Chapter 1: Overture
Chapter Text
“Hyuk-ah, I’m home,” the salaryman called out, carefully removing his shoes and setting them neatly at the entrance.
“Took you long enough,” was the gruff response to the greeting, which came from the kitchen.
He stepped into the space where his partner was, and found him setting the small table up with dinner. “What’s it today?”
“Japchae, and some yaksik.”
“Interesting combination.” Yoo Joonghyuk raised his eyebrow at that. The salaryman gave him a cheeky smile. “Either way, I have nothing to complain about, you’re the chef after all.” He reaches to pinch his lover’s cheek, which Joonghyuk swats away. “Wash your hands first, you nasty man. You’ll contaminate my face.”
“I have other ways to mess your face up—”
“Hyuuuuuung, what are you upto?”
Yoo Joonghyuk almost dropped his phone, and cursed inwardly. He locked his phone in a matter of milliseconds — thank God for pro gamer reflexes — even though he knew his screen guard prevented anyone from looking at his phone at all.
“Namwoon, I thought you were warming up.”
“I was, but I wanted some pointers from you as to how to approach the orcs without it depleting my health bar to almost nothing.” Kim Namwoon sat next to Yoo Joonghyuk, squinting at the older man. “I know you don’t really need to game with us, but what’s up, hyung? You were looking at your phone like it owed you child support.”
Child support? The fic he was reading warranted him needing psychiatric guidance the more he thought about it.
His response was short, too curt, which was characteristic of him. “It’s nothing. Just social media.” Still, he hoped that Namwoon didn't pick up on what was occupying his mind.
Yoo Joonghyuk had an emerging problem, an addiction of sorts to this innocuous work of fanfiction floating online that shipped him with an ordinary salaryman of all people. The work had irritated him when he’d first heard about it from Uriel, his PR manager, who was going on and on about it, much to his dismay.
Early in his career, he had been slightly annoyed at being considered as a character, merely a dehumanised doll, a plaything by his fans, but he'd grown to appreciate them more over the years. He also acknowledged that they were responsible for his huge success in the eSports world. He was regarded as a monster on his debut into gaming and that fact didn’t change over the 12 years of his career, but it would be dishonest of him if he didn’t acknowledge at least some of his popularity came from his good looks.
It was no secret to anyone who knew her that Uriel loved yaoi. Joonghyuk was willing to bet his right thumb that she had separate burner accounts for every fictional couple she was obsessed with, and commissioned at least 20% of the fanart circulating in those fandoms. She did have a rule, however. She never shipped real people publicly.
Of course, that went to hell when this fic spawned into existence.
Her obsession with this particular piece of fanfiction made her suggest the stupidest ideas to him. From trying to find him salarymen via blind dates, making a dating profile for him on the apps, to almost making him sign into a reality dating TV show, just so that he can be happier. And see her (not so) retired pro gamer AU come to life.
He understood that it came from a place of concern from Uriel. They’d practically grown into adulthood with one another and their careers had bloomed together, after all. He owed quite a lot of his success to her. It was just too suffocating for him.
“For the last time, I’m not into men.”
“Or into women,” she had pointed out, popping her bubble gum. “You’ve not been into anyone, like, ever.”
“You know what I mean,” he’d scowled. Sure, he’d had a few flings when he was younger, but they were just to see what the hype was about, his way of dipping his toes into the pool. It didn’t make him feel anything profound, so he’d given up the pursuit of lust — and love — as immediately as he’d started it. He had better things to do, anyway.
“You know, if you actually read ‘The Lulling of the Siren’, you’d get it.”
“I really don’t think reading myself fuck a man twenty different ways is going to change anything.”
She had the nerve to giggle. “Who said you were fucking anyone?”
He had pretended not to hear that. “‘The Lulling of a Siren’ is a stupid name.”
“Don’t hate it till you ate it.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s written well. Consider it a reading exercise and remove yourself as the character if you get too uncomfortable. It’s a fun read.”
“I have better things to do with my time.”
“You’re fooling no one with that, Yoo Joonghyuk.”
It took him two weeks after that conversation to open an incognito tab on his PC and get on the fanfiction site. He felt like he was fourteen again, looking up porn on his beat-up PC, except this was far more embarrassing to admit or to be caught with. He knew the gist of the fic: retired pro gamer Yoo Joonghyuk and a salaryman get together, but nothing more than that. He didn’t know whether to be thankful or dread what's to come.
It definitely didn’t need 180k words. That much, he knew.
He didn’t look at the tags. He didn’t know what they meant anyway.
Taking a deep breath, he started reading. And it took him two minutes to process the scene that was spread in front of him.
He was being mouthfucked by the salaryman. Or, to be more precise, the character, Yoo Joonghyuk, retired pro gamer, was giving a blowjob to the unnamed salaryman.
He squinted at the words again, caught completely off guard, his vision hazy, then realised that he wasn't wearing his glasses. When he put them on, he hoped that the words had miraculously changed into something else.
They didn't.
The salaryman was good with his words . The author was good with his words. He knew how to set a scene, Joonghyuk had to give him that, but…
Yoo Joonghyuk, on the receiving end? Huh.
That wasn't something that had happened. Not like he'd know a lot better, the last time he got laid was years ago when he was drunk.
Quirking his eyebrow, he moved on to the next chapter. And then another one. And another one.
‘The Lulling of a Siren’ was definitely a self-insert fanfiction, he theorised, but it had a weird premise. It was a slice of life fic depicting the life of the salaryman and his — the character Yoo Joonghyuk’s — retired life as a couple. A slice of life that was set in Dionysus’ endless drunken orgies. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but the sexual scenes that were in every other chapter didn't help Yoo Joonghyuk’s almost prudish sensibilities.
The interesting part was that he found himself vaguely curious about his supposed partner, the salaryman. The salaryman, who had no name throughout the fictional world. Like he was meant to be an obscure ghost who hovered around the fictional Yoo Joonghyuk just to give him the bliss of a retired life.
Self-inserts were supposed to be just that, self-inserts. Devoid of too much personality, so that the reader can project themselves onto the media as seamlessly as possible. They had to be a John Doe, a Mary Sue, a moldable, foldable lump of the most malleable material known to fiction. Their existence was pure wish fulfilment copium to be huffed so that the reader doesn't hurt his pretty little head from experiencing media through an actual three dimensional character.
This self-insert had a personality. Had too much of it. He was a generous man. An annoying, exasperating man. A man with sadistic tendencies. A man who hated his job but was good at what he did. A man who knew what to say, who knew how to charm people, who knew how to smooth talk his way out of trouble. A man who loved Joonghyuk (the character) to pieces. His affection was palpable even in the rougher smut scenes. Yoo Joonghyuk was surprised to find he didn't hate the scenes at all, though he was still a little miffed about being the bottom in this fic.
Weirdly enough, Yoo Joonghyuk felt like his own character was the self-insert, the more he read. Maybe it was the eerily good characterisation of the character Yoo Joonghyuk. Maybe it was the fact that a small part of him yearned for a blissful life with a companion. Maybe it was because he'd never thought about retirement in this way, he'd never thought of retirement at all, but maybe—
“Oppa, are you going to make us dinner? It's 9:30.” Yoo Mia’s voice broke his reverie, and he minimised the tab in record time. He hated it, but he told her to order takeout. It was too late to cook something good.
“Cool, I'm ordering pizza. Your face is flushed like a tomato, is it because you finally got a girlfrie—”
“Mia-yah.” His signature glower told her everything. If it was anyone else, they'd be too intimidated to even consider crossing a line.
She snorted instead. “I should have known, you're not going to get anyone when you have that scary expression on your face.”
Another withering glare. When did she start talking back to him? He missed the younger version of her who took his words as gospel. Instead he has a somewhat smart talking teen in his hands now.
“Go. I'll be back once I finish work.”
The door had shut itself, leaving him to his thoughts.
In the coming months, he found himself hanging onto every update of the fic. The author had a schedule of uploading every two weeks, on a Friday night, no less. Perhaps the author had no life beyond this fic, beyond his imagined life as a salaryman who managed to domesticate a pro gamer as wild and uncooperative as he is. It would make sense. But it also didn't.
Does he even know anything about me? It's cute how he pretends to know me and how I'd act, this author. It's infuriating. Maddening .
He could not get enough of it.
Yoo Joonghyuk excused his addiction as an insight into how the fans view him, but even he couldn't explain how the author knew about his aversion to any food not cooked by himself. Or how he knew that Yoo Joonghyuk didn't like coffee. Or that his first exposure to gaming was through a second hand GameBoy. He was almost certain that he didn't ever mention anything about his personal life in his livestreams or his videos — hell, he barely mentioned anything at all, because he hardly ever spoke during his livestreams.
The author was either an insider from Gourmet Gaming, or he was a creep. It was funny how the former option bothered Yoo Joonghyuk more than the latter.
“Hyung.” Namwoon’s concerned voice startled Yoo Joonghyuk back to reality. “Is it the stalker situation again? You know you can tell us, right? Should I let Minyoung-ssi know what's up?”
“No need. There's no stalker. I was just looking at my Twitter timeline.” His tone held an air of finality that Kim Namwoon couldn't argue with.
The author wasn't a stalker. He was a far more pervasive presence in Yoo Joonghyuk's life at the moment. The popularity of the fic didn't help him either. All his fans who'd read it couldn't stop themselves from going on about it on Twitter, about the ‘gap moe’ of Character Yoo Joonghyuk and how accurate the description was of his actions in juxtaposition to his words.
Gap moe? What on God’s green planet were they on about? If there was anything moe about him, the ruthless monster gamer who dominated South Korea’s eSports world in the past decade, whose face held a permanent glower like the universe owed him an eternity for his mere presence on earth, he would eat dirt.
“Fine. Just help me out with this orc sitch. I got the build down pat like you’d specified but I’m not making any headway.”
Yoo Joonghyuk paused for a moment, then got up. The tournament was approaching sooner than he'd like, and he had to make sure that his team members were in as good form as he was. He couldn't afford to think about pointless things like who the author was or what was going to happen next in the chapter or if the author would watch the livestream he'd scheduled for later in the evening.
His mind wandered back to Character Yoo Joonghyuk, how he'd retained his sense of self even on retiring. Being a domesticated husband while the salaryman took care of him — in more ways than one — didn’t seem like a bad life at all. He was surprised that he didn't completely hate the idea of being taken care of. Though he knew it was fiction, he often found himself going back to the idea of him having that kind of time free for himself, though he didn't know what he'd do with it.
Retirement, huh. I never considered that.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s skyrocketing career was a boon for both him and his sister, and it had come at the most inopportune of times, when his parents had abandoned a toddler Yoo Mia at his doorstep with not even a letter to his name. He didn't know how to raise a child then, and he sure as hell didn't know how to now, but the money after his initial success helped a lot. He'd invested quite a bit of money in stocks and hedge funds over the years, and he had enough to sustain a family for three lifetimes.
What does it mean to retire?
He imagined that it would be restless, a slow but sure onset of madness, having a lot of nothing to do with his time. He had Yoo Mia to take care of, and she had always been a handful, but what about the rest of his time? Where would it go?
It would be nice to have a partner, a companion even. Slowly, over the months that he'd spent reading the fic, the yearning for something grew in him like a chasm, an infant demanding for his attention. It wasn’t an ache or a pain, but there was clearly a tangible lack of something. It wasn’t that he wanted romance in his life after years of staying out of it. He never outwardly craved romance, he wouldn’t have rejected all the moves made on him if that was the case.
He had friends. He had Yoo Mia as family. He had people he cherished, who were willing to put up with his unpleasant exterior because they cared about him, they valued him, and he was willing to show up for them in his own way. He cared too. He wasn’t made of stone, no matter how much Lee Jihye joked about it. He was content, for the most of it.
It was just this sense of vague loneliness, his heart gripping at nothing at all, phantom spasms clutching at the fleeting sense of being seen, being understood, being witnessed by another being. No, he concluded, he didn’t want a romance. But God help him, he’d be lying if he denied that he wasn’t even a little envious of ‘Character Yoo Joonghyuk’ and his salaryman beau.
Do I want to retire?
He couldn't answer that. He didn’t know yet. He hadn’t thought about it, to be frank. There was so much he’d achieved, yet he wanted something more. He was still looking for something tangible to hold onto. Maybe it was a purpose, his purpose of sticking around for so long. But what? He liked gaming, he happened to be damn good at it. That was all there was to it, right? Did it really have to matter in the grand scheme of things? Or was he trying to prolong his shelf life for as long as he could?
If he’s still the unbeatable Supreme King in this world, would there be any progress if he stuck around in the field that he was pushing the limits of? Or was he just the big bad shark that scared the new blood off his turf, dooming South Korean eSports to stagnation?
For the first time in his life, he began to doubt himself.
“Wow, Captain looks extra frowny today,” Lee Jihye commented as soon as they entered the lobby, her mouth occupied by a rather sugary donut. “Oi, Namwoon, did you piss him off again?”
“I didn’t do anything of the sort,” Kim Namwoon huffed, indignant.
“If he’s bothering you, I’ll punch him for you, Captain. Coach-nim taught me a few moves over the past few months.”
Joonghyuk couldn’t help but glare at the girl. “I’m here to give some pointers to Namwoon. Don’t waste my time.” He idly wondered when their coach and his old martial arts teacher, Namgung Minyoung got the time to teach Jihye anything with their packed schedules recently, but decided it was better he didn‘t know. The last thing he wanted was his coach overhearing him and challenging him for a duel he was sure to lose. Nobody wanted to deal with the embarrassment that came with that.
“Cool, I'm bringing donuts to the Arena. I'm joining you guys.”
“Jihye, get me some cola, please?” Kim Namwoon lilted.
“Get it yourself, loser.”
His dejected pout was a sight that made Yoo Joonghyuk feel a little sorry for him, though he didn't let any of that show.
His job was to lead this bunch. Him, Kim Namwoon, Lee Jihye, Han Donghoon, Lee Hyunsung and Jang Hayoung, the team that he'd personally picked over the years at Gourmet Gaming. He had a discerning eye for raw talent and he knew how to shape his team up. They were great, honestly. He didn't know what it meant for their futures if he retired, since Lee Hyunsung was also retiring late next year to focus on his wife.
Yoo Joonghyuk took a deep breath, trying to expel his doubts and wandering thoughts out of his head. He didn't have time for any of that. He had better things to do, after all.
Chapter 2: Stella Maris
Summary:
"If the winds of temptation arise; If you are driven upon the rocks of tribulation look to the star, call on Mary; If you are tossed upon the waves of pride, of ambition, of envy, of rivalry, look to the star, call on Mary. Should anger, or avarice, or fleshly desire violently assail the frail vessel of your soul, look at the star, call upon Mary."
— St. Bernard of Clairvaux
Notes:
Huge thanks to Moghie and Sam for beta reading. Dunno what I'd do without y'all.
(Sam caught me writing 'disemboweled' for 'disembodied' in this chapter, I wanted to end it all in embarrassment).
There's gonna be a lot of DokSoo in this chapter and the coming ones, so I hope y'all like it.TW: Mild Bloodplay
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Not for the first time, Kim Dokja felt like he was being watched.
Or maybe it was the paranoia mildly nibbling at his insides, the awareness of that being out any moment now.
It was an otherwise ordinary Friday evening, an uneventful returning of Seoul’s working population back to their desired destinations via a giant metal tube. For Kim Dokja, avid reader and consumer of trash and good fiction alike, no Friday evening was ordinary.
His phone felt hot to the touch, burning a hole in his hands. He didn’t dare sneak a peak at the notification alerting him to a new update.
It’s here. The latest chapter. He might as well weep in excitement. How could he not? It was his brainchild, after all.
Of course, nobody would be able to tell what was going through the salaryman’s head even if they looked him dead in the eye. He was good at concealing his emotions (and himself) for the most part. To the oblivious public eye, he was just a corporate slave, another cog in the machine, another nobody.
And thank goodness for that. If he was born a few decades earlier, he knew his rather unusual adult proclivities would've institutionalised him in the dampest, dingiest psychiatric ward for as long as he'd live. He knew the feeling of being in a psych ward all too intimately, and he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy.
Kim Dokja felt time slow down to a crawl. His stomach rumbled in the background, but he had his priorities set.
How would Pencil-nim play out this week's chapter?
He shouldn't be getting this excited about a piece of fiction whose only plot was self indulgent kinky sex with his muse and a life of marital bliss.
Self indulgence was putting it lightly. He commissioned the damn thing, for crying out loud. He had a notebook full of notes of how he'd wanted every chapter to go, and was meticulous about every aspect of his muse’s character and the kind of life Dokja wanted him to have. He was lucky enough to find an anonymous freelance writer online who'd indulge him and his finicky direction of the fic without being fussy themselves. And damn, did he choose a good author.
He didn't expect ‘The Lulling of a Siren’ to go viral. Not that it wasn't written well or that his muse wasn't popular enough, but Dokja’s plan was to commission a couple of chapters before calling it quits.
Presently, they were at Chapter 42.
He couldn't stop commissioning the work of fiction even if he'd wanted to. Face-to-face with the sunken cost fallacy he was wholly responsible for, Dokja was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wished it was his muse's broad chest instead.
His phone buzzed again.
[Gorae-nim] dude i need company
[Gorae-nim] to drink
[Gorae-nim] come home you dick
There she goes, throwing a wrench in his Friday evening gooning.
[Me] don't you have other friends to bother
[Me] I don't want to spend my weekend nursing a hangover
Han Sooyoung’s reply was instantaneous.
[Gorae-nim] some friend you are
[Gorae-nim] im not friendless but you have no life
[Gorae-nim] im doing you a favor
[Gorae-nim] bring dinner
[Gorae-nim] craving jjajangmyeon
[Gorae-nim] also groceries
[Gorae-nim] snacks
[Gorae-nim] the usual
[Me] not doing any of that
[Me] what's the occasion
[Me] also how did you run through your snacks and groceries at home, we bought it 2 days ago wtf
[Me] gluttony is a deadly sin too
[Gorae-nim] gimme a break I had a deadline today
[Gorae-nim] i changed my mind
[Gorae-nim] we going out drinking
[Gorae-nim] im coming to your place bcuz I know you will say no and sleep in like a loser
[Gorae-nim] also i want to dress you up bcuz you need to get laid
[Me] i mean try your best I don't think you're finding anything that screams 'fuck me' in my wardrobe
[Me] it would be nice to get laid but I don't think I'm feeling it today
[Me] i don't think I'll find anyone that interesting tonight
[Gorae-nim] you would if you got off your vertically challenged high horse and looked at someone other than yoo joonghyuk
[Gorae-nim] for once
Kim Dokja locked his screen and huffed out an exasperated breath. She wasn't wrong, but he knew it was embarrassing how a celebrity crush got him acting like he was actually taken. It wasn't like he never fucked around, either. Dokja wasn't a saint, he was an adult with needs, and he took what he wanted, even if it was for a night.
Lately, however, he wasn't getting enough. The meat was fresh, but it tasted the damn same to him, bland, too eager to please, but not enough substance. He looked fine, but it was his gifted tongue — in more ways than one — that drew people to him. Unfortunately for the silver-tongued reader, nobody held his attention for too long these days, to the point that he wondered if he'd become like one of those iPad kids, what with their short attention spans and dearth of apathy. It didn't help that a fictional Yoo Joonghyuk was leaps more interesting to him than whoever was his flavor of the night.
How Han Sooyoung figured that out, he didn't know. He thought he was doing a good job keeping his decade-long obsession in wraps. Damn her, she knew him way too well.
[Me] youre the vertically challenged one here
[Me] don't bother coming. I'll come directly
[Me] text me the location of the place you're choosing
[Gorae-nim] oooooo someones salty :3
[Gorae-nim] great im choosing someplace bougie
[Gorae-nim] get ready to empty your wallet tonight manager-nim
[Me] you're using my promotion to your fullest advantage
[Me] you're the loaded best selling author not me
[Me] stop preying on my empty wallet
[Gorae-nim] it shouldnt be empty
[Gorae-nim] liar
[Gorae-nim] did you spend it on a realistic yoo joonghyuk body pillow
[Gorae-nim] freak
Kim Dokja made an unpleasant face. He's a pervert, sure, but he wouldn't go that far. Yoo Joonghyuk was a real person after all.
Yoo Joonghyuk also didn’t have any official body pillows out for sale.
[Me] I'm not a weirdo
[Me] you're mischaracterising me, author-nim
[Me] I'm hurt
[Gorae-nim] you love being hurt by me dokja
[Gorae-nim] youre fooling noone
[Gorae-nim] wear your nicest clothes tonight princess
[Me] definitely coming in my work clothes now just to embarrass you
[Gorae-nim] id not mind if you updated your wardrobe for once
[Gorae-nim] you havent shopped in years
[Gorae-nim] your work suits are barely hanging by their last threads
[Gorae-nim] stingy moron
[Gorae-nim] we are going shopping tomorrow
[Me] if you think you can get up with the hangover you'll have, sure
[Me] send me the location dumbass
Dokja locked his phone again. Then looked at the lock screen. The notification for the newest chapter was right there, teasing him. Tantalising him.
When it came to Yoo Joonghyuk, he was God's weakest soldier.
Damn it.
He looked around before opening the site, surreptitiously covering his phone from the general public. No one needed to see the inner machinations of an ordinary salaryman.
Especially not when he's guts deep in South Korea’s most popular progamer. Fictionally, of course. The closest Kim Dokja could come to touching Yoo Joonghyuk was in between pages, and he'd be stupid if he didn't make the most of it.
The salaryman wanted to surprise Yoo Joonghyuk on a date. A simple affair, something to change his retired beau’s daily routine. He was still getting used to having more time at home, and the salaryman knew that it would've been driving Joonghyuk crazy, though he showed little outward indication of the same.
So it was planned: an evening picnic by the park beside the Han River. Nothing too extravagant, but it was the perfect excuse to ease Yoo Joonghyuk into having a good time.
The corner of Kim Dokja's mouth curled up. Oh, so Pencil-nim went with this setting in mind. Cute, honestly. Just what a retired Yoo Joonghyuk deserved.
Dokja was anticipating the pointers he'd specifically written for this chapter, like a gamer looking for Easter eggs in a long awaited sequel.
Yoo Joonghyuk was sitting on the trimmed grass, wearing a simple white linen shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his forearm, and dark tan pants. The shirt hung on his frame loosely, but the few buttons undone emphasised his broad, tanned chest along with the strong lines of his clavicle. His short wavy hair moved with the slight breeze, capturing his face like how the leaves on a tree would do to sunlight. Thick eyebrows that were shaped to perfection framed his jewel-like obsidian eyes, which reflected the setting sun, but twice as breathtaking. His nose was straight, sharper than the blade of Excalibur, and the angle of his jaw was the handiwork of many an angel residing in heaven. He didn't have a smile on him, but Yoo Joonghyuk didn't need to smile to prove his beauty. One could say that even his scowl rivaled Aphrodite’s eternally beautiful smile.
Dokja liked dressing up Character Yoo Joonghyuk more than he'd liked to admit. Self indulgence. Along with the vague narration of the scenes and detailed descriptions of the smut, he also made sure that Yoo Joonghyuk was well dressed and was very particular about the way his magnificence was captured. The right balance of words were necessary to really articulate just how earth shatteringly unreal Yoo Joonghyuk looked.
Kim Dokja would know. He was a reader, after all. Both by name and by habit.
One of his only qualms about the real pro gamer was that he dressed too much like a damn Spartan. He could vividly imagine Yoo Joonghyuk's wardrobe being limited to 14 copies of the same three nondescript outfits he'd been seen wearing for the past decade, excluding promotional merch for his gaming company. Steve Jobs would've been so proud if he'd been alive for long enough to meet pro gamer Yoo Joonghyuk.
In contrast, the salaryman wore a simple black shirt and grey dress pants. His pale hands clutched something behind his back, his hands slick with anticipation. They had come together but he'd wanted to get something for his beloved, as a token of his love. And something for later, when he had Yoo Joonghyuk away from the prying eyes of the public, all to himself.
"You were away for a while,” Yoo Joonghyuk huffed out, the hint of a pout adorning his mouth. The salaryman wanted to kiss him right there.
“Sorry, Joonghyuk-ah, but I wanted to get you something.” He brought the bouquet of roses in front of him with a flourish of his hand, the white petals matching his beloved. “Here, these are for you.”
Kim Dokja couldn't help himself. He let out a low chuckle. Is that how you've introduced the white rose? Interesting.
Yoo Joonghyuk took the bouquet from his hands, and looked at the roses intently. “Thorns? Don't florists remove them before preparing a bouquet these days?”
“I had them specially ordered to keep them on,” the salaryman said. His dark eyes were twinkling more than they usually did, this time with a darker undertone of mischief. “They suit your personality more. And besides, what's the point of having roses without thorns?”
The larger man narrowed his eyes at the salaryman. “If you say so.” He looked at the bouquet again, thumbing at the petals. “I appreciate it.”
“You'll appreciate them more later tonight, my love. Keep them safe for me, will you?”
Aware of the salaryman's shift in tone, Yoo Joonghyuk’s ears turned a cherry red hue. He nodded, which made the other man chuckle lightly, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
He looked around again, scanning for any unfortunate stray eyes that might be looking into his screen, unaware of the sins that were contained in them. Dokja's pulse quickened, excited for what's to come. Once again, he couldn't help but respect how author-nim took his rough outlines and demanding descriptions and turned it into the perfect scene, handcrafted just for him.
He felt like a proud father, looking at his brainchild in sheer admiration and appreciation, the fruits of his labour laid out right in front of him.
It's worth the money I'm paying. So worth it.
The date was adorable. Simple but well written, the banter between both characters seemed to flow naturally. Kim Dokja loved how intimate and mundane it was, and reflected on how both he and the self-inserted salaryman's character wanted Yoo Joonghyuk to have a good time. Self indulgence.
The duo went home. Kim Dokja unintentionally put on his poker face, knowing what's to come.
The door was barely locked from the inside when the salaryman's hand found Yoo Joonghyuk's waist, pushing him firmly against the door. Their mouths came together in a searing kiss as his other hand at the pro gamer's nape pushed him closer. He gripped the wavy hair from behind and tugged gently, earning a low groan from the bigger man, whose hands were kneading at the salaryman's ass. Their bodies came closer, the bouquet from earlier getting crushed between their chests.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” he moaned, his voice heavy. He didn't want to move away from that needy mouth, but he had a plan concocting in his head the moment he'd decided to take his lover out on a date. “Bedroom. Now.”
A tangle of bodies and limbs, they somehow managed to make it to the bedroom. The salaryman pushed his lover down on the bed, breaking the kiss.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s cherry red blush was spread from his ears, his tan cheeks, down to his slightly heaving chest. He looked unearthly, like a piece of heaven, with the way his lips were slightly swollen and flushed from the kiss, down to his eyes that were darker in anticipation of what's to come. Yoo Joonghyuk looked like he was ready to be devoured, and the salaryman would be committing blasphemy if he didn't give him exactly what he wanted.
But first things first. “Wait for me, won't you? I'll get right back to you. I want to try something new with you tonight.” He gave his lover a chaste peck on the lips, and took the bouquet that was haplessly crushed between their ravenous need for each other. The salaryman thumbed through the petals slowly, examining each rose individually, deliberately teasing his anticipating lover, until he found the one that'd go perfectly with what he had in store.
He gently plucked it out of the bunch, then set the bouquet aside, a sly smile adorning his mouth. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he lilted, gripping the larger man's jaw firmly, and brought his face closer. Yoo Joonghyuk's eyes were wide, greedily capturing what was in front of him. “As I said earlier, we're going to try something new. You know, my first priority is your pleasure, and I don't want to do anything you don't want to tonight. You understand that, don't you?”
He nods once, his eyes clear, all consuming.
“I intend to hurt you a little more tonight. To the point that we're going to see a little bit of blood. Are you okay with that?” His steady gaze held his lover's, but his head was giddy with anticipation. “Answer me, Yoo Joonghyuk. I need you to use your words.”
“Yes.” Yoo Joonghyuk's voice was hoarser than he'd expected, and the salaryman felt it in his groin. “I want you to hurt me.”
“Alright then,” he said, and jerked the larger man's face closer for a slow, deliberate kiss. The salaryman bit his lower lip, eliciting a low moan from the man under him. He heard the sheets rustle underneath them, probably because his lover was gripping them too tight. Good.
He replaced his lips with the thorny stem of the rose he'd been holding onto earlier, and Joonghyuk’s eyes fluttered open in mild surprise. “I want you to hold onto this stem with your lips until I choose to remove it myself. The thorns will cut you up, so if the pain gets too much or if you want to stop, just drop the rose out of your mouth. That's our safeword for tonight.”
The salaryman kissed the corner of his lover's mouth, the stem of the white rose adorning his plush lips. The thorns dug into his mouth, and he could see them — feel them — leaving indents on Yoo Joonghyuk's lips. The slight pain from the prick made him feel heady; he already held so much power over this large man here, and the thought made his dick twitch once again.
His mouth traveled to the angle of his jaws, kissing and sucking reverently, worshipping the body of his lover who willingly submitted himself.
“Relax. Ease into me. I'll take care of you.” His voice was low against his ears, nibbling at the shell, then at the lobe, and he felt his lover shudder from below. One hand deftly unbuttoned his shirt, and then roamed around the man’s chest. He pushed him lower, his smooth pale hand splaying against supple, tanned skin.
“Joonghyuk-ah, you're a sight to behold, you know?” The man pinned below him by just his slim arm pressed his lips together in response, and flinched at the pain while his pupils blew out even more. The salaryman chuckled. “You liked that, didn't you?”
Yoo Joonghyuk could only look up in response. The salaryman inhaled sharply when their eyes met. His hero was under him, sprawled out with the most fucked out look he'd seen, clutching the thorny rose tight in between his lips, with a few beads of blood already forming there. There was a deeper flush decorating his entire body, and now that his shirt was partly off, he could see perky brown nipples, teasing him, demanding for his attention. He quickly glanced at the bulge forming below, then raked his eyes back up, taking in the sight again, committing it to memory.
“Do you realise how fucked out you look right now? You look so delectable. So gorgeous, so good for me, Joonghyuk-ah.” He held his jaw once again, and kissed him, the thorns digging into their mouths harder, the pain presenting a tangible proof of their current emotions. The salaryman could taste the subtle coppery taste of Yoo Joonghyuk’s blood, and a slow crack began to form in his restraint. “So fucked out,” he murmured, brushing his hair away tenderly, holding onto his resolve, “and I've barely touched you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk let out a low groan in response, shutting his eyes.
He took Joonghyuk's hand and placed it on his groin. “This is what you do to me, Joonghyuk-ah.” He began rubbing his bulge against it, biting his lower lip. “This is the effect you have on me, even when we've barely done anything.”
Another shudder, his lover's breaths were coming short. He grinned wickedly. “I can't wait to ravish you tonight.”
Before he could read any further, Kim Dokja had reached his destination.
Cursing, he locked his phone, adjusted his slacks and got out of the train. His phone pinged, and he didn’t have to check his phone to know it was Sooyoung sending him the location of the restaurant.
He had half a mind to bail out just so he could continue reading the new chapter in the solitude of his apartment, so that he could give his thanks and review to author-nim, and start working on the notes for the next chapter.
It wouldn't be fair to Sooyoung though. And damn, he wanted to see her in person too. It'd been a few days, but he missed her presence already.
[Gorae-nim] ⟟ Location
[Gorae-nim] wash your ugly face at least
[Gorae-nim] before you show up
[Gorae-nim] dont want office cooties
[Me] you're there already?
[Gorae-nim] yeah trust me I was that desperate for a drink
[Gorae-nim] the deadline fucked me up good
[Me] don't have more than two shots of soju before i come please. I don't want to start my night by nursing a drunk
[Gorae-nim] no promises :3
He groaned. This was gonna be a long night.
He found Han Sooyoung’s eyes already on him when their gazes met.
Dokja walked towards their seat, a secluded, semi-private booth in the restaurant, away from the main bustle. She'd chosen a decent seafood place by the looks of it.
“Took you long enough, loser.” Her voice was a low pitched drawl, but she didn't sound drunk. He noticed the glass in her hands and did a double take.
“Whiskey? Neat?” Dokja slid inside, sitting in front of her. “How bad was it for you to choose whiskey as your poison tonight?”
“Scotch,” she muttered, her eyes on the amber liquid.
“That's even worse. How many glasses?”
“Yeah, my editor was being a pain in the ass, once again.” She took a large gulp out of her glass, made a face, then set it back in front of her. “And two. Two glasses.”
“So you're punishing yourself with the beverage you hate the most. Should be classified as self harm, in my opinion.” Dokja frowned. Han Sooyoung shrugged in response. “Did you even get yourself some food, or were you trying to poison yourself via alcohol?”
“I got tired of waiting for you. Got bored.” Her hands reached out to his face, cool fingers touching pale, unblemished skin. Sooyoung often got bolder with her touches when she was tipsy, and Dokja began to get a vague idea of where his night was headed. He didn't reject it, and leaned into her hand instead. Her tiny nose crinkled. “Dokja, you really should consider wearing moisturizer.”
He let out a low chuckle. “Says the one who's trying to give herself alcohol poisoning tonight.”
“At least I take care of how I look,” she scowled. Dokja hated to admit it, but she was right. She did look good, especially today, wearing a tight brown crop top and what he was assuming as her signature leather pants, the white jacket accompanying her outfit on the seat beside her. Han Sooyoung chose to wear a coral pink lipstick today, which enhanced her small but plump lips. Her face, like her nose, was small, angular, and was framed perfectly by a strict bob that was so sharp it could cut through concrete. She still had some baby fat on her face, but she wasn't as chubby as she'd been when they met each other at 15. Framed by long lashes and sharp eyeliner, her eyes were a warm brown, the color of a comforting cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter day. And like the Northern Star itself on the expanse of an otherwise empty sky, a singular mole adorned the lower corner of her left eye.
Her hands traveled to his chin, tilting it up slightly, while her thumb gently brushed against his lower lip, and her gaze shifted in intensity as she put it in his mouth. “Bite.”
He quirked an eyebrow up. “Sooyoung-ah, we're in public.”
“Bite.” The subtle threatening undercurrent in her voice made no room for dissent.
“Tell me what's happening with your editor, then.” He took her thumb in his mouth, and bit it lightly with his incisors at first, slowly increasing the pressure. Sooyoung’s pupils grew slightly wide, but there was no other indication of her reaction to what was happening.
“I don't know what to tell you, she's not happy with the direction my novel is currently going.” Sooyoung's face contorted into a scowl. “I've rewritten the same bloody chapter six different times over the past two weeks, with a vastly different direction and plot each time. She's still not happy, but I made headway today, at the least.”
Dokja nodded, now sucking onto her thumb while his tongue flicked against it. The corner of her mouth tilted enough to give him a glimpse of her sharp canine. “You're being cheeky now, Dokja. Didn't I tell you to just bite?”
He stopped to give her his best doe eyes look, then bit the pad of her thumb, all while holding her gaze steadily.
She continued, her cheeks taking on a vivid pink hue. “I made headway with her today, but I couldn't recognise the direction of the story anymore. If this continues, I'm so sure I'll be stuck with a permanent writer's block.” Sooyoung took another large gulp of the amber liquid, shuddering right after. She grimaced, and Dokja couldn't help but be amused at her expense. “Goddamnit. I'm the damn writer, not her. I know what's best for my story and what the people would love. What the fuck?”
“Why don't you say anything? I'm surprised you haven't given her a piece of your mind yet.” He gave her thumb a light lick, then continued, “How uncharacteristic of you, really.”
“I told you, she's relatively new. And vastly different from Ji Eunyu. Goddamnit, I miss her already. She was the only one who got my vision and also knew how to make the story better.” She sighed. “As much as I hate the newbie, I can't give her too much trouble.” She paused, squinting her eyes at a distant point, away from Dokja’s face. “Or can I? I swear I'm this close to losing it. If she pulls off shit like this again, she's getting her ass handed to her.”
“That's more like the Han Sooyoung I know.” He bit her, then flicked his tongue against the bitten area, and repeated the action.
“I wish you were my editor instead.” The other fingers on his face moved to lightly scratch at his chin. Her pout made her look adorable, and Dokja had to suppress the urge to pinch her pink cheeks or kiss them. “You know, for old times sake.”
He bit her thumb harder this time and removed it out of his mouth, only to place tender, feather-light kisses where it was bitten. “You can't be that desperate yet,” he smirked, taking her hand in his. “I should be your last ditch option, your Plan Z.”
“You’re discrediting yourself again.” Her eyes softened, but the curve of her mouth turned sharp, flashing her canine again. “You were my third favourite editor, Dokja.”
He gave her a deadpan look. “You've had four editors your whole life, including me. At least put me second, you owe me that much for sticking around you as long as I did.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Sooyoung’s words had no bite. She grabbed the glass tumbler with her other hand and downed the rest of the scotch. And grimaced again.
Dokja couldn't take it anymore; he let out a real laugh. “Goodness, Sooyoung-ah, that's not how you drink scotch, or whiskey even.”
“Don't tell me what to do.” She took her bitten hand out of his, examining the marks left on her thumb, then put it in her mouth briefly, a deeper blush blooming across her face, still not looking up. An indirect kiss.
The sight affected Dokja more than he'd liked to let on. Self indulgence. “You’re not appreciating it the right way. That's why you hate it more than you should.”
“There's nothing to appreciate in whiskey, or scotch. They're just made for men who’re overcompensating for their fragile masculinity.”
“That may be so, but like every story, there's always more hidden between the lines.” He looked at her warmly, his ally, his best friend, his amore. “The next glass you're gonna get, try to savor the flavors more. The scent, the subtle notes in it.”
“Quit patronising me, Dokja. You don't like whiskey either.” Again, her words held no bite.
“Sure, but I know how to appreciate a glass of good alcohol. Scotch isn't something you down like you'd a shot of cheap vodka. You're disgracing the very drink you sought to enjoy, all because you want to experience something as shitty as you're feeling right now.” He looked at her with the ease of a reader interpreting his author’s real intent in between the lines, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “And here I thought I was the masochist.”
“You switch like a metronome between masochism and sadism whenever it suits you, it's lowkey scary.”
Kim Dokja didn't say anything to that, and only gave her a knowing smile. She's avoiding the topic.
“I think we were here with the intent to have food.” He tapped at the menu on the table that lay ignored till now with an erratic rhythm. “What do you have in mind?”
“Since we're here for seafood and I’d been craving jjajangmyeon the whole day, I think I'll go for jjjamjjamyeon.”
“Are you trying to acid reflux your way to an early grave?" Dokja didn't look amused. “Or is this your way to inflict more pain on yourself like you're doing with the scotch?”
She rolled her eyes. “I feel like I'm on suicide watch. Also, no, I'm not trying to hurt myself, intentionally or otherwise. Don't be ridiculous.”
“Whatever. Make your bed and lay on it too. I'll have jjampong, then. Scotch?”
She crinkled her nose. “Nah, let's go with soju.”
“Oh, so you’re capable of making better decisions too. Proud of you.”
“Another word, and I’ll sock you right here.”
An airy laugh escaped his lips. “You can try.”
They settled into talking about lighter things as dinner went on. Like the new psychological thriller sequel that Dokja had seen with his coworker turned platonic workwife Yoo Sangah.
“The first two movies were better written. 3’s ending sucked, like massively. They seem to be milking the franchise money.“
“Yeah, I heard the critics say the same this time, the psych thriller genre seems to be going through a recession.”
“Seems like it. Sangah-ssi and I loved the buildup to the climax, the gore was also pretty good. She was telling me about how they hired SFX artists internationally for those scenes. Very impressive, I'm not going to lie. Pity it was wasted on that sad script.”
Like Sooyoung’s kickboxing classes, about how she got approached by a guy a decade too young in her class for a date.
“These kids have way too much time on their hands, what happened to studying?”
Like her growing obsession with citypop and death metal to get through tighter deadlines. About her considering freelance writing just to avoid the impending writer’s block.
“Wouldn't it just add more pressure on you?”
“Nothing I can't deal with, plus it'd be a welcome distraction.”
Like how Dokja’s foster kids begged him to let them cook dinner for him last night. About how he didn't want to impose, but had to give in because he'd long lost the ability to say no to them. About how he’s too fond of the kids and his lament seeing them grow up this fast, too fast for him to keep up with them.
“Gilyoung-ah’s head reaches my shoulders now, he's had quite the growth spurt this year.”
The night saw them get steadily drunk as it progressed, getting warmer, leaning closer into each other, as much as it could be allowed with the table between them, but as was the nature of the night, it did little except to bear witness to this particular pocket of existence, seemingly insulated by the world around them.
Kim Dokja found himself enveloped by the buzz that was steadily building around his senses, dulling them. He made it a point to focus on the smaller woman in front of him instead, face flushed. Dokja’s eyes quietly snapped away the way Sooyoung’s eyes glimmered like the edges of a dark sea under moonlight, the slight smudge of the coral lipstick, the mole below her left eye anchoring him to the moment like a lighthouse beckoning a lost boat beyond the sea. Self indulgence. He observed how her graceful hands were getting increasingly more animated and less coordinated, how her words got increasingly slurred as they had dinner. Like he was removed from his own body, he dimly noted his laughter getting louder and more boisterous as Sooyoung continued to tease him throughout the night. He noted each time their legs bumped each other below the table, sometimes deliberate, sometimes by accident, sometimes just a slight knock on the knees, but often, a softer graze of calves to shins, until they ended up with their ankles locked with each other.
He made it a point to drink more than Sooyoung since she was hellbent on poisoning herself, but she kept ordering more, until they somehow ended up with seven empty bottles on the table. Between the two of them, Sooyoung was clearly more inebriated, but he wouldn't be surprised if he tripped and fell on the way home.
A slow wave of regret almost washed over him. Almost. They'd drunk too much.
If he didn't piss it out of his system, Han Sooyoung would have to carry him out of this damn restaurant. She was too damn out of it to carry herself out, so that was definitely out of the question.
“Hey, I'll just use the restroom for a bit. Be right back.”
Han Sooyoung gave him her widest, most toothy smile — flashing canines inclusive — and gave an aggressive thumbs up. “Go piss girl!” Her attempt at whispering ended up in an almost scream. Dokja hid his face in embarrassment, not knowing whether he wanted to kiss her or knock her out.
He stumbled out of the secluded booth area, and stood still for a while. His vision swam as soon as he moved, vertigo taking over all his six senses. Not good. He'd definitely drunk too much.
He clutched at the wall nearest to him, steadying himself. He would not humiliating himself in front of this restaurant by wobbling like a drunk ahjussi who cannot keep his alcohol in. He was absolutely not going to trip.
In. Out. In. Out. Out. In. In. Out.
Now where's the damn washroom?
Dokja saw the rest of the restaurant sprawled in front of him with unblinking eyes, patrons too busy to notice a skinny drunk guy standing too still at one corner. The lights were dim, as an added advantage. Still, the sensation of being watched creeped up on him like a tentacle from a Lovecraftian Lesser Old One, threatening to consume him if he wasn't vigilant.
Fuck this.
He took a step forward. Then another. Then a few more. Each step felt like a task because if he didn't give his complete hundred percent laser sharp attention to his feet, he'd walk right into another table. He was somehow confident that he was walking in a completely straight line, because all his focus was on walking in tandem. He was doing well. Too well.
He reached the end of the room, and when he looked back, the trajectory of his displacement was a straight line. Almost.
FUCK YEAH!
Wait. Where's the washroom?
God fucking damnit.
“Washroom’s to the right, then straight ahead.” A disembodied voice spoke out somewhere behind him, sounding bored. Like they'd seen too many drunkards stumble pathetically for the loo.
“Thanks, you're a lifesaver.” Dokja didn't look behind, because his body had already begun moving in the direction specified. He didn't know who his savior was, he was too drunk to care. He hoped that they had a nice night ahead.
The washroom was clean enough. He finished his business and washed his hands, then went to the small window beside him.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
Breathing deeply helped him to clear some of the drunken haze he was under. The peeing helped immensely too. Now the drunkenness has settled into a less chaotic, more tangible feeling of dullness, of reduced capacity. His comprehension was fine, but he felt more, no longer restricted by his heavy perception of himself, the veil from his calculated moves being lifted, laying him bare like a live wire devoid of its plastic covering, for anyone too close to him to be burned along with him.
It was good and bad. He didn't know what to do with the discomfort that itched inside, the loss of his carefully constructed self. The loss of control. He allowed it because it was Sooyoung. It was just uncomfortable, like a perpetual itch underneath his dermis, something far worse than histamine slowly spreading and wrecking the open nerve endings over his skin.
Goddamnit. I need a cigarette.
He sighed too hard, releasing the windowpane in his hands that he'd tightly clutched onto unconsciously. His shoulders sagged.
Sooyoung must be waiting.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Stiffly starched off-white shirt. Worn grey slacks. Plain blue tie with a fuzz developing at the knot. Plain face. Flushed plain face. Nothing he hadn't seen before.
He gave the reflection a shrug, as if dismissing the very idea of his self, before he walked out of the washroom.
The walk back was fortunately made in a less hazy state of mind. Dokja was still very drunk, but he wasn't embarrassing himself anymore. He hoped. He found his way to the end of the restaurant where his anonymous saviour had given him the directions.
There. That wasn't so hard, was it?
He gave an unconscious, cursory scan of the restaurant and resumed walking.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
Absolutely not. I'm too drunk. Nope.
He did a double take.
There, near the bar, at the table to the side. A broad back, covered by a black t-shirt. Wavy unstyled hair. It could be anyone.
It's definitely him. That's exactly how his traps look, right down to the slope of it.
The figure in question moved his arm at the moment, and the dim lighting cast shadows on the exposed tan appendage, every muscle group starkly highlighted on them in HD.
That's his arm. That's definitely him. That's Yoo Joonghyuk.
Notes:
DokSoo shippers will love the next chapter.
localalaa on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 05:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 09:26PM UTC
Comment Actions
TheXlllDabber on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 06:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 09:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
The_little_sister on Chapter 1 Tue 02 Sep 2025 10:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Sep 2025 09:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
The_Long_Departed on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Sep 2025 05:20PM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 1 Fri 05 Sep 2025 01:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
adjournedjewel (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Sep 2025 08:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 1 Fri 05 Sep 2025 01:53PM UTC
Comment Actions
TheXlllDabber on Chapter 2 Sat 06 Sep 2025 08:09PM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 2 Sat 06 Sep 2025 08:36PM UTC
Comment Actions
localalaa on Chapter 2 Sat 06 Sep 2025 10:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
moanikaneedssalvation on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 11:01AM UTC
Comment Actions
localalaa on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 01:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
y3r1m on Chapter 2 Sun 07 Sep 2025 09:32PM UTC
Comment Actions
The_Long_Departed on Chapter 2 Mon 08 Sep 2025 12:30PM UTC
Comment Actions