#kim dokja x male reader

[slowd1ving]

Kim Dokja with a Sung Jinwoo!Reader and their supporting constellation is Six-Eared Macaque

BAKHT ⁺ ✦ KIM DOKJA

"An existence as lonely as yours... chance has not been kind to you, it seems." It was neither choice nor good fortune that flung you into the rift that divided worlds: suspended in a limbo not of your own making, in a world with no dungeons like yours but 'scenarios' instead. Only the Story reaching its [◼◼◼] and you protecting the protagonist would guarantee your return, but how were you supposed to do that when the 'protagonist' you were meant to protect kept dying? honestly it's been a while since I read both solo levelling and orv so the plot is a bit hazy. I told myself to focus more on the actual interaction so it wouldn't snowball into storybuilding like the rest of my works... but alas... honestly this ask was extremely interesting like I've never read journey to the west but a sung jinwoo/six eared macaque collab??? damn me when I focus on tense first encounters rather than the lovey dovey aspect of relationships.. jokes aside it does get somewhat soft at the very end fun fact bakht refers to fortune in arabic, or rather finding luck in 'chance'; which unfortunately our reader doesn't seem to have a lot of... art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! pairing: kim dokja + sung jinwoo gn reader warnings: canon typical danger, mentions of death, also they're not really on the best of terms initially?? quite graphic depictions of blood wc: 2.7k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Tonight, the wind carried only premonition in its whispers. It started like all the stories did—the ones that reached your ears, at least. Beginning as a gentle breeze, the songs twining past and future turned coarse as a gale once they encountered the pixelated appendages that seemed to have a life of their own: six downy auricles that were unable to decide whether to stay in the virtual realm or materialise themselves. 

Most of the time, they hid in the umbrous kingdom—much like the rest of your shadows. When you donned the façade of the humans from Planetary System 8612, the tales you could eavesdrop on were mere gossip slinking in from the future and the bygone past—tidbits of paltry information that were perhaps divine retribution for not proudly donning the Six-Eared Macaque’s ‘crown’, as he seemed to put it. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, the mellifluous litany of your flute was sharper than usual as you idled the time away. Tonight, with only the vast night shielding you and the countless shadows skulking on the rooftop, their dance appeared wilder. There was frenzy in the air, and prophecy tainting the cold, canorous wind. 

It tasted acerbic. 

‘Danger… horizon…. Dokja….’

The frequency soured the melody that brushed past the fur of your six-ears, and they flicked, irritably. 

[The Fake Monkey King warns of something afoot.]

“I know,” you bitterly commented. Something was always afoot when it came to this world in which you did not belong. Falling past the veil separating a dungeon from nothingness wasn’t meant to happen. Your system subsequently trapping you in this limbo until you reached [◼◼◼◼◼], too, wasn’t meant to happen either. Let the Story run its course and protect its ‘protagonist’, and this dimension will naturally collapse just enough that you’ll fall through back into yours. 

Kim Dokja, you’d repeated like a mantra while you lost your mind—over and over while your system glitched and protested in this limbo. Over and over, while he died and died and died some more. You’d bought and earned and fought for various potions, weapons and clothes to help him with his scenarios—leaving them in his vicinity where you knew he’d stumble across them—but it was all so fucking futile. 

Each time, he returned past the veil; each time, you sank into a deeper mire of restriction. You hadn’t spoken to another soul in months: imprisoned in the very shadows you controlled. It wasn’t as bad, initially: you could still talk to people uninvolved in the ‘Story’, the poor souls dubbed as extras—so long as you didn’t cause any ripples with your actions. If Dokja was accounted for through both the soldiers in his shadow, and the whispers that reached the six ears that fanned out behind your head, it would be fine. 

‘Hazard… kilometre north of Dokja’s camp….’

A kilometre. You’d be quiet. You always were. 

Dokja. Dokja. Dokja. Your face soured as you exchanged places with Beru: ready to silently act as his guardian shadow, though if he was determined to sacrifice himself… Both of you would pay a price.

The silence in the city was razor-sharp and just as deadly, to the point you could hear the ionic buzz of your summoned demonic knives. Their ozonic scent bitterly filled your mouth, which only amplified the acerbic profanities mingling on your tongue as you glanced around for the danger. What danger? You’d be damned before you were sent back to that empty desert to reflect your wrongdoings. There was no chance to gain anything there—just endless time, chipping your sanity away and stirring up derision for the one who couldn’t solve anything without dying. 

Because in the end, both of you would pay the price, and he didn’t even know it. He became a constellation, while you were shackled to a prison that was never of your own making. 

Examining the wreck of this urban landscape that felt too much like the Seoul you knew, you came to the abrupt conclusion that there was nothing. Even when your six-ears flicked this way and that, it was too silent. Not a whisper, nor any trace of danger lingered in this space; such an occurrence was nigh-impossible in the scenario-laden dome of this city. 

[The Prisoner of the G◼◼◼en Headband expres◼◼◼◼ his mistrust.] 

Sun Wukong. A flash of hatred that was not your own wracked your body, complete with a burning envy and something far more insidious than anything you’d ever experienced, 

Crackling messages began interfering with your system screen. You’d only seen this once—when you accidentally intruded on the fringes of the ‘Star Stream’ as an ‘unauthorised one’. An anomaly if you ever saw one. 

“There’s nothing,” you muttered callously, scraping the tip of your blade against concrete ruins. If it had been a false alarm, then it was time to leave before you risked paying the penalty. Your job was simple—keep watch of the ‘protagonist’ from the shadows, and make his life somewhat easier. 

[A nameless constellation argues that advertisements are simply a part of life, and that it’s not a big deal to build suspense.]

That’s weird. The messages were getting clearer, but the warning signs that typically appeared in the system windows weren’t there. 

Your own supporting constellation was far too quiet as you sheathed your knife in the shadow dimension—the darkness cradled the weapon softly before it vanished, though the familiar whish could not soothe the unease that distorted your mind. Never had the six-ears failed to pinpoint hazards, as close to omniscient that they were.

“Got you,” something—someone—whispered from afar, the moment you stepped on the next broken slab of pavement and triggered a tripwire. A paltry toy, golden string that was incandescent in this darkened city, wrapped tightly around your body; right before you were shoved against a concrete wall. “You’re not the only one to see the ‘outcome’.”

Stand down, Igris, you commanded as the stranger continued to press into you; you could sense the turbulent shadows growing even more agitated at your position, though all of them could feel the ease with which you could’ve snapped out of the rope that was no more than a thread. The stream was eerily silent, while the glassy window only you could see kept its cold azure colour—nothing like the glaring scarlet that informed you of your penalty. 

Who is this? 

In the darkness, you made out the shape of a mouth pressed into a thin line. Dark hair partially swept over the stranger’s eyes, while a long white coat draped itself over his shoulders. But it wasn’t the garb, nor was it the features that alerted you of just who this was. 

It was the umbrous cloud of his soul, the very one you’d been tracking all these weeks. 

“Kim Dokja,” you greeted, half-placidly, half in intrigue. If he could bend the rules of life and death to suit him, you supposed that bending some more rules wouldn’t hurt. The interest was quickly replaced by irritation—for this was the very charge that had continuously shackled you to the in-betweens of the Seoul dome. Not quite a human from this planet, nor a monster—just an abominable anomaly that didn’t belong in this ‘Story’ at all. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

There was a polite smile on your face, but he only scoffed in disbelief. “What the hell are you playing at? Who are you? You think leaving all those materials for me to find will somehow increase your chances to survive? Why are you doing this?”

Incredulity laced each syllable. The Ugliest King stared hard at the face of the Shadow Monarch, though he didn’t know it. 

You sympathised, you really did. Having someone trail after you (though he hadn’t mentioned your shadows—did he even notice them?) and leave you useful items might have been convenient to some, but chronic overthinkers (as Beru had reported to you from his shade) wouldn’t see it as such. 

But it wasn’t like you had a choice not to, either. 

“I just want to get back home.” For the first time, there was a hint of the welling annoyance that seeped through the cracks in your courteous expression: in your grinding molars, in the slight squint of your eyes. Babysitting this guy should have never been part of your job.

Don’t affect the story.

You pressed your lips together to avoid the tide of complaints that swept in. Why do you keep dying? Do you know how much it sucks whenever you do? Why the fuck was I put on babysitting duty?

“Just take the things,” you gritted out instead; to which a sharp blade stung the side of your neck. Quick, but not quick enough to pose a true threat to you. “They were annoying to farm, you know that?”

“I never asked for them, nor do I need them to reach where I want to be. You were never in the original— I can’t exactly trust you now, can I?” he scowled—more ill-tempered than Beru had included in his periodic reports. In a mere second, you surged: as fluid and fast as quicksilver, slamming the guy you’d grown to abhor into the cold, harsh asphalt. There was no apology dripping from your lips this time, only a snarling, bloodied grit of teeth when the penalty began etching into your skin as a direct consequence of laying hands on the ‘untouchable’ protagonist. 

Sensing your distress, the six-ears materialised around your face—like they were countering the drip-drip of sanguine that slinked from your nose and onto the shirt of the man beneath you. You watched as you sullied the protagonist you were forced to stay away from—tainted in a way that was sure to finally end you. His dark eyes, too, traced the motion of each crimson rivulet: chest rising and falling desperately as he felt the very real, razor-sharp edge of his own knife lightly against his jugular. 

“Listen, I never asked for this either,” you hissed. “Believe it or not, I too want you to reach the conclusion of this shitshow so I can get back home. You need to stay alive for that. I’ll wait.”

The pressure in your head intensified. 

“I don’t know how you got past the restrictions on me—” Your grip on his shirt loosened as carmine began seeping into the system window. “—but I can’t stay here any longer without repercussions. Neither can I interfere with the story nor escape this hell—” Dark spots began floating in your vision, and the blade sliced into the concrete a hair's breadth away from his neck with a low-resonating chime. Maybe this was your only chance to make your job easier, without the loss of sanity that came with rule-breaking. “—but if you can’t trust me, trust that your accomplishment of your goal will allow me to get back to my own world as a result.”

“Wait–” Your body swayed as you stood, feeling the familiar frequency of the Stream boot up against the fine down of the six-ears. I don’t have time, you wanted to say, but iron was beginning to leave your lips too. 

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband complains loudly that fraternising with the enemy is a horribly stupid move, pulling out his hair.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire is unsure of this development, and would like to be filled in on this stranger’s connection with the Prisoner of the Golden Headband..]

The Star Stream was… clear. Not filled with static like it had been before, but cogent enough that you could observe each message coherently. 

[The Star Stream has its eyes on you.]

A terrible foreboding surfaced, while your chest constricted with the sudden onslaught of red that assaulted your eyes—a cacophony of warning signs, all targeted at you. 

“What is that?” A hand that wasn’t yours reached for the crimson glow, and you jolted as the cerise shattered: reverting back to the familiar blue interface. The ache in your head, too, vanished—yet the buildup of fatigue was still present in your hazy mind. Though, the only thing you could register was the change in his voice as he observed the screen, an inkling of understanding as he watched the characters fade from existence:

Protect the ‘protagonist’ Kim Dokja. Let the Story run its course, and you will be able to return to your home world. 

{The Fourth Wall quietly observes the remnants of its meal.}

Gone, in a wave of his hand. That same hand, now held out to you as if it hadn’t just erased weeks’ worth of strain from your body: long, deft fingers reaching out to you. You could only stare as the world grew dim around you, as a faint voice brushed past the soft fur of your six-ears. 

‘Error… error… due to unprecedented actions ◼◼◼◼ taken by the protagonist, the system has now… updated to provide for a deuteragonist model… consi◼◼der standby… updating… updating… ◼◼◼◼◼◼   ◼◼◼◼ objective updated… reach the [◼◼◼◼] alongside deuteragonist Kim Dokja to catalyse homecoming.’

“What the hell… did you do?” you slurred. The misguided loathing towards him had dissipated into a tumultuous state of frenzy; you could feel the shadows within stir with the agitation of your mind, though you fought to keep your cards at bay. Rather than the hilt of your familiar sword, you thumbed the worn edge of your flute in a last bid to stay calm. 

“‘Reach the [◼◼◼◼] alongside deuteragonist Kim Dokja to catalyse homecoming’, huh?” The incredulity you felt at him repeating the words that only you ever heard was overshadowed by the bone-deep exhaustion you felt. 

“Was… being honest,” you mumbled for the last time, fully expecting to feel the frigid asphalt as you collapsed and your eyes came to a close. The lingering penalties had finally taken effect, yet you didn’t quite hit the hard concrete like you anticipated. Rather, you collided against a wiry frame that, despite its initial gauntness, was far warmer than anything you’d felt in these apocalyptic weeks. “I might’ve died if I continued interfering.”

“You won’t die.” The words ghosted over your ear as he stared down at the person in his arms who’d been tracking him for weeks. They’d been a constant pain and irritated him to no end, especially with all the gifts he received that he’d never read about in TWSA; and there was nothing he hadn’t read about in TWSA save for the epilogue. “I won’t let you.”

His very headache was now slumbering in his arms, with only the ambition of going home on their mind. 

What a lonely existence. 

Maybe you heard him. Maybe you didn’t. All he knew was that he was crafting an epilogue that would shake this very world to its roots, and perhaps there was a small, you-sized shape cut out just for the person snoozing their little heart out. He had a feeling he had only breached the outermost layer of you; peeling back only the very dermis to reveal someone far too overpowered to compete with most of the dome. 

Dokja’s thumb traced the bloody lines staining your face. You could faintly feel them; then, abruptly, the citrus smell that lingered on him grew sharper. Closer. A soft pressure applied itself to the crown of your head: fleeting, silvery. What was that?

It was everything that had been forcibly taken from you after you were brought past the void. 

With something that was suspiciously close to a smile, your mind drifted away in the arms of someone who both damned you and saved you. 

　⁺ ✦

“If Igris and Yoo Joonghyuk fought, who would win?” 

“Igris,” you answered without missing a beat. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in your face as you opened your mouth, and it was so strong that he almost believed that your Commander could beat the true ‘protagonist’ of this world. “And if he lost, I’d win for him.”

This! This was his chance to get back at that squid bastard! 

“...Want to test your hypothesis?”

[mrskyler]

✮⋆˙ Open to requests ˙⋆✮

「 English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any writing mistakes ‹𝟹 」

( Please read everything before request! )

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

⌗ Hello, my name is ■■, but you can call me Mr. Skyler. I use both feminine and masculine pronouns. But I prefer you to refer to me as he/him.

⌗ As said before, my first language is not English. So when I receive a request, regardless of which language it is, English or Portuguese (my native language), I will make two posts in both languages ​​so that both sides can read.

⌗ I don't know exactly how to use Tumblr, but I'll learn little by little. So I ask you to be patient with me. ‹𝟹

୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

✮⋆˙ Fandons and characters I will write:

( I can add more later )

「 Omniscient Reader Viewpoint 」

Kim Dokja

「 Omori 」

Sunny

Basil

Omori

「 Toilet-bound Hanako-kun 」

Hanako / Amane

Tsukasa

「 To Your Eternity 」

The Nameless Boy

Fushi [ 1st Season ]

「 Heaven's Official Blessing 」

Xie Lian

Hua Cheng / San Lang

「 Solo Leveling 」

Sung Jin-Woo

「 DSMP 」

Philza

Tommy

Technoblade

✮⋆˙ What I'll do:

Fluff / Comfort

Angst

Both

✮⋆˙ Which ones I won't do:

Spicy / Lemon / Smut

[ I don't feel comfortable writing this ]

୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

✮⋆˙ Note: ˙⋆✮

⌗ I can write the story in a romantic or platonic theme.

⌗ You can order multiple characters from the same fandom or different fandoms.

⌗ I will only write for male readers. [ I can try to write for a non-binary audience, but I have never written something like that and I am afraid of disrespecting the person. ] I don't mind female readers liking and interacting with my posts. You are very welcome!

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

✮⋆˙ Feel free to send me your request ‹𝟹 ˙⋆✮

⌗ See you later! ‹𝟹

[corphneux707]

Kiss Drunk!! Kim Dokja!!

Kim Dokja x GN Reader. Reader is implied to be dominant. NO USE OF Y/N.

Kim Dokja who absolutely *loves* your kisses

He gets nervous so easily about it because of his inexperience 😔😔

Kim Dokja who sighs in content when you take the lead in the kiss.

Bro is relieved.

Bite his lower lip!!

Grip his waist!!

He'll def crumble. Would lean into you for support because you take his breath (and mind) away.

Which in turn!!

Dun dun dun!!!

You get Kiss Drunk Kim Dokja!!

Kiss drunk Kim Dokja who whimpers from your kisses and tries to ground himself by gripping your clothes.

Kiss drunk Kim Dokja who whines when you pull away and tugs on your clothes for more

Kiss drunk Kim Dokja who begins to get more and more demanding, almost taking the lead but he's so fucking whiny about it.

"Mphm.. c-cmon.. Need more..."

Would say 'please'. Just to be polite since he loves you 🤗🤗

Like-

He calls out your name in a whiny breath. Panting hard and red in the face. Nothing is in his head but your kisses. Your lips. Your whole presence spoiling him rotten. And then ending it with a 'please?'

Isn't that cute?

His brain is too mushy to think so he lets you do whatever. He knows you won't take advantage of him anyways. He trusts you that much.

Kiss Drunk Kim Dokja who hugs you after your make-out sesh.

He cuddles you after. Straight up complains if you DARE try to pull away. Bros going to hold on you like you're his lifeline.

He's a big ol' happy squid when you're here with him :D!! Dreamy. So so dreamy.

Ty for reading !! (It's my first time posting here so I am very sorry if I fuck it up. Plus English is not my first languange, it's actually my 3rd 😭)

[niilue]

I needddd more headcannons for sub orv characters! Or maybe fairy tail?

Also I ADORE your works!

sub kim dokja — sub analysis

— type of sub: manipulative in theory, desperate in practice. a mix of emotionally needy service sub + silent strategist who secretly craves being broken slowly.

• he likes to pretend he’s in control… because deep down, he needs to be ruined. he submits emotionally before he submits physically. he studies you, memorizes your reactions—and then offers himself exactly where it’ll hurt the most.

• he won’t say he’s falling apart for you. he won’t beg with words. but he’ll tremble. he’ll whimper when he thinks no one’s listening. he’ll let you bite into his neck, mark his chest, use him until his pride is nothing but a wet mess between his legs.

• he loves being dominated with calm authority.

you tell him: “you’re going to stay still.” “you’re going to obey me.”“you’re mine. understood?” and he just nods. silent. eyes shining.

• kinks: power play, praise kink (denies it), orgasm denial, verbal submission, bondage, collars, forced to watch you while he’s tied up.

• if you tie him to a chair and sit on his lap, teasing him with soft touches and nothing more—he crumbles.

he’ll look up at you, eyes glassy, hard and dripping, unable to do anything about it.

• you say, “if you want to cum, ask for it.” and he says: “please.”“please, let me.”

sub yoo joonghyuk — sub analysis

— type of sub: defiant. silent. tense. wants to resist but his body always betrays him. a mix of brat-breaker energy + physical submission only.

• he doesn’t want to submit. he doesn’t want to give you the power. but the moment you grab him by the nape, push him down, or give a direct order… his breath shifts. his thighs tense. he hates you a little. but he still gets so fucking wet.

• you drop him to his knees. he glares up at you. you stroke his cheek.“you want me to fuck you like a dog?”and even if he doesn’t say yes…he stays exactly where you put him.

• he struggles to say what he feels. he’d rather grunt, scowl, clench his jaw while you fuck him deep and hard—until the only thing left in his mouth is your name.

• kinks: rough domination, semi-forced obedience, primal sex, physical control, hair-pulling, overstimulation, losing control through his body, not his words.

• you grab his hair, slam him down on the bed—and he doesn’t move. because he knows he belongs to someone stronger.

• you say: “you like it like this, don’t you?” and all he does is groan. once. loud. hips grinding into yours as the only answer.

• when he cums, he doesn’t warn you. doesn’t ask. he just shakes. back arched, mouth open, voice cracking—his eyes too glazed over to open.

a/n: i love these characters and it’s so true they need more sub content 😏 and thank you for liking my stuff <33

[middaytrysts]

read like it's an obsession | kim dokja x yoo junghyeok!reader drabble + headcanons.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual sex, drugging, attempted sexual assault by a divine being. WC: 638.

 ❝  You appear like a whisper torn from the throat of a waking dream. Harsh, real, true, as though the world conspired to shape you for me alone. But you live only in my mind, my phone my only connection to you, with my blanket thrown over my head. And when the dream dies, when morning dares to return, I’m left with the bitter taste of my own inadequacy. The kind of man who wouldn’t even lift a finger to learn your language, even if the answer sat glowing in the palm of his hand.

Still, I hunt for you. In strangers’ eyes, in the lull between conversations, in broken pixels and half-sung lyrics. I devour stories hoping to taste a fragment of you, just enough to keep going.

This rusted, rattling heart ticks forward blindly, stubbornly, because obsession, too, has its own rhythm.

And still.

You had the audacity to become real.

Not a gift, but a torment. Not a companion, but a gravity I couldn’t escape.

You made me chase the silhouette of your back, made me want what I was never meant to hold.

And what is a reader if not a creature obsessed with control? Gnawing at my lower lip, fingertips smudging the glass, pleading with the screen to give more and more.

When your hand found my throat, it wasn’t pain I felt. It was revelation. It was belonging.

My eyes burned with the hunger to possess the narrative. No, to become it.

And I won’t let you go.  ❞

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

YANDERE! KIM DOKJA. In the same way Odysseus endured ten long years on the open sea to return to Penelope and slaughtered 108 men to ensure no one else could claim her, he pulls himself from the grave with the same brutal ferocity he carves into a battlefield, raw, relentless. The land of the damned holds no power over him.

Up there, among the constellations, you were adored. They are inevitably drawn to the striking beauty of a protagonist, but Dokja can’t bear the thought of anyone else perceiving you without suffocating under the fear of their sight. When he returns to you, regret stains his white coat, but he still offers you the sweetest smile. Would you like to know what the rib cage of a god looks like?

YANDERE! KIM DOKJA. Devotion like Kim Dokja’s doesn’t stay neutral. It turns people into heroes… or something much worse. He had spent years poring over stories of you: your adventures, your triumphs, and your lovers. When he first met your love interest, he thought it didn’t matter. In fact, he rooted for them when he read your stories.

But something in him hesitated, a quiet tension he couldn’t quite name. Why do they get your regard? Why did any version of them know the way you sounded when you moaned, while all he’d ever known are lonely nights with his hand wrapped around himself? Why couldn’t he be the one to keep them from ever reaching the proper ending? In the end, he made sure they didn’t.

YANDERE! KIM DOKJA. Your dazed eyes, wrecked by some love goddess, leave him spinning. He was tempted, and he let himself fall to pieces. At first, sex is just mimicry. He grabs at what you’ve liked before, piecing it together, clumsy and desperate, like a reader forcing a favorite character to move how they want.

Over time, he learns what truly makes that pretty gaze ignite, fingers tangled in your hair, twisting just right. His body moves against yours in a frantic, consuming rhythm. When he’s buried deep inside, he murmurs out devotions. When he’s done, he presses a kiss on your cheek and cleans you up, scrubbing away the night before you ever get the chance to remember.

[rainflower-writes]

—HYUNG! [PT.1]

────────────

"Hyung" is a Korean term used by males to refer to an older male, typically an older brother or close male friend. It expresses respect, affection, and a sense of closeness.

────────────

Kim Dokja stood at the entrance of the school, a deep frown creasing his forehead as he observed the other kids his age laughing and chatting merrily as they hurried inside.

The sound of their cheerful voices echoed around him, making his heart sink even further. He felt a mix of frustration and apprehension surge within him, and his small hands tightened around his older brother's arm, gripping it as if it were a lifeline.

His older brother, a comforting presence, didn’t seem to notice the tension radiating from him; he was too busy glancing at his watch, eager for the day to begin.

Dokja's backpack, worn and slightly frayed at the edges, hung heavily from his shoulder, a constant reminder of the burden he felt about attending school.

The weight of both the bag and his worries pressed down on him, making him feel even smaller among the throng of confident, carefree children.

He shifted his feet nervously, dreading the thought of the long day ahead and the interactions that awaited him inside those walls.

"Dokja, Hyung need to go now," [Name] said softly, kneeling down in front of the younger boy.

A gentle smile curved on his lips, trying to convey comfort in an overwhelming moment.

"I wanna go home," Dokja replied, his small hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of [Name]'s shirt, his expressive eyes wide with uncertainty.

“Dokja…” [Name] sighed, a note of concern creeping into his voice as he noticed the stubbornness in the younger boy’s posture. It was clear he didn’t want to let go.

Today marked Dokja's first day as an Elementary student, a milestone that should have been joyful.

However, reality had hit him hard, and he found himself feeling lost and anxious.

Meanwhile, [Name] was already navigating the challenges of Middle School, stepping into a new phase of life that felt worlds apart from Dokja’s.

The stark contrast was daunting for the little boy, leaving him clinging to the comfort of the familiar.

"How about this," [Name] suggested gently, kneeling down to meet Dokja’s gaze, "when school ends, Hyung will be right here waiting for you, okay?" His voice was soft, laced with warmth, hoping to coax a smile from the boy.

Dokja pouted, his small hands clutching the fabric of [Name]'s uniform with a hesitant grip, as if letting go would mean losing something precious.

There was a flicker of reluctance in his wide eyes, mirroring the battle within him.

"Hyung will read you three bedtime stories," [Name] continued, raising a playful brow and offering a reassuring smile as he extended his pinky finger, the universal sign of a promise. The promise seemed to hang in the air, a lifeline connecting them despite the distance that would soon separate them.

Dokja’s pout deepened, and he sighed dramatically, but eventually, he relented, linking his pinky with [Name]'s.

Their thumbs pressed together, a bond firm for now.

"Three bedtime stories!" he repeated, a hint of determination in his voice as he tried to mask the bubbling excitement underneath his grumpiness.

"I promise," [Name] chuckled softly, a fond smile spreading across his face as he lovingly adjusted Dokja's uniform, smoothing out the wrinkles.

The simple act made them both feel closer, even though the inevitable goodbye loomed.

With one last lingering look, Dokja turned toward the school entrance, his face scrunching up in a mix of determination and melancholy as he watched the distance grow between him and his Hyung.

The world around him felt larger and somehow emptier, but the promise of three enchanting bedtime stories filled him with a flicker of hope as he stepped inside.

School can't be that bad isn't it?

────────────

The bicycle came to a swift halt, tires skidding slightly on the pavement as he patiently awaited the swarm of children emerging from the school grounds.

The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, but his attention was suddenly grabbed by a familiar figure darting toward him from his peripheral vision.

A smile crept onto his face as he turned to see his little brother, Dokja, sprinting up with wild, unkempt hair and cheeks flushed with what appeared to be a mix of exertion and distress.

He couldn’t help but suppress a chuckle at the sight of Dokja’s disheveled appearance and the unmistakable frown etched on his face.

“Hyung! I don’t wanna go to school anymore!” Dokja declared dramatically as he leaped onto the back of [Name]'s bicycle, his voice a blend of frustration and defeat.

He slumped against his brother, launching into a grumble about his horrible day, the words spilling out in a rush as he vented all the little injustices that had piled up throughout his day.

"And they actually have tomatoes for lunch! Who in their right mind eats tomatoes for lunch?!" Dokja exclaimed, [Name] shook his head, a mix of disbelief and amusement evident as he shook his head at Dokja.

They had just rounded the corner and were approaching the familiar sight of their home, the sun casting a warm glow over the quaint building.

With a playful grin, [Name] added, "Well, I eat tomatoes for lunch!"

His declaration was met with an exaggerated shudder from Dokja, who scrunched up his face in mock horror, clearly finding the idea repulsive.

The lighthearted banter between them softened the afternoon, making their routine stroll home feel all the more enjoyable.

They burst into laughter as they hopped off the bicycle, the warm afternoon sun casting playful shadows on the ground.

[Name] effortlessly pushed the bike to the side of the house, leaning it against the weathered wood where it could rest safely.

With joyful energy, they made their way to the front door, both of them exchanging playful nudges and bumps, their laughter ringing through the air.

In a moment that almost sent Dokja tumbling, he teetered dangerously close to his mother’s carefully tended flower pot, vibrant blossoms swaying precariously.

Just in the nick of time, [Name] reached out and caught him, steadying his balance and preventing a floral disaster, their giggles filling the space around them.

Their lighthearted bickering was cut short by the sudden sound of a loud crash, the noise reverberating through the stillness of the quiet neighborhood.

[Name]’s heart dropped as a sharp cry of pain, unmistakably his mother’s, tore through the air.

Without hesitation, he pushed Dokja behind him, his movements deliberate and protective.

Slowly, he cracked the door open, his breath shallow, peering into the dim room with cautious eyes.

Behind him, Dokja clung to his waist like a lifeline.

His small hands, balled into trembling fists, twisted the fabric of [Name]’s uniform, leaving crumpled creases in its wake.

His fear was palpable, his grip tight, his knuckles pale.

“Hyung...” Dokja’s voice quivered with barely contained terror, his wide, watery eyes fixed on [Name]’s tense expression.

[Name] turned and offered a weak, reassuring smile, though it faltered under the weight of the situation.

He reached down to ruffle Dokja’s hair, a silent promise that everything would be fine—even if he wasn’t sure it would be.

The room beyond was a chaotic mess. Empty bottles of alcohol were scattered haphazardly on the floor, their contents pooling in sticky puddles on the worn carpet.

The acrid stench of spilled liquor mixed with the stale air, assaulting their senses and making both brothers wrinkle their noses in unison.

Another shout echoed from the kitchen, this one louder and angrier. The sound made them both flinch, but [Name] recovered quickly, his protective instincts taking over.

He crouched down to Dokja’s level, his hands firm but gentle on the boy’s shoulders.

“Stay here,” he whispered, his tone low and commanding. His gaze was sharp yet full of warmth as he guided Dokja toward the nearest room.

Dokja hesitated, his lips pursed and his brows knitted with worry, but he obeyed.

He shuffled into the small room, casting one last glance at [Name]. The door clicked shut, leaving him alone with his growing fear.

He pressed his ear to the door, his small frame trembling as he tried to make sense of the muffled chaos outside.

The sound of shattering glass made him jump, his breath hitching as [Name]’s voice rang out—louder and sharper than Dokja had ever heard before.

[Name] never shouted.

He was always the calm one, the gentle one.

Hearing his raised voice now, tinged with both fury and desperation, filled Dokja with a cold, creeping terror.

Time dragged on, each second heavy and suffocating.

Dokja slid down the wall, curling into himself as he waited. The silence that eventually followed was almost worse than the noise.

The doorknob rattled, and the door creaked open. Dokja’s head snapped up, his heart pounding.

“Dokja...” [Name]’s voice was soft but strained, like a thread stretched too thin.

He stepped into the room, his figure silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway.

His face was a patchwork of cuts and bruises, the fresh wounds stark against his pale skin.

Purple and blue bruises were already forming, blooming like grotesque flowers along his jaw and cheekbone.

His uniform was wrinkled and slightly disheveled, the fabric damp in places from sweat or something more unsettling.

A faint smear of blood marred his collar, though he seemed unfazed by it.

“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

Yet even in his battered state, there was a gentleness in his tone, an unwavering warmth meant to shield Dokja from the harsh reality clawing at the edges of their lives.

Dokja didn’t answer right away. His lips quivered as his wide eyes filled with tears. He could see it—the exhaustion weighing on [Name], the pain he carried not just in his body but in his heart.

Yet [Name] stood there, steady and unyielding, as if determined to bear the weight of the world alone.

He nodded silently, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.

[Name] knelt down, pulling him into a firm yet tender embrace.

The scent of blood and sweat lingered on him, but Dokja didn’t pull away. He buried his face in [Name]’s chest, clutching at his rumpled uniform as though it were his anchor.

[Name] closed his eyes, resting his chin atop Dokja’s head. He knew Dokja understood more than he let on.

The boy wasn’t oblivious to the harsh reality of their home.

But [Name] had vowed long ago to protect him from the worst of it, to shield him from the darkness that loomed over their family.

To Kim [Name], Kim Dokja was everything—his light, his hope, his reason to endure.

And no matter how cruel the world became, no matter how much it tried to break them, [Name] would never allow it to touch his precious little brother.

────────────

[sheynchankawaiiuwu]

KDJ x M!OC[platonic oneshot]

Dokja was 11 years old now. The funeral for his father was ongoing.

His mother, arrested for the murder of said father. Dokja cried continously that his eyes became puffy. Adults and children alike that came to the funeral to say their condolences but didn't approach the crying boy.

'You don't have to approach me, it's okay. It's normal to be sad at a funeral.' His face is full of snot and tears - he looks like a complete mess. 'I'm not special or anything. It's fine if you don't come over to talk to me.' He stands alone, no one approaches him. He is completely invisible to everyone in the room. Not a single soul acknowledges that he exists, as he is alone - sitting by himself, his heart heavy, his eyes reddened from tears. He is just an insignificant speck.

Then, an unknown man took Dokja into his arms, hugging him, in an attempt to comfort the child. Dokja didn't know who the man was, but he held the man and cried in his embrace. Dokja continued to cry even after the funeral ended, unable to calm down. He cried himself to sleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night.

'I want to be with Mama... I want her to hug me, like I hugged that man...' He felt miserable and sad in the darkness, as he missed the warmth of another person. The coldness of his room made the lack of his mom's comforting presence all the more apparent.

The following day, a knock, alongside multiple voices, came from Dokja's door. He opens the door to find the man from the day before. Now that he wasn't crying, he took a good look at the man's features.

The man had shiny blonde hair, into an undercut and a man bun, with multiple colors dyed into the tips of his hair. His eyes looked to be made of magic, as his long lashes highlighted his eyes.

The man also had a cresent moon tattoo on his left cheek and two piercings each on his ears and his bottom lip, of which he used to smile warmly at Dokja. Dokja was so distracted that he forgot to ask why the man came to his home.

"Um, hello again..." Dokja says awkwardly, uncertain how to act in this situation. ... "Why are you here?" A new voice answered him, this time, from a lady beside the man from before. "Hello Kim Dokja. From now on, this man will be your foster parent until you come of age." The lady pats Dokja's back to usher him to approach the smiling man.

'Foster parent...?' Dokja looks confused and surprised by the news, his expression doesn't show what he really feels; he goes towards the man uncertainly, but also relieved that he now has some kind of "family", even if they are nothing more than strangers.

The smiling man kneels in front of Dokja. "Hello there.. I'm Cileste Lunear.. I'm a good friend of your mother's, so she handed you in my care." The smiling man said, brushing Dokja's hair. 'Cileste Lunear...?' Dokja seems puzzled by his strange, foreign mame, but he doesn't say anything else; he lets the man comb his hair, trying not to give any reaction, as he is not sure how to behave in this situation; he is relieved that he will now have a "family", even if it is only temporary, or if he doesn't know them well.

"Now that you're my son, you can call me Papa or Father! And your new name will be Kim-Lunear Dokja. You can get rid of it if you want to once you become an adult, but I'll promise to take good care of you." 'P-papa...? Father...?' Dokja's expression shows surprise, shock and sadness, as he is confused and doesn't know how to respond to all this sudden change; he feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and he lets his emotions overflow, as tears well up in his eyes. He hugs his new father tightly, as he finally finds someone he can be vulnerable with, and starts to sob into his shoulder. Cileste lifts Dokja and hugs him, patting his back for comfort. He didn't attempt to hush Dokja to submission like other adults. He let him cry to his heart's content. And he did just that. He let Dokja cry until he fell asleep, hugging and clutching Cileste's clothes. Dokja slept soundly during the entire night, as if for the first time in ages; everything that troubled his mind before vanished. He felt safe and calm for the first time in his life, no longer needing to worry about the world all alone; Cileste made everything better.

From that night on, Dokja's life changed drastically; he was able to receive the love, care and attention, that he had been lacking his entire life. He was finally able to understand what "family" really meant. As the days and months go by, Dokja became comfortable to calling Cileste Papa, and Cileste fits the paternal role perfectly. The two occasionally visits Dokja's mother, and with the mediation of Cileste, the negative feelings between them mostly disappeared.

Dokja quickly starts to adjust to his new life, happy to finally have a family who cares about him. He loves his new father, Cileste, dearly, and does his best to make him proud. He also visits his mother, and although the relationship between them is still awkward at times, it no longer causes the same level of tension and animosity that it used to. Overall, Dokja is happy, content and fulfilled to finally be part of a family, even if he still has some issues to resolve, and some trauma to overcome from his past.

Years go by and Dokja is now in high school. After being adopted by Cileste, he learned that he was really rich, so Dokja was enrolled in a private academy. Dokja's smarts also played a role in the immediate acceptance of the academy. As for Cileste, many people assumed that Dokja and him were friends or brothers due to how young he looked, so he grew a beard for people to know that he's Dokja's father.

Dokja grew up to be a smart, kind and friendly student, much more outgoing and well-liked around the classroom than he used to be; he became popular and gained a lot of new friends and peers, as he is no longer the awkward loner that he used to be, but rather a well-rounded individual, full of potential. Cileste still takes good care of Dokja, making sure to give him all the love and support he needs; he is a kind, fair and loving father, that will always protect Dokja, no matter what.

One day, on his 13th birthday, Cileste randomly recommended Dokja to read a novel that he found on the internet, and thought that Dokja would like it. The novel was titled 'Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse'. Dokja fell in love with the novel.

"Wow! What an amazing novel!" Dokja says excitedly, as he talks about how much he enjoyed the book. The main character is really smart and brave, and I love how the story is full of twists and turns, yet it still manages to come together in the end in such a satisfying way. Dokja talks about the story and his favorite characters with great enthusiasm; he is clearly passionate about the novel and its characters, and he is just so excited and engaged in the conversation that he seems to forget about the world around him. As Dokja fell in love further with the novel, he shared his passion with his foster father, and on occasion, his mother. His eyes sparkle at the mention of TWSA and can go on a rant on how amazing it is for so long.

Dokja's energy and enthusiasm is infectious; he makes everyone around him feel good, and his passion for TWSA and his admiration for the protagonist is so strong that everyone feels compelled to listen to him. Cileste, in particular, is delighted to see Dokja so engaged and passionate; he loves to hear his son talk about TWSA, and he always listens with interest, and with a wide smile on his face. Dokja is not only a good student, but he is also a great son, and he makes his family incredibly proud.

More years go by and Dokja graduated at the top of his class. This event made Cileste cry tears of joy. He made sure to take pictures of Dokja to give to show to his mother when they visit. Dokja's graduation marks a major milestone in his life, and he is extremely happy and proud of his accomplishments; his relationship with his mother and father is strong, and their love and support for him is unwavering. He is ready to start a new chapter in his life, and he looks forward to the future with excitement and optimism, knowing that he will always be supported by his family.

Dokja finds a job as to not rely on Cileste's money too much but still lives with him for the sake of familial comfort He talks about his days at work and how he befriened a girl co-worker named Yoo Sangah.

Dokja has grown up to be a compassionate, kind and intelligent young man, with a warm and friendly personality; he is always willing to help others, and he is also quite popular with the people around him. He has made a lot of new friends, like Yoo Sangah, who he gets along with very well; they often hang out together after work, and they share a lot of similarities and interests.

Dokja is happy and fulfilled with his life, and he is grateful for all the people and opportunities he has been given. One day, as Sangah and Dokja commute in a train, Dokja receives the final chapter of TWSA, at time 18:58.

"OH MY GOD! I can't believe it, the novel is ending already - I've been following it for years, and now... I don't know what to do with myself!" Dokja is full of energy and enthusiasm, as he talks about the final chapter in front of Sangah, who listens patiently and with interest. Dokja also talks about his favorite characters in the final chapter, and the events that take place; he talks with such passion and interest that Sangah can't help but smile and feel happy for him, as it's clear how much the novel means to Dokja.

18:59 "OH! THE END?! THAT WAS SO EPIC! What an amazing ending to an already amazing novel! I'm so glad I stuck with it till the end!" Dokja is now overflowing with energy and excitement, as he jumps up and down im his seat, and he starts praising and talking about the novel like crazy; he sounds like a small child that just received a big present, as he is just so excited and happy. Sangah can't help but laugh at Dokja's extreme reaction, as she has never seen him like this before; it's clear the novel is very special to him.

19:00. The train shook violently. People swayed and nearly injured. Many thought it was just a misfortunate earthquake but Dokja subconsiously remembered the first chapter of TWSA. It started in train cabin 3707. Dokja was in 3807. He prayed silently that Cileste was safe at home as Sangah held onto Dokja for safety.

"Oh my God..." Dokja utters under breath, his face turning pale with fear and anxiety. "What is happening!?" Dokja lets Sangah hold on even tighter, as he tries to calm himself down, but he can't keep his nerves in check, and he starts panicking. "Are we going to be okay?! Please tell me that everything will be okay!" Sangah panics beside him. His thoughts run wild in his head, as he worries for himself, Sangah and Cileste; his voice is filled with desperation and fear.

"What just happened? Why did the train shake like that?" Dokja looks confused, and it takes a moment for him to piece everything together; it quickly becomes clear that it is a very serious situation. "Oh no..." Dokja grabs on to Sangah tightly, as he realizes just how dangerous the situation is; he is scared and nervous, but he tries to stay calm and think of a way that he and Sangah can get through this situation and survive.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Lmao this was the story I made with character ai of KDJ💀 I had to edit so many lines so it looks passable

[1chaerry]

Hello dear Chae, please could you write a (platonic) Kim Dokja x male!reader, the reader is a constellation and Secretive Plotter's husband, I hope I don't you mind , take care of yourself 🤍

hii!!! I love anything to do with ORV!! Okay, so this fueling my ORV obsession more. hope you like it!!

A Plot-Twist In The Stars

summary: a sudden sub-scenario appears for Kim Dokja and for some reason, all the Constellations seem excited for it. Kim Dokja skeptically accepts it.

c.w: fluff, fluff, FLUFF, a bit of plot [come on, it's ORV], sub-scenario, platonic love,

w.c: 2.7k

disclaimer: Reader is called 'Saram' meaning 'Human/Person.'

Kim Dokja had long since learned to distrust the Star Stream’s attempts at “entertainment.” So when the system announced a new sub-scenario with a flourish, complete with a suspicious lack of immediate death flags, he instinctively frowned

[A SUB-SCENARIO HAS BEEN TRIGGERED!]

Objective: Accompany [The Secretive Plotter’s Husband] for one (1) day.

Reward: ???

The chat room exploded with excitement.

⎡ Constellation Prisoner of the Golden Headband is rolling on the ground laughing. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Bald General of Justice eagerly leans forward, wondering how this will play out. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Demon-like Judge of Fire clicks her tongue, muttering something about romantic plots. ⎤

Kim Dokja's brow twitched. “Why do I feel like this is going to be humiliating?”

“What's wrong?” Yoo Joonghyuk said gruffly, arms crossed as he eyed the notification on Dokja’s screen.

“No,” Kim Dokja replied flatly. “Something about this feels deeply wrong.”

Before Yoo Joonghyuk could retort, the world around them shimmered, and Kim Dokja found himself somewhere else entirely.

The setting was surreal: a cozy, starlit garden with soft cushions and a low table laden with snacks. Across from him sat a man—tall, elegant, and exuding an aura of mischief. His eyes glittered with a sharp intelligence that made Kim Dokja’s survival instincts scream.

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kim Dokja,” the man said, resting his chin on one hand. “My husband speaks of you often.”

Kim Dokja’s brain short-circuited. “Your… husband?”

The man smiled. “I am [Halo of the Golden Sea], the Secretive Plotter’s beloved, or, Saram, if the moniker is too long. Don't worry, it's a false name, won't cause you probability.”

Kim Dokja stared. “The Secretive Plotter… has a husband?”

⎡ The Constellation Secretive Plotter coughs awkwardly. ⎤

The man—no, the Constellation—leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “You seem surprised. Did you think he was incapable of love?”

Kim Dokja did not say, Yes, absolutely.

Instead, he cleared his throat and asked, “What exactly is the purpose of this scenario?”

“To spend time with me, of course!” Saram replied brightly, before leaning closer, his voice dropping suggestively. “Don’t worry—I don’t bite. Much.”

Kim Dokja scooted back instinctively.

⎡ Constellation Abyssal Black Flame Dragon bursts into laughter, finding your plight amusing. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter sighs but says nothing. ⎤

Throughout the day, Saram found every opportunity to fluster Kim Dokja.

While showing Dokja the starlit garden that seemed to exist between realities, Saram casually commented, “You know, for someone who deals with life-and-death scenarios daily, you have a surprisingly composed face. It’s almost… infuriatingly unreadable. Are you always this calm, or is this just for me?”

Dokja avoided eye contact, trying to focus on the nonsensical task of categorizing glowing star fragments. “I just… don’t let things get to me.”

Sarambraised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even when I look at you like this?” He leaned closer, his expression playful but his gaze sharp.

⎡ Constellation Bald General of Justice whistles approvingly. ⎤

⎡ Constellation Demon-like Judge of Fire mutters, ‘I ship it.’ ⎤

Saram casts a glance at the Constellations, "Behave, you children."

There's a silence from the Constellations which made Dokja gulp, wondering how much power this man had to quiet them all.

Dokja turned away, his voice clipped. “Do you always tease strangers like this?”

Saram laughed, the sound warm and unapologetic. “Only the interesting ones.”

As the day wore on, Saram grew bolder in his attempts to rattle Dokja’s composure.

At one point, he leaned against a tree, arms crossed, and watched Dokja struggle with yet another nonsensical task involving glowing orbs. “You know,” he said casually, “if I weren’t already married, I might have considered claiming you for myself.”

Dokja froze mid-motion, nearly dropping the orb in his hand. “Excuse me?”

Saram smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “What? Can’t I appreciate a brilliant mind and an unyielding spirit? Don’t tell me you’re completely oblivious to how captivating you are.”

Dokja’s face burned, though he quickly masked it with his usual deadpan expression. “I think your husband might have something to say about that.”

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter silently tightens his grip on his sword. ⎤

Saram laughed, completely unbothered. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He knows I like to keep things interesting.”

As the scenario progressed, Kim Dokja began to notice a certain spark in Saram's behavior that made him uneasy, and it wasn’t just the unnerving way he casually teased him throughout the day. It was the subtle but undeniable attention that Saram seemed to give him—like he was studying him, analyzing his every move with a sharp, calculating gaze.

Though the garden was serene, with a gentle breeze rustling the trees and soft light from the stars above, the atmosphere between them felt charged with something far more intense than just casual conversation. Every glance from Saram lingered just a little too long, and every comment was laden with something more than what was on the surface. At first, Kim Dokja brushed it off as part of the oddity of being in this strange scenario, but soon, he realized that there was an unmistakable curiosity behind those bright eyes.

Saram would often watch him intently as they sipped tea, as if waiting for Kim Dokja to reveal something of himself—his thoughts, his plans, his secrets. There was an eerie quality to it, like he could see right through him. And the way he’d occasionally smile, just the slightest curl of his lips, gave Kim Dokja the distinct feeling that he was being toyed with.

“Tell me, Kim Dokja,” Saram asked that afternoon, as they walked side by side through the starry garden, “Why do you always seem so guarded? Are you afraid of revealing too much?”

Kim Dokja stiffened at the question, instinctively shutting himself off even further. “I’m not ‘guarded,’” he replied stiffly. “I’m just… cautious.”

Saram chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with something mischievous. “Cautious, yes. But you’re not fooling anyone. You’re hiding something, aren’t you? Something important.”

Kim Dokja’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was an unsettling truth to what Saram said.

“It’s none of your business,” he shot back, trying to regain his usual composure, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that every word out of Saram’s mouth felt like a carefully crafted move.

And that was when he realized: this wasn’t just a random Constellation. There was something strategic behind the way Saram spoke, something calculated in his interest in him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Saram wasn’t simply curious about him—he was intrigued.

The other Constellations had been amused by the sub-scenario, but Saram’s interest seemed far deeper. He wasn’t just playing along for fun. No, he was actively pulling at the threads of Kim Dokja’s life, his story, and perhaps even his own motivations. It felt like he was trying to understand the very fabric of his being, as if he could somehow use it for his own ends—or perhaps to simply learn about him on a more personal level.

Kim Dokja could tell that Saram was a skilled manipulator, one who thrived in situations where he could read others and subtly influence them. And yet, for all his caution, Kim Dokja couldn’t help but wonder…...

Did Saram actually want something from him? Or was this all just a game—one that Saram was determined to play to the very end?

As they shared a quiet moment, sitting beneath the stars, Saram leaned in just a little closer, his gaze sharp but playful. “You know, Kim Dokja… I find you fascinating. There’s something about you that’s both frustrating and intriguing. I wonder…” His voice dropped, almost teasing. “What would it take to get you to let me in? To show me the real you?”

Kim Dokja couldn’t help but tense at the question, feeling a surge of irritation mixed with something else. Was it fear? Or was it just the sense of being cornered by someone who could so effortlessly navigate the intricate web of his emotions?

“I don’t let anyone in,” he said, voice steady but the words betraying him. “I’m not a person you want to know.”

But Saram only smiled wider, like a cat with its prey. “Ah, but that’s exactly what makes you interesting.” He leaned back slightly, as if giving Kim Dokja a moment to reconsider, but the glint in his eyes never wavered. “You’re not as impenetrable as you think, Kim Dokja. Maybe, in time, you’ll come to realize that.”

The rest of the day unfolded with a constant undercurrent of this unspoken tension. Kim Dokja couldn’t shake the feeling that every word, every interaction, was another thread being woven into a bigger, more complex pattern that Saram was crafting with remarkable precision. As much as he tried to distance himself, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that Saram was interested in him—more so than any other Constellation Kim Dokja had encountered.

And it wasn’t just curiosity. No, Saram seemed to be quietly testing his boundaries, pushing to see how far he could go before Kim Dokja either cracked or completely shut him out.

The more Kim Dokja tried to maintain his distance, the more Saram seemed determined to break down his walls. It was becoming less about the scenario itself and more about the challenge of unraveling the mystery that was Kim Dokja.

By the end of the day, Kim Dokja realized that Saram wasn’t just interested in him because of the Star Stream or the scenario—it was because he saw something in Kim Dokja. Something that made him worthy of fascination.

Whether Kim Dokja liked it or not, he had unknowingly become a part of Saram’s plot—a plot he had no idea how to navigate. But that was nothing new for Kim Dokja, was it? After all, he had been thrown into enough convoluted plots to know that sometimes, the best way to survive was to embrace the chaos and play along.

The day was an utter whirlwind of chaos.

Saram insisted on dragging Kim Dokja through activities that ranged from mildly ridiculous (picking constellations to “adopt” as stars in their garden) to outright absurd (convincing Kim Dokja to play tag while the chat room provided commentary).

At one point, Saram raised a glass of wine and smirked. “You know, Kim Dokja, you’re not half bad. Maybe I’ll convince my husband to let me keep you.”

[ Constellation Secretive Plotter glares coldly. ⎤

Kim Dokja, somehow completely sober, replied, “I think your husband would kill me. Again.”

Saram only laughed. “He wouldn’t dare. I’m the only one who gets to torment you today.”

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter looks away, his ears suspiciously red. ⎤

As the day came to an end, Kim Dokja collapsed onto the cushions, exhausted but somehow… content. Saram lounged nearby, still radiating that chaotic energy, but with a softer, almost fond smile.

“You’re interesting,” Saram said. “I can see why the Star Stream loves you.”

Kim Dokja groaned. “I hate that.”

Saram chuckled, then stood. “Well, this was fun. But don’t think you’re off the hook. If you survive the next scenario, we might meet again.”

The world shimmered once more, and Kim Dokja found himself back with Yoo Joonghyuk and the others.

“What happened?” Yoo Sangaj asked, concerned.

Kim Dokja stared into the distance, his voice hollow. “I… bonded with the Secretive Plotter’s husband.”

The chat room exploded into laughter once again.

⎡ Constellation Secretive Plotter silently vows to make amends for the day’s chaos. ⎤

And somewhere in the Star Stream, Saram laughed.

The garden was quiet now, bathed in the soft, silver light of the stars. The stars above twinkled as if to remind Saram that time was still passing, even if it felt as though the entire world had paused for a moment. He leaned against a stone pillar, his gaze fixed on the starlit horizon, though his mind wasn’t on the scenery.

Behind him, the shimmering air twisted as a familiar presence appeared. It was a subtle distortion in the fabric of reality—one that only someone accustomed to the Star Stream’s constant manipulations would recognize.

"I see you’ve finally arrived," Saram said, not turning around. His tone was calm, almost casual, but there was a flicker of something more behind his words.

The figure that appeared behind him, silent as ever, stepped into the moonlight. The tall, imposing silhouette belonged to none other than the Constellation known as Secretive Plotter. Despite the heavy air between them, the quiet tension was almost… playful.

"Saram," Plotter’s voice rumbled, low and deliberately distant. "That was a rather… interesting day."

Saram allowed himself a small, knowing smile. "Interesting? Or just entertaining?" He raised an eyebrow, turning to face the other Constellation. "You didn’t think it would be easy to keep things simple, did you?"

Plotter’s expression didn’t change, but the glimmer in his eyes seemed sharper, like the gears of a complex plan were grinding slowly into motion. "You are… unpredictable."

"I prefer to think of myself as entertaining," Saram replied with a playful shrug, stepping closer to Plotter. "But I think you enjoyed it more than you’re letting on."

For a moment, there was silence. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled, because neither of them were in a rush. Plotter studied him, his gaze steady and unreadable.

"Why him?" Plotter asked after a pause, his tone quiet but cutting through the night air like a sharp blade. "Kim Dokja. Why go to such lengths with him? You know what kind of person he is."

Saram chuckled softly, eyes glinting with mischief. "He’s interesting, that’s why. He’s got this air of… complexity about him. You can never quite pin him down. Don’t you find that fascinating?" He tilted his head slightly, like he was watching Plotter carefully for any reaction.

Plotter didn’t answer immediately, but the corners of his mouth twitched, as though a rare smile had almost escaped him. It quickly disappeared, replaced by the usual, unreadable mask.

"You know him well," Plotter finally said. "But I wonder… do you see something in him beyond that? Or is it just the game for you?"

Saram met Plotter’s gaze unflinchingly, his eyes sparkling with something deeper. "Is it so wrong to want to have a little fun while playing the game? To see how long it takes before he finally cracks, or maybe—" He stepped closer again, his voice lowering to a near whisper, "—to see what lies beneath all those layers he’s so desperate to keep hidden?"

Plotter didn’t react, but the air around him seemed to crackle with the unspoken understanding between them. Despite his cold, distant demeanor, it was clear that Plotter had been watching his every move. And in that silent exchange, the tension between them was palpable. There was no need for words—both understood exactly what the other was thinking.

"And you?" Saram continued, this time leaning in ever so slightly, close enough for Plotter to feel his presence. "Do you ever let your walls down, or is it just me who has the privilege of seeing them crumble?"

Plotter’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, the faintest trace of something that could have been a smile playing at his lips. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar, cryptic expression. "I have no need to lower my guard with you," he said, his voice low and controlled. "But you… you are something else."

Saram laughed, the sound rich with amusement. "I suppose we are something else together, aren't we?" He paused, then leaned in, his tone suddenly more serious, more intimate. "But don’t think for a moment I won’t be keeping an eye on you. This game of ours… it’s just beginning."

Plotter met his gaze evenly, his eyes filled with that same cool, inscrutable depth. "I don’t need your protection, but I’ll be watching, too."

They stood there for a moment, the starlit garden between them, both of them perfectly aware of the unspoken understanding that tied them together. It was a strange alliance, one forged in the midst of games and plots, but it was real in its own way. Neither of them knew what would come next, but neither of them was ready to let go just yet.

As the night air drifted softly around them, Saram smiled—a smile that wasn’t entirely light, but more of an invitation, a challenge. "Shall we see where this story takes us next, then?"

Plotter’s only response was a silent nod. He stepped back, his eyes lingering for a moment longer before turning to leave.

But Saram stayed, watching the stars as they sparkled above.

"Let’s see how far we can push this game," he murmured to the empty night.

[slowd1ving]

Hello can u write a Dokja x Medusa!male!reader please

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR GORGON ゜゜・KIM DOKJA

'You listening, Dokja? Maybe if you followed the guides for dealing with intelligent species like this one, you wouldn't be in such a stupid mess.' yall think aegis can be used as a different sort of barrier?!?! sorry anon this is less mythology centric than i planned icl art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! pairing: kim dokja + male reader warnings: canon typical danger, mentions of self-sacrifice wc: 2.9k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There exist several unspoken rules when interacting with the particularly volatile species integrated onto Planetary System 8612. Most ‘monsters’ are unable to effectively communicate with the main intelligent species in the domes, thus are doomed for imminent slaughter. However, exceptions like the catalyst behind these reports must be treated with particular regard. 

Guidelines will serve you well in the coming days, reader. If you’ve accessed these reports, it probably means the days are bleak and you’ve encountered one of these species. One thing is for certain; if you are reading this, you will survive your encounter with a gorgon. 

< Observation log, section 1 > (Relative Earth time 21/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDING

‘Rule number one: if possible, do not engage with a gorgon. Though, considering your perusal of these records, it seems this was not successful on your end. Better luck next time!’

‘Sooyoung-ah, don’t be ru—’

Avoidance was always a good policy when it came to the apocalypse. It saved time, toil, and lives—much like a vaccine helped one bypass a virus. But one couldn’t rely on it entirely; neither vaccine nor evasion was infallible after all. 

‘If they were, these records would not need to exist.’

And for humans, their biggest hamartia was their ignorance. Nerve cells could only do so much to detect dangerous stimuli and trigger a reflex for flight. If the hazard was less obvious, much more innocuous, then the poor human would only be wading into quicksand if they weren’t smart enough. Right before getting devoured. 

‘Of course that squid was the blind one who got us into this mess.’

Just like these unspoken rules, it was de facto that Kim Dokja was unlucky. Unfortunate. Ill-destined. However you chose to put it, the man was born under a cursed star, which meant that the stranger sitting across from him in the park was naturally part of his jinx as well. 

“What are you staring at?” Unlike the squid wearing his stupidly pristine coat, the man sitting on the bench facing him appeared to be a student: civilian wear and a lanyard still around your neck, like you’d frozen in time these past few months. Glasses rested on your nose, which you pushed up each time they slipped—even if they moved only minutely. 

Perhaps you were nervous, but the caustic indifference in your tone suggested it was an unlikely possibility. 

“Ah, sorry. I have a habit of looking at interesting people,” he laughed your question off, but the lack of information on you, coupled with the fact he didn’t recognise who you were, gave him the answer he needed. You weren’t a part of the original novel. “Uh, it’s a nice park, isn’t it? Lovely statues.”

You glanced at the reader, unimpressed. Just like that handsome bastard, there was that same impassive scowl plastered on your face. But as soon as he’d mentioned the sculptures scattered around this surprisingly lush pocket of Seoul, your face had softened somewhat. 

“Art major?” he probed, for there was something about your gaze that drew words from his mouth. Or perhaps it was just how surreal this scene was: someone enjoying the park like anyone before the paid service began, just some guy taking a breather from classes with a thick, bound book beside him. 

A ballpoint pen, rather than a sword or any other weapon. Blue ink, instead of bloody atrament. 

You were a part of this world, yet detached from it all. 

“No, chemistry,” you said. Deadpan, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m specialising in geochemistry. Rocks, soil, minerals. Humans do so underappreciate what goes on beneath their feet.”

Specialising. Present tense. Not specialised. 

Humans: like you were utterly detached from anyone and everyone. 

His breath caught in his throat.

The urging of constellations reminded him of just the situation he was in—about to run out of time in this sub-scenario, where hordes of monsters would soon swarm. Right in this very park. 

“Listen, you’ll need to get out of here soon—there’s going to be swarms of insect-like creatures here in, uh, five minutes give or take. You’ll be in danger if you can’t fight,” he swallowed. A look of disdain flickered in your eyes, and his head throbbed with how much your expressions resembled that sunfish bastard’s. You’re the idiot, your brows indicated, while the set of your mouth held only one question: who said I couldn’t fight? In the same strand of thinking, the sudden curdle of your shoulders—hunched, guarded—seemed to gesture and who are you to tell me that?

‘If only you knew back then.’

In short, you could fight. You could fight, and you were absolutely terrifying to watch. 

“Aegis,” you whispered, and the statues seemed to continue in susurration with you as the air warped in on itself. Dokja was thrown back by the shockwave as the space rippled—all in time for the main guests of the sub-scenario to arrive. 

Insect mutations. 

They crashed right into the distortions. A barrier. You’d set up an impenetrable defence in less time it took for him to draw breath, only for him to keel over behind you instead. Wow. Okay. He could still work with that. 

“What are you—”

“Silence.” It would’ve stung less if you just told him to shut up instead, but from the very get-go you were never particularly nice. Kind? Somewhat, in the sense you’d viewed him as some useless, bumbling fool that would be better off behind the translucent shield you’d conjured. But nice? No, from the very beginning, you were never nice. 

‘Deserved.’

That was fine. Bearable. Still in the realms of believability. 

For Kim Dokja, the shock came after watching your hand raise to your face to slip your glasses off. From the back, he could no longer see the stern expression you no doubt wore. But he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather the warmth of the day instantly seeping from the molecules. 

Time itself froze, and the insects did too. 

No one breathed, and not a singular sound rang out—save something hissing. A tire, perhaps, but nobody was fool enough to simply drive cars during the apocalypse. 

Then came the stirring of your clothes. It was a breeze only you felt, rippling and undulating until your hair moved too. Except it wasn’t the wind that hissed, nor was it the wind that wafted the coils. No, they twisted into thicker, scaly locks—snake-like, except these were snakes suddenly attached to your head. It was no longer a simile, nor was it a metaphor. 

You had fucking snakes in your hair. 

His breathing was shallow; in the sudden frigid climate, those puffs crystallised and condensed in small white clouds. 

And what of those insects?

His eyes flicked back to the ground shakily, to where the arthropods lay crumbling. Statues, like the ones he’d complimented brief minutes ago. Pearlescent marble—no, stone. Your glasses were still grasped tight in your hand, and he knew if you turned to meet his wide-eyed stare he’d be next. But, alas—

“Who… are you?” 

‘And this is how Kim Dokja put his foot in his mouth and demonstrated his exceptionally poor luck.’

< Observation log, section 2 > (Relative Earth time 24/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDING

‘Rule number two: do not stare into the eyes of a gorgon. Don’t even look, except for when there are protective measures in place. Case one: a blindfold. Case two: glasses, which he literally wears every minute of the day save for when he’s sleeping. Dokja, do not sneak up on the man when he’s sleeping.’

‘Dokja, you suck.’

It wasn’t often you let down your guard, with writhing, clawing humans nonetheless. Pointing fingers to find the monsters under their beds and threatening their cities—when in fact it was their bellicose faults that doomed them. A self-made end, a fitting conclusion for the snake that bites its own tail. If you had ever been human once, these people shared more blood with the beasts than they thought. 

Point was: you didn’t particularly care for those who appeared to be like you. Bodies, soft and squishy from a life coddled in cities; smiles duplicitous and more monstrous than any snarl; and their thoughts, often more heinous than any demon. And despite their sins, they’d meander in life wrapped in the bliss of self-ignorance. Dead in their varying morals like shrouds of far-too different cloths. 

In this, no human was the same. This was the philosophy that alienated yourself from your sisters. 

This was also the philosophy that landed you in a warm, damp place—completely dark with something poking at your cheeks. Correction—even through the thin membrane and slightly thicker skin that covered your eyes, there appeared to be a dim redness seeping into the edges of blackness. It seemed your blood vessels were alit by some foolish beastling. Almost like the golden chariot was prancing afore your eyes, except only Aeos of the Dawn was trotting along your lash line with a proud toss of his shrunken head. 

Your fingers twitched inside your sleeping bag, but you forced a deep breath in before you could hear any hissing. 

Actually, you knew exactly who was prodding at your cheek with a frigid index finger; the faint brush of his scent gave him away almost instantaneously. 

“Kim Dokja. Are you an idiot?” you ground out, eyes still tightly shut to avoid turning this fool to stone. “I’ve already agreed to travelling with your circus, so I’d prefer you refrain from getting petrified.”

“You really do sound like him when you’re irritated,” he let out with a suppressed snort. 

“Aegis,” you whispered, and the impertinent hand ceased its movements. 

The barrier was not, in fact, activated. 

“Gave me a bit of a fright there,” he swallowed. “I just wanted to say, it’s fine if you open your eyes.”

“No,” you deadpanned. Though you couldn’t see the expression, you could feel your facial muscles twitch into an impassive wall. “Don’t involve me with your stupid plans to kill yourself off.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he corrected himself. Were all humans like this when you lived as one? “It just won’t work on me. Me alone, which is why I locked the door so no one could come in.”

“Why?” He was a fool like the rest of them—risking peril for a glimpse of cursed eyes. Like all of man, his hubris rested heavy on his shoulders. 

“I just want to see your smug face without any glasses.”

“You’re looking at it presently,” you argued. Though your ire was evident with your furrowed brows, he didn’t relent. Where was that puny man who’d trembled behind you at the sight of insects? More importantly, how had he changed so quickly?

“With your eyes open,” he clarified. He was more insane than anyone you’d ever met. 

“Does it really make a difference?” you stalled. “How can you be sure you won’t suffer the effects as every other human and beast does?”

“You care about me that much?” 

It was a quiet question. A tentative venture into teasing, yet strangely vulnerable. 

“You worried?” he echoed. It was a weak aegis of his own, already prepared to accept your scoff and firm no. 

“Fool.” Both the skin eyelids and the thin membrane unsheathed haunting irises. You already knew what you’d see in them—a milky sort of quality to their natural colouring, even without the extra membrane. Slit pupils dilated minutely at the sight of him, and his breath caught in his throat as you gazed upwards, unblinking. 

Fool. The word echoed in his mind, an answer to his question but not at the same time. 

I’m not worried. 

Peering, your claws gently grazed his face: almost a kiss, if a kiss left a slight sting behind.

“I’m always worried about you, Kim Dokja,” you murmured, and it was perhaps then that his heartbeat grew erratic. Staring into those pretty eyes of yours with your thumb tenderly swiping across his flushed cheekbones, it was no wonder he could taste his very pulse. “Remember our first meeting?”

“How could I forget?”

A back facing his hunched form, more dependable than the shield spreading and curling beneath your mighty palms. Snakes coiling down your back, but there was nothing scary about how they swayed like ribbons in the sunset. And finally those eyes, directly protecting him from the swarms of insects. 

No, perhaps it was then when the thrum of the organ grew somewhat more rapid. 

‘Glad you realised.’

< Observation log, section 3 > (Relative Earth time 03/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPTION OF RECORDING

‘Rule number three: do not feed the snakes. Do not feed the snakes, Dokja. DO NOT FEED THE GODDAMN SNAKES.’

“Is Kim Dokja a masochist?”

The question, like most questions, came out of the blue. Such an innocuous, casual tone veiled your usual clipped syllables that Han Sooyoung found herself seriously internalising your words, before—

“What— koff— huh?” she spluttered against the sudden taste of her lemon candy, expression turning troubled, then incredulous. 

“Does he take pleasure in torturing himself?” you clarified, as though it were a matter of comprehension rather than tact. 

‘I knew what a masochist was! Why would he ask that?’

“If it’s Dokja, probably,” she coughed finally. Honestly, she’d pondered this very question herself—staring deadpan at the numerous deaths he’d experienced by his own plans. “Uh, just so we’re clear, why do you ask?”

“Is it normal to try to feed my snakes?” Definitely not.

“That… idiot did what?” she stared at the resident gorgon with quite the perplexed expression, but soon regained her composure. “No, not particularly. Are they… venomous?”

“Yes. Very much so. Please tell him to quit.”

Yet, despite all the half-hearted chidings of you and Sooyoung alike, your little snakes were beginning to grow fat and affectionate towards the man. You could feel something fundamental begin to shift, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling. 

< Observation log, section 4 > (Relative Earth time 14/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPTION OF RECORDING

‘Rule number four: gorgon venom should not be ingested. If you are Kim Dokja, this applies perhaps most poignantly to you. You may be immune to its effects for whatever reason, but the venom is a nightmare to get out of clothing. Thanks.’

“An experiment?” 

Kim Dokja’s face didn’t change from his usual, vaguely blurred visage; but it wasn’t like snakes had particularly good eyesight regardless. “Yes. Would you be up for it?”

You’d agreed on a whim. Why the experiment was to take place in a closed room, you didn’t particularly know. Maybe humans encountering an apocalypse had special customs to adhere to. “I am familiar with experimental protocol in laboratories and practicals.”

“Would you like to help me upgrade my poison-immunity skill?”

You’d initially refused outright—struck dumb at how recklessly he treated his life. Every time you thought he was a fool, he proved himself even more foolish—a crazed endeavour if you ever saw it. 

Gorgon poison. Released in more diluted doses from the snakes on you, concentrated particularly in the bone-white fangs in your mouth. Like a vampire, Yoo Sangah had excitedly noted: much too excitedly for your liking. 

Bite me, he asked you. 

A pale wrist was held out cautiously in front of him. The air was no longer mere air, but an ancient altar dedicated to this sacrifice. Thus, you were the priest for this rite once more, but this time the ram carried the bronze knife itself. 

He’s an idiot, you seethed, yet you were too. 

For you suggested a less painful way of transferring venom, but he agreed. For you gently clasped his chin with razor sharp talons skimming the dermis of his throat, but he melted pliantly in your hands. For you leaned in with softened eyes, but his own simply fluttered shut in anticipation. 

You surged, pressing him against the cold cement of the wall. Air was robbed from his lungs as he gasped, but rather than pulling back his warm, human hands merely wrapped around your nape to meld your body against his. 

Why did his hands shake so? Was this not just an experimental procedure dedicated to strengthening a human? 

Despite your analytical mind, your eyes closed too—both membrane and skin—and you savoured the lingering taste of the meaty dinner he’d eaten, and the underlying flavour of him. Hot blood pumped beneath his fragile oral mucosa; your greedy, long tongue prodded his own to find just where his pulse thrummed the strongest. 

Ah, fuck, he thought dumbly; sloppily making out with you in a forgotten room was not how he’d envisioned this night, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Even as he winced with sharp pain when your fangs cut his lips, he couldn’t pull back—objective achieved but long forgotten. Those pesky, wandering hands of his clung onto your body when his head canted: deepening the kiss rather than wrapping up his poison exposure. 

Iron tainted his mouth. Dripping past the seams of desperate lips was the crimson mixture of blood and venom, dripping onto his sweater and corroding the very threads—yet Kim Dokja both did not notice and did not particularly care. 

But all good things came to an end. The two of you were met with an extremely exasperated Han Sooyoung at the door as she gave you a look, one that implied I expected better from you. For Dokja, the reserved expression was I expected this, to be honest. 

‘PDA is not appreciated during the apocalypse. Take that shit elsewhere.’

‘Thus, these reports can be summarily concluded in two points of advice: 

1. Unless you are Kim Dokja, do not attempt any of these activities with a gorgon. 

2. Simply don’t do what Kim Dokja does.’

[mrskyler]

✮⋆˙ ACEITO PEDIDOS ‹𝟹 ˙⋆✮

( Por favor leia tudo antes de fazer o seu pedido! )

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

⌗ Olá, meu nome é ■■, mas você pode me chamar de Mr. Skyler. Uso os pronomes tanto femininos quanto masculinos. Mas prefiro que se refira a mim como ele / dele.

⌗ Criei esse post porque eu sempre li aqui no Tumblr, aqueles one-shots em inglês dos meus personagens favoritos.

⌗ O problema era que eu tinha que entrar no Tumblr pelo Google e traduzir a página para o português, para que eu pudesse ler.

E nunca vi nenhuma dessas histórias escritas em português. Então cheguei a decisão de fazer isso eu mesmo, depois de virar a madrugada toda no celular.

⌗ Eu não sei ao certo como se mexe no Tumblr, mas irei aprender aos poucos com o passar do tempo. Então peço que tenham paciência comigo. ‹𝟹

୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

✮⋆˙ Fandons e personagens que irei escrever:

( Posso colocar mais depois. )

「 Omniscient Reader Viewpoint 」

Kim Dokja

「 Omori 」

Sunny

Basil

Omori

「 Toilet-bound Hanako-kun 」

Hanako / Amane

Tsukasa

「 To Your Eternity 」

The Nameless Boy ( O garoto do episódio 1 )

Fushi ( 1 temporada )

「 Heaven's Official Blessing 」

Xie Lian

Hua Cheng / San Lang

「 Solo Leveling 」

Sung Jin-Woo

「 DSMP 」

Philza

Technoblade

Tommy

✮⋆˙ Gêneros que eu vou fazer:

Fofo / conforto. ( Fluff / Comfort )

Angústia. ( Angst )

Ambos ao mesmo tempo.

✮⋆˙ Quais eu não vou fazer:

Histórias picantes / +18 ( Smut )

( Eu não me sinto confortável escrevendo histórias nesse gênero. )

୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

✮⋆˙ Explicações ˙⋆✮

⌗ Eu posso escrever a história tanto em um tema romântico quanto platônico [ Não tem nenhuma relação romântica entre você e o personagem que você escolheu. Ex: Kim Dokja x Child! Male reader ( platonic ) ]

⌗ Você pode pedir vários personagens do mesmo fandom ou de fandons diferentes.

# Só irei escrever para o público masculino [ posso tentar escrever para o público não-binário, mas eu nunca escrevi algo do tipo e tenho medo de desrespeitar a pessoa. ] Não me importo do público feminino curtir e interagir com minhas publicações. Sejam muito bem-vindas!

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

✮⋆˙ Sinta se livre para me enviar o seu pedido ‹𝟹 ˙⋆✮

⌗ Até logo!‹𝟹

[themissinghand]

Nice to meet you🤗..If the request is still open, Can I ask for Dokja's request for lucky female readers?🥹..Where do reader have high good luck?.The reader and Kim Dokja have known each other for a long time because the reader first started a conversation with Dokja (I'm sure it's fun when Dokja introduces reader to his group😂.) It's okay if not. Just don't be stressed by the requests. I hope the requests don't bother you.. Thank you.. And may your whole day till night be good.. Bye-bye.. Don't forget to take care of yourself.🤗💕

Omniscient Reader Viewpoint Lucky Star

Summary: In which Dokja finds his lucky star.

Or, maybe he’s not that unlucky after all.

Pairing: Kim Dokja x Lucky! F! Reader

Note: Thanks for your patience! Make sure you all take care of yourselves too~

Noona: typically used by younger male to call an older female or sibling.

Warning: None.

★・・・・・・★

If there is an angel in this world, then it must be you.

You were a bright light in his life, providing salvation to him in forms of patience, encouragement, and friendship.

You were his manager at the game company he worked at. Someone who was vibrant and cheerful, who possessed an uncanny ability to turn the mundane into moments of joy.

"Dokja! Let’s go for a drink!" You would say, your infectious enthusiasm pulling him into a world where deadlines and stress would melt away.

But you also knew when to not take in bullshit.

“Hey (Y/N), why are you overreacting? Huh? Just because I didn’t do my work the one time-“

“One time? It’s been a week since you did anything. And you put it on the newbie to finish it?”

“So what? You’re a terrible manager anyway, that’s why women shouldn’t work here-“

A snap silenced him.

“Hey mother fucker, calculate your severance pay. Talk to me like that in the disputes office and see who dies first.”

Kim Dokja heard it accidentally, but from then on, his respect for you has soared above the clouds.

"Dokja, you've got this! I'll teach you the ropes.”

Dokja marveled at your ability to lead the team with outspoken confidence, patiently teaching him the ropes and offering unwavering support when the challenges of the workplace seemed overwhelming.

“Happy birthday to our newbie, Kim Dokja!”

“Merry Christmas everyone! I got some gifts!”

“Ya, let’s go out for a drink everyone! I got the holy bank card from the boss!”

The team loves you for being a beacon of light, someone who could be fun and leader-like at the same time.

Dokja couldn't help but think that you must be cherished by the heavens, as you were blessed with an extraordinary dose of luck.

Like how you would “accidentally” meet important connections and befriend them, leading to successful results in projects.

Or how you would win those in gacha games with the character that you wanted.

“Noona, if you were in a game, your luck stat would be maxed out.”

“I guess so, but isn’t that good?”

Very soon after, little did he know that your luck would soon become a lifeline when the world plunged into chaos.

When the apocalypse struck, Dokja stumbled upon the familiar face in an unlikely place – the convenience store, hastily gathering supplies with a calm demeanor that belied the impending doom. It was then that he realized the depth of her luck, a quality that extended beyond corporate success.

Like how does someone find a healing elixir in a pile of junk food in the convenience store!?

Or how does she find a ultra rare bow in a police station?

What is this unfair world!?

Dokja appreciates your help and your luck, but at the same time, he can’t help but lament on his own life.

Perhaps the luckiest thing that happened to him was dating you.

With such a thought, Kim Dokja’s lips curled up and hugged you from behind.

“What wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Does my good boy want some love?”

Although he was blushing aggressively and in public, he couldn’t help but nod.

[The Constellation ‘Demon-Like Judge of Fire’ is squealing and wishing for grandchildren]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ thinks Incarnation ‘Kim Dokja’ play a main character of a romance comedy show]

[The Constellations have sponsored you 1000 coins]

“Get a room.”

Dokja expected the worst when Yoo Joonghyuk entered the scene, but to his surprise, your life was spared.

“She’s useful.” Says the emo sunfish as he glares at Dokja for absolutely no reason.

(Okay, there might be that one time where he returned a punch, and absolutely wrecked that protagonist…no regrets)

Dokja wants to smack him a few times in the face.

The revelation that her constellation was the Secretive Plotter added another layer of mystery to her extraordinary luck. The constellation seemed to guard her against many dangers, marking her as someone to be protected, though for some unknown reason.

Can’t say Kim Dokja has any complaints about that at all.

You must be protected at all costs.

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ thinks her lucky encounters and moments are interesting]

[The Constellation ‘Secretive Plotter’ donates 1864 coins]

Whatever it is, Kim Dokja has no complaints…scrap that, he has too many complaints since he has too many rivals!

“(Y/N), you are my lucky star right?”

“Yep! Don’t worry!” She pats him on the head and he ignores the knowing looks from others on the team.

“Hug.”

“Someone’s needy today.” Kim Dokja gave others the middle finger behind your back as he rested his head on your shoulders.

From that point on, Dokja affectionately dubbed her his "lucky star" or, as they playfully jokes, his "lucky charm."

Whether it was winning luck-based games or navigating perilous situations unscathed, your fortunate aura became a source of both amusement and comfort in the face of uncertainty.

“So, what’s it like raising a puppy as a Sugar Mommy?” Han Sooyoung asks you, who chuckles lightly.

“Han Sooyoung.” Kim Dokja twitched a brow, but calmed down a bit when you held his hand.

“He’s not a puppy, but he’s cute and bites people he doesn’t like. And he protects me well!”

“(Y/N)!” Kim Dokja blushes in embarrassment but couldn’t say anything in his stuttering mess.

Han Sooyoung raised a brow before she mimicked a barfing action.

“Damn girl, you have it hard, I respect you.” She patted your shoulder before leaving.

“Dokja, just like I’m your lucky star and charm, you are my lucky puppy. Okay?”

Looking at your puppy face, Dokja couldn’t say no.

“Fine…just don’t call me that in public…”

Kim Dokja felt a kiss in his nose, and he reciprocated the action by lacing your hands together.

“Aw, who’s a good boy?”

“Stop it…”

Your laughter is music to his ears, and while sometimes your teases make him want to hide somewhere in a hole and die from embarrassment, he loves you all the same.

“Get a room!”

“Shut up you sunfish!”

Maybe cursing at the protagonist isn’t the greatest idea.

(When has that ever stopped him?)

“I will kill you Kim Dokja!”

[snowfieldstories]

In Life and Death [Chapter 9]

Kim Dokja x Reader/Original female character

<< Series masterlist

a/n: I feel like I say this every time...but this is such an emotional whirlwind of a chapter. It's kind of obscene how much I managed to pack into this one (7.6k 😭)

Warnings: strong language, brief strong violence

Summary:

In which a reader finds herself tossed into the pages of her favorite web novel after her untimely death. A novel of a novel within reality. It's a reader's dream, right? Well, this reader vows to bring the right epilogue to her beloved character, Kim Dokja. She will give him the happiest of endings. Or she will die trying.

⚠️MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ORV WEB NOVEL AND MANHWA!!!!⚠️

Episode V. Chapter 9 — Reapers and Revelations

I walked beside Dokja on the way back, peeking at him every so often. He was deep in thought, but then so was I—or rather, lost in thought because his robe was gaping open at the chest and it was incredibly distracting. I'm swooning over a patch of skin like some medieval male seeing bare shoulders for the first time.

As if hearing my thoughts, Dokja suddenly blinked and tightened the closure of the robe. Damn it.

"You're back!"

A dusty Gilyoung and Namwoon greeted us eagerly, the younger boy bouncing around the returned group like a grasshopper. Namwoon took one look at Dokja and stopped dead in his tracks.

"You." He pointed an accusing finger at Dokja, looking rapidly between the two of us. "What the fuck—"

"Language," I said absently, more confused than anything.

"—the FUCK happened?! Where are your clothes?" he shrieked. Dokja made the mistake of glancing at me, equally baffled by the reaction and hoping that I would have an answer. It was instead a sort of confirmation for the Delusional Demon; Namwoon's expression shifted into horror. "D—did you two really fu—u—?"

The word stuck in his throat, like he couldn't bear to voice the thought aloud. Namwoon ran up to me, lifted my arms, and inspected my clothes, hair, and skin. He prodded a red welt on my arm and cried out, "This—!"

"That's a burn," I said drily. "You fucking bonehead."

His anger was back on Dokja. "You burned her??"

I forwent the usual forehead flick and slapped his cheek, then grabbed his face roughly. "Kim Namwoon, shut the hell up. We were with a large group of people the whole time and fighting a dragon...do you really think there was time to do something like that?"

There was a silence as he processed my words. His eyes widened in understanding.

"Ohh. Shaw-rry," Namwoon tried to apologize through the squish of his cheeks.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' mournfully wishes it were true.]

Yeah, I'm sure she did. Once again, I was left questioning the holiness of such a thirsting and voyeuristic archangel.

I looked back at Namwoon. He was closing his eyes in rapid, absurd motions, trying to bat them like some remorseful damsel. It only came across as disturbing.

"I've been too lenient with you," I muttered, and shoved Namwoon away, hopping up onto the platform.

"Angel-noona, I'm sorry!" I heard him wail behind me. Then I heard him say, "I should have known...angel-noona would never get with you."

He yelped as he was, presumably, smacked upside the head.

Delusional bonehead, indeed.

"Sangah!"

She turned. "Yeona-ssi!"

"What the hell happened here?" asked Heewon behind me.

Sangah had dust and soot on her face, and the station was scorched beyond belief; tile was chipped away from gunfire and blood streaked every surface.

While they talked, I miraculously found my backpack under a pile of rubble. I grabbed the pair of men's clothes (of course, I had expected to need them for this very reason) and handed them to Dokja. "Hopefully they fit."

He furrowed his brow. "They're men's clothing," I emphasized.

"...Thank you."

Gilyoung detached himself from Dokja's robe and ran over to me with a smile. Namwoon moped in the back as I inspected Gilyoung for injuries.

When I looked back up, Dokja had already pulled on the pants and shirt. Shit, I missed it. Perhaps I should have appreciated his lack of clothing more when I had the chance.

One of the Dongmyo people pointed at the opposite tracks, trembling. "T—the apostles!"

Four severed heads were lined up like ducks in a row. I curled my hand around Gilyoung's shoulder to turn him away, but he remained unbothered, as if the heads were nothing more than pieces of rubble from the fight.

Another head was kicked into our line of sight. Yoo Joonghyuk emerged from the darkness, propping a boot on top of it.

"It's you! You screwed up my plan, didn't you?"

Han Sooyoung, the plagiarist.

She (or, he, at the moment) began feuding with Dokja over her foiled plans and the Book of Revelations. I watched her and zoned out.

Should I acknowledge that I recognized her? I couldn't see the drawbacks, except it would make her aware of my exceptional knowledge; it might put her more on edge around me, shifting her wary focus off of Dokja for the time being. That would be good.

Yes. Perhaps it was better for Han Sooyoung to view someone as a greater threat.

"Kill him!"

"If you really know the future then let me ask you one thing." Yoo Joonghyuk flicked his blade up to Dokja's neck as he spoke. Dokja held up a hand to restrain our outraged party members. But I was no mere member of the party.

[You have activated the exclusive skills, 'Fleet of Foot Lv. 6' and 'Sacred Light Lv. 6'.]

Joonghyuk's wavy hair rustled as I appeared behind him, holding a dagger of light to the small of his back. Dokja went slack-jawed as he looked at me.

"You had better be bluffing," I spoke directly into the regressor's ear, barely a whisper. "Regressor or not—I will kill you if you maim him."

Too many things from the novel had changed already. I would not take the risk that Joonghyuk's decision not to slit Dokja's throat here was certain, even if it was originally.

"What? What is it? What happened?" Han Sooyoung questioned their sudden silence.

I gave Joonghyuk a prodding poke with the blade's tip, and his exhale was halfway to a growl; from the sudden concern on Dokja's face, the regressor's expression must be approaching murder.

Then, Joonghyuk said stiffly to the head, "I will ask you this. Will I kill this guy or not?"

"Yes, you will kill him! Come on, do it! Kill—"

The sword lowered a fraction. I caught Joonghyuk's ankle just before he stepped on her, and leaned down in a way that my lips couldn't be read. "Listen up. I know you, plagiarist. You can't hide from me even in your stupid avatar."

"Who—?!"

"Hush. We'll see you soon, but until then, behave yourself. Han Sooyoung."

"WH—hmpmph—!" I shoved her face down in the dirt, prepared to crush it with my hand. Instead I tapped the black boot next to me. "Ah, Joonghyuk, would you mind...?"

For a second, I thought he might kick my face into a crater. But then he crushed the plagiarist's head under his boot. "Too mouthy."

Something told me he meant more than just the avatar.

I paused in my glare to process his death date with my shinigami eyes. He had an indefinite line under his name, like Dokja. What?

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is intrigued by your words.]

[300 coins have been sponsored.]

Hm, nice.

I popped up next to Joonghyuk with a sly smile. "Thanks! I didn't want to get brains all over me."

Joonghyuk's jaw twitched. He eyed the bandages around my neck, and his mouth set in a hard line. The next moment, he was gone.

"Yeona—" Dokja blinked "—uh, Yoo Joonghyuk? Hey, Yoo Joonghyuk!"

Dokja ran after him. I inspected the chunks of avatar head. Well, that should be enough to set her on my tail. She hadn't been able to see me, so it would take some time for her to pick me out, but the provocation was there.

"I need to learn that," said Heewon when I rejoined them on the platform. "Is it a skill?"

"What, my 'Fleet of Foot'? Yeah, it is." Though the skill was available for a high price with Platinum access of the Dokkaebi Bag, I had gained it after completing a scenario for Hermes of Olympus in the last round. I nodded my head at the slumped figure propped against a round bench. "Is that Lee Jihye?"

"Yes. She was knocked out during the fight with the apostles," said Sangah.

"Are there any clean blankets we could give her?" I asked. Then I spotted a familiar—unsullied—embroidered blanket now rolled up in Gilyoung's arms. "Why don't we use that one?"

A fire burned in Gilyoung's eyes as he shook his head rapidly. "Noona, no!"

"Gilyoung-ah, why..."

"It's a gift. From you. I won't let her touch it." A gift from me? Is that what Persephone told him?

Well, Gilyoung clearly held a special attachment to the item, so I didn't fight him on it. He grew suspicious as I drew near. "Here, keep it safe in this."

I offered the black backpack, nearly empty save for a few loose items and energy bars. Gilyoung's face lit up as he smiled, stuffing the blanket in and slinging it over his shoulders eagerly. "Thank you, Yeona-noona!"

I smiled as he walked around, testing it out. Sangah next to me, with an air of melancholy, said, "He looks like he's ready for his first day of school."

There was an unexpected prickling in my eyes. Lee Gilyoung should be preparing to go to school; he shouldn't be fighting for his life every day in scenarios, and he shouldn't have to be raised by strangers in a world as ruined as this one.

A lone child amongst mostly adults. We need Shin Yoosung and Yoo Mia with us.

I noticed Dokja return and huddle with the two Dongmyo prophets to discuss spreading the plagiarized novel. Kim Namwoon inched over to me, hovering until I acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that why you made me stay behind?" asked Namwoon. "The dragon?"

I gave him a careful look. "I thought you would be the best form of protection here in Chungmuro."

"Oh, yeah—!"

Namwoon's curiosity was diverted as he began boasting about his "unmatched strength" and "really fucking cool skills." I reminded him about swearing, even though Gilyoung wasn't within earshot.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' complains that incarnation 'Kim Namwoon' is only as cool as his sponsor.]

"Of course, you already know I'm the best, angel-noona!" he said. I gave a noncommittal sound in response, and he rambled out a few more haughty statements before ambling off, satisfied as a cat having just caught a river fish.

"You're very good with children."

I jumped. I hadn't realized Yoo Sangah was still there. "Oh, um, no. Not really."

Sangah pursed her lips in amusement. "Did you care for children before? Your own? Ah," she smacked, "you're pretty young. Perhaps your family, then?"

I felt something within me dim.

"...I don't know." The brutally honest words hung in the air. Sangah's forehead creased, apologetic, but I continued, "It's fine, I just—don't have anyone. No family. And definitely no kids of my own."

Even with my attempt at lightheartedness, the conflicted look on Sangah's face remained. I squeezed her shoulder with a small smile before stepping away.

I was glad that Sangah seemed to be regaining her morale. Odd as it was to say, it was probably leading a battle against the apostles that helped the most.

But...thinking of Sangah and those recent events reminded me of something.

I wandered around the station, between small crowds of people and rows of sleeping lumps against walls, searching. My eyes picked over unimportant names and death dates. And then I saw him.

I set my shinigami eyes on the hook-nosed bastard: 'Kang Doyeon.'

Bingo.

By the way, I wasn't completely lying when I said I wouldn't kill people here. I really wouldn't use names from Chungmuro—except one.

This Kang Doyeon was a piece of shit, a cowardly snake rather than a person, and I was merely disposing of the trash. To be honest, he probably expected it of me. I wasn't going to take the risk that he might attack me himself—or worse, someone else, like Sangah or Gilyoung.

Kang Doyeon had conspired to kill me. I wasn't going to let that slide.

Angels of death deliver vengeance, do they not?

Perhaps I also held a teensy little grudge over his message-reading ability. I was certain it was the same 'Nosey Parker' skill, just like that fucker in the train car of my last round.

This was only a proper retribution, overall.

I hummed as I found my way back to the central platform.

"Yeona."

It was Dokja who called me. I went over to him, glancing at the furiously typing Dongmyo guys. "Yes?"

"Will you read this over once it's finished?" I sent him a questioning look. "You're more of a writer than we are, so it's best if you check it."

My eyes widened, not only that Dokja had assumed I knew exactly what they were doing over here, but because—"How did you know I write?"

"You're always doing it on your phone. You're writing a story, aren't you?"

I was stunned into silence. I didn't realize that Kim Dokja observed me that closely, watching me do trivial things like tapping away at my smartphone every so often.

"Y—yeah," I managed. "I am."

He nodded, fixating on the laptop screen once more. "Good. Then you can improve this one when we're done."

I sat nearby along the wall, unsure of whether to feel flattered or unnerved. Right now there were definitely a bit of both floating around inside me.

One of the Dongmyo men looked over at me with an odd, puzzled expression. Well, I wasn't a character from the original novel. "You...are you a prophet, too? Where did you get off?"

Dokja glanced at us sharply. I smirked at the man. "I didn't get off."

"Whaa—?" The other man paused typing.

"I'm a regressor."

"Huh?!" he shrieked. They were both under Dokja's control anyways, so it didn't matter if they knew. "H—how...?"

"Shut up, we don't have time." Dokja jabbed the loud one and he got back to typing.

The first stared at me, a bit awestruck. "So, are you and Yoo Joonghyuk—?"

"I said shut up," said Dokja fiercely.

They were cowed back into silence, with nothing but the rhythmic sound of typing filling the air.

Eventually, they finished a rough draft and passed along the laptop to me. A seriously rough, rough draft. I cursed under my breath and began correcting, rewriting, and filling in the blanks. God, can they really not spell "regression"?! What happened to autocorrect?

The three began to chat as I worked. I paused at Dokja's sudden muttering.

"Characters..." Dokja looked over at Sangah and Gilyoung for a time. His face softened as he was unable to read their skills. Then he turned to me, unfazed that I was already watching him. He peered into me.

And that cryptic look of his returned. Something cold and hard dropped in my stomach.

But then Dokja smiled—it's too sharp, I thought—and asked me to keep editing the novel so they could release it soon.

After a moment's hesitation, I did. An hour later I passed him the story.

"Wow," he said, eyes roving the text in appraisal. "It's...readable."

"Don't sound too impressed," I grumbled, flexing my aching fingers.

"No—okay—it might even be enjoyable, except it's still an awful plagiarism, even if we wrote it," said Dokja quickly. "But as an homage, you turned it into something remarkable. Your writing is, not the copied story..."

I laughed. "I get your point."

Dokja blew out an exhale, as if relieved. He eyed me curiously. "I'd like to read what you're writing too, someday."

My expression was immediately complicated. I wanted Dokja to read my story one day, but then...perhaps not, if we never reached the assumed point in our relationship that I'd experienced from his visit in the last round. I dug my toe in the ground. "Maybe someday."

Dokja weighed the laptop in his hand. "Thank you for doing this, Yeona. I think it will sell much easier now that you've given it quality."

"You're welcome," I said, my face feeling warm all of sudden.

Now that the most pressing thing was taken care of, it was time for me to finish my own personal challenge.

I passed a still-unconscious Jihye—"Stop balancing rocks on her face, Namwoon."—and now-sleeping Gilyoung, until I was perched against a column in a way that hid me from the general eyes of the station members.

[A constellation that likes to hunt commends your still-hunting method.]

Kang Doyeon was smart. He hovered around groups of people that could notice him, but not include him in their activities so he wasn't forced to interact with anyone. People were leery of him—but also aware.

I was patient.

He finally got up to use the toilet, and I activated my speed skill to zip past him in the empty hallway, snatching him up as I went. I hurled him into an empty room and slammed the door behind us.

"You knew I would come eventually, Kang Doyeon."

Whatever he had been about to say was strangled in his throat as he paled. "How," he croaked, "how do you know my name?!"

I leveled him with a withering stare. "You think even if I didn't know your name, I wouldn't still kill you?"

At the word "kill", his pallor sickened into something grey.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' rubs his hands eagerly at the prospect of blood.]

[The constellations of revenge are delighted at this turn of events.]

[Some constellations are wary of your merciless attitude.]

I clapped a bolt of sacred light over his mouth before he could scream. His limbs were shackled together soon after.

"Alright, let's get this over and done with," I said while typing.

[The individual 'Kang Doyeon' is rejected for reaping.]

[Individual is protected by the 'Guardian Angel']

The rage that took over me was indescribable.

This stupid, fucking little hidden scenario was giving me such ridiculous grief. It didn't even show up in the original novel, nor in Dokja's Ways of Survival; it should not be such a thorn in my side.

How pathetic it would be to die at the hand of a mere hidden scenario before the fifth main one had even begun.

I stepped outside the room to throw my tantrum in solitude, then I went still.

Wait. Even if I died, I would regress, would I not? 'Pinpoint Regression' was different, but no one said I couldn't point my pin towards my own future regression series...

I shook my head to clear the thought. No, it wasn't guaranteed. And worse—Dokja might not exist properly even in future regressions of this world-turn.

Kim Dokja did not exist in any world but this one. Not as he is now, anyways. Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint was pretty clear on this matter (unless I was reading it wrong, which I didn't think I was).

Under no circumstances was I going to risk losing a chance to bring my Kim Dokja his happiest ending. And I didn't want to abandon my people here, either.

Footsteps brought me out of my mind.

Gong Pildu rounded the corner and only needed one look at my current emotional state to understand. "The hidden scenario," he said. "You got a bad message?"

I dragged my hand across my face and grit out, "Today's reaping was denied. I'm getting really fucking tired of that happening."

Gong Pildu stared at me hard, strangely so, and I was immediately on guard. Was, perhaps, Gong Pildu...?

"You really are the Reaper," he said, surprised.

My temper flared. "Of course I am! I declared it yesterday, didn't I?"

"I—well, I didn't know. I thought maybe you were bluffing when you said you were," said Gong Pildu sheepishly. "So I guarded you and that bastard this time. I figured whoever reacted poorly to it would be the real Reaper."

His sincerity gave me pause. I watched as he rubbed his neck in shame.

There was a beat of silence as we both pondered. Gong Pildu's face darkened suddenly. "Choi Yeona, please forgive my actions."

I drew back in shock as he got down on his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor in a bow. "What...?"

"I've wronged you in many ways. I didn't mean to, but now I see that I have." He took in a deep breath. "Hwang Si-woo was part of my Landlord Alliance. I didn't like him, but he did good work for me. I—I shouldn't have told him my role in the scenario. When this whole Reaper business came about, he asked one day if I'd guard him and someone else with my Angel status. I didn't think anything of it at the time, so I did."

"..."

"It was before I thought you might be the Reaper. I've never wanted to harm you, my girl."

I looked at Gong Pildu for a while. I harbored no anger towards him over this revelation—in fact, I felt rather sad for him. It seemed that his mind was still confusing me with his love for his daughter.

"Please stand up."

He lifted his head slowly, and I helped him back up to his feet. I looked him square in the eye. "Of course, I forgive you. I can tell you're a good person, Pildu-ssi."

Gong Pildu, the true Guardian Angel of the scenario, wasn't trying to kill me. He didn't mean any harm.

If only I had trusted Gong Pildu from the start.

I wrapped his hands with mine, acknowledging my mistake. "I should have been more honest with you from the beginning."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have just asked you, Yeona-girl, trusted your words. It was a daft idea; I thought, by knowing the truth, I could defend you better this time..."

Gong Pildu was a good man.

"I'll be sure to include you in my plans in the future."

"Don't worry about it."

Gong Pildu squeezed my hands, the corner of his eyes reddening. Again, I felt he wasn't really seeing me. I wondered if these people would only ever see me as a replacement for someone else: a lost daughter, an absent mother-figure, a failed protector, a helpless younger sister, a sacrificing best friend... There were more than enough possible roles for me to play, if they desired.

Maybe instead of creating my own story, I could never be anything more than a filler in someone else's.

It was a depressing thought.

But, I wasn't one to dwell on such things when there were more pressing issues at hand. After speaking with Gong Pildu, I now wondered something else: if he was the Guardian Angel, then who exactly was the Angel of Judgement?

Hwang Si-woo must not have known, because he had sought to incite the entire station, probably hoping that the remaining Angel would reveal themselves and pass judgement on me.

Actually, I was surprised it hadn't already happened. Dokja's exercise of representative's control (and possible punishment) must be enough to hold them off.

...Until I could figure it out, or tomorrow passed with no issues, I wasn't in the clear.

I conferred with Gong Pildu and came to a solution.

There were sixteen hours left on my daily Reaper timer. Plenty of time—except the actual hidden scenario ended in five. Gong Pildu's Guardian Angel protection over Kang Doyeon and I only lasted for three more hours.

A two hour window wasn't bad, but still close enough to leave me uncomfortable. I was determined to use Kang Doyeon for the final day of reaping, and so I would wait until the protection was lifted, use his name, and be freed of this scenario shackle.

I set an alarm on my phone. Then I opened my Bank of Lady Fortune account and spent 150 luck on my situation. It seemed excessive, but I was a little on edge right now.

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' respects your plotting!]

[500 coins have been sponsored.]

We bound Kang Doyeon in regular rope, ensuring his mouth was gagged so he couldn't bite his tongue and suffocate on his own blood before I could use him, and left him in the room. Gong Pildu swore to keep watch over him for the remaining time.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is greatly displeased at the lack of bloodshed.]

"Oh, go play rocks with Kim Namwoon," I griped at him.

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' says that he isn't a child!]

"...You said it, not me."

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' cackles.]

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' smirks at the 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon'.]

[4,000 coins have been sponsored.]

There was an embarrassed silence from the chuuni constellation, which made me grin.

"...Aren't you taking it too easy?"

"I also need to sleep."

I caught the end of the conversation as I returned; Heewon seemed baffled as Dokja curled up on the ground. Sangah placed a blanket over him and saw me. "Oh, Yeona-ssi. We're going to take turns watching over him, if you want to go first?"

I nodded and settled next to Dokja. He was already fast asleep.

The 'Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint' skill must have already kicked in, because his face twitched. For a time, I rested my chin on my knees and watched him.

But the wait was making me antsy—the hidden scenario still on my mind—so I glanced at my phone. Around two hours left.

Watching Dokja "sleep" helped calm me: his steady breathing, the way I could see his eyes rolling back and forth underneath his eyelids. I brushed a hand across his tensed brow.

Two blue messages stopped my heart in its place.

[You have been judged as the Reaper.]

[You are protected by the Guardian Angel. Judgement will not face penalty unless there is a second input by the Angel after protection has lifted.]

"Oh," my voice broke, frail and quiet.

Truly, I possessed invaluable luck. If I hadn't used my luck, would I have...?

There was a dull, buzzing sensation throughout my body and my head felt light. Already I had come near death twice in this scenario.

"Oi, Choi Yeona..." Heewon stretched her arms overhead as she strolled up to me.

Most of our companions were resting. Jihye was now gone—something about retrieving a precious item from the Daehan Cinema, according to Heewon—and Heewon suggested I rest too while I could. "Hey, you don't look so good. Are you sick?"

"...No." I cleared my throat. "I'm fine, I'll stay up with you."

Heewon shrugged and slid down against the wall. She glanced at my hand, still on Dokja, and I retracted it. Her grin sent shivers down my spine. "What are you two, anyways?"

"We're companions," I said blandly.

"Oho, but you're not companions in the same way as all of us."

"Jung Heewon..."

She held up her hands. "Alright, alright. Say, what did you do before all of this? Your fighting skills are scary good."

I blinked at the quick change in subject. "Data analysis."

"Huh?" Heewon gaped at me. "There—there's no way! You did kendo or something, right?"

"Nope."

"Damn." She blew a piece of hair out from her face. "I'm jealous. Maybe you should teach me sometime."

It made me smile. "That could be fun."

Heewon looked at me for a moment, like she wanted to say something else, but then smiled back and leaned her head against the wall. "This world is batshit crazy now," she mumbled.

I shifted on the ground. "What did you do before all of this, Heewon?"

She took my casual use of her name in stride, and she began telling me animatedly about her bartending job and the nutcase patrons that the place attracted. Heewon had me gasping and giggling at her stories the remainder of the time until Dokja began to stir.

"...and I kept pouring him water shots that he insisted burned worse than tequila—oh! Sleeping Beauty awakens without a kiss. Well, maybe not beauty..."

Dokja's eyes opened and noticed us.

Heewon shot me a sly grin and said, "I'll be going then. By the way, don't come up with any more stupid plans in the meantime, got it?"

"Okay?" I was confused, but waved her off as she left with an air of mystery.

Dokja gave me a long, pensive look as he sat up. Then, it was like something settled in him, a resolve that hardened at last. "Did you cry when I burned?"

What the actual hell?? Where was that coming from?

It was a rather harsh question. Perhaps I hadn't grieved, but witnessing his death again was difficult all the same. Even knowing of his impending revival hadn't been enough to quell the fear in my heart.

I faked nonchalance. "I didn’t cry for you."

"Not even a single tear?" he said casually. "So callous. It's almost like you weren't even surprised at my death."

"Of course I wasn't! I'm an all-knowing regressor."

"…You really are."

His tone dropped, and it made my breath catch. This was—

"Jung Heewon asked me if we'd planned it. My death. She said you seemed ready for it."

There was a ball of anxiety anchored in my stomach. "Well, this isn't my first round."

"But is it really your second?"

I was silenced.

"You knew I would need a solar power bank, and you knew I would get Unbroken Faith, you knew I wanted to take Chungmuro, and you knew I would die, revive, and defeat the dragon." His stare was unblinking. "Yeona, if I wasn't around in your last world-turn, then how did you know all of these things?"

Fuck. Fuck—I did tell him that he had died early on in my last round. Why the hell was I so careless?

"Would you believe me if I said I was also a prophet?" I asked weakly.

The raised brow he gave me was unyielding.

I wasn't ready for this conversation. Not now. Probably not ever.

Honestly…I had suspected this might happen. Perhaps not so soon—but Kim Dokja was not stupid. I had noticed his fleeting suspicion, my other slips of the tongue with information, his previous distance. He wasn't the type to let something like that go forever; I was becoming an increasingly unknown variable, a considerable threat to someone who operated entirely on preexisting knowledge from a book.

I knew this, because I was very much the same.

My heart thumped like a rabbit's as I contemplated. Was I about to have my "Divorce Arc" moment? No, maybe worse than that since I was overdependent and unrequitedly attached to Kim Dokja. He didn't need me in his story the way I needed him in mine. 

Should I lie, and say I had lived countless regressions of this timeline? It would certainly lead to Dokja asking more questions. The web of lies would only grow more tangled and, eventually, I'd still have to tell him about the novel. He might really hate me then for such a twisted betrayal of his trust.

No…I owed him the truth. A companionship with him would never work in the long term if I didn't.

I fisted the material of my pants to stop the trembling in my hands. "I am a regressor now, ever since my last round, but before that I was a reader. And this world was my story.

"In my first life, I found a web novel. O—Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint." Dokja startled at the name of the skill he'd just been using. "It was the story of a 28-year-old salaryman so obsessed with a long novel that he read it through until the end. And then that novel became reality. I read this story. Over and over again—I was rather obsessed myself. Like the man." He listened with rapt attention. "One day, I died in that life. And, somehow I was given a second chance, a fulfilled wish, to journey to the novel that I loved so dearly. To reach the ending with the ones I loved."

"The characters."

Dokja's expression was unreadable. I shook my head. "I don't see you all as characters. I can't."

Well, perhaps I did refer to them as such in my mind sometimes, but only for distinction. In my heart, Kim Dokja, Yoo Joonghyuk, Yoo Sangah, the others...all of them were more real to me than any of those faceless people from my first life.

My nails dug into my palms as I waited. A pressure was building up, but I couldn't tell if it was emotion prepared to burst from Dokja or suffocate inside of me. Dokja crossed his arms and I glued my eyes to the ground.

Then he laughed.

It was a sound of disbelief, a cackle of incredulity, and when I dared to look at his face he was smiling. "So that's why 'Character List' glitches out on you."

That reflective glass I'd sensed, the one it seemed was holding the last of Kim Dokja's reservations about me, shattered.

Breathing became much easier.

"I wasn't expecting—no, I should have. It makes the most sense. And I can't help but believe it." He cocked his head at me with a snort. "All those times I couldn't read someone because they weren't a character…I was a character myself all along."

"Dokja, no! I swear I meant it when I said I don't see you as a character!" I grabbed his hands, urgent. "You must remember, I've spent years in this reality already—a full life-turn. And I can hardly recall what it meant to exist in my first life. This story is my life now. You are my story…or, maybe I've become the story with you."

My cheeks warmed as I realized how romantic the words might sound. I released his hands.

Dokja hummed in thought. "So you're in a similar situation as me. Only you came first."

"I guess?"

"It's a bit confusing. Your novel is of my story, you said? But you regressed here?"

I grimaced. "Yeah. I read the web novel in my first life, then transmigrated into—"

I couldn't reveal the exact turn I came from. Not that I was constantly worried about ripple effects (let's be real, my entire existence from day one caused monsoon waves of repercussions), but I knew that certain vital pieces of information needed to be revealed at critical moments, and by certain people. I was not one of those people.

"I transmigrated into a world-turn not from the novel's main timeline, then I followed Yoo Joonghyuk into his regression here."

"Not your own?"

"My stigma is ‘Pinpoint Regression.’ I can latch onto another regressor and choose to join them in their world-turn."

Dokja was confused. "But, didn't you introduce yourself to him?"

"Ah, yeah," I said. "My stigma retains my own memories of the previous turn together. It doesn't guarantee his."

It wasn't a very solid truth, and certainly didn’t make sense, but the influx of new information must have been overloading Dokja's brain because he only nodded, a bit dazed. 

Then, for the first time, his mouth slipped into a deep frown.

"Yeona, why did you follow Yoo Joonghyuk into his turn? Are you two, perhaps…"

I choked on my own spit. An intense feeling of déjà vu washed over me. "No. We're just old companions." Dokja didn’t seem convinced, so I doubled down. "We weren't like that. Aren't. I...followed him because I knew you would be here."

It was rather embarrassing to say out loud, but I didn't want a single misunderstanding on that front. 

"I told you that you died in my last round, and that's true, but the whole truth is that you don't properly exist in any round but this one. This 'you' is a singularity." He seemed at a loss for words, so I added, "I don't quite understand how it works either."

A thought struck me.

"Dokja, the Fourth Wall…your barrier isn't shaking at any of this?"

"You know—? Right, of course you do." Dokja put a hand to his head. "It's been strangely quiet this whole time."

Interesting. I had no plausible explanation, so I didn't comment any further on it.

In fact, I was relieved. I didn't want to cause him any mental grief just because I had revealed my circumstances.

I remained quiet as Dokja became absorbed in his thoughts. It was a lot to process, and I was grateful that he was taking it so exceptionally well. It took a special kind of person; I was fortunate that that person was Kim Dokja, the sole reader of all of TWSA.

Perhaps he was truly the only person in the world who could.

At last, he looked up at me, as though studying me fresh over. And to him, I was fresh—a new and undiscovered story. An entirely different kind of person than he believed me to be. I only hoped his regard of me hadn't changed with it.

His scrutiny then became too much, and I itched for a distraction.

[Many constellations complain about the filtering!]

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' begs to know what you and 'Kim Dokja' discussed!]

[The constellation 'Abyssal Black Flame Dragon' is bored by all of this talk.]

[The constellation 'Prisoner of the Golden Headband' is wondering about your conversation.]

[The constellation 'God's Lone Soul Courier' inspects the nourished bond.]

What the hell was Azrael doing here? Well, at least he wasn't licking my soul this time.

"The constellations are paying close attention," I commented.

"Too bad for censorship," Dokja responded with a sardonic lift of his mouth. "Bihyung is probably ready to tear me apart for the inconvenience."

"Probably so."

We looked at each other, two readers aware of the other's existence. Then Dokja's smile softened into something genuine.

"Yeona, you're a stereotypical isekai story," said Dokja.

I made a noise in my throat. "At least I didn't reincarnate as a villainess."

Dokja laughed, surprised. "You know those too?"

"I've read other web novels besides yours, you know!"

"Mine," Dokja echoed. "Wait, so did you really read about m—"

Beeep! Beeep! Beeep!

Shit, the alarm. I fumbled to turn it off on my phone. Then I immediately put in Kang Doyeon's name.

[The individual 'Kang Doyeon' is accepted for reaping.]

[You have completed the role of 'Reaper'. Congratulations!]

[Rewards will be distributed upon completion of the hidden scenario's timeline.]

I sagged against the wall. It was nearly finished.

My shoulder was enveloped by a warmth. "Did something happen?"

Dokja's alarmed face hovered over me. Feeling a bit dazed still, I reached up to pat his cheek. "Just some good news with the hidden scenario."

His skin bloomed pink under my hand. "It's almost over. You've taken four names already?"

"Yeah." My voice grew stronger. "I have."

"That—that's good." Dokja stood, then helped me up. "We need to discuss the main scenario with everyone now. I have a plan."

"I know." He shot you an amused look.

"You're going to be saying that a lot, aren't you?" he said, a tinge of exasperation.

"Most definitely."

Dokja shook his head and called over everyone. I gave my input every so often, not changing much of the original plan besides suggesting that Kim Namwoon join him, Gilyoung, and Sangah to Gwanghwamun. I would accompany Jung Heewon on her mission.

In fact, I had my own personal one.

After listening a bit, I wandered off to let Gong Pildu know that his job on guard duty was no longer necessary. He gave me a relieved look. "I'm glad you're in the clear, now."

Nearly so. But I didn't bother correcting him.

We returned to the group.

"First, noona was the Reaper..."

"Unnie was a Reaper, too? That's funny."

I caught Jihye's comment as I walked up to my companions, all of them talking in a group. Gilyoung must have started to catch her up on what she had missed now that she was back.

"Heyyy, angel-unnie!" Jihye waved at me. The grin on her face dropped as shock took over. "What happened to your neck?"

I touched the bandages. "Just a small scuffle."

"Oh." Jihye looked conflicted, but then her eyes lit up. "By the way, did you share your angel status or something?"

My wary expression was reflected in our companions' faces. Jihye frowned at all of us, as if perplexed by our confusion.

"I mean," she spoke slowly. "What's this 'Angel of Judgement' and 'Reaper' nonsense, anyways? Do I have to really put in a name? It's a riddle, isn't it? Do I get a prize for guessing right?"

Her excited questions blew past each and every one of us.

"What exactly did you do, Jihye?" I said hesitantly.

"Well, I was going to guess your name, unnie, but then I thought—hey! Kim Namwoon always calls you an angel of death, so maybe I should try someone else first. So I put in Heewon-unnie because she's kinda like an angel of judgement, with her fiery sword and stuff, right? Right?" Jihye nodded enthusiastically, then rocked back on her heels. "But it didn't work. Then I got bored and forgot about it, because Master needed my care—I mean, help...

"Anyway, I tried you this morning, unnie, but it said a guardian angel was protecting you? Whatever that means," she finished blithely.

Oh my God.

I was utterly speechless.

Sangah sounded faint as she asked, "Did...you not read the scenario rules, Jihye-ya?"

"Nope." She popped the 'p' casually, blinking back at us.

The silence was smothering. Then an impending doom suffocated the heavy air.

"Lee—fucking—Jihye."

Kim Dokja's aura was bathed in darkness as he pierced Jihye with an unspeakable rage. It channeled Yoo Joonghyuk rather impressively.

"Uh..." Jihye's eyes drifted around, reading over the hidden scenario messages to see what she had missed.

"O—oh," she said, scratching her head with a nervous laugh. "I'm the Angel of Judgement...and I had to guess the Reaper's identi—"

She choked.

It seemed she had gotten to the part that described the penalties for failure.

Dokja was shaking. "You almost killed her."

Heewon and I snatched up his arms a split second before he lunged forwards. I let Heewon take over for me, and Dokja allowed her to drag him away and down the hall, heaving.

"What kind of brainless fuck!" Kim Namwoon was writhing and flailing like a rabid dog as Lee Hyunsung clutched his middle. The soldier carried him up to another floor, and Namwoon spewed foul, expletive-laden threats at the high school girl along the way. "You're going to wish you were never born!" he howled.

Gilyoung, Sangah, and Gong Pildu looked at Jihye with disappointed and unimpressed glares.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' raises an eyebrow at the 'Maritime War God' in judgement.]

[The constellation 'Maritime War God' is embarrassed.]

"I—I'm really sorry, angel-unnie!" wailed Jihye. "I was stupid; really, really stupid! I should have read more carefully!"

I couldn't help but laugh now that it was all over at last. "It's actually because you didn't read carefully that I'm still alive. So...thank you?"

"I'll never read carefully again," she sniffled, teary as she clung to my shirt.

"That's not what I meant..."

Then Jihye began sobbing, and I was stuck reassuring the blubbering, inconsolable girl, despite it having been my own life on the line.

I eventually peeled her off of me to go find Dokja, and spotted Heewon standing through an open door. The moment I entered, Dokja gripped the top of my arms painfully. "Don't piss off a dokkaebi ever again."

"It wasn't part of the plan," I sighed.

Dokja's eyes narrowed—and then I was pulled into a tight, almost suffocating, embrace. It was the first time he had voluntarily hugged me like this (at least in this round), and I was pleased, despite feeling rather like a mouse caught by a boa constrictor.

"You aren't leaving this room until you promise," he muttered.

"Haha..." My nervous laughter died out when he squeezed harder in response. "Um, Dokja."

Holy shit, I really needed to upgrade my strength stat. I managed to maneuver in his hold to rub his back, shooting Heewon a plea for help.

She smirked and left. Thanks a lot, you traitor.

"Fine, I'll...do my best." I resumed patting Dokja, it being the only thing I really could do at the moment.

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' points out that you have an empty room now.]

[A constellation that enjoys sex offers to light some candles.]

We sprung apart as if burned, our faces steaming as we looked away from one another. That was not—

"Just," Dokja said tightly," don't die. Okay? You're a reader, so you can't die."

I nodded, my own attention sharpening on him now. "I want to say the same for you, but I know better."

Dokja was dumbfounded. I looked at him, knowing, and we fell into a contemplative silence.

Ah, but anyways...all's well that ends well, right?

Next part ->

A/n: Now the true revelations have concluded. On to the next!

[swdm360]

ORV—Not Supposed to Happen

➡ 〔Kim Dokja x AMAB! KPOP! Reader〕

➡ Letter Content: Where a kpop idol loves to read webtoon after practice. His group's holiday turns into a nightmare fest and now he struggles to accept his reality.

➡ Messenger Note: If I wrote a fanfic lol, TW: Mentions of death, murder, blood. I mean, it's the first scenario cmon.

---

How could the protagonist of ORV adapt so easily? How could he have thought so fast in the matter of a few minutes? How could he be so lucky?

Well, you weren't him.

You didn't have fourth wall like every fanfiction out there may suggest... Why not? You're just as well aware of this fictional world as Kim Dokja is, so why not you?

You asked these questions because unlike him, you had to follow the rules in the first scenario. You had blood on your hands.

The blood of a friend turned traitor. Now, you're desperate to have a peace of mind. Where else other than by the actual protagonist, Kim Dokja's side?

---

This wasn't how the holiday was supposed to go.

This wasn't a dream, you've tested it. The pain is real, the squeeze in your heart felt real, the blood trickling down from your cheek to the floor felt and so did the multiple wounds on your arms felt real.

【The constellations applaud your tenacity.】

This... Was supposed to be fictional, a fun little webtoon to read after practice.

So why were your friend... Your family sitting in a sea of their own blood? Why did you hold the knife and why was it lodged into your mates' head?

Why are your hands red?

Why are you trembling, crying?

【Congratulations! You're the only survivor in this room!】

【300 coins gifted for completion. 】

A scream echoed in the hotel room.

Was that screaming you?

Was that why your throat is parched?

Shit.

You let out a sob, your hands smudging the large window panes overlooking Seoul with red. Your body felt weak as if you were contracting the worst of covid-19's symptoms kind of weak. The 'running a 5 lap, 1000m marathon' kind of weak, the 'danced everyday, without sleep, without rests and without food for hours on end' kind of weak.

I mean, how could you not feel exhausted? You were roomed with the main dancer in your group who regularly exercised—in addition to that, one of the former gymnast champions in all of Japan.

It's a surprise you survived instead of him.

A weakling, only ever locking yourself in your room despite being the lead dancer just to get a chance of reading the ever-so-popular omniscient reader's viewpoint.

ORV in short.

You were close to the main dancer, someone who you won't name as a friend anymore; He who jumped at the butter knife and launched at you to survive. He who screamed for you to give in because he would make sure to avenge you.

Avenge you?

You weren't even dead.

Of course you'd fight for your life.

How could he attack you in your most vulnerable state? You thought you could trust him. He was your friend after all. He was supposed to protect you. How could he try and kill you?Ha. You didn't even know you had it in you to break his wrist, to pick up the knife and stab it through his head whilst he was strangling you.

You didn't know you had the guts in you to kill.

To kill your own.

You stumbled into the wall, your breathe barely catching the needed oxygen for you to survive as the sobs successfully slipped out through your lips.

Staggering, you approached the doorway. Dismissive that you would regret not collecting the items you needed for survival going forward as all there was in your mind was your other group members.

What about the leader and the youngest? What about the staff members and the assistant trainees? Are they alive? Are they dead? Did they kill to survive too?

Your hand twisted the doorknob, but you didn't open it.

"(Name)...? Y-you're alive?"

It's your leader. Your eyes were getting heavy, either way you willed yourself to look into theirs.

He must've been expecting him...

【The Constellation 'Blind Hunter with Lion Skin' is interested on how you will take care of this one. 】 【The Prophet whose prophecies were not believed bets that you will spare him. 】

"...Sunbae."

Your knees buckled below you. A headache forming in your head from the messages.

Luckily, your leader catches you, his hands trembling as well but his face steeled at your state.

"I... I killed him." You stuttered out, body flinching as his hands gripped your shoulders.

"Shh... It's okay now." His voice spoke ever so softly, as if you would break if handled roughly. He placed your head onto his shoulders as he rubbed your back in a comforting manner.

"He tried to—he went for me."

"I know. I know."

"I'm scared."

"I'll protect you. Your sunbae will take care of you." Liar.

His voice hitched.

He's as scared as you were.

His hands... They're red too.

Flashback? Idk yet, these two constellations are my fav.

[rainflower-writes]

—HYUNG! [PT.2]

—HYUNG! PT.1

────────────

"Hyung" is a Korean term used by males to refer to an older male, typically an older brother or close male friend. It expresses respect, affection, and a sense of closeness.

────────────

"Noona” is the term used by males to address older females, particularly older sisters or female acquaintances

────────────

As time seemed to slip away, it was now Dokja’s fifth year as an elementary student, and he felt the weight of that very passage of time pressing down on him.

He stood at the school gate, his small frame almost dwarfed by the towering entrance.

The morning air was brisk, carrying the scent of freshly mown grass, yet it did little to ease the tightness in his chest.

Dokja’s lips were pursed into a thin line, his gaze fixed on the concrete pavement beneath his scuffed shoes.

He could feel the penetrating stares of his classmates, each glance a jarring reminder of his solitude.

Some eyes were filled with pity, their owners whispering to one another, while others sparkled with mockery, cruel smirks playing upon their lips.

He hated it.

Kim Dokja hated it.

The sharp stabs of their gazes weighed heavily on him, pushing against his small shoulders and making him long for the comforting embrace of anonymity.

What stung the most was the absence of his hyung, who usually stood by him, offering a smile and a gentle nudge to set him on his way.

Today, however, that warmth was replaced with a chilling distance.

With each passing second, [name] had become increasingly consumed by the demands of his final year in high school.

Their mornings together, once filled with laughter and shared breakfast, had all but disappeared, replaced by rushed farewells and a sense of urgency.

Dokja understood the importance of this year; it would shape [name]'s future and determine the path he would take.

Yet, that understanding did little to console the restless feeling that swirled painfully in his heart.

The moments spent with [name]—the affectionately whispered jokes, the small snacks exchanged during their hurried breakfasts, and the playful bickering that marked their sibling bond—were treasures stored deep within him.

They were not just routine; they were lifelines, joyfully interwoven into the fabric of his days.

Every shared laugh felt like a warm ray of sunlight, casting away shadows and fears.

But now, with the abrupt shift in their relationship, he felt as though that light was being snuffed out before his eyes.

With a heavy heart, he finally exhaled a deep sigh, feeling its weight settle in his stomach as he reluctantly stepped inside the school gate.

Each of his tiny feet dragged along the pathway, the familiar path to his classroom suddenly feeling foreign and uninviting.

The sounds of laughter echoed around him, a chorus of joyful voices blending into an overwhelming tide that swept over him, leaving him adrift.

He missed [name] more than he was willing to admit.

The void left by his hyung's absence was palpable, an ache that gnawed at him incessantly.

As Dokja trudged forward, each step felt leaden, weighed down by the absence of that special connection.

The familiar sights of the school, once filled with warmth and promise, now felt muted and distant, their essence dull without [name] by his side, ready to share in the joys and trials of the day.

—

It was a bright and cheerful Saturday morning, the kind of day that seemed designed for adventure and laughter.

The sun streamed in through the kitchen window, bathing the modest home in a warm, golden glow that danced across the polished wooden floor, highlighting the dust motes swirling through the air.

Dokja's heart swelled with joy; Saturday had always been his favorite.

His dad would be out and about for the whole day and return the next day, full of promise and the freedom to explore.

Although he typically looked forward to his mornings with anticipation and warmth, today was different.

Positioned at the corner of the hallway, Dokja narrowed his eyes, half-hidden from his Hyung's view.

Clutched tightly in his arms was a beloved chicken stuffed toy, its faded feathers a testament to countless moments of comfort and joy.

It was a playful memento gifted to him by [Name] on his 8th birthday, a day filled with laughter and joy.

"I swear it looks just like you," [Name] had exclaimed, that infectious laughter ringing in Dokja's ears.

The memory made his cheeks flush with a delightful mix of embarrassment and amusement, prompting him to retaliate playfully by slapping his brother's back in mock fury.

With a determined set to his lips and a playful glint in his eyes, Dokja carefully tiptoed his way toward the kitchen.

Each step was calculated, the floorboards creaking gently under his weight as he moved.

Just as he entered the inviting space, he overheard [Name] busy at the counter, the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air, rich and inviting.

It was a scent that felt like home, enhancing the cheerful atmosphere of the morning.

Without warning, spurred by curiosity and that playful spirit, Dokja blurted out, "Is she your girlfriend?"

The sudden question hung in the air, and [Name] flinched, caught completely off guard by the unexpected inquiry.

His hand jerked, and with a startled expression, he accidentally spilled coffee grounds onto the countertop, a small mess that only added to the hilarity of the moment.

He quickly turned to face his younger brother, a look of annoyance creeping across his features as he processed the unexpected question.

"W-what?" [Name] stammered, visibly thrown off balance, his eyes wide with surprise as he struggled to regain his composure.

"I said, is she your girlfriend?" Dokja repeated, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion as he searched his brother's face for an answer.

Each passing second added to the tension, the expectation palpable in the bright kitchen.

"W-where did you even learn that? And no!" came [Name]'s vehement response, his voice rising with incredulity.

He shook his head fervently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite his attempt at seriousness.

In jest, he instinctively pushed Dokja’s head away, trying to mask his embarrassment and laughter amidst the absurdity of the question.

Dokja pouts slightly, a frown creasing his brow as he watches [Name]'s broad back move with purpose toward the girl sitting comfortably on the couch in their living room.

The space is a cozy mess, with thick textbooks and scattered notes covering the coffee table, remnants of their study session.

Laughter and animated conversation fill the air, punctuated by the occasional rustle of pages as they exchange ideas and insights.

As Dokja observes the scene, he can’t help but feel a mix of jealousy and longing, wishing to be part of their lively discussion.

Dokja huffed, his small feet making soft thuds against the polished wooden floor as he hurried down the hallway, hoping for her to read him a story since someone is too busy pinning for a girl.

...

[Name]'s right. Dokja needs to stop reading romance novels; they're teaching him too many new words.

—

"Is he your little brother?" Her voice flowed gently, a soothing melody that seemed to wrap around the words and draw the listener in with its warmth and charm.

It was a pleasant tone, one that invited conversation and connection, although [Name] couldn't help but wonder if the charm came more from her voice or his own scattered thoughts.

[Name] hummed thoughtfully, shifting his gaze from the weighty history book that lay open before him.

He watched intently as the small figure of Dokja, with all the enthusiasm of childhood, scampered away clutching a piece of chicken tightly in his tiny hand.

The sight brought a smile to [Name]'s face, a momentary distraction from the world of dates and events he had been trying to absorb.

Standing nearby was Bae Eun-sol, a classmate who had been a familiar face since their first year of high school.

Her expression was one of fondness as she observed Dokja’s antics, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of amusement and affection.

After a brief pause, she redirected her attention back to [Name], her gaze lingering a bit as she took in the changes that had unfolded in him over the past year.

[Name] had undergone a remarkable transformation following an unexpected growth spurt that coincided with the end of their second year.

He had developed broad shoulders and a more defined physique that seemed to reflect his newfound confidence.

The lines of his face had sharpened, lending him a more chiseled appearance, with his jawline taking on a prominent definition that hadn’t been there before.

It all made him appear older, more mature, as if he had stepped out of the awkward phases of adolescence and into a new chapter of his life.

Eun-seol couldn't help but chuckle to herself, reflecting on how far he had come.

'He's transformed from that small, awkward ball of chaos into someone so much more.'

"What?"

"it's nothing"

—

Graduation day unfolded like a vivid memory, its vibrant colors and sounds blending into a whirlwind that overwhelmed [Name].

He stood at the edge of the gathering, where the air was thick with excitement and the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

All around him, classmates joyfully reminisced about the years they had spent together—the laughter, the struggles, and the bonds forged in the fires of youth.

Yet, as [Name] observed this cherished moment, a profound sense of sadness wrapped around his heart, twisting it with bittersweet nostalgia.

“Getting nostalgic?” Eun-seol teased, her voice bright like the morning sun as she playfully poked his biceps with a gentle jab.

Her laughter was melodic, a sound that mingled with the chatter of their friends, but all he could offer was a faint smile.

It faltered slightly as his eyes fell upon the extravagant bouquet of deep red roses she held delicately in her hands.

The petals glistened in the sunlight, and he couldn’t help but feel a storm of irritation brewing within him.

Who gives red roses to graduates? It struck him as both impractical and absurd.

“Stupid ones,” he muttered under his breath, his annoyance thick with jealousy, teasing the edges of his expression.

Eun-seol was blissfully oblivious to his inner turmoil.

She beamed as she engaged with her friends, her laughter spilling over as they playfully teased her about the roses.

“Oh, it’s just from someone in the other class,” she said, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that contrasted beautifully with the bright blooms.

Even from a distance, [Name] could see the shyness flickering in her eyes as they poked fun at her and the mystery behind the flowers.

It was evident that the attention made her both flattered and bashful, her smile blossoming more with each playful jab from her friends.

As [Name] watched this scene unfold, he felt a sharp twist of longing in his chest—not just for the carefree days they were leaving behind, but for the connection he knew existed between them that he never had the courage to fully explore.

The celebration of their achievements felt overshadowed by unspoken words and burgeoning feelings, and in that moment, he yearned for the chance to step forward, to shift the narrative from mere friendship into something deeper.

But for now, he stood silently, a spectator to the joy and laughter swirling around him, feeling the precious moments slip through his fingers like sand.

────────────

“Hyung!” Dokja called out, his breath quick and shallow as he dashed toward [Name], a wide, affectionate grin lighting up his face.

In his hands, he held a small bouquet of hydrangeas, their delicate petals showcasing a stunning blend of deep blues and soft purples, each bloom shimmering slightly in the morning sun.

He lifted the flowers high above his head, a triumphant gesture that radiated his excitement, eager to share the blooming gift with [Name].

“Thank you,” [Name] replied softly, his eyes sparkling with delight as he took in the beautiful arrangement.

A warm smile blossomed on their face, and instinctively, they reached out to ruffle Dokja’s hair, an affectionate gesture that spoke volumes of their closeness.

In an instant, Dokja erupted into a flurry of playful protests, his cheeks coloring a charming shade of pink as he swatted at [Name]'s hand, trying to break free from their teasing.

“Hey! Stop that!” he huffed, the playful annoyance in his voice only adding to the lighthearted, joyful atmosphere that surrounded them.

Eun-seol sat quietly in the corner, her eyes keenly observing the lively interaction between the Kim siblings.

She had visited their household numerous times, and each occasion only deepened her appreciation for the bond they shared.

It was a bond that seemed effortless — filled with laughter, playful teasing, and an undeniable warmth that enveloped them.

No matter how often she witnessed it, she couldn’t shake a twinge of envy.

Their close-knit relationship stood in stark contrast to her own, which often felt distant and strained.

Still, there was something undeniably charming about the way the siblings navigated their conversations, their affection evident in every word and gesture.

Eun-seol could only admire them, wishing quietly for a connection that felt just as genuine and sweet.

"Noona!" Dokja exclaimed, his face lighting up as he spotted the girl walking toward them.

His bright eyes, mirroring the sharp gaze of his older brother, quickly shifted to the vibrant bouquet of flowers she held in her hands.

A wave of annoyance washed over him as he realized that his hyung was being overshadowed by a stranger he didn’t recognize.

Dokja couldn’t help but notice the agitation radiating from [Name], the discomfort evident in the way he stood, his expression shifting into one of frustration at the sight of the roses.

Dokja's small stature seemed to pulse with a mix of protective instinct and youthful jealousy.

'That ridiculous expression on his face would be completely pointless if Noona has feelings for someone else!' he huffed with exasperation, frustration evident.

As the minutes slipped away, Dokja found himself wrapped around [Name]'s waist, feeling both comforted and somewhat detached from the whirlwind of activity around him.

The solemnity of graduation day enveloped them; families and friends filled the stands, their faces beaming with pride and joy.

Yet, Dokja’s thoughts drifted, unfocused, as he watched his brother cross the stage, clad in a cap and gown with a mix of pride and relief.

The cheers and applause echoed around him, but they felt distant, almost muted.

He couldn't shake off the sense of boredom that clung to him, his mind wandering as he absently traced patterns on [Name]'s side, seeking solace in the warm familiarity of their presence while the world celebrated a significant milestone.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the landscape, Dokja found himself cradled in [Name]'s embrace.

The young boy, clearly weary from the day's adventures, stubbornly refused to walk any farther.

His head nestled comfortably against [Name]'s shoulder, his soft hair brushing against [Name]'s skin.

With his small arms draped loosely around [Name]'s neck, he seemed to relax completely, surrendering to the safety and warmth of their connection.

The world around them faded into a gentle blur as they moved together, a picture of trust and comfort in that tranquil moment.

"Kim [Name]!" The familiar, melodious voice of Eun-seol cut through the silent night.

Startled, [Name] spun around, his heart quickening at the sight of her. Eun-seol, with her long hair cascading down her shoulders, was making her way towards him, her legs moving with urgency as she hurried to close the distance between them.

As she reached him, a playful grin danced across her face, but it was quickly followed by a swift motion—she raised her hand and playfully slapped [Name]’s arm.

The suddenness of the contact made him yelp and step back, eyes wide in surprise as a sting radiated from the spot she hit.

"W-what?" he stammered, furrowing his brows in confusion. The playful nature of her gesture was overshadowed by his bewilderment.

Eun-seol pouted, her lips pressing together in a way that highlighted the rosy hue creeping onto her cheeks.

"You didn’t… you didn’t bring me a flower at all!" she exclaimed, the hint of disappointment lacing her voice.

[Name] frowned, tilting his head slightly to the side as he processed her words.

"What’s the use? You don’t even like flowers, Eun-seol," he replied, a hint of skepticism in his tone.

As her cheeks flushed deeper, Eun-seol shook her head vigorously, her frustration palpable.

"You—why are you so oblivious to things like this?!" Her voice rose unexpectedly, reaching an octave that made [Name] flinch, wide-eyed at her sudden intensity.

The contrast between her deepening embarrassment and rising voice made the moment feel both serious and amusing, and he couldn’t help but wonder about the underlying feelings stirring beneath their playful banter.

Dokja let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of their unspoken emotions.

He buried his face in the warm crook of [Name]'s neck, enveloped by the familiar scent that always brought him comfort.

In that moment, a realization settled over him like a fog—despite the deep connection they shared, both of them were blissfully unaware of the intricate web of feelings that lingered just beneath the surface.

It was almost tragic how they were made for each other, perfect companions lost in their own worlds, unable to see the undeniable bond that had been quietly growing between them.

"Next time, you have to bring me flowers!" Eun-seol declared with a huff, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

The bouquet she had been expecting was nowhere in sight, only adding to her frustration.

Bae Eun-seol had spent the entire day perched on the edge of anticipation, hoping that Kim [Name] would finally gather the courage to approach her with a bouquet of flowers.

In a fit of exasperation, she suddenly swung the delicate roses she had received at an unsuspecting stranger, the sharp thorns grazing his cheek.

"I don't like flowers!" she declared with a flair for the dramatic, her voice echoing through the air like a thunderclap.

The man, who had intended to abscond with her, crumpled to the ground in shock, petals scattering around him like confetti.

Her friend stood by, eyes wide and mouth agape, struggling to comprehend the chaos that had just unfolded before her.

"What? Why?" [Name] blinked in confusion, momentarily distracted from the situation at hand.

His arms were gently cradling Dokja's small, peaceful body as the boy drifted off into dreamland, his soft breaths fanning against [Name]'s neck.

The juxtaposition of Eun-seol's annoyance and the calm serenity of the sleeping child made the moment feel all the more surreal.

Eun-seol irked as she flashed to taller male an irritated look "stupid!" she yelled before turning around and stomp away.

"Wait, Eun-seol!" [Name] called out, his voice rising above the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze.

He stepped forward with urgency, his heart pounding.

In that moment, the delicate hydrangeas, carelessly gifted to him by Dokja, teetered precariously in his grasp.

He reached out just in time, fingers curling around the stem to prevent the vibrant blossoms from toppling over.

[Name] frown in confusion as he watch her back radiating with frustration before realization cross over his mind.

"Eun-seol!" he called out in panic, watching as the girl didn't intend to stop.

"I like you!" [Name] bellowed in embarrassment as his face turned red, he was thankful there was no one in sight.

It seems that he has completely lost not only his sense of dignity but also a part of himself that he can never reclaim.

[secretivemessenger]

A three-way with KDJ , YJH

CW: Face sitting! Rimming! Riding! OOC! Them holding hands while being played w by you! <3

Heaven’s could not describe how lucky you are, having two pretty boys right on your dick.

Yo jonghyuk seated perfectly on your face, as you drill your tongue past his ring of muscles. Holding his trembling thighs tightly, digging your nails in, drawing out blood. His body couldn’t stop twitching around as he can feel his hole being abused by your swift tongue.

His low and shameful cries as he pushes back against your tongue almost unheard because of the loudness of Kim Dokja. He took your cock like an absolute Whore. Riding it with admirable determination, with the thought of milking you dry. Having you fill him up to the brim.

His hips quickly moved up and down on your cock, his hands on your abdomen supporting him up. his mind feeling dizzy as another orgasm was pulled outta him painting his bulged tummy white for a third time. Throwing his head back as an even louder set of moans leave him as he continues to fuck himself against you.

He absolutely loves overstimulating himself on your cock, slamming himself repeatedly even after he just came.

The mixed moans of both was such an amazing sound to hear, you could just relax up and sleep with just hearing all their cute whimpering because of you.

It made you so soo cocky by getting someone as fierce like YJH in such state, and even more cocky by having a constellation riding you like a desperate slut. Everyone would be soo jealous of you.

With the way you were eating YJH out he almost lost his balance if not for sweet Dokja taking him by his hands, both staring at eachother, as you glance down at them with the side of your eye in aww

It turned you on even more if that was possible. Their intense staring cut short as both clinged tightly against eachother as your body got to moving again. Wanting nothing other than to completely mess them up <3.

Almost forgot this- 🏷: @gaybitchfx @vyloy

[3smos]

warning: drabble. dom reader. sub character. drabble. gender neutral. hand job. overstimulation.

kim dokja curls into himself, his fingers gripping at your freshly cleaned clothes as if that'll bring him back to his senses.

his entire body burns but he holds himself down from removing your hand.

"fuck, fuck... hn..." dokja pants loudly, his hips bucking and fucking himself in your hand wrapped loosely around his throbbing cock.

you asked the man to show you how much of a good boy he could be. it surprising how far he'll go to prove himself.

dokja's hand shoots out to grip your forearm as you dig your thumb in his slit, beads of precum rolling out and helping you in the process. you used it as lube.

"ah waitwaitwait!!" you quickly remove your hand, watching his squirm in your lap. he whines loudly, dropping his head in the crook of your neck.

he gulps, swallowing the little saliva he had in his mouth. he licks his red, and bruised lips, planting a gentle kiss to your neck.

"i never said to s-stop..." you rub his back, trying to soothe him through his denied orgasm. dokja grinds against you, panting into your ear as his sensitivity heightens once again.

"you don't have a choice."

...