Hi! If you're not taking reqs then feel free to ignore this but could you write Kim dokja angst? Maybe we're switching the roles and the reader is dying instead of dokja for once lmao
HOUSE OF CARDS ゜・KIM DOKJA
"A house made of cards, like the fools we are."
In which a gambler finally pays the price for his bet.
never actually written angst so I hope this is good enough anon
art creds to kim28_dokja on twt!
pairings: kim dokja + gn reader
warnings: blood, injury, death, references to child abuse/dokja's past
wc: 2.4k
ORV MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION
Dokja is shit at games.
It’s clear to the dealer. Even on the best day, those omnipotent palms that allocate fate will grow clammy (which they never do) and that ever-present smile slowly turns into a profound grimace. They know. They feel it instinctually, on a cellular level: that hand was terrible.
It’s clear to the people around him. The salaryman stumbles into the building as though he’s just learned to walk: in never-polished shoes, slacks that perpetually crease further with each nervous wipe of his hands, and the clinging scent of smoke that preludes his entrance. He’s not got his life together, they observe, behind stony poker faces he can never quite master. That’s why he’s here.
Most of all, it’s clear to Kim Dokja himself. Every irregular heartbeat pulses in his throat as he gazes at his cards—two seven offsuit. In his sweat-streaked fingers is the short straw urging him to enlist. On the table before him are all his chess pieces, lined up neatly: spectators to the constant check, his inevitable downfall.
Despite his atrocious luck, the thin red string binding him to this world never quite severs. A fire befalls the casino. A bullet embeds itself in the shell of his helmet and not a hair further. The chess game is postponed by a phone call and the poignant sound of shattering glass—and Dokja is left to shoulder the limbo of an unfinished game.
He’s shit at games, but never truly loses.
Is it simply up to chance? A coin is tossed into the air: another foolish plan devised, another chip placed that equates to one of his lives. Crisis after crisis—Dokja, that harbinger of misfortune—yet each time, he resurrects. He bets on it, in fact: quite literally gambling away everything.
It is just how things are. He cuts corners. He smooth-talks the fates into letting his transgressions slide just a little longer. For once, he’s winning, and the grand prize is something beyond his wildest dreams—an ending, to mark the indefinite uncertainty of chapters that seem to grow like nebulae.
“Dokja.” It’s a sigh each time when he defies the end. Anyone else would interpret it as exasperation, but he likes to think he knows you better than that; it’s relief you greet him with, no matter how many times he sacrifices himself. “You idiot.”
It’s nice to know his long-time friend cares about him.
No matter how many times he places his bets, the value of his life never seems to deprecate for you. Sacrifice is something you’d rather avoid (so does he, but it cannot always be helped, right?). If Dokja’s life can be used to save more of the people he cares about, all the better.
In fact, he’d rather keep you away from any front line.
There’s a story of its own between the two of you: years of scraped knees and violence, of gazing up at your shoulders while you bruise your knuckles with whoever bruised his eye, of friendship pacts forged with spat-on palms and corded bracelets.
Your very soul is entwined with his scrawny one from years past, and it’s always been the case that yours has fought the battles in his stead. ‘Why?’ he’d once asked, and he still vividly remembers the cool response you attempted to give, only to end up fumbling the words.
Because I can. Because I want to. Because you deserve it.
It’s his turn to repay his debts. These fights are no longer about a bloodied mouth and spitting red onto the asphalt. They don’t end with bruised ribs and broken noses.
You sit out. This one, he thinks grimly, is his fight—one that will guarantee both you and him turning the page on ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼. Every factor has been considered. Each risk is carefully mitigated at the expense of himself. None of the contingencies fail to prioritise his oldest friend.
These are chips he cannot afford to bet on.
Naturally, he keeps them close to his chest.
゜゜・
Dokja is shit at games.
His friends know it all too well. Those disbelieving laughs they let out, their fists clenching and unclenching as they debate whether to hit him across the head—Dokja, the herald of despair, he is—and finally the rush of words leaving their mouths like air deflating from a balloon: “Never do that again.”
All in, his chips go—each and every time. There is no other way about it: not unless you shackled Dokja to you in vain to make him listen—to stop the endless deaths he goes through. Over and over, until you feel his mind wear into recklessness, until you see the emptiness that taints his eyes as he slips into quiet contemplation.
How will Dokja die this time?
You’d rather erode into nothingness than clip his wings, though. That book he gushed about to you (syllables rushing over themselves in his excitement each update) gave him back his life—if you ruin his painstaking ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼, you don’t think you could forgive yourself.
Even if he’s ratcheting to Icarian heights. Those feathers of his are beginning to streak wax-hot down man-made frames, made of pages upon pages of a book obsolete to all but one dedicated reader.
You think he can see the pain in your eyes, before he turns away with lips pressed together tightly. You’ll be safe, he reassured you. You’ve got me. I’ll create an epilogue for you to witness.
Dokja’s changed.
Those scrawny shoulders have become something that the very sky settles on: ones that no longer shake behind your own arms. The world has bruised you, and Dokja shall bruise it back. Every favour, repaid tenfold.
Dokja’s changed.
He’s still got the same facade of the boy you’ve called your oldest friend. If it weren’t for that, you’d think the man who coldly settles his death were a stranger. Someone you never shook hands with, childishly grimacing at the remains of a spat-upon pact rubbing into small palms.
Dokja’s changed.
He thinks he no longer causes misfortune with each risk he takes—as if his life were a mere trifle, as if each shred of news about him doesn’t shatter your heart over and over.
When will it end?
You haven’t seen him for months.
Is it finally time to grieve?
゜゜・
Dokja is shit at games.
It seems you are too. He turns the page of his book, and beside him the house of cards is carefully stacked on the glass table. It’s a precarious matter: high stakes against yourself, an unsafe tightrope that threatens to give way any moment now.
Your eyes meet his.
Like magic, the house collapses.
゜゜・
You are shit at games.
You take a deep breath, and begin organising what could be the final legacy of Dokja. It’s something he treasured even over his life, evidently: the ending, which you allow into your soul in the Kim Dokja-shaped hole left behind.
It’s the first time you take a gamble: carefully picking up the shards of his ideas while rivulets of blood run down your fingers. It’s your turn.
The battlefield in the scenarios is a sanctuary: white noise washing out Dokja’s ever-persistent voice in your head. There’s a perpetual, acrid smell of ash and smoke—a reek that is far better than the dust of buildings Dokja leaves you behind in.
It’s hard.
Gambling is not for you; in the sense that it sickens you, rather than just invoking disaster like it does for Dokja. The only good thing about it is that Dokja’s dream is finally being realised—a tribute to your oldest, dearest friend. Like funerary wine, metallic iron fills your mouth (a once-familiar taste) with each battle, every step closer to the story Dokja wove for you. A fabric so salient you couldn’t help but be entangled in it.
I can do it. That is your gamble.
You do it.
You cut down monsters the size of buildings. You cling to life with bleeding fingernails, scraped raw with tenacity. Tentatively, you begin fleshing in the husk of yourself: talking with the friends you made in the apocalypse once more.
And like Dokja, you begin defying death.
It starts off small—an arrow that you saw coming but didn’t feel like dodging. Jung Heewon almost blew a gasket when she took a glimpse, but then her eyes met yours—filled with the same distance that Dokja’s were, as though you too were peering through an impersonal screen—and she looked away for a brief moment.
“Idiot,” she whispers. “Don’t treat yourself like Dokja.”
Your chips pile up.
Except, you don’t quite have the same privilege that your dearest friend has.
You will incur the cost, rather than somebody else. There is a reason Dokja is called a harbinger of ill fortune to others, and you are not. In the end, your downfall will be at your own hand.
“Fool,” Yoo Joonghyuk grimaces as he cuts down a wolf you let claw your arm. The coppery stench is thick in the air, but there seems to be a manic grin on your face as you slice and chop and stab: a madness that slowly spreads like illness through your body. “There is nothing more worthless than sacrifice without cause.”
The debt accrues.
Kim Dokja dreams of your knuckles, bloodied once more as you stand to face the world. But, it’s just a dream.
He bets on it.
゜゜・
You are shit at games.
Bitter, arterial blood congeals on your hands as you try in vain to staunch the flow. There is nothing quite as caustic as the realisation that you fucked up, because now all the signs of your hamartia are clear.
The house has long collapsed—it’s that final card that still hasn’t hit that glass table yet.
Is this what Dokja feels? The thought runs wonderingly through your sluggish mind. Is it what he felt, you mean to say, but your throat grows thick whenever you speak about him in the past tense. You can’t quite accept the reality that he’s gone. The shock anaesthetises your mind: cradling your neurons with such gentleness that it’s hard to conceptualise you’re about to follow him to wherever he’s gone.
Will I see him again?
Everything reeks of iron: from the massive corpse on the ground, to the claw impaled through your abdomen. It was inevitable. You’ve grown tired of the endless fight, and it’s cost you dearly.
Your chest heaves desperately.
Dokja.
“Dokja,” you croak, collapsing onto the rubble freshly decimated. Despite the rough surface, your blood-slicked hands scrabble for purchase on the concrete—something that doesn’t quite feel like you’re the one puppeteering your strings.
Deliriously, you watch as the same hand urgently attempts to apply pressure to your wound; it goes against rationality, but then again you’re not really yourself anymore.
“Dokja?” you try again. Perhaps if you speak loudly enough—syllables soaked with sanguine that dribbles from your lips—you’ll be able to reach your dead best friend.
There is a pressure behind your eyes.
It may be tears; it may be an unwelcome guest in your head.
It’s too late, you think. He’s dead, and soon I will be too.
“Dokja,” you whisper, and there is salt on your tongue as you feel your limbs grow colder. Everything hurts—your pounding head, the thrum of your pulse as you marr the asphalt with crimson, and finally that stupid bleeding heart of yours that swears you can hear the spirit of your oldest friend.
You can’t die, you think he says—a quiet scream drowned out by the static of your mind.
“I’ll see you soon, though,” you slur, and the weight in your mind lifts—blurring and coalescing into a mirage you could recognise blind.
Frigid fingers pass through the hologram, and you smile, bittersweet.
“Dokja,” you breathe. “It’s been almost a year since I last saw you.”
His hands grasp your shoulders desperately, though his frantic mouth goes unheard upon your ears. You… can’t… die, his lips read—but that’s silly, you think. Doesn’t he want you to meet him again?
Horns curve out of his head, while his wings fluff out—shoulders shaking, with an expression you’ve only seen once on his face before. Utmost grief, when he came soaked in congealed blood and a haunted look in his eyes: murmuring she killed him, over and over.
He’s your best friend. He was your best friend.
Kim Dokja has lost his final gamble, and the bullet in the chamber has finally been spun into place for you too.
“I can see you soon, right?” you murmur—there are cold fingers brushing against your forehead, and you think death is unexpectedly gentle.
His lips wobble.
Incorporeal fingers trace the tear tracks on your face—ones that mirror the slow stream of salt from his own eyes. You didn’t even notice—too caught up in the gradual greyness that spreads through each vessel, weaving through sinew and bone and brain.
“I did a good job, right?” Your sword rests across the ground, heavy after almost a year of fighting. “Maybe it’ll help with the ending that you wanted.”
Dokja’s face crumples, and you can feel your own throat growing thick. Dokja, I’m scared, you want to admit. For the first time in your life, there’s a choking fear that grips you as the red surrounding you blooms into a field.
Your own wings are rapidly coming apart.
“Dokja, I don’t want to die,” you mumble. Struggling, you curl and uncurl your hands into fists, but you can no longer feel them.
“Dokja,” you try again. You can no longer see him, but whether it’s from the salt clouding your vision, or the haze of limbo, you cannot tell.
There is a phantom pressure that lingers on your face.
“Dokja,” you gurgle, mouth iron-hot with arterial blood. “Don’t leave me alone—please.”
No response is given, but that sepulchral presence seems to remain—this time, those hands brush and cradle your face.
You cannot tell if it’s him or death itself, but you don’t think death would kiss you like that.
As if he could possibly breathe life back into you, his ghostly lips move against yours. Desperately, so urgently you half-wonder at his panic.
Dokja, you want to ask. You’re already dead, right?
Right?
With the final scraps of your vision, you watch as he pulls back—his tears pattering across your face—watch as his mouth moves for a final time.
I can’t live without you.
But by then, it is too late.
The words go unheard, and Dokja is alone once again.
۶ৎ in which… you and jihye have been seperated since the start of the scenarios. but, no matter how much time had passed, the two of you never crossed paths again. with every deadly trial, your hope of ever finding her starts to dwindle. until one day...
🎧 ྀི lee jihye x fem!reader hurt/comfort slight angst (more than slight tbh) est. relationship mentions of y/n ʚ 3.3k words ɞ you and jihye are part of a band bc i love guitarist jihye. and you have heartrender-esque powers. also you both are loser lesbians. sorry guys, i don't make the rules :p ─── ☘︎
“i can’t believe we’re going into our third year of high school soon,” you mused, leaning against the park bench.
the music festival ended two hours ago, but you and jihye still hadn’t headed home yet. after your band finished packing up their instruments, the five of you had hung out around the food and game stalls before parting ways. jihye’s guitar was slung over her shoulders, tucked safely in its bag. you could still hear the faint melody of day6’s happy, the song your band had performed earlier in the day.
the evening air blew gentle breezes your way, a soft caress after a hard working performance.
at the mention of your last year of high school, jihye dropped onto the bench with a groan, setting her guitar to lean against the arm rest before dramatically falling onto your side, burying her face in your shoulder. “do not remind me of our approaching college entrance exam.” her voice came out muffled. “my mom’s already signed me up for csat lessons.”
you chuckled at her words, shaking your head as your hand went to pat her head. “don’t worry, i’m dreading it, too. i don’t even know what colleges i want to apply to.”
“i thought you wanted to go to ewha womans university?” jihye looked up from her spot on your shoulder.
“i do, but…” your gaze fell to your lap. “there’s gonna be hundreds of other girls trying to get in… i don’t think i’ll have any chance.”
jihye sat straight up, turning to face you. her eyes scan your dimmed figure, your fingers busy picking on your nails. taking one of your hands in hers, she brought your face back up with the soft touch of her other hand. “hey, you are the smartest girl i know. you’ve got more drive and ambition than half of the people in this school. you’re intuitive and know exactly how to deal with different situations. and, you know exactly what you want. people like you know how to play the cards in your favor. i have complete faith in you, y/nnie.”
you couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face, nor the warmth that spread throughout your chest despite the cool air. you threw your arms around her neck, burying your face in her chest. her thumb continued to stroke your hand, returning your embrace. “and besides complete faith, i have complete love and heart eyes for you.” jihye added as a gag.
a snort of laughter came from you, your eyes turning into crescent moons at her awful attempt at flirting. though, you had to admit, it did take your mind off of the csat’s.
“you’re a complete dork, you know?” you looked up at her.
“as if me being part of a band wasn’t proof enough already.”
you softly shook your head before leaning in to kiss her jaw.
her lips fell into a pout. “you missed.”
rolling your eyes at her words, you muttered, “needy girl,” as you went to press your lips against hers. letting out a small hum, jihye tilted her head as she returned the kiss. your hand lightly scratched the nape of her neck, tasting the left over soda on her lips. feeling jihye’s smile in the kiss, you pull away just to tease her, watching as she chased your lips with a coy smile.
before she could start whining again, you kissed her lips one more time. the two of you sat there, staring at each other as you caught your breaths.
“walk me home?” you asked softly.
“of course.”
even though you were a few weeks shy of turning seventeen, the memory of high school felt like it had been decades ago.
you thought it would be just another competition day, another one where you missed the last few periods of school to go attend the vocal competition your music teacher had recommended. it was supposed to be predictable; get to the venue, go on stage, wait until all the other contestants finished performing, hear the winners announcement, and then go home.
but on your way home, the subway had turned into a bloodbath. a dokkaebi you had only ever seen in story books was suddenly floating in the air, telling you that in order to survive in this new world, you had to stain your hands.
though, now that you were nearing the fifth scenario, perhaps your hands will always be covered in blood.
the specks of crimson colored your face, clothes covered in dirt you hadn’t been able to remove for the past few days, and unkempt hair falling out of its braid. your eyes flicker over each face. the five men cornering you hardly looked like they were in better shape, since you had led them through quite a chase. each of them were holding various sorts of weapons, varying from all levels of sharpness and damage. though, compared to your abilities, their clubs and knives felt like child's play.
when the man on your right lifted his wired club to strike, your hand shot out at him.
[body manipulation, level 2 has been activated.]
the man froze in his spot, his chest slowly heaving as you gradually blocked his air ways. you focused your skill until the man crumpled on the spot. the other four goons were rooted in their place, their expression a mix of anger and fear as they stared at their choking ally. one of them managed to snap out of their stupor and lunged at you, which caused the other men to follow in suit.
you jumped back before a blade could hit you, slipping through the side so you were no longer cornered. another man threw various punches, keeping you alert as you dodged and backed away.
one man seemed to have thought it a good idea to pull your braid, dragging you for a moment as you stumbled over your steps. the pull on your roots caused you to wince, the flare of pain catching you off guard. you reached for the hand in your hair, turning around in his hold to spit on his face. when he let go of your hair in shock, you kicked the man right where it hurts and backed off.
you knew the fight wasn’t over yet, but your muscles had started to ache, even with your high stats. the four men already regrouped in front of you. you needed this fight to be over soon.
raising both of your hands. you sensed for their windpipes, your powers making you aware of their ever expanding lungs. when you saw their movement to attack, you balled your hands into a fist, holding their lungs to a stop. you saw their faces contort with panic, every attempt they try to make for air only making their pain worse. one by one, the men fell unconscious, their weapons clattering on the pavement. once you had held their lungs back for thirty seconds, you unclenched your fists, freeing their organs from your restraint.
heaving for air, you stumbled away from the scene, far enough so that when they eventually regained consciousness, you would be hidden from their line of sight. when you finally found a secluded street, you pressed your back against the wall and slid down, too exhausted to even bother to find your way back to your station group. not like they were any good either.
you assumed you had traveled up north from where you had started in the first scenario. perhaps here was where you would finally see her. it’s been over a month since you last saw jihye and no matter how far you looked, you couldn’t find any signs of her. it’s like she had just disappeared when the world turned into hell.
your eyes screwed shut at the thought of her.
no, no, you couldn’t afford to think about her. not when you were exhausted and had used up much of your mana. not when you were unsafe in the middle of nowhere. you should probably—
“what is your name?”
your eyes shot open as you tilted your chin up. a woman with brown hair was staring down at you. she wore a brown trench coat and looked to be in her forties. although you should’ve been thrilled seeing a woman after being chased down by a group of men, all the warning signs went off in your head.
your hand shot out, ready to activate your ability when her hand caught yours before you could do anything.
“don’t. i don’t need you to close off my lungs too.” her grip was firm and you couldn’t read her, so you held your breath. then her words registered in your head.
your eyes widened, pulling your hand away from her. “what? you saw me—”
“yes.” the woman cut you off. then, to your surprise, she leaned down and rested her weight on one knee. her eyes scanned you as if you were a front page of a newspaper, taking in your disheveled state. “are you alone?” she asked.
letting out a ragged breath, you nodded your head tentatively.
the barest glimpse of a smile graced her face. “i’m lee sookyung.”
well shit, if she was willing to give her name, then you’d have to give yours.
at your brief introduction, she held out her hand to you. “come with us, then. a girl with as much grit as you will find a rightful place in our group.”
jihye never allowed herself a moment of distraction. especially when intruders kept clambering onto the island in search of a useless boon. she swung her katana against a man’s arm, slicing the limb clean off. cries of terror echoed through the vast island as the men scrambled away, leaving behind a rustle of leaves.
letting out a small huff, she placed her free hand in her pocket and said, “why don’t you come out now?”
turning to look back at kim dokja’s poor attempt at hiding, her brows raised at the red skull over his head. “what’s the use of hiding when you have the target mark on you.”
dokja flinched at the reminder, eventually turning around with his arms up in surrender. “are you going to kill me too?” he asked with a nervous smirk.
“i want to but i can't since that might make master sad.” she said with a shrug. “how have you been? not that i even need to ask.”
dokja started walking towards her. “i thought you went back to taepung girls’ high. what are you doing here?”
“master came to get me a while back. i have no idea how he found me, though.”
“hmm…” dokja then fell into silence, seemingly thinking things over in his head. jihye watched him with waiting eyes. everyone had been separated at the end of the fourth scenario, sent to face their own personal trials thanks to the man in front of her. but facing her past unprovoked had been an unneeded revisit
“are you here with junghyeok?” dokja eventually asked.
jihye blinked once, her jaw falling open. “huh? didn’t you come here knowing all that?”
“find him! he’s around here somewhere!” the voice of a man boomed, loud enough to carry over to the island. up ahead, two boats were nearing the island, presumably to hunt down dokja now that he had a bounty on his head.
“but why did you bring those deadweights with you?” she asked, nodding at the boats.
“to hunt down the catastrophe, of course,” dokja answered as if it were obvious.
jihye’s brows shot up. “why? you don’t have to do that.”
“what?”
“you don’t have to fight the catastrophe. that’s what master said.”
dokja snapped his neck to turn toward her, eyes wide as if she had dunked his head in cold water and sprouted a dragon head from the back of her neck.
without even bothering to reply to her, dokja dashed away in a sprint.
jihye could only tilt her head as she watched his figure disappear. does he even know where master is…?
she looked away and shook her head. that would be his problem. her eyes then trailed back to the approaching boats. they would bring another wave of stupid people on their island, another boring fight she’d have to deal with. sighing to herself, she decided to have a short walk around this side of the island, just while she waited.
it’s not like plants and greenery had ever piqued her interest, so she didn’t really know why she had chosen to do such a menial task. a small dot of red in the midst of the green did catch her eye, though. squatting down, she watched as a little lady bug made its way from leaf to leaf.
you would have loved staring at the lady bug for hours, jihye thought. then her head shot up, eyes widening at her own thought.
no, no, no!
she repeatedly knocked the side of her head, closing her eyes in hopes of getting rid of that thought. now was not the time for jihye to be thinking about you. because if she did, she would be thinking about you all night, and tonight wasn’t one jihye can afford being distracted in.
jihye felt herself slouching on the ground, staring at the bushes again. the lady bug was gone, just like you.
no, jihye! she scolded herself. there was no guarantee that you were dead. but there was also no confirmation of your survival. after weeks of unsuccessful searching, all jihye had been able to do was miss you. oh how she desperately wanted to hope. but hope will only hurt her in the end, whether it was by reality or by time, that hope will be her achilles heel.
and so she let herself sit in the worry for just a moment. just a moment for her to allow herself to think of you.
with a sharp breath, she pushed herself to stand, awaiting the adversary boats that had just docked on their island.
now, the sixth scenario awaits them on the other side of the horizon. jihye watched with a bored expression as the three kings fought in front of her. it was no fun when you could already predict who would win, so she simply let her mind wander from the scene.
and as always, she always wandered back to you.
her hands tensed at the thought. her eyes scanned the room.
well, it’s not like she was going to be fighting any time soon, so she supposed thinking about you just for a few moments wouldn’t hurt.
were you at yongsan station just like everyone else? you had to be. but there were just too many people for her to hope for the chance of catching you, of finding you in the crowd.
maybe you weren’t even part of the scenarios. maybe you were stuck with horrible allies, confused and weak and unable to fight through the scenarios—
stop, stop! jihye scolded herself. she needed to assume that you were alive. she wouldn’t know how to live if you were dead.
as dokja’s fight with the other kings wrapped up, the man approached their group. “you guys go ahead. i have some business to take care of.”
heewon nodded at his words. “all right. come on, guys.”
jihye, being the closest to the flap of the tent, turned around and went to open it, when another figure pushed the fabric aside and bumped into her.
“hey! watch where—”
“oh, i’m so sorry, i—”
jihye backed away at the familiar voice. blinking to clear her vision, she widened her eyes as it registered in her mind that she was standing face to face with… you.
her voice came out uncertain. “y/n?”
your lips parted at the realization. “jihye…”
you looked different from when she last saw you. a red scarf was wrapped around your neck, the fabric softening your features from afar. your eyes appeared heavy, drooping when you would often wear a bright appearance, your cheeriness usually conveyed through your crescent moon eyes as you smiled. but now even your lips were downturned, dried and flaking, a small scar present on your chin.
jihye felt like the world had turned into a fishbowl. everything around her seemed so muffled, she thought her eyes must be deceiving her. the you in front of her had to be a mirage, right?
then an older female voice broke through the silence. “do we already have a response, y/n?”
that seemed to snap the both of you out of your trances. you blinked three times after you had heard your name, regaining your bearings as you stumbled aside from jihye.
“ah, yes, we do,” you straightened up, walking over to the king of the wanderers with poise. “they said they couldn’t afford to spare any with the upcoming scenario, but…”
jihye almost didn’t want to leave. not without you. she wanted to grab your hand and drag you away. she needed to hug you, to hold you and make sure you were real. because she really, really didn’t want this to be a dream.
but the rest of the group were staring at her, and she didn’t want to start a scene. so she took in a small breath before stepping across the entrance. white sunlight greeted her, but it only made her feel cold. she had just seen you again, yet she she was already walking away from you.
her ears heard hyeonseong say something, but the words couldn’t take shape in her mind. all she can think of was you.
“jihye?” heewon’s worried voice managed to break through her stupor.
the girl looked up and realized the rest of the group was already ahead. she gave a glance back to the tent mulling things over in her head. “i think… you guys should go ahead first. i’ll find you later, i promise.”
heewon nodded at her words, giving a small rub on her shoulder before continuing her steps.
jihye stood there in front of the tent, waiting with bated breath for you to walk out. you couldn’t be in there for too long, not with dokja with his own agenda standing in the tent.
soon, the tent flap rustled, and then you stepped out into the sun, the light bathing you in a soft glow. when you had finally noticed her staring, you stopped in the middle of your tracks, taking her in.
then in a blur, you had tackled her into a hug. your arms clung around her waist as you buried your face in her shoulder, where it always was whenever the two of you had hugged.
jihye returned the embrace just as fiercely, wrapping her arms around your shoulder as she pulled you in closer, if that was even possible.
“you’re real, right?” she found herself whispering.
a small chuckle escaped your lips. “of course i’m real, you dork.”
the two of you pulled away sooner than she would have liked. half of her still thinks that this was a dream, so she cupped your face in her hands, letting her thumb brush over the soft skin of your cheeks, the scar on your chin, and the edge of your lips.
“i thought… i thought you might have died.” her voice came out smaller than she’d expected.
your lips pressed into a small pout as you tilted your head. “did you have such little faith in me?”
jihye looked down with the huff of a laugh, shaking her head at your teasing. “i couldn’t find you for weeks. i searched everywhere i could but you were never there.”
“you were gone, too.”
“yeah,” she sighed, shifting her gaze to look at you again. “but i’m glad i found you now.”
your lips curled into a smile, one she so dearly missed.
feeling a warmth creep up into her cheeks, she returned the smile sheepishly, a small request on the tip of her tongue. “can—can i kiss you?”
this time, you truly laughed at her. “do you even have to ask?”
a/n: i know the synopsis made it really dramatic bc they literally reunite before the 6th scenario so ig it's not thatt long since they've seen eo but yk it's basically been a million years since jihye and reader saw each other. this is like my longest fic yet on tumblr wkwkwk. idk how well this will do since jihye isn't very popular over on orv tumblr, but i hope the five jihye fans enjoyed it lol.
Author's Note: Surprise, surprise, I need to think about Dokja to sleep because I'm delusional 🙃 but that's why most of these random one shots are in the comfort of pre-apocalypse Dokja's bed. P.S. one of the hard things about writing him accurately is that this man will never show affection even though I wanted to sneak in a forehead kiss SO BAD. Enjoy!
Warning(s): Not proofread! There may be some grammar mistakes which I apologize for in advance.
Yoo Joonghyuk lunged forward with his sword slashing into the open flesh of the disaster.
A battle cry roared across the abandoned city, enough to shatter earth's core.
The demon towers over Yoo Joonghyuk. A thick coat of purple simmering between the scales where Joonghyuk cut.
It opens its mouth as...
A sigh creeps beside Dokja. A slight irk twitches through his eyebrow and his eyes shift from the blue light on his handheld device to the desk in the corner of the bedroom.
Another light, much larger than his, squints at him before dissipating into the night as his partner slaps her laptop shut.
His eyes move in search of the sentence "it opens its mouth..." but he struggles to land on a certain word when he lifts his arm.
She notices his quiet gesture. Dokja is a man of few words. Quiet was the best term to describe their relationship. Quiet is the best kind of relationship. Others would argue differently.
She shuffles to the bed and slips under his arm, crawling into his lap and pressing her cheek over his heart.
His heart always ran a steady beat when he read TWSA. It was faster than when he was sleeping, but slower than when he tried to cook dinner.
His arm gently falls over her side, hand still occupying the phone. He props his chin on the top of her head and it's the perfect angle to read: not too far away, but not too close to the phone.
너라는 집으로 지금 다시 way back home (Now way back home to the house called you)
Dokja has experienced various deaths and encounters with different endings; a sad, touching or happy ending. He also witnessed the cries of his companies when he died. Which of course, is heartbreaking.
But of all the deaths he has experienced, he hates it the most when he has to see you waiting for him to return. To be back home, by your side, in your arms.
Now here he was, standing in front of the place he called home. Meanwhile the blood coming out of his mouth never stopped, and slowly he couldn't feel his body anymore. (Even though he experienced that many times) Pathetic, that's what he thought about himself.
But that's not what's important right now. Right now he wants to go back to you, to see your happy smile when you see him again. To feel the warmth of home once again, to feel the feeling of being worried once again.
His shaking hand turned the doorknob. Hope to meet you behind that door.
And just as he wanted, you are behind that door. He smiled a little when he saw your face. Maybe this is the gift he got after fighting all this time, to see your face again.
At first you walked because you heard the sound of the doorknob, but in the end you fell silent because you saw him. More precisely, looking at his current condition.
"Dokja!" You shouted his name, and dokja faints in your arms. His consciousness is lost and dokja knows that you will always take care of him at all times like this.
In the end, dokja will always find his way back home, which is you.
a/n : hiii! sorry for being inactive for a while. i was surprised when i got a lot of messages in my inbox, and i will try to quickly finish some of the fanfics you want. i'm not too proud of this but yeah, i hope you like it . have a great day!!!!!! ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )
Sypnopsis: Kim Dokja heard about "Hanako-San the ghost bathroom" who can make your wish become true. He's curious and decided to go to the bathroom and make a wish to Hanako. But will his wish become true?
Warning!: Bad grammar! English is not my first language!
Note: This is my first time i make a story in English and yk i'm really bad in English when i write it with myself, because English is not my first language. But i'll try with my best!
How does it feels like to have a friends? That was Kim dokja feels like right now
He's a lonely boy with a pathetic life, his mother is murder and everyone see him as a trash. Without a family or friends who care about him.
Kim Dokja life is so dull. Always being a bullied in his school, even the teacher doesnt care about him. He was desperate to have a friend, even just one.
"Did you heard about Hanako-San of the bathroom?"
"a Japanese ghost girl? Why she's in the Korean bathroom school?"
"We don't know why she's in our school, but she can make your wishes come true!"
"Really? What's the rumors?"
He entered the boys bathroom, slowly he walked to the one of the bathroom stall, his hands shook and tried to gather his courage.
"She's indeed in our school bathroom, but she's in the boy bathroom!"
"are you sure she's a Hanako-San not a pervert ghost?"
"hush! Don't say like that! She will be mad if she hear about that!"
His mouth trembling and closed his eyes. Why he should be scared? He just wanted to make a wish, nothing wrong right? So why he's scared?.
Surely Hanako wouldn't do something scary to him, or even angry because he called her just to make a wish to her. He just doing like the rumors say!
"To called her, you should knocked the door three time"
His hand slowly knocked the door with his all courage, and then say, "Hanako, Hanako, are you here?" Just like the rumors said.
Nothing happened, he's slowly open his eyes and looked at the door and raised his eyebrow. Is this some kind of jokes? Really? Why didn't Hanako answer what he said?
If this is a jokes, so what's the point of him being in this bathroom after school!
"bullshit" Walked away from the door and feeling annoyed and disappointed, he can't believe if it was just a jokes! He shouldn't have believed it if it was just a jokes, what's the point?—
Forget about that, he took his words back when the door slammed hard and wide open. Quickly his whole body was filled with fear when he realized that the atmosphere in the bathroom had changed drastically.
That's a lie, right...? He thought like that, looked at the toilet seat with a look of fear and horror, even though it's just a sitting toilet, for some reason it has an unusual and scary aura.
"you call me?" Without realizing it, the apparition asked him right in front of his face with a big smile clearly plastered on her face.
His eyes widened and started screaming while pointing at the apparition who's in front of his face. "A GIRL!?" He can't believe the apparition in front of his face is a girl!.. how could it be a girl in the boys bathroom!?
"why? Of course i'm a girl! What do you think i am?" The apparition look at him with confused face. Does he really heard the rumors clearly?
"no! I mean.. why you in the boys bathroom? Are you really Hanako?" He shook his head in disbelief what just he see. What a strange.. yet pervert ghost? Isn't she?-
She snorted with annoyance and rolled her eyes, what a kind stupid question she got today. Isn't clear this is her home- no, her workplace.
"this is my workplace. You really heard the rumors about me from whom?" She asked him. Looking at him who like an idiot person.
"what?" He titled his head, not understand what she's saying.
"well, forget about that. Now, what is your wish?" The apparition took a deep breath and looked at him with a big smile on her face, in her hand she already had her notebook.
Kim Dokja gasped when he came back to reality and realized his intention of being in the boy's bathroom at this time after school. He stared at the apparition who was waiting patiently for him, the apparition waited for Kim Dokja to make his wish.
Kim Dokja fiddled with his fingers nervously, he thought back to the wish he wanted to say to Hanako. It seemed he was still nervous and hesitant about his wish.
Realize that Kim Dokja not saying anything, the apparition look at him with confused and raised her eyebrow, she spun her pen. "What? You don't have any wish?".
"actually, i have.. but.. are you really Hanako? Not a pervert ghost?" Oh, boy...
Her face darkened and became gloomy hearing his words. She walked back into the bathroom feeling gloomy, "forget about that, i'm done with this".
"Huh!? No! No! No! I mean, Hanako is a cool girl!!"
Cool.. girl.. cool.. girl..
"Then, state your name!" The apparition turned back towards Kim Dokja with a big smile appeared on her face again and it sparkled when she was praised by him.
What an innocent girl, Kim Dokja stated his name, "My name is Kim Dokja, 1st grade".
"m'kay, Kim Dokja, right? What's your wish?" the apparition wrote his name in her notebook while occasionally glancing at him to make sure his name was correct or not.
Kim Dokja fell silent again when he heard the apparition's question, he looked gloomy again. There are many wishes in his mind but he can only ask for one wish to became true.
The apparition was confused again when the human in front of her seemed hesitant again to express his wish, she understand that.
"i don't know..This is complicated, there are many wishes that i want" He shook his head uncertainly and stared at the bathroom floor, the apparition humming softly, "Then tell me one of the wishes you want most".
One of the wishes you want most, One of the wishes you want most, ...One of the wishes you want most..want most..want most..
Could it be, he can ask for anything, right? Right!
He found it!
"hmm?~" The apparition hummed softly and seemed interested when he saw Kim Dokja's eyes sparkling like he had just found a treasure, what a cute guy.
"Kill them!" With a big smile, Kim Dokja stated his wish, making the apparition become petrified, oh.. what? He stared at the apparition in confusion when it just stayed still and stared at him.
Kill them? Kill? KILL!? Kill who?.. She looked at Dokja with a look of horror and scared to hear Dokja's statement, she didn't expect the many wishes that he was doubtful about. He chose to make a wish to her to kill someone..
i present to uu… a kim dokja mini thirst cuz i need him so bad! ++ think of this as a filler, cuz i feel the need to write something after all the requests drowning in my drafts soooyes! i don’t like keeping u all waiting so here’s a lil filler <3
for warnings ! suggestive, dokja x afab reader but i didn’t rlly specify their gender, this is so messy n all over the place i’m sorry this isn’t the best, uhmmm dokja being such a sweetheart mhm mhm mhm, vaginal sex, kim dokja is good w his fingers foreals, some use of nicknames overall suggestive content !! | 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
“can i give you a kiss..?” was all dokja asked. you could’ve sworn you heard a quiet “please?” afterwards, but maybe that was just your mind playing tricks on you. dokja felt his face get warmer and warmer by the second, his heart racing as he could almost feel it pounding through his chest with how close his body was to yours. swallowing a lump in his throat, his thumb drew small circles on the flesh of your hips, eyes filled with desperation and plain lust. for you.
“mm.. of course you can, pretty”
he didn’t expect you to agree so easily. your response made his face flush even farther, dokja’s pupils dilated as he leaned in.. his arm on your waist. he pressed his lips against your own, kissing you deeply yet so passionately. how can someone’s kiss be so dirty but so gentle? his eyes fluttered shut as he held it in for as long as he could.. allowing his body to do all the talking before gently placing his hand the back of your neck to keep you still on his lap, oh yeah.. you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. dokja’s kisses were absolutely deadly, that’s why you loved them. he always took his sweet time with you, holding you ever-so gently as if you were a feather. kim dokja couldn’t keep his hands off of you either as his fingers travelling underneath your shirt, pinching your sensitive nipples.
“mmf!— s’pretty dokja..”
he planted chaste kisses against the base of your neck, watching your body jolt at the sudden contact as he chuckled against your skin. “you’re prettier.” he murmured in your ear. “you’re really pretty.”
“all for you.”
you began to grind your wet heat against his thighs, licking your lips. fuck, he wanted you so bad. and you grinding and pressing your pretty pussy against his thighs wasn’t helping. not at all. dokja bucked his hips against yours, you knew dokja.. he wasn’t just gonna turn down your desires. his lips latched onto yours again. “y—you’re too pretty babe, it’s almost hard to resist you.” he admitted, pressing soft kiss on your cheek before gesturing you keep going, rubbing yourself against his thigh at a quicker pace. dokja’s fingers shook as he struggled to hold hold himself back, trying his absolute hardest to fight his urges.. his urges to pick you up and bend you over over the table and fuck you like it was his last day on earth. he can’t do that, no. not yet. dokja pulls your shorts and panties aside, not waiting any longer as he sinks his slender fingers inside your drooling cunt, thrusting them into the sweetest spots of your walls. he curled his fingers inside you, you came almost immediately on his digits because of how well he was hitting your areas, pumping them slightly faster now. the lewd sounds of squelching was all that could be heard, mixing in with the whimpers and whines that left your pretty lips.
“dokja..” your boyfriend pressed his thumb against your clit, body shuddering as you moaned his name, tightening your grip on his clothes. you could tell dokja was slowly losing control of himself, fingers tugging at your nipples roughly. he began hastily undoing his belt, easing the discomfort of his erected cock as he aligned himself with your entrance, bucking his hips against yours almost immediately. your mouth hung open, throwing your head back at how full you already felt, yet he hasn’t even fit half of his length inside! “dokja!”
he felt so so good, you felt so full.. his cock sliding in and out of you so easily like that.. he knew just how well he could fuck you, he knew no one else could fuck you like he could. he knew that so so well. he grew more desperate for you, savouring the feeling of you clenching and pulsing around his dick every single time he hit a good spot. your body squirmed under his touch, eyes rolled to the back of your head at how harsh his thrusts were, your juices painting his dick with a creamy halo of white. “please.. please ah—“ he whined, lifting your waist. dokja held you in place, his thrusts grew harsher as he practically slammed himself inside your cunt. your moans gradually got louder, almost too loud.
a hand slapped over your mouth instinctively, mewling loudly as your fingers gripped harder at the softness of his coat, “f—fuck.. i think I'm stretching you out quite the bit right at this angle, h-hm?” he couldn’t stop his thrusts no matter how hard he tried, dokja shuddered as your soft lips touched him. your kisses felt like fire spreading across his skin. it felt heavenly to him, he couldn’t get enough of you. “you feel so good,” *he whispered between kisses, “more.. more please. i need more of you, i-i—“
in a blink of an eye, your back was pressed against the wall.. dokja’s arms hooked under your knees as he held you up, slowly setting you down on his cock, rubbing against your wet slit from time to time. “give me more.. please. ‘want you so bad already.. let me— fuck.. i wanna feel you even more.. please!”
➡ Letter Content: Where a kpop idol loves to read webtoon after practice. His group's holiday turns into a nightmare fest and now he struggles to accept his reality.
➡ Messenger Note: If I wrote a fanfic lol, TW: Mentions of death, murder, blood. I mean, it's the first scenario cmon.
---
How could the protagonist of ORV adapt so easily? How could he have thought so fast in the matter of a few minutes? How could he be so lucky?
Well, you weren't him.
You didn't have fourth wall like every fanfiction out there may suggest... Why not? You're just as well aware of this fictional world as Kim Dokja is, so why not you?
You asked these questions because unlike him, you had to follow the rules in the first scenario. You had blood on your hands.
The blood of a friend turned traitor. Now, you're desperate to have a peace of mind. Where else other than by the actual protagonist, Kim Dokja's side?
---
This wasn't how the holiday was supposed to go.
This wasn't a dream, you've tested it. The pain is real, the squeeze in your heart felt real, the blood trickling down from your cheek to the floor felt and so did the multiple wounds on your arms felt real.
【The constellations applaud your tenacity.】
This... Was supposed to be fictional, a fun little webtoon to read after practice.
So why were your friend... Your family sitting in a sea of their own blood? Why did you hold the knife and why was it lodged into your mates' head?
Why are your hands red?
Why are you trembling, crying?
【Congratulations! You're the only survivor in this room!】
【300 coins gifted for completion. 】
A scream echoed in the hotel room.
Was that screaming you?
Was that why your throat is parched?
Shit.
You let out a sob, your hands smudging the large window panes overlooking Seoul with red. Your body felt weak as if you were contracting the worst of covid-19's symptoms kind of weak. The 'running a 5 lap, 1000m marathon' kind of weak, the 'danced everyday, without sleep, without rests and without food for hours on end' kind of weak.
I mean, how could you not feel exhausted? You were roomed with the main dancer in your group who regularly exercised—in addition to that, one of the former gymnast champions in all of Japan.
It's a surprise you survived instead of him.
A weakling, only ever locking yourself in your room despite being the lead dancer just to get a chance of reading the ever-so-popular omniscient reader's viewpoint.
ORV in short.
You were close to the main dancer, someone who you won't name as a friend anymore; He who jumped at the butter knife and launched at you to survive. He who screamed for you to give in because he would make sure to avenge you.
Avenge you?
You weren't even dead.
Of course you'd fight for your life.
How could he attack you in your most vulnerable state? You thought you could trust him. He was your friend after all. He was supposed to protect you. How could he try and kill you?Ha. You didn't even know you had it in you to break his wrist, to pick up the knife and stab it through his head whilst he was strangling you.
You didn't know you had the guts in you to kill.
To kill your own.
You stumbled into the wall, your breathe barely catching the needed oxygen for you to survive as the sobs successfully slipped out through your lips.
Staggering, you approached the doorway. Dismissive that you would regret not collecting the items you needed for survival going forward as all there was in your mind was your other group members.
What about the leader and the youngest? What about the staff members and the assistant trainees? Are they alive? Are they dead? Did they kill to survive too?
Your hand twisted the doorknob, but you didn't open it.
"(Name)...? Y-you're alive?"
It's your leader. Your eyes were getting heavy, either way you willed yourself to look into theirs.
He must've been expecting him...
【The Constellation 'Blind Hunter with Lion Skin' is interested on how you will take care of this one. 】
【The Prophet whose prophecies were not believed bets that you will spare him. 】
"...Sunbae."
Your knees buckled below you. A headache forming in your head from the messages.
Luckily, your leader catches you, his hands trembling as well but his face steeled at your state.
"I... I killed him." You stuttered out, body flinching as his hands gripped your shoulders.
"Shh... It's okay now." His voice spoke ever so softly, as if you would break if handled roughly. He placed your head onto his shoulders as he rubbed your back in a comforting manner.
"He tried to—he went for me."
"I know. I know."
"I'm scared."
"I'll protect you. Your sunbae will take care of you." Liar.
His voice hitched.
He's as scared as you were.
His hands... They're red too.
Flashback? Idk yet, these two constellations are my fav.
