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When waking up to find yourself in an unfamiliar place, the first—and most obvious course of action—would be to figure out where the hell you are. That step, depending on how long it took you to adapt to waking up in a place that isn’t your bed, would be followed by a whole plethora of steps to figure out how exactly you’re getting back to your home.
For some people, waking up in a place that isn’t within your house would be a sure indicator of being kidnapped.
Of course, for a web novel fanatic like Kim Dokja, it had followed a similar scheme, in that, in addition to that first step, it was to figure out if he had transmigrated into one of the novels he’d read—like a protagonist of one of those trashy stories he’d sometimes indulge in.
The option of being kidnapped was surely out of the window, judging by the silk sheets that felt much better than the own shitty ones he could afford when working at Mino Soft. Never mind the desk and the shelves—all built from what looked to be quality wood—stocked to the brim with books. And… what was that, medieval furniture?
Either way, no one in Seoul would even consider kidnapping Kim Dokja into a place this luxurious. If any debt collectors had, he’d be rotting in an abandoned washroom with his blood seeping out of him, his organs collected. That, of course, was assuming the best, that his organs were even worth harvesting.
Such a fate would end in a painful death, a life barely worth noting down.
Something like, the clothes on him ones he’d never dare to purchase himself in his entire life—obviously had a supernatural cause then.
In the end, after a long and grueling investigation, which consisted of marvelling at the gilded windowframes, clothing, and even at his wooden bedframe—was all of this gold really necessary?—he’d figured out which story he’d found himself in.
Some shitty story—yeah, yeah, cliche as always—with a stoic, yet soft-hearted protagonist, a convoluted love story, and a minor villain.
Conveniently, the protagonist of the story barged in at that exact moment.
How could he tell it was the protagonist?
Oh, it was simply the aura of that bastard, of course. Prickly and handsome and cold, with eyes glaring at Kim Dokja as though he’d personally gone and pissed on his mother’s grave—paired along with that jawline that would only exist in reality through a masterful statue personified—it was simply obvious. Anyone with eyes would be able to tell, with the black cloak that draped along with his movements, the gloves adorning his hands crafted with only the finest of fabrics, and the fur lining his head and shoulders amplifying his imposing appearance.
Ogling, even for mere hours, wouldn’t be able to capture all the specifics that went into this bastard’s character design, and though Kim Dokja had only gotten descriptions of the man through text, such barren descriptions conveyed enough for Kim Dokja to immediately know.
“Kim Dokja. Come.”
And with that, stumbling along, he was dragged out for an impromptu something by that bastard.
After that whole long ordeal—which consisted of meetings with ministers, along with meetings with the palace aides, along with meetings with more and more people—Kim Dokja was finally freed from his duties.
You’d expect transmigration to be different from working in modern times, but apparently not. Such bureaucratic dealings seemed to be multiplied at such a level, even worse than what Kim Dokja had to deal with prior.
Anyway, forget such meaningless things. The main issue was at hand, even before Kim Dokja was dragged right into those meetings.
Yoo Joonghyuk. Right. A name he couldn’t ever forget.
The protagonist of There Was Seldom Any, a fantasy web novel widely acclaimed for the romance developed between the protagonist and the female lead. A romance that was as common as any other in the genre, but well-executed enough for it to gain a large following. A romance between Yoo Joonghyuk and Lee Seolhwa.
Such a romance would not have seen the following it did have, if not for the character that Kim Dokja currently possessed.
The villain, the clingy omega wife who couldn’t stay away from Yoo Joonghyuk, who, previously, served as none other than one of his followers, a minor noble forced by his father to wed the crown prince himself to accrue power for their family. A man, driven by Earl Kim, to bother and bother Yoo Joonghyuk until he had finally been thrown aside for good, slain afterwards for his terrible decision-making causing injury towards both his party, and towards his precious love interest.
It was just Kim Dokja’s luck, wasn’t it, to isekai into the worst possible character in the story. The character who so happened to share his name.
Though, with the future barely set in stone, and with the story having just begun—was it just? Kim Dokja could barely tell from the meetings he’d nearly dozed off in—there was a chance for him to escape this arrangement.
It was time for an operation. One to abandon the king before he ultimately found himself abandoned and killed, somehow.
Given his luck, there was no limit to how terrible his fate could end up. Dying in a ditch alone, freezing to death in the winters around the region, or beheaded in front of a crowd were all plausible options.
That gave him all the more reason to prepare himself for this challenge.
First, he would have to do some distancing on his own, right?
Though, as most things are, saying is easier than actually doing.
It took more courage than necessary for Kim Dokja to finally approach Yoo Joonghyuk with the words he’d prepared for weeks.
“Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi. Let’s… spend some time apart.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s brows furrow immediately. He looks at Kim Dokja as if he’d grown another head.
It shouldn’t be a surprising revelation, of course. If it were the old Kim Dokja, that son of a bitch still would’ve been all over Yoo Joonghyuk, clinging to his arm and acting like a needy omega, simply to try and curry favor. If that brat could think for more than a moment—or, if that brat had been written by a better author—he would’ve known that Yoo Joonghyuk hated that behavior more than anything else. But, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and it’s easier to criticize than to write an entire book, surely.
“You. Did… something occur?”
“No, Your Majesty.” Kim Dokja straightens his posture. “Why would you think so?”
Fuck. This perceptive brat, did he catch on already? Was it his clothing—the ones he’d begun to wear after doing an entire closet rehaul? Or was it his treatment of the palace maids? Or was it something else he might’ve let slip throughout the past few weeks he’d stayed here?
Yoo Joonghyuk looks at him as if he’d gone and eaten a whole raw onion right in front of him.
“Your form of address.”
Oh shit.
Right. The original him seemed to love… cozying up to Yoo Joonghyuk, for a lack of a better word.
But the simple thought of doing such a thing to… that guy… sends more than shivers down Kim Dokja’s back. It’s more akin to the urge to immediately commit suicide if he were to ever find himself stooping down to such a level.
So the best thing he can come up with is a meek…
“Joonghyuk-ah…”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s brows unfurrow the slightest bit—Kim Dokja seems to have retained the ability to read this guy’s expressions from the original owner of the body, strangely enough—before his shoulders relax. He approaches Kim Dokja, and before Kim Dokja is able to back away fully, small steps straying away from this weird behavior, Yoo Joonghyuk has latched a hand to his arm again, dragging him somewhere.
“Wait, wait—Joonghyuk-ah, where…” Kim Dokja gulps. “Where are we going?”
“Another meeting,” he says, with no effort to clarify at all.
Fuck.
Such meetings, that would stretch on for entire days, now with the autumn harvest having finished, seemed to only grow more abundant.
Though, even with such setbacks in place, Kim Dokja wasn’t going to give up. Still, his best efforts seemed to return… mediocre results, to say the least.
In short…
All Kim Dokja’s excuses were shot down.
“I have something to attend to.”
“Then,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, “I will accompany you.”
“My father is requesting me. Alone.”
“Your father would dare refuse an order from the crown?”
Wow… Seriously, what the hell?
Kim Dokja’s smile twitches precariously.
“There is something personal.” Kim Dokja exhales. “That he has to tell me.”
“Kim Dokja. What are you planning?”
“Joonghyuk-ah… Would I really plan anything?”
Yoo Joonghyuk crooks an eyebrow at him. His expression speaks for itself.
Kim Dokja sighs. “He’s… insisting I go alone. That’s all. There’s nothing more to it.”
Insistent. Really insistent. Yoo Joonghyuk was never this insistent before—such behavior not seen in the novel at all. These unprecedented actions, all bombarding Kim Dokja one by one consecutively, give him no chance for escape at all.
“You’ve told me. How your father is. And how you want me to accompany you to the meetings.” Yoo Joonghyuk clenches his jaw. “If. You are not plotting something, then… There must be something you’re hiding.”
Imposing, Yoo Joonghyuk looms down over him, the hand clasping his wrist cuffs connected to the jailer. As an interrogator, he is entirely unrelenting, his pupils boring a hole through Kim Dokja’s skull.
“Tell me, Kim Dokja.” Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze meets his, looking down. “Your behavior. Can you explain… why it has changed?”
Kim Dokja gulps.
Fuck.
It was natural for Yoo Joonghyuk to be suspicious. An expected series of events, really. What wasn’t natural was what followed.
To teach Kim Dokja a lesson for keeping secrets from his husband, and for staying completely quiet, avoiding that brat’s gaze while he’d bombarded him with continuous questions about the past few weeks, about what had happened, about the things he thought he was able to keep Yoo Joonghyuk from knowing—a few strings he’d pulled behind the scenes to secure artifacts for himself and for the crown—Yoo Joonghyuk had chosen to do this.
“Hic, uh, ah, no more,” Kim Dokja sobs, “no more.”
Kim Dokja’s cunt aches, fucked sloppily on the bed, his legs bent and thrown over Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders as that bastard thrusts into him so deeply he can feel it up to his throat. Too much, is barely enough to encapsulate the fullness he feels, full of so much come from Yoo Joonghyuk he feels as though he’s pregnant. His hands clasp against the sheets, bunching and curling the fabric, fingers digging in, yet barely enough to free him from this overwhelming feeling. The pheromones curling over his skin, burrowing into his marrow, only amplify all of this, the fullness, how sensitive every inch of his body is, and the aggravating desire for more in spite of his current debauched state.
Even worse was when it had begun. When Yoo Joonghyuk had taken him by the lips, swearing to teach him how to be a good wife, Kim Dokja thought he hadn’t been hearing things correctly. He’d almost thought he’d found himself in one of the wet dreams he’d had ever since he’d found himself in this world—ones where he’d find himself fucked into by Yoo Joonghyuk until he’d be crying for him to stop, ones where he could smell Yoo Joonghyuk’s arousal burying itself into his body. But such a thing wasn’t a dream, and he realized soon enough as that brat practically tore all the clothes off of him, pumping out three fingers at an astounding rate into his slick-soaked pussy until he was begging for him to stop, his traitorous mouth suggesting he wanted something more.
“Yoo Joonghyuk-ssi, ugh—ah, hn, hic—! No more, ah, I’ll be good, uh!”
“Wrong again, Kim Dokja.” Another harsh thrust to the womb sends him reeling. “When… hah, when will you finally learn?”
Slaps upon slaps, his body bent and contorted, weight pressing Yoo Joonghyuk’s cock further into Kim Dokja’s body than he could ever possibly find himself handling—he feels his mind slip away from him, the pheromones only driving him further down into this hellscape. It’s hell, this heat, this all-consuming flame within his core, digging in and forcing him to vie for only pleasure, his body betraying all of his thoughts and intentions as it barely manages to meet Yoo Joonghyuk in his thrusts. Breathing, clawing, grasping, sobbing—all of these aren’t processed by Kim Dokja at all, even as he babbles and sobs, no more, hng, no more, more, too much, too big—ah!
Kim Dokja is truly going insane, broken and shattered his psyche is, all at the hands of Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Joonghyuk-ah,” Kim Dokja cries, “Joonghyuk-ah—hng!”
“Need I remind you?” Yoo Joonghyuk mumbles deliciously into his ear, his cock buried fully in his cunt, buried entirely in his womb. “Only a month ago were you begging for my pups, Kim Dokja.”
Another brief withdrawal happens for only a second before he’s burrowed fully in again, balls slapping obscenely against his cunt. Yoo Joonghyuk’s pheromones exude his desire, to breed Kim Dokja full of his pups, to knot until Kim Dokja’s squirting again, to fill him and plug him full of come, guaranteeing his fate beside Yoo Joonghyuk forever.
“Is it finally time to grant you your wish?”
“No, ugh, no, hic—ah, hng!”
Terrible, horrible, such a fate would be, Kim Dokja knows—he knows entirely from the novel itself, detailing how gruesome the fate the original him had found himself in after his desperate attempts to get Yoo Joonghyuk trapped in such a relation he’d found himself in now. And yet, his body, so attuned, so wanting of Yoo Joonghyuk’s length, craving his pheromones and his pups and everything from him for some strange reason, needs nothing more than to be filled, to be fucked into until he’s squirting, until he’s passed out, with no thoughts other than of this.
“Kim Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk groans. “Kim Dokja. Is this another one of your schemes? To try to get my attention?”
He stills, a brief respite, enough for Kim Dokja to speak.
“No, hng, Joonghyuk-ah, it isn’t,” Kim Dokja sobs. “So—hng, so no more… hic—uh, hng—no more…” He swallows, gulping for air. “I promise, I’ve learned… mmm —’ve learned my lesson, so stop… hic…”
“Liar,” he whispers.
And so it begins again, an assault—which the simple word can barely describe—harsh, punishing against his cunt, into his womb, burrowing warmth, digging its filthy claws into him, sharp and soft simultaneously, loving and hateful concurrently. Whispers, Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice filling his ears, his pheromones, his come, his everything, and yet, Kim Dokja knows not how to understand any of it, his mind only barely able to take the pure pleasure ramming into his womb, surely bruising it with the pressure he’s pushing against it. A sloppy kiss, here and there, tongue intermingling with Kim Dokja’s own, saliva dripping slowly from his lips onto his chin—their tongues breaking contact with each one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s quick movements—it all comes to a stop with a guttural groan from Yoo Joonghyuk, and then, Kim Dokja’s cunt clenching in tune as a mind-numbingly large stretch fills him.
A silent scream, his cunt squirting and convulsing against Yoo Joonghyuk’s knot, ends this lesson that Yoo Joonghyuk so carefully prepared for him.
Gushing, a final sputter of his pussy is all it takes for Yoo Joonghyuk’s hand to come soothingly on his face, immediately slowing the sniffles he takes from his nose.
Has this bastard… finally come to his senses?
Kim Dokja gulps more air down, each breath still saturated with pheromones. Terribly enough, the breaths only fan the embers that had just extinguished themselves with his climax.
Of course, Kim Dokja’s assumptions end up wrong as usual.
“We won’t stop,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, “until you finally learn.”
Shit, is all Kim Dokja can think, before the bastard rocks his knot inside of him, the smallest of movements forcing him to grit his teeth once more.