Chapter Text
smoke and mirrors (n.)
irrelevant or misleading information serving to obscure the truth of a situation.
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“Secretive Plotter,” Kim Dokja called to him in his time of need. “I will form an outer world covenant with you.”
The offer was expected, at the time. But it should’ve been obvious that it would all be over from that point on. There was confidence in that voice, sourced from the sole desire to save his companions. It was familiar to him—he’d done the same for so long, after all.
Kim Dokja was a selfish person. But Plotter, himself, would never be capable of denying him—not since the beginning of the scenarios in this unfamiliar worldline. And this singularity, this entity unknown across all of his regressions, was passing through the scenarios as if having prior knowledge of each one. It was impossible to take his eyes away.
The agreement was settled soon enough. Dokja would receive three high grade rewards upon his success, and the 1863rd turn would die as he was intended to. Plotter would no longer be forced to watch that third turn succeed with aid that was never offered to him, knowing his end was coming.
But things never seemed to go his way. His desires were never fulfilled across all 1863 turns, and his attempts now were just as futile. So when Kim Dokja returned, stood with his head tall, confidence and pride seeping from the stained white coat on his shoulders, there was nothing to do but accept his words.
“I will make a new demand,” he said, with narrowed eyes. “On top of my required rewards.”
[Oh?] Plotter questioned. What was it?
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“Hush,” Plotter ordered from his place above Dokja on the bed. “You asked for this.”
“I know I did. But I’ve never—” His words came to an abrupt stop. He wouldn’t say it—not when his pride was at stake. It was always one of his greatest faults, courtesy of one of his many unviewable skills. The amount of attempts taken to discover what he was hiding were innumerable. Every time had been nothing other than failure, but at least that was something Plotter was more than familiar with.
Warm brown eyes stared up at him, a breath held in a pale chest covered in a pink blush. His star was ethereal, just as he was on a screen. Moreso, even, when his pretty features were unhidden and he was laid bare like this, for no eyes except Plotter’s own.
Pressing gentle kisses from that pink chest up to his jaw, Dokja threw his head back against the pillow and released a shy, low whine. The sound carried through the room, and the memory was going to engrave itself onto Plotter’s skin, alongside his many scars from endless regressions. At the very least, any marks left on his body that night wouldn’t be a source of pain like the others.
When he reached plush lips, he raised a hand to cup Dokja’s face and paused. There was fear in those beautiful irises, but it was coupled with a desire for more. Weakness presented itself in the downward curl of Plotter’s mouth—how could he ensure that his star wouldn’t be afraid?
He leaned in, taking Dokja’s lower lip between his own to offer sweet, gentle kisses. There was no response, at first, but it was fine. He continued, halting at times to shift to his upper lip, then licking across the seam to tease what was awaiting.
It took time to draw him out. There was a stiffness that kept him still—was it a fear of rejection? Or of not being enough? Whatever it might have been, there would be no space for misinterpretation between his fervent kisses, as Dokja was often inclined to overthink.
When he finally responded, it was uneasy and unskilled. Too much tongue, with no variation, but Plotter took it all the same. His star was offering, trying to meet him; who was he to deny him the pleasures of kissing? He slowed their movements, intent to ensure that Dokja first understood the basics of using nothing but lips.
As his body lost its previous tension, the fear seemed to go with it. Plotter dragged a thumb over a sensitive chest to make him tremble, then pressed a cold palm flush to that warm stomach, sending a gasp into his mouth as Dokja pulled away. Those brown eyes glared at him, but it was playful, and it drew a chuckle from his mouth.
Plotter kissed him again, warming his hands against the blankets before returning to touch up and down that pale body. As he did, gasps fell against his lips, still unaccustomed to another’s touch and inexperienced with even the most gentle of kisses. Dokja whimpered against his mouth, then, and the sound was enough to send a pleasant ecstasy down his entire body.
Every part of him was adorable. Plotter was the first to be able to do this—to be with him like this, nothing but skin on skin against the bedsheets. That false third would know nothing of this, of the first time Kim Dokja was held in his arms, or of the soft sounds of pleasure in his throat while he still feared intimacy.
When he pulled away, there was hesitancy in the pale, shaky fingers that reached toward his body, but refused to touch. Plotter sighed. Even if he was trying, it would never be enough to match him—not unless he lost himself in the pleasure and took everything he was given.
“I will make it good for you, my star,” Plotter clarified, brushing a thumb over his cheek. Dokja blinked at him, pursing his lips, but nodded. “Do not be afraid. Just hold onto me. Close your eyes, if you wish.”
When scratchy hands touched his shoulders, his lips twitched. But there was far more progress to be made before being able to rejoice over such a simple show of trust. Kim Dokja met his gaze, then took a breath and shut his eyes, a shaky breath falling from his mouth.
“Please.” His tone of voice changed; it was hoarse, soaked in a dripping desire that hadn’t been there before. Pale arms encircled Plotter’s shoulders, accepting the tender kisses and licks offered to his neck. Long eyelashes fluttered beneath closed eyelids, as if considering his next words. Finally, he sighed. “I want it. I want you.”
“I will give it to you. I will give you everything you desire, and more.” He pressed more kisses, then sucked marks into that irresistible pale skin. “Just as I said I would.”
A deep moan left plush lips, as if asking to be kissed again. Plotter was quick to appease him.
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I should’ve known, Plotter thought. Kim Dokja stood in front of him, fresh from the 1863rd turn, and intended to make another demand of him. Wasn’t it enough that he’d failed to accomplish the mission properly?
But it revealed something more important, as well. The Yoo Joonghyuk of this worldline—the object of Kim Dokja’s yearning eyes and hastily made plans—was none other than an avatar that had chosen to live. A false version of the third turn, with no memory of more. But Dokja couldn’t know; he would believe that avatar to have followed the same path as Plotter himself, leaving only half of [1863] behind to face the final wall.
“You offered me three rewards when I returned. But after that ordeal, I deserve another.” Dokja crossed his arms over his chest, but it did little to help his attempt at intimidation. Was he aware of how his opponent was an Outer God, capable of felling any constellation determined enough to face him?
Plotter chuckled dryly. [I’ve only promised you three. It would not be wise of me to dishonor my own words.]
“It doesn’t matter.” Dokja shook his head. “First, there was an item.”
[Han Sooyoung’s coat. It is yours to keep, since you’ve lost your own.] He motioned to how it already rested on his lean shoulders. There was no need to take it away from him—at this point, it was a part of his image as the face of his nebula. But that other white coat… it was his to keep now.
“Second, a story. I will keep [Hell of Eternity] as offered to me by the 1863rd Yoo Joonghyuk.”
[As you wish.] He paused. [And the skill?]
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Plotter stepped down into the hot bathwater with Dokja carried in his arms, pale legs wrapped around his waist. He settled onto the bench at the side of the pool wall as several of his kkomas swung the door open, then left a few towels beside them.
At the sound of their shuffling, Dokja tensed, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. A low whine left his throat, pink tingeing his ears—it must have been embarrassing for him to be seen like this. Even if the kkomas were just another part of Plotter, who’d seen all of him on more than a few occasions already, it still seemed to bother him.
How cute. Plotter raised a hand to wave his kkomas away. “Leave us.” Then, he settled his fingers in soft hair to offer a calming caress.
“Inform us if you require anything else,” [999] said with a nod once most of the others had left.
“Let me know once you send that guy away—” [41] sneered, but was interrupted when [999] grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out the door. When it slammed shut behind them, Dokja winced.
“Are you alright?” Plotter asked. He continued weaving his fingers through soft, fluffy hair for a few moments while a few words were mumbled into his neck. Instead of asking for confirmation, he hummed in agreement, content to hold him.
The other hand resting against the soft, pale skin of Dokja’s back dipped under the water toward the base of his spine. It made him tremble, as if he was thinking there might be more after they’d left the bedroom. They’d tired one another out after three rounds, on and off—Plotter wasn’t so cruel to ask for another.
Unless his star wanted to, of course. Then, he would consider it.
When Dokja lifted his head, he blinked through bleary eyes—dried tears crusted around the corners, but were quick to be wiped away with his palms. Plotter pursed his lips. Had he been too hard on him this time? The hand placed in his hair gave a gentle tug forward, giving him the opportunity to press a kiss to Dokja’s cheek.
His action must have been unexpected, since those big brown eyes widened at the gesture, and plush pink lips parted. The response sprouted an urge to lean forward and kiss him again, but he withheld. Instead, his eyes grazed on the sweet, beautiful image seated in his lap.
Whichever skills he had to obscure his face from view during the stream, it all dropped away as soon as he arrived at the palace in the N’Gai Forest. Dokja’s skin shone in the dim lighting, the afterglow of their intimacy bright in the red blush settled over his entire body. Droplets trickled from his shoulders, over his chest and down, down, down to meet the foggy bathwater at his waist.
With those teary eyes and pouty lips, there was little Plotter could do to keep himself from leaning in for another kiss. He cupped Dokja’s cheek, then caught his lower lip between his own for a few soft, adoring presses against one another. After a slight whimper, Dokja responded, and the hands settled at the base of his neck began to tug on his hair.
It was their fifth meeting, now. After the first time, it hadn’t seemed like Dokja would want to have him again. His virginity was lost, and he’d agreed to his side of the deal. Plotter had savored that night, content to shower his star in the adoration he deserved.
But then, there was a moment. Dokja had looked up to the night sky and sighed—out of exhaustion, or relief, it wasn’t clear. His eyes had glimmered with the same fear and desire as that first night. And when the channel had been shut, it wasn’t long before a snap of Plotter’s remaining fingers opened a portal for him straight into his palace.
Every other instance was the same. They exchanged very few words; it was preferable to speak in shared touches and kisses, tearing at one another’s clothing. He would drag Dokja to his bedroom, then ravish him once, twice, a third time, if he was allowed.
It wasn’t ever clear when the final night would come.
Dokja moaned when Plotter left his lips, dropping his head down to suck and lick from his jaw to his neck. If he left marks, would that false third turn see? Would it fill him with rage, at the thought of his love being intimate with another?
Satisfaction tangled with the bittersweet taste of his star’s skin at the mere possibility. That fraud did not deserve him, not like this—having learned to not hold back his moans, to accept what was given to him with enthusiasm, and how to use his mouth to offer pleasure. That seeking pleasure was not something to be feared, and how physical intimacy was more than just the act of sex.
With a particular hard suck at the base of his neck, Dokja threw his head back with a whine and bit his peeling lower lip. He was preparing himself for more, losing himself in the feeling, again, like he always did.
Plotter pulled away to chuckle. In the dim lighting, surrounded with steam, Dokja’s beauty was incomparable. Dark eyelashes fanned beneath pale eyelids while sweat fell from his cheek onto his chest. Plump, luscious pink lips parted to release another tired, wanting whine—it called him back in, dipping his tongue inside to taste the sweet sound.
The water was going to grow cold if they continued this here. But what did it matter? He could have Dokja splayed out against the wall, legs spread apart, taking everything that Plotter gave him and begging for more. They’d kept it in the bed for all of their meetings, but this evening was different, wasn’t it?
When he pulled away again, Dokja tucked his head back into the crook of his neck. The pale arms around his shoulders grew tighter in their grip as he snuggled closer—as if all he wanted was to be held.
His eyes were still closed. When would those warm brown eyes open for him again?
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Dokja said, quietly. “Can you just… hold me?”
The words stabbed a needle into Plotter’s chest, sinking down past each layer of skin to thread straight through his heart. It was a sharp sting that persisted with every shallow breath that passed through his lungs, unabated. As his heart seized the remaining air in his throat, it quickened to a rapid thump, and he was left behind—trembling and lost.
Why does it hurt so much? he thought. It shouldn’t have. He was more than a simple name, more than the effect it had on him. He’d climbed past the ranks of the constellations, gotten to the Final Wall, and become an Outer God.
And yet, something as small as a name was capable of wrenching him open, searching his insides for the meaning of what had fallen from his star’s lips. But there was nothing left to find; he’d been empty for thousands of years, already. His body was nothing more than a vessel, forced to seek his ■■ in a worldline that did not belong to him.
“Joonghyuk-ah?” his dearest star asked again, still tucked into his neck. A tender hand snuck up into his hair again, weaving sweaty, messy curls between nimble fingers.
His entire body stiffened for a split second. Still, he pulled Dokja closer, then pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m here.” Plotter released a deep sigh. “I’m here, my star.”
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What skill was Kim Dokja seeking? There were only a few options that were available to him—many, he already had through alternative means. But given his array of personal skills already, there were very few that would be useful to him.
He cleared his throat. “The avatar skill. From Han Sooyoung of the 1863rd turn.”
Plotter hummed. [A respectable choice. But not one I am capable of granting.] There was too much probability involved in such a unique, powerful skill as that one. His entire hand would dissolve into stardust if he attempted it. But why was that what Dokja sought, when the Han Sooyoung of his own worldline already held that ability?
“Not the skill, itself.” He cleared his throat. “A bookmark.”
Plotter raised an eyebrow. [A bookmark?]
“Yes. It’s a skill I have. I can bookmark others’ skills to use for myself.”
[I see.] That would explain his acquisition of Way of the Wind after so long spent making futile attempts. Perhaps his star was more conniving than initially believed. [You‘ve already taken it, then?]
“Yes.” Dokja nodded.
[I’ll allow it.] With a snap of Plotter’s fingers and a wave of probability, it was done. That was the end of the three rewards he’d promised, but still, Dokja stood before him without any intention to leave. His final request was left—what could it be? Another skill, perhaps? Or an item to aid him in the rest of the scenarios and help that false third turn?
Skeptical brown eyes narrowed to look over him. But he remained silent.
[And your other reward?] Plotter pushed. [Though I am not required to provide it, as it wasn’t in our agreement. Let me hear it.]
Dokja’s eyes shook. “Have sex with me, Plotter.”
Those words pierced the interdimensional blackness surrounding them, settling into a space between the stars. A nonexistent gravity bore down the weight of such a direct request onto his shoulders, and Plotter stiffened. Had he heard that right?
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Dokja moaned as he sank down, then ground his hips before rising up on his knees again. Plotter’s hands rested over the warm, pale skin of his waist as he continued his motions. Sweat caressed his brow, a shine reflected in his irises as he continued with an increasing urgency.
How many times had it been, now? Dokja was coming to visit him almost every night, when there was no scenario to keep him busy. Those days of wondering whether he would come back were forgotten, replaced with a sense of peace in the routine they’d established.
An uninhibitable groan left Plotter’s mouth as Dokja picked up the pace, hips moving faster while untrimmed nails scratched against his chest. There were still red marks on his back from the night prior, and these would be added to the ever-growing collection. Even if it was painful, it was temporary; at the very least, it was a memory of their nights together.
If he was meant to be an outlet for Dokja’s frustrations, then he had no trouble accepting his fate.
His hands skidded down to take hold of those impatient hips and force the pace to slow as he sat up. Pale hands reached around his shoulders to interlock, and then Dokja whimpered and rested his head against his neck. Plotter guided him with a gentle touch, searching for a rhythm to guide the pleasure for both of them.
When soft kisses and bites landed on the side of his neck, he chuckled. His star was more eager than usual on this particular night—it was unexpected, but welcomed. Still, once they’d finished, he was going to pack up his things and leave as he usually would, without a word.
Their goodbyes were never accompanied with soft words or shared kisses, regardless of how gentle they acted with one another during their time together. Dokja would lose the easygoing smile he had, dress himself, then walk through the portal back to his companions with dark circles under his eyes and a frown across his lips.
Plotter lifted and dropped Dokja’s hips with a steady pace for a few minutes. When his star began to take unsteady breaths, it was obvious he was nearing his limit. Reaching a hand between them to push him closer to his end, Dokja rose and fell on his own again to chase after that final wave of euphoria.
“Joonghyuk-ah…” the whimper was pleading—wanting. For something that couldn’t be given.
“I’ve got you,” Plotter said, then clenched his jaw as he closed in on his own peak. This time, though, there was an ache in his chest—in that same, sensitive spot that had hurt since the beginning of their nights together. “I’m right here, my star.”
With a few more steady movements, Dokja grew erratic, and aided with a hand around him, he finished with a loud moan. At the same time, Plotter groaned as he reached his own end, his eyes shut to view a starless black sky behind his eyelids.
If only it was real.
Opening his eyes, he blinked to clear his blurry vision—that sweaty, pale body was still on top of him. As the last few waves of pleasure faded away, Dokja climbed off of him, then fell onto the bed at his side with a loud sigh. His eyes were still closed; had he ever even opened them, in those last few minutes?
Plotter reached for the towel at his bedside to clean them both off, then tossed it toward the floor. Afterward, his head fell back against the pillow as exhaustion curled around him with its familiar embrace. There was a shuffling beside him, but he didn’t turn his head. Dokja was just going to leave as he always did.
But instead, one of those pale arms slung over his chest to draw his attention. A nimble finger trailed over one of the scars on his chest; it tickled, in contrast to the rough scratches left behind only minutes before.
“What… are you doing?” he couldn’t help but ask.
Dokja didn’t answer, but hummed. His fingers reached over to the side of his waist, then tugged to pull him onto his side. Plotter followed his direction without question, but furrowed his brow. What was happening? He still hadn’t received a proper response. It made his skin tingle—something was different about this evening.
“When did you get this one?” Dokja asked, his index finger returning to the scar on the left side of his chest.
“The 795th turn.” His mouth supplied the answer without needing any consideration. Even the gentlest touch over the darkened, raised skin was enough to ignite the memory. “During the war of saints and demons.”
“I see.” Those pale fingers ghosted over his skin, then ventured lower, over his abdomen. There was a singular faded burn there, large enough to encapsulate the width of Dokja’s hand as he pressed down his palm. “And this one?”
“108th turn. The chimera dragon in Paradise.”
He hummed. His eyelids lowered as his touch weakened, but he blinked his eyes open again. Without another word, he continued to trace over the other scars across Plotter had over his torso. Each touch was gentle, hesitant—as if afraid to hurt. But those injuries were long past, a history that didn’t require revisiting.
Still, somehow, it stung. Maybe it shouldn’t have. But the question was there.
What do I mean to you? Plotter thought as Dokja lifted his head to meet his gaze. The warm brown of his irises was too much to bear. Will I ever mean anything at all?
He said nothing. But he leaned forward, desperate to steal another kiss while there was still time. His fingers took Dokja’s chin in between when he pressed their lips together. The sound of that familiar, endearing whimper was enough to part those plush pink lips and slip his tongue inside, invoking a whine.
The hand that had been on his chest snaked up to his neck—it made his breaths uneven. What was he doing? But then, it stopped over his cheek, just holding, the soft skin of his thumb brushing back and forth. It was so tender, so loving, but was it truly for him?
There was no explanation for Dokja’s change of action on this particular night. Regardless, any time spent with him was meant to be cherished, and it would be, for as long as Plotter could hold onto it. Even if he was going to leave as soon as their kiss ended.
His tongue stroked against Dokja’s, an inviting gesture to pull him toward his mouth. He’d grown very comfortable with kissing in the many times they’d met, but still needed guidance once in a while. As soon as he was close enough, Plotter sucked on his tongue; it made him whimper again, eager and excited.
His arm slid down smooth, pale skin to reach around and grab onto the back of his thigh, then tugged it over his hip. Dokja shifted closer, already beginning to grind against him. He was needy and wanting again—for the fourth time that night. But wasn’t it too much?
As enjoyable as another round would have been, the hour was growing later. Any more time spent without adequate rest was going to leave him exhausted once he had to head back to the scenarios and his companions. That false third turn, too… Would he have noticed Dokja’s absence every night?
When Plotter pulled away, he opened his eyes and took a breath. Dokja tried to kiss him again, but a hand on his chest was enough to push him away. His pretty lips downturned in a frown, the rest of his skin flushed pink from his increasing arousal. When he looked like that, it was almost impossible to resist him.
Plotter pursed his lips, then sighed. Rest was important. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to push sleep back further.
His hand rose to stroke over Dokja’s hair. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You should rest, my star. Will you be going soon?”
His eyes fluttered shut. “No…” he trailed off, his voice deeper than usual. “I don’t want to.”
“Would you like to stay tonight? I can wake you in the morning.”
Dokja offered a positive hum, and his hand on Plotter’s face slid down onto the bedsheets between them. His eyelids twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes again, and his breathing was slower. Maybe it was time to leave him alone. Sleep would be beneficial for himself, too.
He placed Dokja’s leg slung over him onto the bed with gentle hands, then pulled up the blankets over him. Once he was covered, Plotter turned to slip away. His eyes burned from his own lack of adequate rest of recent days, between watching the stream and staying awake for when Dokja arrived every night. But what could he do? It was necessary to take part in the events in case something went awry.
Before he moved too far, there was a whine from behind him, and a warm hand over his shoulder. With a furrow of his brow, he turned back again. Dokja’s eyes were open and hazy, glistening in the dim lighting; his mouth had fallen into a pout, his lower lip trembling even though he didn’t speak.
There was no question to be asked about the meaning of his stare. When Plotter opened his arms, there was a brief second where a smile spread across that pretty face. Dokja slid over, curled up against his chest, and closed his eyes again. He pulled him close, then began a consistent caress over his back to lull him to rest.
Another kiss pressed to his forehead, and it was clear from his slowed breaths that he was falling asleep already. Plotter’s eyes fell closed, as well, the warmth offered to him from the body in his arms making the pull difficult to ignore. When was the last time he’d slept? It wasn’t necessary for him, often, but sometimes the rest was required to restore his probability.
“Love you, Joonghyuk-ah,” Dokja mumbled into his chest, just loud enough to hear.
Plotter’s eyes shot open. It stung. Another batch of prickling needles were sent right to his heart, a faux pincushion for every time he was called by that name. Those words of adoration and love were not for him, and there was no way to make it so. This was expected. His dearest star had only that false third turn in his mind.
Plotter frowned; he’d done this to himself.
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[Why should I agree to this?] Plotter asked with narrowed eyes. The benefit for himself was there—to be granted the opportunity to have his star. It was, however, unclear what had caused this turn of events.
Dokja took a breath. “You cannot hide your identity any longer, Yoo Joonghyuk of Ways of Survival.”
Plotter swallowed. He’d always been intelligent—but this? How had he determined it? With a sigh, he pulled back his veil to reveal his face, then met Dokja’s gaze. His eyebrows rose toward his hair while his eyes widened at the confirmation of his hypothesis.
“You really are…” he trailed off, then tilted his head to the side. With parted lips, he released another breath. “You really are him.” His voice quieted. “From the novel…”
[I am.] He nodded. Han Sooyoung’s avatar had mentioned the novel containing the timeline of every single one of his regressions. [You’ve read my story.]
His eyes widened, and his cheeks reddened. “I did.” He swallowed. “I loved it.”
[And yet you chose to change it. Why?]
Dokja’s fists clenched at his sides. “It was not the ending I wished to see.”
Plotter hummed. Was that all it was? There had to be more to it. A simple, precious reader would not go so far for the sake of their favorite protagonist. But perhaps Kim Dokja was different—he’d already become a constellation, as well.
“But what about you? You reached the Final Wall, and then became an Outer God. Why?”
There was more information he was withholding. It couldn’t have been as simple as just wanting to change the ending. If he loved the story, what good would it do to introduce conflicts he knew nothing of?
But maybe there was another benefit to this deal. [After defeating the Dokkaebi King… I was unable to cross the Final Wall. I did not have all of the necessary keys to do so. Becoming an Outer God allowed me to come to this worldline.]
“And you think you’ll find the necessary keys here?” Dokja asked, then bit his lip.
[I will.] I already have. But he didn’t need to know that. [You still haven’t answered my question, Kim Dokja. Why should I have sex with you?]
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As soon as Dokja stepped through the portal into the throne room, he collapsed into Plotter's arms in tears. Every sob that left his mouth was fraught with a debilitating agony, also tucked into the curves of his nails that scratched at his suitcoat. There was nothing to be done except hold him in his arms and offer comfort—even if the reason why was still unknown.
The kkomas fluttered around their feet, climbing up Dokja’s legs in their curiosity of what was wrong. [999] was the first to reach his shoulder and sit down, a deep frown across his face. His small hand brushed across the fabric of that white coat, but he didn’t say a word. However, when Plotter pulled away, it earned him a glare.
“Come with me.” Dokja lifted his head with a sniffle and nodded, then allowed his hands to be taken as he was pulled across the room. After taking a seat on his throne, Plotter pulled him into his lap; he sat to straddle him, then wrapped his arms around his neck without needing to be asked. “Good boy,” he praised, jokingly. It made his star smile, even if only for a second.
As soon as Dokja was comfortable, Plotter settled hands on his hips. What was ailing him now? There were many problems they’d faced in the latest scenarios, but none should have caused him this much pain. Had that false third turn done something? Or was it something else that Dokja hadn’t shared?
[999] glared up at him, a similar look across each of the other kkomas settled in Dokja’s lap as Plotter sighed. He needed to ask what was wrong—of course he did. But he couldn’t, not when his star was still trembling with a cautious grip, and tears continued to stream down his cheeks.
Instead, he waited. Wiped away the wet streaks from that pretty face, then pressed soft kisses to each of his closed eyes. With unsteady breaths, Dokja whimpered before he began to cry again. It was softer, this time, and still it was able to push that ever-growing group of needles further into Plotter’s heart.
Dokja remained in the same state for several minutes, but his gaze rose every so often to meet his eyes. Whenever those warm brown eyes looked at him again, Plotter let out a sigh and offered another kiss—on his cheek, or his forehead, or his lips. It made Dokja scoot closer, until they were chest to chest and the kkomas in between them had to flee.
[999] was the last to go, but not before whispering into Plotter’s ear. “Take care of him, as you already have been.” Then, with a swift jump to the floor, he was gone along with the rest.
With a deep breath, Plotter wrapped his arms fully around Dokja’s back and offered soft shushes to calm him down. Whatever it was that was hurting him, it needed to be solved; their time together was short. Even if Dokja often spent these nights with him, he needed to be well-rested for his return. Things were beginning to pick up—the War of Saints and Demons was arriving soon.
When it started, they would no longer be able to see one another.
Dokja hiccuped. “I’m so scared…” he whimpered, then lifted his head. Pale hands drifted across his shoulders to grapple onto the fabric. “Do I have to go back? Please don’t send me back. Please.”
Where was his pride? His confidence? That snarky, clever tone was gone, replaced with a fear that dripped down his cheeks and stole the air in his lungs. This was not Kim Dokja; it couldn’t be.
His pride was the sole thing that kept him going, but it must have been lost in his many ventures to the N’Gai Forest. Every ounce of probability used to lure him in had taken away his most important trait—it was gone, left to crumble into nothing alongside the fallen leaves outside the palace doors.
It’s my fault, Plotter thought, his hold on Dokja tightening. He pressed a kiss to his temple as his eyes began to burn. He never would’ve become like this if not for my interference.
“Please, Plotter.” Dokja looked up at him with wide eyes. “Please let me stay. They’re all counting on me. I will fail them.”
The sound of his title from those lips was almost foreign. It hadn’t been used since that very first meeting, long ago, when his star had called to him in his time of need. Wasn’t it the same, this time? It should’ve been.
But it wasn’t. This time, Dokja was in his arms, and they’d been together countless times, spent entire nights wrapped in each other’s embrace. Calling for help was the only similarity between the two instances. That, and using his title.
“You cannot stay, my star,” Plotter sighed. He pressed a tender kiss to a pale pink cheek. “As much as I want it to be so. You are their biggest strength. They need you.”
Dokja whimpered.
“You are as strong as they believe. Stronger, even, in my eyes. More intelligent than any constellation I have ever fought, across all eighteen hundred sixty-three lives.”
A chuckle left the sweet lips tickling his neck alongside hot tears. “Are you saying I could beat you? I doubt it.”
“I would never dream of working against you. I will always be on your side.” It was true. Regardless of whether Dokja returned to the scenarios, returned to that false third turn, returned to risk his life again—Plotter would be there to watch. That was his sole purpose now, after arriving to this worldline.
This worldline held his dearest star. There was nowhere else he was ever meant to be.
“Will you help me, then? If I go back?”
“Of course. We share the same desire to see the constellations fall, after all.”
Dokja lifted his head, then nodded. Meeting his gaze, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll go.” For a second, he paused with pursed lips. Plotter’s fingers rose to brush his hair out of his eyes, but a pale hand caught his, then guided him to cup Dokja’s cheek. There was no reason not to oblige.
“We don’t have much more time tonight, my star. You need to rest.”
Dokja turned his head to nuzzle against Plotter’s palm and hummed. His touch was sweet, gentle as he pressed down a kiss, then met his gaze again. “Will you… hold me, tonight?”
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He held Dokja’s face in his hands, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I will. Of course, I will. For as long as you wish.” For as long as you still want me. Even until his dying day, if he was allowed. There was nothing that would stop him from granting his star everything he desired.
Dokja leaned in first. Plotter’s eyes widened at the sudden contact of lips against his own, but his eyelids fluttered shut as he pressed back. His hands on that pretty face slid down over his nape to thumb over his pulse point, then lowered to hold him by his waist.
It was the first time Dokja had ever initiated a kiss.
Anything his star was offering was a precious, invaluable gift. Even if it was just another needle in disguise, planted beside the others, awaiting the moment his heart would finally burst.
:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:
“Because I want to have sex.” Dokja’s fists clenched to his sides. There was a sweat on his brow—but was it from embarrassment or something else? When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, his cheeks grew pink.
How adorable. Plotter chuckled. [And why ask me, specifically?]
“You are…” He swallowed. “My favorite.”
[You cannot lie to me, Kim Dokja.] Those warm brown eyes widened in front of him. It was a lie, then, wasn’t it? [Your infatuation with the Yoo Joonghyuk of your worldline is clearer than the night sky.]
“I am not asking him. I am asking you.”
[No. I refuse.]
Dokja gritted his teeth. “You will agree. All of the other constellations will turn on you if they discover the truth of your existence.”
Plotter’s eyes narrowed. His statement was true; there was already enough probability he was expending to maintain his role as a constellation in this worldline. But to face the consequences of discovery? It would be too much; he’d have to flee. All of his plans would be ruined.
“Given both your true identity in this worldline and knowledge of your presence as an Outer God… it would not bode well for you.”
[Are you threatening me?] He raised an eyebrow. [Perhaps I should’ve expected this from you.] How much longer could he drag this out? Dokja was going to grow impatient, but he was already being pushed toward the edge of his own limits. What was the point of being wanted if it was all for nothing?
“I am threatening you. What’s your answer?”
:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:
Dokja slept in Plotter’s arms, his body limp but with a crease between his brows. He’d exhausted himself during his use of the chaos points to summon the apocalypse dragon. It would take more time than his companions had for him to recover—it was better for his star if he stepped in.
Pretty, dark lashes fluttered as a soft whine left his mouth. Plotter shushed him, then prepared to open a portal back to the N’Gai Forest. It was imperative to get his star to safety as soon as possible; his companions were going to search for him, soon. They would never understand that they were incapable of handling his recovery.
But then, a tinge of black appeared before him, adorned in a familiar visage that sent an eerie chill down to his toes. His jaw clenched and his teeth gritted—when had that false third turn flown up here? Plotter’s grip tightened around the fragile body in his arms, Dokja’s consistent breaths growing slower.
The 1864th Yoo Joonghyuk of this worldline stared back at him with furrowed brows and a curled upper lip. “You are not me.”
[Correct. I’m not you.]
In response to his words, the crease between Joonghyuk’s brows grew deeper as he looked toward Dokja. Plotter huffed, his gaze drifting down to the sweet star in his arms. This false third turn who did not know even his own existence could not be allowed to take him away—the fool knew nothing of their history.
[Constellation, “Secretive Plotter”, is looking at Constellation, “Demon King of Salvation”.]
Sending the indirect message lifted the corner of his mouth into a slight smirk. Joonghyuk’s anger intensified as he bit his lower lip, the faint roar of an explosion erupting in the distance behind him. Was he going to leave, then? Back to his companions with this new identity reveal? It would’ve been smart of him to do so. But those calculating eyes never strayed from the star in his arms.
“Let go of Kim Dokja.”
Plotter chuckled. [It’s a miracle that you managed to survive this far with such a slow head.]
“Shut up, and let go of him. Or else…”
[Or else what?] he pushed. Provoking him was a bad idea, but the flicker of escalating fury in Joonghyuk’s irises was too satisfying to refuse. This moment had played before his eyes in countless instances, but this reveal was much more gratifying than any imaginary possibility. [What exactly can you do to me?]
“I don’t understand. You’ve stayed under the radar until now, so why suddenly intervene?”
[Because now is the right time.]
Joonghyuk huffed. “Is it really?”
As he spoke his words, a roar pierced their surroundings as probability began to run amok; the fight between the apocalypse dragon and the ‘Indescribable Distance’ had reached its zenith. It distorted the area around the two of them, crushing the cosmos between nimble, intangible fingers as the <Star Stream> started a steady march toward its own destruction.
This was the perfect moment to make an escape. Several [Great Holes] opened up around Joonghyuk’s head—one was capable of taking the two of them back to the N’Gai Palace without needing to expend his own probability. With the appearance of tentacles and a few true voices calling out for him, it was clear where to go.
Plotter held Dokja close across his chest with one arm and made toward one of the [Great Holes]. But just as he did, Joonghyuk stepped in front of him again. What did he intend to do now? He couldn’t take him in a fight between the two of them—surely, he had to know that.
Still, his sword was drawn, gripped tight in his hand; it contrasted the stiff, uneasy expression on his face. “I can’t allow you to leave.”
[Don’t attempt anything foolish. Being able to regress does not guarantee you an intact life in the next turn.]
“I’m not planning to go to the next turn.”
Plotter raised an eyebrow. [Is that so?] The erratic probability around them was growing thicker. Any action taken needed to be rapid and intentional.
With one quick glance at the angry, lesser version of himself, his status crushed down across the wide back wearing that signature black coat. The smirk across his face grew wider—the poor, false third turn really thought he was able to beat him.
Joonghyuk vomited blood before he spoke. “Don’t look down on me!”
Plotter laughed as his status continued to bear down on him. [Fool. You have no idea, do you?] His grip on Dokja’s body tightened—his breaths were even slower than before. This was no time to instigate a fight, but the words rose from his burning throat coated in smoke, unable to be extinguished. [How much he yearns for you.]
“What?” Joonghyuk growled. His trembling hand grasped his sword, then lifted it in front of him. “If that was true, you would give him back to me.”
[Why wouldn’t it be true? He’s slept in my bed enough times for me to know.] At his words, sparks lit up the darkened eyes holding his gaze.
“I’ll kill you!”
[Cease your disdain. Do you think he desires me for anything other than the fact that I have your face?]
Joonghyuk glared back at him. He said nothing, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to allow him to get away. The opening was there—but in a split second, his [Black Heavenly Demon Sword] was raised as he leaped forward. Plotter’s upper lip curled as his [Splitting the Sky Sword] materialized in his free hand.
Their blades met in a shrill clang, and Joonghyuk’s eyes widened. Plotter smirked. He was still too slow, stuck in the limitations of his third turn self. If he knew he wasn’t who he thought, perhaps he would’ve been stronger. [You can’t win against me.]
“I can,” he tried, but his voice was weak. Even he didn’t believe in his own abilities. How pathetic.
[You are nothing to me. I have no understanding of what he sees in you. But if you are unable to determine how to act on your own desires, I will take him for myself.]
Joonghyuk growled, still facing the effects of the intense status over his entire body. But somehow, his own status rose as well, a faint ripple sent down Plotter’s body through their connected blades. How was he still standing? There was blood pouring from his nose and lips as their swords clashed again and again.
“You’re also handicapped, just as I am.” He was right, as unfortunate as it was. Plotter’s status was also growing more unstable as each second passed, sparks lighting up around his face as he struggled to keep the hold on the stories holding his incarnation body together. As each one scattered, a sharp pain formed in his chest—it was a warning. He wouldn’t last much longer. Joonghyuk must have known that.
[Trying to buy time, huh? It doesn’t suit you. Did Kim Dokja teach you that?] He paused to take a breath, his eyes lifting toward the [Great Hole] that held his escape. [You’re only at the third turn. Your end goal shouldn’t have anything to do with Kim Dokja. Why are you so hung up on him?]
“That’s what I want to ask you.”
Plotter huffed. The fool had no idea, truly, of the power held in his companion’s hands. [In order to reach my objective, I require his presence.]
Joonghyuk raised an eyebrow. “Then that’s my answer, too.”
This altercation was getting nowhere. The probability weighing down on the two of them was becoming heavier, forcing every muscle in his body to tense. Even if it couldn’t be fought against, he had to resist the pain piercing his skull. Yoo Joonghyuk could not be allowed to take his star away from him—not this time.
[You won’t succeed.] He let out a shaky breath. [Because even Kim Dokja wouldn’t know the events of this regression’s Final Scenario.]
As Joonghyuk began to speak again, flashes of possibilities of the future sped across Plotter’s eyes. Upon his imminent escape, there were two choices after his return to the N’Gai Forest. One would force him to voice his true emotions, while the other would push Dokja toward his preferred ending with the aid of [1864].
But which was the right one to help him reach his ■■?
:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:
[A threat is not something to be taken lightly.] Plotter smirked. [I accept your proposal.]
Dokja’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected his threat to follow through and provide him the result he’d wanted. After a second, his shoulders dropped, but his body remained stiff. He fiddled with his fingers, avoiding Plotter’s gaze as his cheeks reddened. What was he hiding?
He cleared his throat. [If we are going to be intimate, would it not be best for you to speak your mind? There is little reason for you to hide things from me.]
His words made Dokja’s blush more fierce, and his fingers itched to reach out and brush across it. Would his skin be just as warm as those big, brown eyes? Was his touch as soft and comforting as it seemed it would be?
“There is… one condition.” He looked away. “That I would like to add.”
Plotter raised an eyebrow. What was it now? [Explain.]
“You very well know he does not want me. He despises me, no matter what I do.” Dokja swallowed and lifted his head to meet his gaze. There was no need to ask who he was talking about.
His fists clenched at his sides. Untrue. Severely untrue, Plotter thought. But who was he to deny his star? If he needed a face to glimpse at, to imagine as the one he loved… would it not be better to provide it, as long as it benefitted himself, as well? Maybe Dokja would learn, then. That they were different. That he would be taken care of, if he didn’t go back to that false third turn.
“Still, I will call you by his name.”
A stinging pain pierced into Plotter’s chest—the sharpest tip of a needle, pulling along an endless thread of questions. He was just to be a face, then? An outlet for frustrations that dwelled beneath his star’s beautiful pale skin? And he had no choice but to accept it all?
There was no way he could do it. His attempts to survive 1863 turns were already enough to shatter his sense of self, to detach himself from that name that had nothing to do with him anymore. He was not Yoo Joonghyuk, hadn’t been since he’d taken on his constellation moniker and adorned the veil.
But his star wanted him to be a fake version of himself—to pretend to be his preferred version. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Plotter blinked away the itch in his eyes. [Very well. If you must. But in return, I will call you as I like.]
Dokja furrowed his brow, but nodded with hesitance. “And how would that be?”
Plotter kneeled, then lifted his head. Those warm brown eyes carried some combination of surprise and anticipation, making his lips rise into a slight smile. If he was going to accept this proposal, he would pretend to be that false third turn for Dokja’s sake. Even if it was supposed to be real, even if there would’ve been nothing better than to take him in his arms and keep him safe from the dangers of this worldline.
It could never be.
“Kim Dokja.” His true voice dropped away, no longer needed to convey power over him. Reaching for a pale hand, he pressed down a kiss against warm skin. “My dearest star.”
Plotter lifted his head and met those captivating brown eyes. The final words swirling in his gut couldn’t be said. Not when his star yearned for another.
Anything for you. Anything at all.