• You weren't the most popular person in school, but did you really need to be?
• The answer is no.
• You needed something, but what?
• Oh, right.
• You needed Alfred to remember you.
• Badly.
• Why?
• You're in Korea and coming back to Gotham.
• And if he's not there, you're stranded at the airport.
• Again.
• Luckily you're just on the train heading back to Gotham.
• Barbara was sitting at her desk while the others were on patrol.
• Crime had kicked up lately for some reason.
• In fact it had gotten really bad.
• Then it happened.
• A shift in reality.
• A hole opened up and closed soon after.
• Something was taken, but what?
• Barbara kept looking over the readings trying to make sense of them.
• It was like the stars themselves grabbed something and moved it elsewhere.
• It was unnatural, yet weirdly natural at the same time.
• She had to keep looking into it, and alert the others.
• Besides you there was a young boy.
• He was a boy you felt like you recognized.
• Lee Gilyoung.
• A character from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.
• He had bugs, and you being rational, realized he's just a look alike.
• Across from you were two beautiful people.
• Kim Dokja himself, and Yoo Sangah.
• You watch them a moment before rationalizing it again.
The Fourth Wall is staring at you.
• Now that was weird.
• A blue text box popped up in front of your view.
The free trial period for the 8,612th planetary system has ended.
The main scenario starts now.
• What?
"A.... Dokkaebi?" A woman you now mentally confirm as Sangah asks. "What?" "Huh?" You and Kim Dokja ask at the same time.
• Kim Dokja looked at you confused.
• You looked at him in shock.
• At that moment you realized you both just entered new genres.
• And you're not letting him sacrifice himself alone.
• The main scenario just started.
A/N: Not me praying my usual commenters will be back. Love y'all and recognize y'all! I love repeat commenters since it's nice to hear what people think. Also extremely self indulgent since my birthday is tomorrow. (I DESERVE IT OKAY????) Also I have no idea if this will get multiple parts. This is mostly because I like writing batfam into things and neglect, and honestly am struggling to fit into this, so who knows?
It looked like the gods had finally decided to spice up his life.
The pain made him wince, but he couldn’t hide his arousal. His eyes scrunched when you pressed harder with the foot of your boots, and he bit his lip–hard–to muffle the groan that would’ve erupted if he didn’t. You looked down at him, the bathroom light crowning your head like a divine deity, a disappointed look on your face. He would’ve never thought his boss would corner him in a dirty little stall in the middle of the work day, punishing blessing him with your foot pushed up against his crotch.
“Dokja.”
His ears perked up.
“Yes?” His voice wavered. He couldn’t read you.
Obviously, he had done something to piss you off; he just couldn’t tell what. The corners of his lips threatened to quirk up–he was thankful that whatever he did led to this.
“You’ve been acquainting yourself with your co-workers these past few weeks, hmm?”
Ah. Jealousy? No way. What for?
“Just the usual–”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Oh. You were pissed. You dug your foot harder, and he couldn’t hide the noise, a whimper falling from his lips. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth–he knew he was blushing. This was fucking humiliating, and yet, he couldn’t stop his dick from hardening against the pressure of his boss hovering over him, exalting every ounce of authority you had. He didn’t think he was one for masochism, but the pain shot electricity up his spine.
“Is it… a problem?” He knew the answer already.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Haah… I didn’t realize I had–ugh–caught your attention…”
You lifted your leg. He missed it. It was just your foot, but somehow he’d already grown attached, the pressure offering relief he didn’t realize he needed. Never in his life did he think someone would pay this much mind to him, let alone consider others a rival for his attention.
“Stand up.”
He scrambled to his feet. There wasn’t a single bone in his body that desired to disobey you, not when your eyes held such a condescending glint. Not when you looked at him as if he were already yours.
“This–” you palmed his dick, “Is mine.”
His breath was ragged. Your breath was on his ears, your lips centimeters away from them. And then he felt it–your wet tongue dragging from his earlobe to the top. His body writhed, the sensation so intense he couldn’t stop the strangled moan that left his throat. It was so unexpected, he thought he’d cum from it.
What the hell?
“Remember that.”
Then door was pushed open, and you walked out, leaving him. He slid down the stall wall, his mind a mess, unsure of what to make of the encounter.
Confusion. Desperation. Excitement.
The darkened spot on the crotch of his pants would agree. How was he supposed to return to work?
Kdj with an isekai'ed reader who becomes his best friend #4lifez that's all
P. S lwk haven't read past ch50 on webtoon so... I might be getting shit wrong... My only basis is that one fanfic I've read and shit I remember being spoiled from
You wake with a gasp, a scream ghosts along your throat like a raw, itchy cough. Bright yellow headlights sear you vision even when you close them repeatedly.
The truck— it hit... you. You were dead... you-
Your body aches, violently shuddering as if experiencing the harsh hit of the truck's hood over and over again.
Blood splattered all over the concrete, painting the dry road in a splotchy red. The burn was unforgiving, flesh dragging against rough asphalt in the sheer peak of summer vacation.
You remember your last thoughts. Your last words, as you weakly muttered for your deceased mother.
Screams and shrieks of terror echo all around you, it's deafening yet silent at the same time. There's this, incessant ringing in you ears. You try to reach and pull your arm up and oh— you can't move.
A blurry figure reaches you, and you swear you see your mother's face in the stranger.
Try as you might, but words seem to fail you. And you can't tell if it's your fault or the continuous, constant pain flaring in your lower half.
"Shi- han...! —ssing?!? Where-"
Darkness claimed you then.
Each inhale feels piercing. And each time you exhale, you remember the way your ribs caved in, splintering and tearing through your lungs—
Warmth seeps through your cheeks, they're hands. Warm and roaring with blood, with life.
Sounds garble and ring in and out your ear, and you watch as tears fall down their face in globs of worry.
They bring you in, embracing you with all the strength they could muster— firm yet gentle— for a second, your mind quivers. Questions linger the edge of logic, feeding you countless doubts and thoughts that's barely make any sense.
It was only now, did you finally realize you were in a hospital room, with a woman suspiciously similar to your mother.
Yet your soul knows otherwise.
Because your mother is deceased. Been so ever since you were twelve.
The woman embracing you is not your mother, but you let your delusions sing and cling to a copy.
Now its been a year since that... incident. Since the moment you woke up in this weirdly peculiar world— peculiar in the sense that it is not so different to your old one.
And that makes it quite strange.
You can't tell if the gods are messing with you but for some reason you got isekai'ed into whatever the hell this place's supposed to be.
Everything is normal.
No magic or superpowers, no dragons or curses to defeat, you can't wear ball gowns or luxurious dress because apparently this world was modern instead of historical— heck! There wasn't even a system (that's actually a hidden love interest) to guide you!
Everything is superbly normal. To the point that it's boring.
How else can you enjoy the perks of resurrection if this whole damn place was so fucking... normal?!?!?
You wanted to ride and tame a dragon, reenact your dreams of living in Hiccup's world. To fight as a general, to strategize a battle and win the war. To learn how to steer a ship and command a crew in search of treasure.
To do anything besides a repeat of your mundane life!!
Dying was a waste if it meant fantasies were mere fiction yet again.
You'd rather live in a cutthroat aristocratic society than go through another year of school.
Which unfortunately is your first day of senior high.
But you know what's worse than that?
You live in fucking korea. Home to severe bullying cases and rampant harassment all year round
To make your situation any better— you were transferring to a new school due to bullying.
Well it's not like you were properly victimized, it's more like you actually fought back and broke a nose or two.
But that's for another story.
Now you're standing in front of your new class, introducing yourself while assessing the profound number of immature brats who think so little about foreign-looking people like you.
It wasn't until you sweep your eyes in the front row, did you actually take a double take.
There, on the second seat, sits an all-too familiar black-haired reader.
Kim Dokja. The name rings in your head in utmost clarity and for the first time since you first woke up here, you finally realized the world you were isekai'ed to.
Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.
One of the holy grails of manhwa and novels to exist.
"Shit." You curse quietly, snapping back into place as you finish your introduction. Sitting three rows behind your beloved character, you solemnly vow to give him the best, most happiest highschool experiences ever.
Just you wait Kim Dokja. You stare at him firmly, half listening to the teacher's lesson.
I'll be helping you through everything!
You greet him the moment class ends, introducing yourself and inviting him to lunch almost immediately.
You felt bad when you saw him hesitate. But if you're going to give him the best, most happiest highschool experiences ever, then you might just use your reader knowledge, the same way he did with Yoo Junghyeok.
"Do you know the novel by the name of Ways of Survival?"
Hook. Line. And sinker.
You got him right into your trap as he lights up in his own, Dokja way.
The weeks after that were spent with the both of you bonding over the novel— and you, the lying little shit that you are, had to read 100 chapters just to catch up with Dokja's scarily intact memory— shared interests, and lunches you always share with Dokja on the rooftop.
Whenever that hard-headed, brute Mingsu (Minsoo?) or whatever his name comes picking at Dokja, you're already there beating the shit out of him and his lackeys.
And when he snitches to the principal about your 'violence'. You threaten and blackmail the principal to release the footage you have of him and the young assistant all over the internet.
Safe to say, you were constantly under Bingsu's nerves.
There were times when you'd sneak into the Dokja's residence, climb over the fences and try not to alert his psycho of a mom— just to greet Dokja by the window and start a conversation as if he wasn't actively freaking out.
Thankfully, she never found out... You knew she had her suspicions, so you only ever sneaked in when your instincts told you Dokja was having a hard time.
And when a year passed of successfully making Dokja happy, you invite him out the night of his birthday. Sneaking him out the house to climb on the roof, where you prepared a small cake and bags of presents and goodies.
That moment cemented your drive to continue your pursuit as Dokja tearfully thanks you in joy.
A year turns into two, then four. From four to seven, then suddenly, the both of you are grown-ups in different careers.
Still best friends— not that you'd ever let him go— that talk about the series of Ways of Survival.
As the sole two readers of WSA, you began to memorize everything, down to the boring of lines, just to prepare yourself for the inevitable.
Dokja who's grown so familiar with your antics, has increasingly noticed your nervous ticks. Jumpy and almost tense in joining him during commute back home to your apartments.
It must've been your instincts flaring again. But whatever it was, it doesn't go unnoticed to your best friend's sharp eyes.
It wasn't until a certain train ride back home did he finally understand why you were so jittery in the first place. You had an inkling of this happening, which spanned three months before reality merged with fiction.
All this constant rereads of WSA, memorizing words like scripture, and your anxiety towards riding trains— it all comes crashing down into one singular conclusion.
You somehow knew this was going to happen.
His mind wraps around the idea in a chain of broken records: There were instances in his life where he always thought of you as someone too... knowledgeable. As if you were omniscient in some way.
But he brushed it off, chalking it up to your 'womanly instincts.'
He doesn't question you yet. This new reality of his was all too-much for both you and him.
He's also selfish.
Dokja doesn't want to lose you or push you away. You've been his lifeline since the beginning of highschool, he'd fight through hell and back just to get you, to save you.
Even if you were suspicious in his eyes— it doesn't change his true perception of you:
Because you are (Last Name) (Name). Someone he cared for and grew to love. Someone he valued besides his precious novel— and those thoughts were scarce, a once in a lifetime.
(Name) protected him from Minwoo. Sure, you beat him up but that wasn't important, no. (Name) was the person who tanked punches to the gut and face, busted their skin and lips from the fights they got often defending him.
(Name) was the person that made him smile through jokes and gifts. Cheering him up from his bad days, making him laugh even when he thought he couldn't.
(Name) was the person that silently gave their food on days he never felt like eating. When his mind had shutdown and memories would play back like a never-ending reel, dimming his world to a bleak and colorless life.
Even through his silence, you were always, always there for him. Despite his tendency to push, to distance, or place a wall between you. Even through his constant detachment, you somehow found a way to slither back into his life, like an insistent buzz.
Even through all that... it never once occurred to you to leave him like all the others.
You were an insistent yet beloved buzz he welcomed all the same.
The only person he'd let through his guarded walls, to peel back each layer, each chain and thorn he carefully put up, through each layer of defense until he was left vulnerable and bare.
Until he was nothing but flesh and bone, 'till you can peer down at his very soul. The flickering flame of life you could very well extinguish.
And despite showing you all his ugly and broken sides, you still chose to treat him with sincere kindness. To embrace all those layers of hurt, of hatred, that lay deep in his core.
A love that reached even his soul.
So in his eyes, you are someone heroic, a savior— his savior— The light he greedily enjoys while actively hiding you from prying eyes. From people who could (just as easily) take you away from him.
He is selfish, and Kim Dokja knows that very well.
Because in his eyes, you were Yoo Junghyeok— Similar and yet so, vastly different— but more than that, you are (Last name) (Name). Similar in acts but vastly different in nature.
And somewhere deep in his heart, deep in his soul, he would choose you over Yoo Junghyeok any day.
And that scares him. Violently, dangerously so.
Because all his life, he has only known Yoo Junghyeok.
But now...
He has (Last Name) (Name) in his life. A person who he holds so dear in his hollow, broken heart.
And he'll be damned if he ever loses you.
As the sole readers of Ways of Survival, you two team up to create the ending you both desire.
But both of you know that ending leaves one of you dead.
So you both pretend, and level up in the sidelines. You both pretend to not notice the other's growing abilities and obnoxious need to rise and achieve higher power.
Time is ticking, and the two of you are racing to finish your stories—because in this unforgiving world of WSA, only the main character can truly live in the end of the novel.
And neither of you are main characters in the first place.
You possess knowledge of the future— Kim Dokja's future. You know what decisions he'll make, you know that ending he's striving for isn't the one you two promised.
And Kim Dokja knows you see through him, but for the sake of saving the world— his world that he holds so dear. The light he greedily consumes. The person he's willing to die for— he remains intentionally ignorant.
But you have the upper hand.
Had so ever since the first time you saw him back in highschool.
Dying was a waste if it meant fantasies— the ending you sought for Dokja— were mere fiction yet again.
And you'll be damned if you can't change Kim Dokja's future.
What am I even writing 😭 I'm not gonna lie to ya'll I feel like kdj possessed me midway writing bcs I reached flow state and shi, I feel enlightened
Kim Dokja always gives me this posessive vibe. Like this man is nonchalant af but internally he's alr calculating ways to get your attention. NOT EVEN A YANDERE WAY BRU, but I am sooo thinking about ex-kdj and he's just planning ways to 'coincidentally' run into reader and I'm just MMMMM
The Person You Smile For— Kim Dokja x Reader (Jealousy)
The campfire crackled quietly, its light dancing on worn armor and tired faces. After surviving the last scenario, your group had finally found a brief moment of peace.
You were laughing — again.
This time, at something Lee Gilyoung said. He was animatedly acting out a scene with his insect army, making little buzzing noises to mimic their voices. You had been leaning forward, your eyes crinkling with laughter, brushing your hand against Han Sooyoung’s shoulder as you chuckled.
From across the fire, Kim Dokja watched in silence.
He sat apart, as he often did, phone in hand, though his eyes hadn’t moved from the same sentence in ten minutes. He wasn’t reading. He was watching.
No one else would’ve noticed the shift in his gaze. Not with how expertly he wore his mask of indifference. But inside, his thoughts were restless.
---
"You smile too easily," he thought.
"Not at me. Not like that."
---
You’d known Kim Dokja long enough to understand that affection from him didn’t come through grand gestures or flowery words. It came in silent protections, in split-second decisions where he chose your life over his. In the way he always walked behind you, ensuring no one snuck up from the rear.
But even so…
When Yoo Joonghyuk offered you his coat earlier — and you’d accepted with a small laugh, pulling it over your shoulders and thanking him — Dokja had felt something twist unpleasantly in his chest.
Not quite rage.
Not sadness.
Something in between.
Envy, perhaps.
Or maybe just the reminder that he was never meant to be the protagonist.
---
He wasn’t supposed to care.
Not like this.
---
You eventually noticed his silence and wandered over. Sitting beside him, closer than before, you nudged his shoulder gently.
“You’ve been quiet.”
Kim Dokja didn’t look up.
“I usually am.”
You tilted your head. “True, but this is a different kind of quiet. You’re staring at the same page.”
He closed the phone, finally glancing at you.
His eyes held that usual unreadable calm. But there was a sliver of something else there. Guarded. Wounded. Careful.
You saw the way his fingers curled slightly into his palms, like he was trying to keep himself from reaching out.
---
“Are you angry with me?” you asked softly.
That caught him off-guard. He blinked. “Why would I be?”
“You tell me,” you said. “You’ve been… off. Ever since we got back. Did I do something wrong?”
There it was. That sting again.
You thought you were the one who had done something wrong — when it was he who was stewing in his own petty feelings, too proud to admit something as foolish as jealousy.
---
Kim Dokja let out a quiet breath, eyes returning to the fire.
“No,” he murmured. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“…But?”
“…But you smiled a lot today.”
Your brow furrowed. “Is that… bad?”
His voice dipped lower.
“Not bad. Just... not at me.”
The silence that followed was louder than any shout. The words had come out quieter than he intended — raw and unfiltered — and now they hung between you, heavy with implication.
You turned to him slowly. “You’re jealous.”
A pause.
“I’m not,” he said — too quickly. “I just… I noticed.”
Another pause. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t tease. Instead, you said gently, “You could’ve just said something.”
He looked at you, that same tired distance in his eyes, like he was afraid of being too close and too far all at once.
“I’m not like Joonghyuk,” he said. “Or Gilyoung. Or any of the others. I don’t know how to say things that make people smile.”
“That's not true,” you replied. “You just don’t realize how much it means when you say anything at all.”
He swallowed.
Kim Dokja had faced gods. Had stood at the edge of the apocalypse and laughed. But this — this simple moment of vulnerability — left him speechless.
Finally, he spoke again, so quiet you almost didn’t hear:
“I just… didn’t want to be the only one left behind.”
---
You reached out, brushing your fingers over his knuckles. He flinched at first, then allowed it.
“You’re not,” you whispered. “And I don’t need you to be the one I laugh with.”
He looked at you, eyes searching.
You smiled.
“I need you to be the one I survive with.”
Something in him broke and healed all at once.
Slowly — awkwardly — he turned his hand to hold yours.
He didn’t say “I love you.” That wasn’t something Kim Dokja could say easily. Maybe not ever.
But in that moment, as the firelight caught the edge of his expression, something in his eyes softened.
OOOO OKIEE I GOT SO WORRIED AFTER I MADE THAT REQ OF DOKJA 😞😞😞 HMMMM DOKJA GIVING US KISSES IDGEJSBSJENS (on the lips) im so feral for him im not joking
》 Summary: In which, while traversing through your adventures, you and your friends couldn’t help but feel a certain being always hovering by the team. Specifically, hovering over you.|
》 Warnings: OOC, not proofread(writer is often too lazy to proofread any of their entries), does this count as stalking? Mmmmmmm space gods.|
》 Archive Entry Loaded ◇
■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■
Sighing to yourself, you lounge with your friends, bored out of your minds with nothing to do. Well, that is until everyone felt a presence with them.
■■■
Secretive Plotter
You attempted to sink further down into the couch as everyone else attempted to find something to do.
It was then a certain man approached you, “Hey, doing something?” Dokja asked you, sitting on the couch as well as he opened his phone, probably scrolling through the novel he read again.
You only sneered in return, obviously bored out of your mind. Noticing your boredom, Dokja gave you a little notice, “Have you noticed, one of the constellations?” he started. You turned towards him in return, “Which one? We know a few of them, remember?” you replied in which Dokja pointed towards the sky through the window close by, a star shining a bit brighter than the others, not incredibly, but it was there.
Still not getting him, your eyebrows furrowed thinking, “That could be anyone, like Uriel…?”
“That’s not her, I would know as her incarnation,” Heewon said, crossing her arms as she approached me and Dokja, “If I were any better I’d say it could be that plotter guy…” she added, followed by Uriel’s message.
[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ lightly held a laugh towards something.]
[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ asks if you have noticed anything.]
“Notice anything about what? Every one of you is confusing me…” you grumbled, looking around as everyone looked at you with slight shock, even Uriel was a bit shocked.
“You really haven’t noticed everything?” Heewon asked just as Jihye joined beside Heewon, asking what was going on before Heewon explained to her the premise.
Jihye, the ever so cheerful yet something of a woman, spoke without a thought, “Oh, you mean you haven’t noticed that one constellation hovering over you like he’s your sponsor?” Jihye asked, causing everyone to freeze while you looked at her in shock.
[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ lets out a squeak before lightly asking to be careful.]
You didn’t even need to ask about what Uriel meant by ‘be careful’ when you felt the atmosphere around everyone suddenly thickens, the star Dokja pointed to earlier slightly flickered.
You couldn’t even fathom what you just heard, Secretive Plotter? That mysterious constellation? Hovering over me when he wasn’t even my sponsor? But now that you think about it, the constellation has been talking to you through the pings, but you always thought he was just like that to everyone, apparently not.
“Dammit…” you cursed, connecting everything.
“You finally realized, huh?” Heewon said, hearing you curse. You nodded in reply before speaking, “I thought he was just like that to anybody else…” you reasoned, but then you got a reply.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ scoffed at your line of thoughts.]
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ calls you oblivious.]
[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ chuckled at the Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ for getting worked up over this.]
Worked up over what? You thought to yourself before Heewon patted your shoulder, “It’s up to you on this one now,” she said before she walked away, followed by Jihye, who seemed to give a peace sign before following Heewon.
You looked over towards Dokja for any help on what the constellations are talking about, who only shrugged his shoulders and left, leaving you with your thoughts and the constellation everyone is saying to be interested in you.
“What even is going on…?” you grumbled, slumping into the couch further again.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ scoffed at you.]
You scoffed in return, this constellation is giving you mixed signals, it is confusing.
“Alright, what do you want? I don’t… I don’t get this entire thing, heck, you’re not even my sponsor!” you grumbled, raising your hands up.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ retorts that you haven’t chosen any constellation to be your sponsor.]
You stared at the message in confusion, is this what it’s all about?
As if reading your thoughts, Secretive Plotter sent another ping.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ tells you that it won’t be long until you need one.]
Wow, rude. You thought to yourself as Uriel -who is seemingly still here instead of with her sponsor- replied to you for him.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ wishes for you to be the Constellation’s Incarnation by the Constellation ‘Demon-like Judge of Fire’.]
You stared dumbfoundedly at what Secretive Plotter meant by his words from Uriel’s, were you that interested towards him?
“Is that… Really what this is?” you asked towards Secretive Plotter, who took a few moments to answer, seemingly deciphering what to say before swallowing down the constellation’s stubbornness.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ confirmed the Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’s words.]
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ yields that he found you interesting from the rest of the incarnations.]
You huffed, smiling at the message. So, all that ‘hovering’, he found you interesting. The mysterious constellation found you interesting.
Still in thought, you were brought out when the constellation sent another message.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ threatens you to not tell this to anyone.]
Chuckling in reply, you shrugged, seemingly making the atmosphere thicken once more, “I don’t know, I could keep a secret, but I don’t know about Uriel,” you answered.
[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ grumbled in agreement.]
You could only chuckle again at his reply.
■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■
Nanook : Honkai Starrail
The train of the Astral Express had been quieter than before, Welt and Himeko lightly conversing on the other side of the lounging area, Pom-Pom somewhere else in the train, Dan Heng inside the data bank once more, and March, Caelus, and Stelle were talking around the pictures March had taken.
Meanwhile, you quietly napped on the slightly curved couch of the lounge, arms crossed, napping away. March even managed to snap a few photos while Himeko chuckled from where she was with Welt.
It was all of a sudden you snapped awake, flinching back at you awoke, immediately looking down on the palm of your hand as it was now seemingly containing particles of what seemed to be golden sand.
March and the two knuckleheads approached you in concern, noticing you jerk awake.
“Hey, are you okay? You woke up pretty hard,” March asked, the two however, stayed quiet as they noticed the particles in your hands before looking back at each other. They knew.
“Sorry, not really a good dream happened,” you apologized, rubbing the back of your neck, trying to seemingly act alright.
Then Stelle called your name and pointed towards the golden sand in the palm of your hand, “Are you aware of this?” She asked, Caelus looking at you with a similar question in mind. It didn't take another minute for Himeko and Welt to approach you guys.
“What is it?” Welt asked before noticing the sand as well.
“It was from Nanook, wasn't it?” Caelus asked, already knowing the answer as you nod.
“But, hey, I'm fine. It's alright, THEY didn't do anything to me, just had me there in the palm of THEIR hand…” you reasoned with them as if your words were the most normal thing combined.
The team looked at you in shock as they took in your word. The Aeon of Destruction? Nanook THEMSELF? Let a mortal -a nameless and a trailer of the path of trailblazing- chill by THEM? While THEY were possibly creating destruction and havoc on another far side of the universe?
You seemed concerned and worried for their reactions -and yourself- and decided to speak, “Was it bad?” You asked, voice slightly wavering.
“Sweetie, you told us an aeon, Nanook at that, allows you to be at the palm of THEIR hand while they possibly cause destruction with THEIR other hand…” Himeko slowly explained, followed by Welt and Caelus nodding.
“How long has this been happening?” Stelle asked, shaking hands pointing at you. There's no way the first aeon who gave THEIR gaze at Stelle and Caelus was now chilling with a human.
“... Ever since I joined the astral express…?” You slowly answered, earning another wave of dumbfounded looks from them.
“Daily?!” March asked, you nodded, “I never thought about it… Should I-”
“Yes, you should,” Welt said rather concerningly, now dumbfounded at your obliviousness at the situation.
It was then they felt the train rumble, lights flickering as everyone stopped hogging you to look around until March exclaimed pointing at the window behind me.
“G-guys, is it me… O-or the stars are aligning to look like…” March trailed off, Caelus and Stelle noticed it as well, then Himeko and Welt.
It was then when you turned, your eyes widened in surprise.
The stars, they did align themselves to create an outline of something, or someone. Soon, a figure was formed by the stars.
“No shot…” Stelle muttered, recognizing the figure outlined by the stars.
Nanook.
THEY were there. THEIR eyes narrowing down, seemingly towards you.
“Well, I'll be damned,” you uttered to yourself as golden sand seemed to float along the insides of the train, followed by a panicked Pom-pom who had also noticed the aeon's gaze on the express.
As Pom-pom found themselves behind Welt, they seemed to have their guard up the moment the golden sand started to appear more and float throughout the express.
Seeing everyone's guarded expression, you turned back towards the aeon who seemed to have moved THEIR hand and pointed towards you.
Confused, you were about to speak until the sand within the express started to clump together, forming into something and dropping it above your head and down onto your hand.
“Ow…” you muttered before noticing what had just appeared on you.
A necklace, simple yet gave off the strongest of power, glowing ever so brightly by the gem adorning the middle, a bright yellow color, akin to the eyes of the Aeon of Destruction or the large scar adorning THEIR chest.
“What…” you asked confusingly as you turned back towards the outline of the aeon, whose eyes seemed to narrow further before disappearing, the stars dragging themselves back to their original places.
Still confused -and now dumbfounded by what Nanook, the entire aeon, gave you- Dan Heng entered the lounge with a surprise look on his face.
“I saw the sand before it all disappeared, what happened? Did anyone get hurt?” Dan Heng asked, inspecting everyone with his eyes.
Himeko shook her head, smiling, “Everyone is alright, we just…” Himeko trailed off, turning towards you who's attention was still on the necklace given to you by the aeon.
“We just witnessed that our dear nameless over here received a courting gift from the Aeon of Destruction.”
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》 Archiver's Notes: Random fic because I miss these two(As if one of them isn't literally the main reason of the curent story in lore)
scream (ghostface) au
kim dokja x reader x yoo joonghyuk
slight kdj x yjh
<< masterpost
𖦏 summary: you've been sensing eyes on you for a while now, but the only eyes you care about are kim dokja's. let's hope your new boyfriend is enough to ward off a persistent stalker suitor! word of advice: you should never say "who's there?" don't you watch scary movies? it's a death wish.
𖦏 warnings: 18+ mystery. sex, implied and on-screen. foot fetish joke. dubious threesome. yandere behavior--stalking, murder, strong violence & gore, knife-play, blood kink. not your average darling. major character death(?) it's ambiguous
𖦏 w.c: 10.5k
𖦏 a.n: my sexiest contribution yet. happy halloween, readers ᢉ𐭩
"It's not much, but it's home."
You took in the studio flat: a small bed with slightly rumpled sheets against the far wall, a tiny table for one, a slim bookshelf filled with various manhwa and old textbooks, and a sunken couch. It was rather impressive that he'd managed to fit it all in such a small space.
It was also a perfectly ordinary space for a bachelor salaryman in his twenties.
Kim Dokja gave you a hesitant smile from his spot perched against the kitchen counter. His fingers twisted nervously in front of him.
He stilled as you drew near him. You leaned into his space, arms around him, pushing the empty ramen cups back against the wall as you did. His breathing picked up rapidly as you stopped and hovered over his lips.
"I like it just fine." You smiled. "Besides, we're not together or anything. You don't have to justify your lifestyle."
Kim Dokja made a noise in his throat. Your eyes caught on the bob as he swallowed hard. "I want to..."
You drew back a little, surprised. "You want to what?"
This thing between the two of you had been going on for almost two months now. When you'd first met Kim Dokja at a bookshop, you'd bowled him over in your haste to leave. You'd helped him pick up his stack of manhwa, catching sight of one of your favorites, Ways of Survival, and the two of you were sucked into a long conversation that spilled into a coffee date, and then a dinner, and then somehow your bed. Now you had lost count how many times you met. It was something undefined, the attraction obviously there, but neither of you had made the push for anything deeper yet.
"I thought you could meet my friends," Kim Dokja said in a timid voice. "A—as my...girlfriend..."
"Sorry, did you say 'girlfriend'?"
Kim Dokja froze. "Yes?"
You held back an amused and excited squeak. "Are you sure? Because that sounded uncertain to me."
He began to stutter, and you covered his mouth with your hand. "I'm teasing you. Kim Dokja, I'd love to be your girlfriend. And I'd like to meet your friends, too."
Pure joy lit up every corner of his face, from the gentle curve of his smile, to the sparkle in his eyes. It made you smile as you kissed him. Your chaste kiss was met enthusiastically, and his lips captured yours over and over.
"By the way." He pouted as you stopped him. "Now that we're together, I will say it again: I like your place. Particularly," you spoke loudly over his disbelief, "the open floor plan. I think it allows for more...variation, don't you?"
Kim Dokja grew flushed as you traced your fingers down his chest, dipping beneath his waistband to graze his skin. You tugged him along with your words.
"There are many possible positions, see, we have the countertops behind us for eating...food. Then you have the obvious couch option, and then the bed...and over here we have the table—you can sit on a chair and, hm, let me do all the work. Through there, I'm guessing, is the shower, which I don't need to explain further," you said sweetly. Kim Dokja's face burned red. You both were well-acquainted with your own shower at home. "And here we have the closet, which I'm most excited about, just think of the tight space, all pressed together in the dark—"
"No." Kim Dokja's hand slapped over yours, where it rested on the handle of the closet door. You stared at him, and his voice softened. "Sorry. It's...messy in there. I kind of tossed in all of my dirty laundry before you got here."
You tilted his chin up until his large, dark eyes were back on you. "I understand," you said smoothly. "We'll save that for next time."
"Okay," he said, visibly relaxing at your tone.
"Anyway, the best part is, we can try all of these things one after another without tons of unnecessary steps!" you finished with delight.
Kim Dokja looked at you in amazement. "I see why you like it."
"I thought you might."
"Mm."
The air was soon filled with smacking and sounds of pleasure. You loved Kim Dokja's kisses. He always kissed you like he was memorizing your skin, like you were a page from his favorite manhwa that he wanted to consume. It was such a juicy contrast to his standard, shy personality.
Before things could get too heated, your ringtone killed the mood. You scrambled with the device.
"Oops. My bad." You glanced at the screen and froze. Unknown caller ID. "Actually...I should take this."
Kim Dokja's lips paused on your throat. "Huh?"
"I have to answer this. It'll just be a moment," you said distractedly. You had stepped away to the far wall before he could muster up a response, phone pressed to your ear as you hit answer.
The other end was silent.
"Hello?" you asked tentatively.
Nothing.
"Look," your voice strengthened some, "I don't know what you want from me. But this needs to stop." Kim Dokja shuffled close, his fingertips meeting your lower back. "I have a boyfriend!"
Heavy breathing sounded in your ear, grainy and robotic through the phone. You were just about to hang up, when—
"...Do you know what happens to boyfriends in scary movies?"
You twisted away from Kim Dokja. He frowned.
"They kill losers that come after their girlfriends."
Needless to say, there was a mute panic on Kim Dokja's face. You shook your head, letting him know that everything was fine.
"They die." The voice crackled. "And then so will you."
"Oooh. Spooky," you said, thick with sarcasm. But your palms were hot. Your heart raced at the speed of light.
"We're going to play a game."
You clutched your phone tight. "I'd rather not. Unless you mean hide-and-seek...I'll seek and you hide. Permanently."
He chuckled, low and drawn out. "We'll play a game. See if you can figure out what it is."
"No thanks."
The stretch of silence prompted you to look at your phone. Call ended.
"Bastard," you said, gritting your teeth.
You stared at the black screen: wide, dazed eyes stared back. It took a few minutes of Kim Dokja calling your name before it registered in your mind.
"There's something you should know."
"What?" Kim Dokja looked understandably nervous, as if you might drop a bomb that you were divorced, or had a child, or actually had a sixth toe. Two of those he should have known for certain by now that they weren't the case. He had been to your place—no kids to speak of—and he had...well, he had become acquainted with your toes. Divorced was still on the table.
"I..." You took a deep breath. "I have a stalker."
"Oh." His response was lackluster, tinged with a modicum of relief. Then your words set in. "Wait, a stalker? Really? Do the police know?"
"They didn't believe me. Apparently they can't do anything until something happens to me," you said drily.
Kim Dokja frowned. "That's not right."
You hummed in agreement. "I guess I'll just have to die for them to be caught."
His alarm at the word "die" stuck in his throat, as he asked, "Them?"
"A general 'them'. I don't know their gender." You widened your eyes. "It could be a woman, couldn't it? Or nonbinary? Really, anyone is capable of stalking no matter who you are."
The voice was deeper than usual today, but it was obvious that your stalker was using a voice modulator because there was a distorted pitch to it and other changes every time he called. You knew this, because you did enjoy horror movies.
Kim Dokja had gone quiet, so you cupped his cheek. "I won't die. I've got you now, right? I'm sure they'll lose interest in a taken woman."
You nipped at the persistent frown on his lips until he softened. Very quickly, he parted for you, warm and eager as always. There were shared breaths and moans in between your kisses. Somehow, your fingers had tangled with his clothes, and now his shirt was open and unbuttoned, his belt tugged closer until your hips met.
"Let's take this to the bed first?" you murmured. "Start with a classic."
Kim Dokja's yes was exhaled into your mouth as the two of you stumbled backwards.
In the end, you did get around to testing out the open floor and all of its wonderful opportunities (sans the closet). A nice, hot shower concluded your nightly activities. Or, rather, prolonged them.
Steady hands navigated you through the excitable crowd to an even more rowdy group seated at a booth off to the side. Your footsteps slowed, and you smoothed at your tailored clothes. It seemed a little silly now, far too fancy for a casual bar, but you had really wanted to impress. At least your wool sweater felt like a comforting hug.
Kim Dokja turned around at your lack of movement. "What's wrong?"
"Just nerves," you said absently.
"You? Nervous?" His hand slid down to your arm until your fingers locked together. "There's nothing to worry about, they're going to love you." Kim Dokja chewed the inside of his cheek once. Twice. "It's me who should be worried. My friends are kind of..." He sighed.
Someone called out his name, and you both flinched.
You squeezed his hand. "I guess that's our cue."
It was prickly, feeling the weight of so many eyes on you as you walked up. Some more friendly than others.
"Kim Dokja."
A broad man dressed in all black like some sort of mall goth leaned forwards in his seat. He was handsome. Strikingly so. His thick eyebrows slanted harshly over his eyes, two obsidian stones burning into you. "This is your girlfriend?" he demanded.
Kim Dokja scratched his head. "Obv—"
"Yeah, it's hard to believe," butted in a pretty, short-haired woman. She smirked at you. "How much did he pay you?"
"Dokja-ssi wouldn't do that." It was Yoo Sangah, Kim Dokja's coworker and friend whom you had actually met by chance during a café date earlier this week. You smiled at her. Yoo Sangah returned it, and said, "It's good to see you again."
"You know her?!"
"Yes. I went to Cafe Layered the other day, for my spring onion scone, and Dokja-ssi was—"
"It's probably a long con. He knows your usual spots."
Yoo Sangah's face darkened. "Sooyoung..."
They devolved into petty squabbling, with a few others jumping in. The goth huffed loudly and crossed his arms. He still eyed you both. Kim Dokja's hand in yours was clenched and unrelenting.
"Uh, my friends."
Kim Dokja gestured around the huge group crammed into the corner booth with quick introductions: there was the other skeptic, Han Sooyoung, who scrunched her nose at you; Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung, dating and currently laughing over something in private; Lee Seolhwa, beautiful as a pale rose; Uriel Eden, a tiny, foreign woman that glared at you fiercely; and the broody, irritated man in black, Yoo Joonghyuk.
The group shifted to make room, one seat on each end of the booth. Divide and conquer—it was comical how obvious they made it.
You took one look at Uriel's blazing eyes on the left and rushed to squeeze in next to the broody Yoo Joonghyuk. In fact, this only made Uriel flush an angrier red. Kim Dokja slid in across from you.
"So," said Jung Heewon with a gleaming grin. "Kim Dokja has told us absolutely nothing about you. Spill."
Lee Seolhwa nudged her, raising an eyebrow. But she, too, looked interested in your response.
Kim Dokja winced at you. "We forgot drinks...I'll go grab some for us..." he said sheepishly and rushed off.
That rat.
"He knows what drink you like?"
"I'll bet it's a bubbly, sweet one."
"I don't know. She seems like she'd have that edge under the girly front, a taste for hard liquor."
"Do you know what he likes?"
The cool, accusing voice that rose over the rest was, shockingly, Uriel. You matched her stare. "Dokja doesn't drink."
Uriel frowned. "Yeah...that's right."
"Ah, what do you do for work?" Lee Seolhwa asked politely.
"I'm a photographer," you replied.
"How exciting!"
"For a newspaper? Or artist, like your own gallery?"
Han Sooyoung sniggered. "Are you the kind that takes photos of naked people? Does Dokja pose for you?"
Your smile went tight. She is very casual with him.
"Sooyoung-ssi, that's not appropriate," said Lee Hyunsung.
"I'm just asking! You know how weird some of his interests are, like the time Dokja—"
"He does," you said sharply. "He poses for all kinds of photos."
Yoo Joonghyuk went rigid beside you. Uriel gasped, and Lee Hyunsung choked on his drink. Jung Heewon clapped him on the back with an eager look on her face. Yoo Sangah paused, beer forgotten.
You leaned forwards, expression flat. "I might be open to new subjects if you're offering, Han Sooyoung."
She went red as a tomato. Yoo Joonghyuk exhaled harshly, and your eyes flicked over to see a frustrated look darken his face.
Your giggle quickly turned into full-blown laughter. "Did you really think I was serious?"
"N—no! Shut up!" Han Sooyoung scowled.
"You were half-right, anyway. My creative style is portraits—not nude ones," you added with a wink at Yoo Sangah. She gave you a weak smile. "Professionally, I'm a freelance photojournalist for newspapers and magazines." You pinned your attention on the man beside you. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Yoo Joonghyuk?"
His gaze narrowed. "What?"
"Perhaps you don't remember. Well, we were never introduced," you nodded. "You're a police officer, right? I see you at events and crime scenes from time to time."
"There are thirty-two thousand officers in Seoul," Yoo Joonghyuk said through clenched teeth.
"I have a knack for remembering faces."
A strange, tense feeling shifted between you and Yoo Joonghyuk, like an electric current running through your veins. His body radiated heat where his thigh pressed against yours.
"Nobody knows Yoo Joonghyuk like Kim Dokja," boasted Uriel. You weren't quite sure what she was showing off.
Jung Heewon rolled her eyes. "Give it a rest, Uriel."
"I'm just saying! She needs to know about their connection. Their companionship! The woven threads that bind them together in life—" she continued to ramble hotly.
...Ah.
You watched her with amused eyes until the clink! of a glass being set down in front of you made you startle. Kim Dokja smiled pleasantly.
"Sorry. There were many people waiting."
"It's fine. Thanks." You took a sip. "Han Sooyoung here wants to pose nude for my next series."
"The fuck I do—!"
Everyone launched into a comfortable, teasing conversation after that. It was difficult to tell how much time was passing, as the music steadily grew louder and more people filtered in and clogged the floor space in the center to dance, pressing against the imaginary space bubble in front of your booth.
At some point, you snagged Kim Dokja's hand and wove your fingers together. Jung Heewon simpered over that. Uriel, of course, turned her nose up with a sniff.
"How long has it been for you two?"
"Several months," you said absently, sipping on your drink.
"No?" Kim Dokja's brow furrowed. "Two months."
"Oh. Yeah, it feels like forever." You looked him steady in the eyes. "I'm very happy, Dokja. Probably the happiest I've ever been."
"I feel the same."
Han Sooyoung gagged into her copper mug. Uriel, however, softened a fraction at our exchange.
Lee Hyunsung, who had been staring at the TV screen over the bar, straightened his already perfect-posture and looked at Jung Heewon. "I want to start walking you home."
The group fell silent.
"A—and to work in the mornings," he added weakly.
"You think I can't walk out in public like some sort of child?" growled Jung Heewon. The pink of her nose and cheeks signaled danger. "I know you're a soldier, but what gives you the right?"
You were impressed when Lee Hyunsung refused to back down (though he definitely cowered).
"They've connected the murders to a single killer. Three deaths," he said, agitated, "three—that's a serial killer, Heewon. I want to make sure you're safe until they catch him."
"Serial killer?"
Yoo Sangah and Yoo Joonghyuk both looked at you. "You don't know?" asked Yoo Sangah. You shook your head. "The police figured out that the recent deaths—those horrible stabbings—were all done by the same person."
A woman strung up like a piece of butchered meat. Another with a smile cut into her throat. And the most recent, stabbed deep so many times that a pincushion would have been jealous. Hardly an obvious MO.
"What made them realize it? The carving of the bodies? A weapon?" you asked.
"The harassment," inserted Han Sooyoung. "Every single one of those women were stalked for months prior to their death."
"I see," you said slowly.
You knew that Kim Dokja was staring at you, because his fingers wrapped around your hand twitched.
"Actually, there was a strange pattern with—"
"Can we talk about something else?" said Lee Hyunsung loudly. He still looked upset. Yoo Sangah and Lee Seolhwa agreed. Jung Heewon pursed her lips.
Eventually, you all settled back into a lighter conversation. Kim Dokja excused himself to find the toilet.
Twenty minutes...thirty? Too much time passed and he still hadn't returned.
You tapped your fingers on the wood table. "He never pees this long."
No one else seemed to hear you, too engrossed by the sound of their own voices. Then, Yoo Joonghyuk shuffled closer. "He's taking a shit."
"That doesn't take him this long, either."
Yoo Joonghyuk studied you. He nudged you up and out of the booth and stood as well.
"We'll look for him together," said Yoo Joonghyuk quietly.
The crowd had thickened as the night wore on. The music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the chatter. You and Yoo Joonghyuk were soon separated, his broad shoulders vanishing between other bodies.
This was one of those odd bars caught between wanting to be a club, but not quite designed correctly for it; the reality hovered somewhere in the realm of "dive bar with a questionable dance floor."
Up ahead, you spotted a wiry, black-haired man. A blonde girl turned to him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder with a giggle.
Your vision clouded red.
"What the fuck?!"
The blonde girl spat at you, glaring. Your hand slowly unclenched from her locks. She rubbed her head from your yank, backing into the gawking man that was most definitely not Kim Dokja.
"Sorry," you said, annoyed. "I thought I saw a spider in your hair."
You escaped through the darkened crowd before either of them could say another word.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
You made it to the edge of the dance floor and fished out your phone.
Bzzt! Bzzt!
It was an unknown caller.
"Yeah? What?" you answered, plugging your other ear to hear better.
"Where are you."
"Huh?" Your mood soured even more at the confirmation of that voice. "I'm not telling you shit."
"...You're hostile."
"I'm busy," you snapped. "Call again later."
The music seemed to be reverberating, echoing between your ears. You could feel a headache forming. The phone drifted away as your thumb hovered over the screen.
"Don't hang up on me." Your breath caught. His voice was harsh and domineering, even through the phone. "Or I'll slit your pretty boyfriend's throat. Kim...Dokja."
At the name, your temper lifted some. "Do you have him?"
"Perhaps."
"Show me." Your volume rose. "Give me some proof that he's there."
"I will not."
So he didn't have Kim Dokja after all. "Do you know where he is?"
"..."
"If you do, I'd appreciate you sharing that information," you said sweetly.
He went silent for a few minutes. Then, roughly: "Answer me first. Horror trivia—what color is Freddy Krueger's sweater?"
"Red and green, obviously. Tell me his location."
"How many deaths occurred during the production of The Exorcist?"
You rolled your eyes. "Nine."
"Yes. Very good," he said with content, almost a purr. "What do Carrie's classmates dump on her at prom? Be specific."
"You're wasting my time," you retorted. Your eyes scanned the room, back and forth and back again.
"I might grow tired of our game if you refuse to play along—"
You ended the call. It was the first time you had ever done so. A haze settled over your mind. People seemed to skirt around you, leaving a space that only further trapped you in a bubble of feverish adrenaline. Your warm sweater now felt suffocating. You had no idea how long you stood there, thinking, sifting through options—
"Found you."
Someone clutched your arm from behind. You spun around. "Dokja!"
He gave a noise of surprise as you tossed your arms around his neck. "I went past the table but you weren't there," he said.
"I was looking for you," you said.
"Turns out, the basement is not the only toilet," Kim Dokja said with a smile. "I would have gone up here if I'd known."
"Oh, is that why..."
"Hey, are you okay?" Kim Dokja pressed his palm to your forehead. "You feel warm."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" His arm circled your waist awkwardly, as people bumped past you both. You looked into his eyes, doe-like and framed by thick lashes. His lower lip was damp from a habit of sucking it between his teeth.
A hot feeling curled in your stomach. The stalker was pushed to the back of your mind.
"Actually, let's get out of here." You tilted your head close. "Take me to bed, Dokja-ya."
The effect was immediate. It was almost startling to see such a soft, pretty face turn demon-like. Sharp. Fiery. Kim Dokja ushered you towards the exit with purpose, friends be damned, his urgency overshadowed only by the heat in his gaze.
Kim Dokja wasn't necessarily a simple man. But you certainly found it easy to discover what made him tick. You had charted those things carefully, and there were very few.
You were delighted that one of them was now you.
Two weeks passed since that night. The life of an underpaid salaryman had caught up to Kim Dokja, so you had hardly seen each other in that time. It bothered you.
But your restlessness went beyond your relationship—your stalker had stopped calling.
Yet you still felt the sensation of constantly being watched.
You stood at your second-floor window, brows furrowed at the awakening street below. Elderly couples clogging the narrow sidewalk. A texting mother neglecting the stroller in front of her. Ankle-biter furballs walked by dog sitters. Groups of young professionals, suited up and pretending to be of more importance than they actually were.
And...there. Across the street in an alleyway, plunged into darkness by the early morning, there was a figure. You could nearly make out the shape sewn into the shadows. As if born from it.
The shadows shifted. A white, elongated face stuck in an anguished scream emerged.
"Is that—?!"
You rubbed your eyes. When they cleared, the alleyway was nothing but shadows. A trick of the light.
Fuck. Your phone was in your hand, automatically dialing a number before you knew it.
It rung. And rung. Until you received a voicemail request.
Beeeep.
"Dokja," you said, dragging out his name. "You're still coming over for dinner, aren't you? I think I'm going crazy over here. It's been days, and I really," your throat felt thick, "really miss you. Call me back."
You moved to your closet, nabbed a thick book off the top shelf, and flopped onto your bed. Your fingers dug into the hollowed inside, sifting through the pile of prints, negatives, and other treasures.
The photographs were quickly spread out on the mattress around you, telling the story your mind envisioned through your lens. You traced over the nearest one. You couldn't wait to hang up all of the pictures in a delightful collage on your wall. Soon.
A persistent buzz broke you from your thoughts. You hit answer faster than you could blink.
"Dokja! Finally, I was beginning to think you—"
"Think again."
The sound of your breathing was loud to your own ears. In your chest, coiling tight, was something, something...
"You always pick up when I call," he jibed. "I like that."
"Do you really think you can flirt your way out of being a creep?"
"Flirting suggests that we have a connection." There was a staticky sound, like a gravelly laugh. "I'd say we connect. Wouldn't you?"
He was acting smug. You stood, pacing in your room. "That depends on the context. You trying to ask me out?"
"I might. What would your boyfriend say about that?"
"The one you threatened to kill?"
"That's right." His voice crackled.
"I think he'd object to being killed, yeah."
"No, I mean about me asking you out."
"Well, I don't know," you huffed. "Are you going to ask me stupid movie trivia again until I'm distressed?"
"Distressed..."
"Short-term memory?" you mocked. You left your bedroom, grabbing your purse on the way.
"I remember everything about you."
The fervor of it stopped you in your tracks.
"Your voice. Your smile. The steadiness of your hands. The way you sway your hips when you walk. The scent of your hair: dry, damp, loose. Tied back. Your skin—pretty, pretty skin."
A shiver slithered throughout your body.
"Want to see what your insides look like," breathed the voice with reverence, like you were an answered prayer.
You counted to ten, exhaling slowly. "Tempting."
"Oh yeah? Is that what you think?"
"I think you're crazy."
He laughed, rich and true. "We all go a little mad sometimes. Love does that to you."
Your eyes narrowed as you set down the phone, tugging on your leather boots and wrapping up in a thick coat and scarf. Satisfied, you tucked the phone back under your cheek. "Love? Are you sure you're not confusing it with obsession?"
"Two things can coexist."
At least he was self-aware. Your keys jangled loudly as you grabbed them on your way to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Are you meeting someone? Who is it?" his voice grew increasingly agitated. "I swear, if you're going to meet with some worthless, fucking piece of shit, I'll gut you in your sleep! Do you want to die?"
He was heaving on the other end, having worked himself up into a fit of rage. There was a cracking sound, like wood splintering beneath fingers. Your every sense prickled with anticipation for whatever he might say or do next. At the unnerving pause, you spoke.
"I am going to buy groceries."
Harsh breathing sounded. You made your way down to the street, instantly swarmed by the rush hour crowd outside. Someone shouted, and you pressed your phone into your ear to catch the low voice.
"Watch yourself."
Click!
You rubbed your temples and headed for the subway. Well, you weren't lying—you really were going to the supermarket. Dinner wouldn't cook itself.
You finally noticed a few missed messages from your boyfriend:
Swamped with work. I'll see you at 7.
*Smiley face* *Heart*
Sent: 08:23
It left you with a deep frown, a displeasure that simmered under your skin and refused to calm. You were stuck with a lot of feelings, lately.
The grocery store was only a stop away from your home; a specialty import shop that specialized in European and Indian goods. They had a limited selection, but it was just what you needed. Tonight you were making lasagna.
"Thick-cut mozzarella, ricotta, dried pepperoncini, lasagna sheets," you chanted as you entered. You grabbed the pasta, and then found your way to the spice aisle.
The sight of a hulking, goth-like man greeted you. A familiar, unforgettable face.
"Careful. You might hurt the spices feelings with that glare," you said seriously.
Yoo Joonghyuk directed it your way. "You."
"Me. How have you been since we last met?"
Instead of a proper response, Yoo Joonghyuk looked you up and down, like he was expecting to find something.
"Kokum or amchur." At your puzzlement, he pointed. "Kokum. Amchur. I'm not certain which one to get for my curry."
"Aren't you following a recipe?" You blinked as he shook his head. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Get both and try them out? See which one you like more."
Yoo Joonghyuk grabbed a beige spice bag. "Why are you here?"
"Dinner. Dokja is coming over tonight."
Yoo Joonghyuk's face pinched. Then he swiped a deep purple spice from the shelf, like you were holding him at knifepoint to take the other option too.
"I'm making real, Italian lasagna," you added.
"Kim Dokja doesn't like tomatoes," Yoo Joonghyuk said automatically.
You shrugged. "He did when I cooked pasta last time."
"He ate them?"
Yoo Joonghyuk looked scandalized at your nod of confirmation. And then a bit angry.
"Have you been shopping long?" you hummed, scanning the shelf and securing your pepperoncini flakes.
"...I can't find the crème fraîche," he said at last.
"You can't find crème fraîche. Did you ever think they might not have it?"
"This store does." Yoo Joonghyuk frowned. "They always do."
"Maybe they're out of stock—hey! Hi, sorry to bug you, could you help us locate the crème fraîche?" you sought the attention of a short, pink-haired worker.
She nodded, firm and quick. "I'll check our system. Wait here, please!"
You turned to Yoo Joonghyuk, who immediately snapped, "I can find it."
"Sure you can."
He stewed in that until the pink-haired girl returned, beaming. "Follow me, please."
You nudged Yoo Joonghyuk as you both went. "It's not bad to ask for help sometimes. Be a team player," you said with a waggle of your eyebrows.
In the dairy aisle, you picked up your mozzarella and ricotta. Yoo Joonghyuk burned a hole in the pink-haired worker.
"Oh...I'm really sorry. It looks like we're all out."
"Order more."
"I—um, we can't—that is..." she gulped. "We should have more by early next week."
Yoo Joonghyuk was a man of few words.
The girl's smile faltered, her gaze skittering away. "Good luck!" she chirped, then edged away, visibly uncomfortable by Yoo Joonghyuk's presence.
You smiled at him. "I guess you'll have to use something else."
He grumbled under his breath.
But he didn't leave. You pursed your lips, contemplating your next move.
"Yoo Joonghyuk." He glanced at you. "You're with the police. Maybe you can do something about my stalker."
"Stalker?"
"Yeah. They keep calling me," you emphasized. "For months now. Even just this morning."
Yoo Joonghyuk's forehead wrinkled. Quick, subtle. Then it was gone. "Has this person done anything physical?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"...Have you seen him?"
"Nope."
His face was stony as he turned away, scanning the shelf. "We can't do anything without clear mal-intent."
"What about verbal threats?" you pressed. "Say...threatening to kill my loved ones? Including a certain lover."
Yoo Joonghyuk paused his reach for a jar. "I can put in a formal request for occasional check-ins. That's the best you can get at this stage."
You studied his back. It was terribly broad. "That works."
Both of you headed towards the checkout. Well, you went, Yoo Joonghyuk trailed behind, like a lost wolf cub. Rows of bright colors caught your eye. You crouched.
"What are you doing?"
"Buying flowers." You sent him a silent duh.
"Why," said Yoo Joonghyuk sharply.
"One, because they look pretty in my kitchen." Your fingers hovered over the sunflowers before passing to the next row. They had white roses, pink roses, even yellow. But no red. "Two, because I have a date tonight. Remember?"
You turned in time to see disbelief flicker across Yoo Joonghyuk's face. And something else. He went stony before you could observe any further.
"These are pretty...no, maybe the lilies..."
"Not those."
Yoo Joonghyuk's voice cracked in the air like a whip. Despite his tone, his fingers gripped your wrist gently, tugging you to a bouquet of poppies. Bright red, huge petals fanning out in delicate heaps.
"They're lovely."
"They suit you." Yoo Joonghyuk nodded like his mission was complete.
Your eyebrows raised. "Who knew Mr. Broody was such a flower connoisseur?"
"It doesn't take skill to know that red pairs with blue," he muttered, glancing at his phone.
"...And white." You gestured to your monochrome outfit.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood, ignoring you. His black coat billowed out behind his long strides.
"Uh, bye?" you announced dramatically. "I hope to see you again. Very soon. I like spending my time talking to emotionally constipated men."
He paused. You grinned.
Yoo Joonghyuk swivelled around, and a coldness had entered his eyes. He stepped closer. "You're bothersome."
"Kim Dokja doesn't seem to agree."
"Kim—" Yoo Joonghyuk's nose lifted in a snarl. "I'm tired of listening to you speak."
"Are you? I was under the impression you like the sound of my voice."
A switch flicked off in his expression. "What did you say?" he said quietly.
Black. Pupil and iris melded into black, a singular void boring into you.
"I said: you like the sound of my voice." You cocked your head. "I mean, you wouldn't still be here if you didn't. You've let me talk you into picking out my flowers...maybe I should make you pay for them, too."
Yoo Joonghyuk closed his eyes briefly, jaw twitching. "I have known Kim Dokja longer than you."
"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
Kim Dokja this, Kim Dokja that. Kim Dokja, Kim Dokja, Kim Dokja. The man's brain ran on practically nothing else. (Not that you were one to talk.)
"If you're jealous, then just say so," you said evenly. "But don't get pissy at me just because your crush didn't want you back."
"That isn't—" Yoo Joonghyuk exhaled through his nose. "He is different because of you. I don't like it."
He leveled you with one last, inscrutable gaze, and then turned on his heel. You watched his flapping coat scan and pay in a blink, then disappear out the doors.
Truly, Yoo Joonghyuk was a difficult man. A difficult, gorgeous man with all the charm of a steaming turd.
"What a waste," you grumbled.
You purchased the ingredients and flowers and left. A solid frame knocked into you just outside the sliding exit. Your red poppies tumbled to the concrete.
"Whoa there! Are you okay?" The man coughed as you looked up at him, his cheeks flushing. "Wow."
He didn't let go of your arms. Your smile was tight as plastic as you said, "I'm good."
"Can I...listen, I'll get you something nice to make up for it. My treat."
"No, it's fine."
"Uh-huh, yeah. What's your name?"
"You can stop touching me now."
An embarrassed, angered look entered his features. "C'mon, let me buy you new ones. Perfect flowers, like yourself, a pretty—"
"I wouldn't, if I were you."
At your tone, his hand that had been about to grab you again halted. The winter air was biting and tasted of steel. You relished the look on his face. Maybe it was the rush of coldness in your veins. Maybe it was disgust at encountering such a lowlife creature.
Or maybe it was the strong, seething attention you'd felt since you stepped outside.
You snatched up the flowers, thumbing at the still-perfect petals. A lazy, saccharine smile played on your lips. "Enjoy your day."
The air was cold—so, so cold—and you were warm. This had turned out to be a rather exhilarating morning.
"I think this will make for an even better story."
You were primping the flowers, large and fluffed in the center of your dining table, light red popping beautifully against your cerulean tablecloth, when three knocks sounded at the door. "Who's there?" you yelled.
"Me."
"It's open!"
The door creaked. Kim Dokja dumped his backpack by the shoe pile, and shrugged off his coat into the closet. He swiped a hand through his hair, footsteps unusually heavy as he came over.
Kim Dokja took one glance at the poppies and scoffed. "What is that?"
"Flowers...?"
"They're ugly."
"These gorgeous blooms are ugly," you responded drily. "Yeah, sure."
His lips pressed into a tight line, scowl deepening. You drew him into your arms.
"Did you have a really bad day at work?"
"Terrible." Kim Dokja sighed at your fingertips ghosting over his cheek. "I hate people."
You dragged him over to the couch where you could wrap around him for comfort. The lasagna was in the oven, finished, and the sides and mock-wine were out on the counter. There was nothing stealing attention away from your Kim Dokja. Until you noticed it.
"Hold on—" You snatched his shoulder and pulled aside his collar. Wet. Red. "You're bleeding."
It was a medium-sized cut, shallow, but blood still oozed sluggishly. A too-small band aid had been hastily stuck on top.
"I rushed getting here and scratched myself with the shirt hanger," said Kim Dokja briskly. "My fault for buying cheap wire ones."
You ripped off the band aid, and Kim Dokja yelped. His eyebrows pinched. "What...?"
"Were you going to tell me you hurt yourself?"
"I—I didn't know if it would matter to you." You could tell he realized the error of his words at the thundering expression on your face.
"Wait here."
Before you could go, Kim Dokja gripped your arm. Hard. His messy bangs cast a shadow over his eyes. He said in a mumble, "Don't leave me."
Your heart somersaulted in your chest. "I'm just going to get you a larger bandage and some stuff to clean it up."
Kim Dokja tugged you back down. You stumbled, knee landing in between his thighs. His arm circled your waist, locking you tight in his space.
You carded your fingers through his hair, feeling warm. "Do you have something to say?"
The tick, tick, tick of the clock in the corner filled the silence. Kim Dokja squeezed at you for a few moments before relaxing.
"Nothing." Then he tilted his head back and dark eyes lightened into grey, his mouth now a soft pout.
You stared at the scratch marring his skin and leaned in, unable to help yourself. Your lips pressed into the wound. "It must have been painful."
Kim Dokja's swallow shuddered throughout his whole body. "Somewhat."
You pressed another kiss, this one lower where it was still open and raw. Kim Dokja hissed. You met his lidded gaze.
God, he smelled clean. Freshly washed, like vanilla soap and sanitizer. Suddenly, you were much closer together.
"Dokja..." you breathed out.
His eyes dropped to your lips and stuck. You licked them, tasting copper and salt. He leaned in.
Kim Dokja groaned into your mouth, kissing you like you were a candy to savor, sweet and addictive. You pushed your knee into him and he stuttered against your lips.
"Kim Dokja." You kissed him again. "Dinner's ready and I'm starved. Let's eat, okay?"
You caught a flash of expression. Blank, and almost...annoyed?
Then he smiled, nodded, and released you from his hold.
You located the first aid kit quickly. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you contemplated. Kim Dokja had shown many unexpected faces tonight. You had seen his detachment, his irritation, his affection. His hunger. Which of them were real?
Maybe it was everything. All at once.
When you returned, Kim Dokja was whistling (terribly) as he bustled between the kitchen and dining table with food.
He glanced over. "I reheated everything."
"Thanks." You doctored up his cut, meeting his gaze every so often.
You sat down. It was easy to see his face with the flower vase pushed to the corner, dark red petals slightly crumpled. You glanced over, seeing an open-zipped backpack on the floor. A slow smile spread across your face. "I'm confident in your ability to use the microwave, at least."
"I value your life, so I'll refrain from ever cooking for you."
Your laugh quickly grew out of control. Kim Dokja gave you a funny look, but he chuckled a bit too.
"Yes," you coughed. "I'm sure."
The evening mellowed into a pleasant, cheerful atmosphere. You stuffed yourselves with lasagna—("You know, I might actually like tomatoes," proclaimed Kim Dokja)—and the bottle of non-alcoholic wine. You had just uncorked a second when your phone rang.
Unknown caller ID. Your lips twitched. "Hi. Who is this?"
"Amusing."
"Listen. You already called today. It's getting a little sad, isn't it?"
"Is it 'that person'?" Kim Dokja said tensely. His knuckles clenched around the dinner knife.
You waved a hand at him and addressed the caller. "What do you want now?"
"Are you alone in your home?"
Oh. You went over to Kim Dokja's seat, swinging your leg around to face him. Kim Dokja let out a noise as you dropped down, already stiff in his pants. "No. I'm not."
There was a leaden silence on the other end.
You pressed down harder, squeezing your thighs. Kim Dokja's face, already flushed from frustration, reddened further. His hand slipped under your top.
You adjusted the phone. "Are you going to tell me who you are?"
"The question you should ask is where am I?"
"Where...?"
"Your front door."
In a quick motion, you leapt up and snatched the knife from Kim Dokja's hand. You marched over to the entryway, kicked aside the shoes, and pulled open the door.
Empty. Nothing but the flickering light overhead.
"Called your bluff," you said, knife lowering. "Can you see me right now?"
"Of course."
You brought the knife to your neck. Behind you, Kim Dokja choked on air. "What am I doing?"
No answer.
"Right..." You pressed it to your skin. Kim Dokja called out your name, loud and urgent.
There was a distorted grunt. "This isn't fun anymore."
Click.
Both your arms dropped to your side. The phone clattered to the floor.
You weren't naive enough to think that your stalker would let this go. But, at least for tonight, he was uninterested in your game.
Just as you locked the door, sliding the bolt and fixing the chain in place, you felt arms snake around you like a vice. Kim Dokja's breath was hot on the side of your face, nuzzling.
"It's okay. You're okay," Kim Dokja murmured against your neck. "Should we call someone?"
"I think he's gone." You leaned back.
Kim Dokja jolted as your backside brushed against him. His fingers flexed over your hip, yanking you into his straining front instinctively. Hard met soft.
You spun around, nose to nose. "I'd rather pick up where we left off."
Aha, that was perfect. Like a line out of a movie. It was satisfying, and Kim Dokja...Kim Dokja was—
Kim Dokja reacted like a shark to blood.
His hands were everywhere on you. He didn't bother letting you unfasten his clothes first as he grabbed at his own. You let him take over, enjoying the rush of his fervor, the drowning in his taste.
The bedroom was a few steps too far, so you found yourself bent over the dining table. You stared at the dark red flowers, lilies, preening and proud in the vase.
They didn't tremble much. Your excitable boyfriend was more gentle than you expected. The knife in your fist glinted under the overhead light, reflecting back yourself and the sight of Kim Dokja filling you, slow and passionate.
It was a quiet night alone.
The first night you'd had to yourself in a while, as Kim Dokja had flipped between crowding you into your bed or dragging you to his for two weeks. Each touch felt like a searing reminder of his presence in your life, of a hidden promise for the future.
And in between all of that, he demanded your attention. Lunch dates. Movie nights out. Snowy walks in the park, illumination sightings, hot cocoa runs at cafés. Failed kalguksu-making dinners. The two of you read Ways of Survival after an amorous session, and discussed the characterization choices over breakfast the next morning.
Overall, you were loving life.
Then, yesterday, Kim Dokja went radio silent.
Knocking on his door would be pushy, right? You did it anyway. You talked to that friend of his, Yoo Sangah...and still, nothing. Last night you angrily tossed back shots until you were stumbling home. But not today.
No, instead you were peeking at your phone every other minute, waiting for his name to pop up. (Even though your ringer was on the highest setting. You needed to see it for yourself.)
"Dokja, Dokja," you said, moving to the wall behind your couch.
You smoothed a hand over the pinned sheet, cheek pressed to the surface, feeling every small bump underneath. A thick book was tossed aside nearby. You'd decorated the wall all nicely yesterday, needing to occupy your mind. This was the right time.
Riiii—!
You pounced on your phone before the ring could finish. "Yes? Yes, hello? Is it you?"
"Expecting someone?"
You let out a furious string of curses, strong enough to make even your phone blush.
He was quiet. And then a chuckle, low and drawn out. "Are you wondering where your boyfriend went?"
Everything in you went hot and buzzing. "Yes."
A chime. You checked your messages and opened the photo. Kim Dokja, your sweet, sweet boyfriend, was pinned to a chair by tightly bound rope. It cut into his skin. His head lolled, blood clumping his hair and dripping down his face.
You sat on the couch, feeling a rush of lightheadedness. This was it.
"Now will you finish our game?"
"Will you let him go if I do?" You pitched your voice higher. "Please, Mr. Stalker Ghostface, I'll do what you say if you let him come back to me!"
"...Ghostface?"
You nodded. "I saw you the other day. Wearing that scary mask."
"Hm." He sounded...pleased. "Let's try this again: where am I?"
"You're—" you stood, circling the room. The chilly breeze made you shiver, your white dress dancing in the air. You went to the window. "The fire escape is too obvious." You forced the window shut.
"Is it?"
"There's a window ledge in my bedroom. But, again, too obvious." You walked to the entrance. "It would be more clever if you were truly at the door this time."
"Will you let me in? Kim Dokja is waiting."
"I want him back." Your hands quivered.
"Open for me."
You flung it open. No one was there. A hollow-eyed mask screamed at you from the doormat.
"Wrong door."
The coat closet burst open to your right. A massive man in a long, black duster and identical mask lunged, swinging a large hunting knife at your head.
You leapt back and grabbed the nearest weapon—a wooden chair from your dining set. It cracked against the intruder, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled back up before you could make a break for the exit.
"Bastard!" you puffed.
He dove for you again, clipping your side even though you tried to dodge. His knife caught the side of your calf as you kicked hard at his stomach. While he was reeling, you sprinted for the door, looking back to see if the man had recovered.
You ran smack into something.
"Hello," said a warm voice.
You looked into the pale, ghostly mask of another person for half a second before he punched your chest. The wind was knocked out of you as you landed.
The second intruder descended on you while your breathing returned. White coat, black dress shirt. Both of the men had similar, loose black hair. The first one watched his companion silently as he guarded the closed front door. The second man rested against you, leather-gloved fingers sliding over your neck.
"Having fun?" His voice was muffled.
"Don't you know?" you said. "I love scary movies."
"Enjoy your fright, then."
He wrestled you into place on the floor, lifting the hunting knife high. You could feel so much of him. Firm. Heated through the fabric of his pants. His mask cocked to the side. "Die like the others."
His finality made the last of your control snap.
"You asshole!" you screeched. "You're going to cover your face?"
The man paused. It was long enough for you to shove him off and stand, your expression radiating fury as you looked him up and down.
"I waited," you said. "I wanted you to trust me with your life. Your real self, Kim Dokja."
The man before you froze in place. "How did you—"
"Fuck," said the first intruder.
"For a second there, I thought you were going to let your bastard friend take care of everything. And now you don't even have the decency to murder me face-to-face?"
Kim Dokja still hadn't moved.
"Stop stalling," warned the other man. Yoo Joonghyuk, of course. "You've dragged this out long enough."
Kim Dokja grasped his mask and lifted. His companion protested.
At last, you could look upon Kim Dokja's beautiful face. Thin eyebrows furrowed as he studied you, his mouth screwed up in confusion. He raised his knife, advancing slowly. You backed up towards the window, speaking.
"Yoo Sangah told me something very interesting the other day."
Kim Dokja looked more bewildered. "You speak with Sangah-ssi?"
"Shut up," hissed Yoo Joonghyuk.
"You know her routine, I know her routine." You shrugged. "Anywho. Yoo Sangah said you quit a few weeks ago. She seems to think you got a new job." Your smile sharpened. "We both know you didn't. Why didn't you say anything? I would have accepted the truth."
Kim Dokja watched you venture closer cautiously.
You pressed into his space, and he angled the hunting knife at your chest. "I gave you so many chances to be honest with me."
Neither of you stirred, taking the other in. Observing anew.
"Kim Dokja, you fucked up this time," spat Yoo Joonghyuk. God, he was so chatty tonight. "Stop letting her mess with you."
"He's just saying that because he flirts with me sometimes. I think he's possessive," you said. Kim Dokja's eyes widened, darting over to his companion.
Yoo Joonghyuk slammed the bolt shut on the door, and then stormed over to you, knife raised high. "You were investigating us."
"So close!" You laughed, jabbing a thumb at the far wall behind the couch. "Why don't you take a peek behind the curtain, Yoo Joonghyuk?"
Doubt flickered over Kim Dokja's face. You knew he didn't recognize this. He couldn't.
Yoo Joonghyuk seized the sheet, and it fluttered to the ground. At last—you were laid bare. Dozens upon dozens of prints were stapled haphazardly into the wall, some locks of hair taped, snippets of fabric, old kimbap wrappers, and more.
Kim Dokja, drinking a soda. Kim Dokja, reading manhwa on a bench. Kim Dokja, unlocking his flat. Kim Dokja, laughing beside Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja.
Your darling, Kim Dokja. A collage of art and beauty.
"What the fuck is this?" snarled Yoo Joonghyuk. In an instant, he had seized you by the neck and dragged you in front of the display.
"My muse," you said dreamily. "Don't be sad, Yoo Joonghyuk, I find you interesting too. I have a few photos around here, see?"
You wheezed as his fingers squeezed tight.
"Yoo Joonghyuk!"
Kim Dokja wrenched you away from Yoo Joonghyuk's grip. You gasped for air.
Your voice rasped as you asked, "Yours is a fourth wall, right?"
"You even know this?"
Each of them had a wall dedicated to information gathered as they stalked their kill. You were privately a bit disappointed that there weren't more before you, but forcing their hand was much better than waiting it out. There was a high possibility of them getting caught before you could join in on the fun.
"I'm your fourth. The news didn't connect your third kill until recently, but I did my research. I'm your fourth wall." It was the wall Kim Dokja had been forced to hide with your repeated visits to his home, unlike the previous victims. "So I'm showing you my wall. A final wall," you gestured widely, grinning, "because I want to be your last."
It was funny to see two grown men, both passionate murderers, at such a loss for words. As if you were the insane one here!
"Don't worry, I won't ask to help you. That sounds bo-ring! It's much more enjoyable on this side of things." You giggled. "The illusion of fear, the riskiness, the chase! Love provides such an intoxicating rush to the head—honestly, this is way better than taking substances."
"You're sick," said Yoo Joonghyuk.
"Should you, of all people, really be saying that to me?" You tapped a photo of their first kill. It was brutal, sadistic, and clearly a rush of feverish bloodlust rather than a careful plot of murder. You knew Kim Dokja enjoyed a meticulous scheme to trap his prey, but his partner-in-crime preferred to lose himself to the nature of the act. "You're so messy, Yoo Joonghyuk."
He glared at you fiercely. You felt it straight to your core. Maybe, if Kim Dokja would let you...
"Alright, you know us." Kim Dokja slid a tight arm around your waist, facing you, and dug his knife under your chin. "So you also know that it's my turn."
You nodded. Of course you did. It was the reason you orchestrated a run-in with him in the first place. You slid a hand across his cheek.
"That's exactly why you're my boyfriend. I wanted it to be you," you said, adoring.
Yoo Joonghyuk made a frustrated noise, and his knuckles were white around the knife's handle. You dragged your gaze up his body, moistening your lips as your eyes connected.
Feral. And filled with something barely repressed.
"Dokja." The knife stung as it dug into your chin. "Why did you choose me?"
He looked dazed. "I don't..."
"Why do you need to have me?"
Yoo Joonghyuk watched us with strict attention. It seemed he wanted an answer as well.
You both waited, witnessing something build inside Kim Dokja. A feeling corked in a bottle, a heat, and you were eagerly shaking it up as hard as you could. You slid your fingers around his slim wrist and pressed the tip of the knife harder into your skin. The final push.
"You smiled." Kim Dokja's words rushed out, broken. Adoring. "You picked up my books and smiled at me. And you wanted to talk—you knew—about Ways of Survival."
A purple vein threatened to pop on Yoo Joonghyuk's forehead. "You fool—!"
But Kim Dokja was fixated on you. Mesmerized.
You were smiling at him.
Kim Dokja smiled back, face lit up as his eyes curved. Pure delight.
You leaned in, practically vibrating with desire. His breath was sultry on your face. Warm, vanilla soap.
"Dokja-ya."
Kim Dokja went taut. He was intimately acquainted with his name in that tone.
"But, Yoo Joonghyuk—"
"How is it any different from watching each other kill someone?" Your hand cupped his groin and he groaned. "If these are my last moments with you, then I want to enjoy them."
He swung the tip of his knife around to your back, pushing your chest against his. It hurt. Blood dripped down your skin. The thin, flowy fabric of your dress did nothing to soak up the liquid.
"Kim Dokja." Neither of you acknowledged Yoo Joonghyuk.
You grabbed his arm and brought the knife to your lips. And licked along the edge of the blade. Your stinging tongue swirled in your mouth, tasting the mix of blood and saliva.
Kim Dokja watched you, enraptured. He was now incredibly, achingly hard beneath your fingers.
"Please?" You smiled, positive that your teeth were ringed with red, your lips coated in a bloody shine.
"Kim Dok—"
Yoo Joonghyuk's voice was drowned out as Kim Dokja lunged at you.
You moaned as his mouth drank you in, hot and slick as he lapped up the blood from your mouth. He sucked on your tongue, and your cut burned. A firm grip on your neck held you in place.
He let you tear at his shirt first, the way he always did, until the buttons popped and you were raking your nails across his skin. It was curious how his habits didn't change, despite having the truth of your natures brought to light.
"I've wanted this since I first discovered you," you said, breathless. "Wanted you."
Kim Dokja settled you on the ground. It was a Persian rug, authentic, and a bargain at an old estate sale years back.
It was about to be ruined.
The point of his knife rested between your collarbones. Kim Dokja dragged the edge hard along your dress and ripped it clean down the middle, catching your skin more often than not.
Kim Dokja looked at your body, stunned. "You didn't wear any..."
"Nope."
You gasped as he latched on to your chest, attacking it with his mouth fervently while his fingers dipped below. A particular suck made you whimper. A certain curl of his fingers had your back arching. You glimpsed behind you.
Yoo Joonghyuk seemed to be impersonating marble. He had gravitated closer, towering in a way that blocked the overhead light. Tall and imposing. His gaze ricocheted between you both.
You smirked.
Kim Dokja grew impatient and rid himself of pants quickly. He filled you without warning.
"Fuck, D—Dokja!"
He worked up to a steady rhythm, his lips finding yours again. Everything from your mouth to your torso stung. You wrapped your limbs around him.
...Only for him to pull you off. Before you could complain, he had flipped you around and pushed back inside, resuming a slow grind. He marked fresh bites behind your neck. You felt the cold of the knife's edge on your skin as his hand smeared your blood with his movements.
You reached out blindly to find a more solid stance, surprised when your hand snagged on a shoe. It was hard to crane your neck up to look.
Yoo Joonghyuk's lips were full and parted. His eyes were nearly black as they bored into you, his intensity causing a reaction that made Kim Dokja moan into your hair.
The sound produced a visible, physical response in Yoo Joonghyuk.
Kim Dokja began to whimper. His knife tumbled to the ground as his hands gripped your waist to pull you back onto him over and over. You forced him to pause, snatching the knife and pressing it into his palm.
"Do it right," you said. "Or don't do it at all."
"O—okay," Kim Dokja panted. "Sorry."
He held the blade loosely at your stomach, more focused on the feel of you around him, if his moans were anything to go by. His face pressed into your shoulder blades.
Knowing how lost in the moment he always got, you reached out for Yoo Joonghyuk once more. He got down on his knees, his hands tucking your hair behind your ears and bringing your mouth up to his.
Unlike Kim Dokja's eagerness, his messy devour of you, Yoo Joonghyuk kissed hard and commanding. You let him set the tempo and enjoyed each of his careful movements—his lips' hold over yours, his precise bites, his strong tongue as it licked into your mouth.
He began to make small noises as your hands found the open pocket of his briefs. In no time, you were wrapped around him, his breaths heaving into your mouth with your increasing pace. One of his hands found your chest and kneaded.
A hand from behind you slid up your slippery torso to the same breast.
"What the fuck?"
Kim Dokja's head shot up. He grabbed you roughly by the chin—a delightful, irritated slant to his thin eyebrows—and glared at Yoo Joonghyuk, glared at you, and then recovered your mouth for himself.
These kisses tasted even better than the last. It was the taste of Kim Dokja's anger. He bit your lips harshly until they bled, and your neck twisted at an awkward angle to keep up. The force of his hips were bruising on your backside, quick and relentless, chasing an end before you could bring in a third into the fold.
While Yoo Joonghyuk was no longer allowed to touch you, you were still able to enjoy him. You guided his hand to hold himself, hot and heavy as you moved him up and down. His groans mixed in the air.
Kim Dokja's knife slipped into your side, slicing deep and jagged as his hips stuttered. Then stilled. His fingers glided down to help you finish; you and Yoo Joonghyuk were quick to follow.
The three of you stayed like that as you caught your breath. You slumped forwards, eyes closed.
Distantly, you realized you were being turned around. Kim Dokja kissed you, softly, or maybe it was Yoo Joonghyuk. You sighed into it. Hands ran down your slick body and traced each wound. Tucked your tattered dress back into place. Smoothed your hair from your face.
"Hey, wake up," said a voice. You listened.
Your head rested in Yoo Joonghyuk's lap while Kim Dokja leaned over you.
He is so beautiful. Your arm felt heavy as your fingers traced his cheekbone, his nose, his lips, his jaw.
"Kiss me again," you heard yourself say. He did.
The outline of his every feature was becoming hazy. You smiled, feeling light as air from the afterglow of pleasure and so much blood loss. The hands pressed harder against your deepest cuts. They throbbed, the pain growing cold.
You hoped they wouldn't let you die. Not because you were scared of death, but because you truly meant it when you said you wanted to be their last. Their target to play with forever, who accepted every part of them.
...Ah, well, you suppose the thrill of the chase was over now.
You were grateful to have been a part of it. A gentle smile took over your face. "Thank you, Kim Dokja."
He said something that you couldn't catch.
You were very, very sleepy.
thanks @uzmacchiato and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for these dividers ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
fic inspired by @keomikan fanart on tumblr and x ⸝⸝ .ᐟ⭒
Not into priests that much but imagine priest!yjh furiously jerking off to the sound of your voice in the confessional, trying to stay quiet and feeling so much shame about how you're confessing sins n his hand is desperately pumping his cock because you sound so pretty
