somber crowd. He didn’t speak, but there was something about him that made your stomach twist. This man was dangerous. You could tell by the way his eyes scanned the room, the way he stood still yet seemed ready to move at any moment.

When the crowd began to disperse, you approached him. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you held your ground.

“Are you his boss?” you asked, your voice tight with emotion.

The man’s eyes briefly flickered over you, and then he nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, his voice cold but not unkind.

“I need your help,” you said, desperation creeping into your voice. "I need to find out who did this."

The man sighed, his eyes studying you with a mixture of sympathy and something darker. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Please,” you pleaded. "I don’t know where else to go."

He paused for a moment, then gave a slight nod. “Take care of yourself, Y/N,” he said softly before turning away.

That night, you couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness. In the silence of your apartment, you printed out fliers, listing the things you wanted to know. You pasted them around the city, each one an attempt to get closer to the truth, even if it meant putting yourself in danger.

Hours passed, and you were about to give up when your phone buzzed. A message. A number you didn’t recognize.

“I can help you. Meet me at the old warehouse on 5th Street.”

When you arrived, three men stood in the shadows, waiting for you. At first, you thought they were there to help, but as the conversation unfolded, you realized they were just using you for the money your father had sent. The beating that followed was brutal, and for a moment, you thought you might not make it out alive.

But then, in the distance, you saw the man from the funeral—your father’s boss. He appeared out of nowhere, stepping forward and taking down the men one by one. His presence was commanding, and just like that, they were all on the ground.

He offered you a hand to help you stand, and though you were bruised and bloodied, there was something in his eyes that made you feel like you weren’t alone. He didn’t speak, but his silence said everything. There was a bond here—a connection forged through violence, loss, and survival.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice trembling from exhaustion and fear.

“Lee Joon,” he replied simply. “And I can help you get what you want, but it’ll cost you.”

You nodded slowly. You didn’t know where this would lead, but there was only one thing you were sure of: you were going to find out who killed your father, no matter what it took.