sunfish boyfriend who threatens to kill himself if he doesn't get enough attention.
"babe would you still love me if i was a worm?"
"...do i really have to respond?"
"oh... i see how it is. so you hate me? you don't like me anymore? fine, I'll just go kill myself since you hate me so much. go find another boyfriend then, see if i care!"
he's crazy dramatic. like, so dramatic that the stars themselves are shaking in the sky. you thought his dramatics couldn't reach the sky? well you're wrong.
"babe what are you doing?"
"you looked at him too long... you're thinking of another man aren't you? what do you want me to do? kill myself? maybe i should, I'm shaking and you're laughing. I'm crying here and my beloved doesn't care. life has no meaning if you're- wait why am i even sad? you always do this to me! bullying! evil person! evil i say!"
he has two moods and that's sassy and sassy squared. if he doesn't show it through his words, he shows it through his expressions. he's like... an annoying cat that hits over furniture when mad.
"bro can you NOT mess up my bed?"
"no."
"look i said SORRY-"
"SORRY ISN'T ENOUGH. YOU BETRAYED ME!"
"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT WAS YOUR CAKE!"
you don't know how you put up with him to be honest. what about him is there even to like? not his personality obviously. it's just so foul, evil. like he's trying to suffocate you in your sleep. man I can't stop thinking him like a cat sitting on your chest...
"do you love me?"
"get off me- you're heavy!"
"i said, do you love me?"
"yeah yeah i do! now get off!"
can you imagine? ugh, the tragedy. that is until you see his face staring intently at yours at 3 in the morning. that gorgeous shiny face that basically radiates sparkles and rainbows.
"you're handsome."
"𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾, my love. does that mean you'll agree to never talk to another man again?"
"...no."
you think you'll end up dying of high blood pressure because of him.
warning: drabble. dom reader. sub character. gender neutral. slight pet play.
Yoo Joonghyuk is a dog. A feral one. He holds his own leash and his collar holds no name. He's a stray who tells himself he won't come back, only to return with his tail between his legs.
"Why're you back?" He glares at you, weakly, but he tries his best.
"Say it." You spat out, slapping his cock lightly. He jerks violently, yet his back arches into you, clinging onto you.
Aw. He likes you.
"Y-you're the only one who can make me...-" Joonhyuk sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he eyes roll into the back of his head, pleasure overwhelming his every sense. You yank at the roots of his hair, forcing his head back. "Hahhh- c-cum."
"I never let you finish, pup." You chide. There's no use in coming back if that's the case, which it is. Joonghyuk braces him when your slick covered hand pinches the tip.
He sucks in a sharp breath, his hands shooting out to grip onto your shoulders as his knees dig deeper into the mattress. "Fuck... mhhn- I always do, at the end of the day."
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⭒
voyeurism (i guess?), misuse of ability, constellation star stream isn't here btw, kdj is a certified FREAK for you, primarily yjh x reader but in kdj pov, smut (not detailed but still) kdj feels kinda ooc here? shoot me pls if it does, ig one-sided love for kdj, tagging the angst for @marumaomao bcs i think they'll hate yjh for this.... 🥹
⚠️ minors do not interact - 18+ content below ⚠️
kim dokja accidentally using his third pov thing, and finding himself in yoo junghyeok's body making out with you.
he's frozen in shock, overturned by hands creeping up the spine of his back, raking your nails up in a sensual manner. Your eyes are shining in mirth, narrowed in a lustful gaze as you giggle at something in his face— then a sudden, pleasant drawl emits from his throat, snapping him out of his stupor.
in all his years of reading ways of survival, he has never once imagined the yoo junghyeok moaning— his version of moaning— from a simple touch, let alone fluster at your teasing smirk.
"you know..." kim dokja's body tenses— actually, yoo junghyeok's. But considering the circumstances... sharing a body with the lucky bastard meant this was his experience too— as you guide his well-muscled arm over your thighs, prompting dokja to hike you up against the wall.
"I bribed bo-gyeong to turn off the channel for a bit. And I was wondering if you'd like to..." a hiss escapes him when you rock those supple hips 'round his groin.
it gives a twitch, then two, blood roaring and pumping down his cock like a feral bull.
"... have a little fun." your smile is wide, brimming in mock innocence as you bat those irritatingly tempting lashes with big, pleading eyes.
dokja barely reconsiders going back to his own body, not when he finally has you in his arms— technically yoo junghyeok's but he doesn't give a fuck about him.
not when his fantasy is pressed against him, taking his cock down to the hilt. Squeezing him so tight and flushed, dokja feels like cumming without you even doing anything.
he's kissing your neck, laving his tongue over the various hickeys he's left behind. All while, he's bouncing you up and down with a firm, bruising grip on your luscious ass.
to hear your pitched moans is heaven to him.
but to have your nails raking down his back, claiming streaks of red as you cry in pleasure has dokja biting back a whine.
another hickey bloomed, teeth sinking into flesh to hide the torrent of pleasure coursing through him.
faintly tasting blood, he finally realizes how hard he's holding back the sounds that threaten to spill.
maybe a whine and a whimper— but a growl echoes from his- yoo junghyeok's mouth. It's animalistic, fervent with need, and unlike anything he's heard before.
reality comes crashing over when those sweet, bitten lips speak not of kim dokja but yoo fucking—
"j-junghyeok!! I'm g-go—" the rhythmic slap of skin reverberates in the empty room. Like a thudding drum of chilling clarity.
dokja's world ripples, waving in and out of the bastard's consciousness as his soul seemingly detaches from its temporary host.
protests fall but no sound was muttered.
he clings on long enough to see you fall apart— beautifully undone with your head thrown back in ecstacy.
the image sears in his mind, cataloguing each miniscule shift in your features before dokja departs from yoo junghyeok's body.
jolting awake, he's painfully aware of his hard, leaking cock straining and upright in position.
thankfully the material was dark enough to cover the embarrassing wet patch of cum staining the front of his pants.
utterly pathetic but at least he got to fuck you.
the next time he sees that bastard, he'll make sure to irritate the fuck outta him— and maybe charm you himself so the only name you'll ever scream is his.
i had to get this out of my system i could NOT sleep without writing this fucking banger of a thought. I will continue this and the other smut i was writing in the first place but pray for time and life to pave motivation for me.
Also this is my first ever dive in something sexual and lwk nobody told me how hard it is to keep it short, kinda realistic, and not overdramatic 🥹 tho it isn't much i hope it's okay
also squared, I don't think kdj wears boxers/underwear bcs when he was killed by the fire dragon egg boss he just took myungoh's pants and called it a day. LIKE I DON'T THINK HE HAS TIME TO FIND BOXERS TOO 😭 SO DO Y'ALL THINK IT'S SWINGING AROUND AND OBV WHEN HE'S HARD?????? the answer is a HARDDDDD yes.
AFTER one of your friends almost kills himself, you stayed by his side no matter what. when he failed his college entrance exams, you went to the same college as him and even applied at the same company. now that he's steady on his own alongside a fanbase, you take some anti-chronically online pills and work on your love life. however, fate is a tricky thing as you develop a crush on the most popular streamer in korea. regardless, you're responsible and punctual so you devise a plan, your strategy to get the guy.
tags: streamer! yu junghyeok x gn! streamer! reader; a little doksoo + sangsoo + doksang ?
warnings: no scenario au, kms/kys jokes, taxes/employment, reader and yjh are bisexual, reader's down bad, kim dokja is kim dokja (serious), dokja x reader is strictly platonic
a/n: this was originally gonna be a heizou band fic but i didn't wanna do all that... also no interaction until ch. 6 (irl is ch. 11)
taglist: open..!
written chapters with have a 👾 emoji!
prologue: devotion 👾
--- hey boy, ima get ya'!
1 . stream with the demon king 👾 2 . going viral
3 . a slight change of plans 4 . hosting
5 . preparations 6. act cool
7 . training 👾 8. second hand embarrasment
9 . step one is a go 10. questionable method gave out undeniable results pt. 1
11 . a trip to minosoft 👾
--- you'll be oh so glad that i met ya'!
12 . questionable method gave out undeniable results pt. 2 13. game start! 👾
warnings - use of pet names (baby for reader, hannie for jh), kissing, pure fluff, mentions of mild insecurities, and uhm yeah that's it ig
summary - everyone around you seems to be soaring, traveling and building perfect lives while you're surrounded by the love of your many hobbies that leaves you feeling a little confused at times. luckily, jeonghan is there to not let you feel insecure.
author's note - second fic and i'm sooo nervous even though i've been writing for 7 years already 😭 anyway, this is for the bbangi to my shingi @kissbyoon / baby you deserve all the love 🤍 i'm ltr sharing jeonghan w you so like gimme some love 😔☝🏻
You slump tiredly into your couch for the first time in a while, closing your eyes as the setting sun reflects on your face from the large window. It's not everyday that your energy goes down, but inevitably, there are days like today when you want to isolate yourself from the world just a little bit.
The living room of your apartment is still messy with all the stuff — papers, scissors, crayons, and stationary of all sort — that you were using to make your boyfriend a gift card.
Your eyes scan all the stuff, and most importantly, the pretty purple and white gift card you completed before leaving for the dance studio. It looks meaningless now, not even slightly pretty to your eyes.
All you can think about is how your dance colleagues talked about their life plans a while ago – how their words sent you in a spiral of uncertainty about your own life.
"You all, please pray I pass the audition. Not for another second am I going to waste my time here!"
"You will! Trust yourself. I thought I was going nowhere until I got my job."
"But I have come to terms with the fact that dancing here won't get me anywhere, I'm probably gonna make use of my degree and apply at the law firm."
"Well of course, I just can't sit with my hobby for a lifetime. I'm pushing my age already, so I'm hoping for my promotion."
It isn't like you to ponder over words, but this conversation did make you feel overwhelmed. Maybe you are being sensitive, but seeing everyone else talk about their sorted life makes this mess in your living room a lot suffocating than it is.
You reach out, holding the gift card in your hands and staring at it for a while. It speaks ugly words to you — pointing fingers at you and calling you a loser.
Your fingers involuntarily curl into it, almost about to rip it apart when a pretty voice breaks your reverie.
"Oh my baby!!! Did you make that for me? Show me!"
Jeonghan appears beside you out of nowhere, making you blink at him in surprise as the card is nearly snatched from your hand. The awe on his face makes your heart soften. He reads the card — all silly little messages you had scribbled in there — his contagious smile broadening on his face.
Before you can say anything, he has wrapped you in his arms, squishing you into his large frame. "Why are you soooo sweet? What if I cry?"
You end up smiling against his chest, wrapping your arms around him with a sigh. He has managed to wash away any negative emotions you were facing a while ago so easily. "We all know you're not gonna cry that easily, hannie."
He pulls away just enough to meet your eyes, a constant smile plastered on his lips. "I appreciate that you know me well, but I fear you're not entirely aware of how much I love these little things you do."
Something in your chest flutters as your smile dims slightly, staring at this loveable man and his comforting existence. He didn't even need to give you a whole speech about how it's good that you're on your own pace, and you're doing great in life (he can provide you with words of affirmation if needed) yet you're already feeling like none of people's words matter. Because you're reminded of the fact that you're indeed exactly where you're meant to be, and you'll be where you're meant to be in the future too.
You press a feather-light kiss to his nose, "What little things?"
He grins, returning the gesture with a more firm kiss than yours. "These little gifts you make me. But that's not all I love about you, you know? I love all that you do. Your dance, your impromptu shower singing, those stories you write in your laptop — I love all of it. Never quit on any of your hobbies. They make you, you."
It isn't like you to cry easily as well, but when you feel the sight of your pretty boyfriend blurring a little, you know you have tears in your eyes. He furrows his brows, instant concern spreading all over his features.
His hand cups your cheek softly. "Baby? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"
You sniff, and close your eyes for a second so the tear residing there falls past your cheek. Then you shake your head. "Never." You breathe. "You can never say anything wrong, hannie. In fact, you only ever say everything right. Everything to make me feel special."
He doesn't seem convinced given that he still doesn't smile. He just continues to look at you, trying to detect signs of distress. "Baby—"
You giggle a little, moving to wrap your arms around his neck. "Don't worry. I just got a little emotional because of what you said. I'm fine."
"You sure?"
You nod, feeling his thumb wipe at the lone tear that had fallen before he finally breaks into his signature teasing grin. "Who's the one easily crying now?"
You roll your eyes despite the smile on your face, "Stop being so cocky."
"You love it." He grins, kissing you briefly because he couldn't resist it. You hum, and chase his lips the moment he pulls away. He wants to tease, but right now he's going to give you what you want so he smiles and kisses you back.
If it's with Jeonghan and his gravitational comfort, you know you'll get everywhere you want to be in life.
