Work Text:
The question was, Han Sooyoung mused, who should top.
Vaguely, she was aware that the question really should be about morals. Was it weird to write explicit smut about two of your friends? She did think, after all this time, despite never having actually had the conversation, that what the three of them shared did constitute friendship. She considered both Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja her friends, even if she might never willingly admit it in public.
They were companions.
But mostly, the two of them were companions with each other.
And yes, companions did necessitate a suggestive wiggling of the eyebrow.
Unfortunately, as she had known from the start, they were both colossal idiots.
She should have known from the very beginning that everything would end up all wrong. That was what happened when you allowed protagonists to have too much control, and especially when you allowed yourself to be swayed by your readers. Readers didn’t know a damn thing.
Readers, she had firmly decided, should stay in their damn lane.
That lane was not, however, some subway of eternity forever reading worldlines. The lane that, if she, the author, had her way (and as the author she really felt she should?) Kim Dokja belonged in was in this worldline with the rest of them, reading her newest novel.
The bastard.
Ideally, keeping Yoo Joonghyuk in check.
(Someone needed to keep Yoo Joonghyuk in check, she had realised, as he was crafted for the scenarios, not for normal life. He didn’t have a clue how to be normal. Though, at least cooking was a skill that could be used in the post-scenario world, but he didn’t even seem to have fully embraced that either. And she could no longer play him like a puppet. He needed Kim Dokja, even if he never quite said it, it was obvious. They all did.)
Maybe, if not for Kim Dokja, she would never have been an author. She remembered the cyclical, nonsensical manner in which it had all come about. Three Ways to Survive an Apocalypse and SSSSS-grade Infinite Regressor.
It irked her.
But that was besides the point.
She had written about the apocalypse because of Kim Dokja. Both novels stemming from the same source, one the frantic word-vomit that she still felt was a mess of a story that barely deserved to be called a novel, the other the filtered ideas slipping through to her conscious mind and curated with some actual skill (she was still proud of that).
Knowing what they had done with the authors of the other worldlines, she sometimes wondered about her own stories, her own words. Was anything ever truly original? Was any of it real? Were they all stories in someone else’s novel?
But she didn’t like to think about that too much.
What she had lingered over was whether she would have written a novel about an apocalypse if none of it had ever happened. Would she have been drawn to the ideas of sponsors and scenarios, of regression and infinity? Or would she have written something else? She knew she would have written something, that was engraved in her bones. But she didn’t know what genre was truly hers.
Maybe she’d have written romances or murder mysteries.
Maybe she’d have written about happiness rather than endless suffering.
She’d never truly know.
But she thought that she might try and find out, at least a little bit.
Part of it was to annoy Kim Dokja. Or tempt him. Both, really. He was easily ragebaited and for so long that had been her favourite hobby. She knew what he liked. He liked TWSA. And he liked Yoo Joonghyuk. So, by that definition, he liked her writing. Even if he’d been a little bitch about SSSSS-grade Infinite Regressor, which was infinitely better written (though she would acknowledge, of less practical use for navigating the scenarios of the Star Stream).
She had briefly considered telling Yoo Joonghyuk of her plans, before deciding it was best not to. Firstly, it would be funnier not to. It always was (and he never told her about his plans, so it was fair and this one didn’t even involve any terrorism). But mostly, she didn’t want to think about how he would react.
At first, she had assumed he would be horrified and disgusted, and he’d likely skewer her with his sword even though murder was now illegal (again). But then she remembered him, truly remembered him. Not just the man she knew, the quiet devastation he had borne upon each loss that had grown exponentially, the intensity never wavering. His grief had only deepened, never healing or easing. But she also remembered the nights she had spent hunched over her keyboard, typing away frantically, painfully aware of the deadline of the dawn. She remembered the man she had crafted, the depths of him that few ever truly knew. Except maybe Kim Dokja, her only reader.
Then she realised she couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t give him hope, where none was left. Couldn’t break his heart with what would never be (and she knew it would break his heart, because his heart beat with her ink).
Yoo Joonghyuk was back now, back but he’d left his soul out in the vastness of eternity, still seeking Kim Dokja. The fragile tendrils of the uploads were still there. She didn’t know if anything else would go through, if her next work would ever be published.
But maybe she should try writing for herself for a change, instead of these men.
These men she would pour her heart and soul into, drain herself dry in yet another last ditch attempt to heal them. Her reader and her protagonist. She felt the responsibility too sharply.
She pushed it from her mind.
They would be happy. Even if it was fiction, even if it could never become reality. Even if Yoo Joonghyuk wasted away (how could Kim Dokja possibly think he could be happy in with this ending she would never understand). Even if Kim Dokja never returned (how he thought any of them would be satisfied she would never understand either). Surely he must have known, after all they had been through, that they would keep trying? That they would fight for the ending they all wanted, even if he faltered and surrendered in the epilogue, they would force through the sequel. Who cares if it was lacklustre compared to the first volume, the series would continue until the ending was right.
She didn’t have the heart to believe anymore that Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint would work, but she didn’t have the heart to surrender either.
She opened the document, chewing her lip.
She was their god.
Joonghyuk cupped Dokja’s cheek, scarred fingers caressing smooth skin so lightly they could have been a feather. He was battle-hardened and capable of facing any fight without flinching, but he hesitated in this moment. Cautious. Uncertain of the next move. Unwilling to rush in too fast.
But Dokja was melting into him, nuzzling against his hand in silent encouragement. Willingly tilting his chin upwards to give Joonghyuk easy access to his lips, and Joonghyuk could not resit. He knew when to press the advantage.
It was Dokja’s first kiss, so he let the more experienced man take the lead for once, submitting rather than bulldozing his way through.
Sooyoung pursed her own lips. She didn’t actually know how much experience Kim Dokja had, but she was allowed to take some artistic liberties here and there. It served him right, anyway. If he’d been here to read her work like he’d promised her, then she would likely know. And even if he had been a much a virgin as she’d always assumed (no one who read TWSA as much as he had done had any chance of actually getting laid, surely), then hopefully by now he’d at least have kissed Yoo Joonghyuk.
She tapped her fingers on the desk in irritation.
Stupid Kim Dokja.
Dokja felt Joonghyuk’s tongue, as fierce and overwhelming as the man it belonged to, pressing for access. Invading with the same ferocity that he dominated every battlefield with. Unlike those battlefields, where he had pushed back with a force that belied his weak and feeble physical body, he opened his mouth willingly. Eagerly, even. Easily giving in to the passion and toying with Joonghyuk, each of them wrapping themselves around the other.
He let his hands creep upwards, from the muscular shoulders to run through his soft hair, grasping him close.
She growled. It was a little awkward. She probably shouldn’t be so mean to Kim Dokja. He wasn’t here to defend himself, and that meant she just felt sad and empty. She wanted to insult him and have him snarl back at her with his own insults. She’d even tolerate being called short by him. Just to have him back.
It felt strange to describe Yoo Joonghyuk in such terms too, though she did feel more willing to linger on his sex appeal than Kim Dokja’s. She’d done it before, after all, in those frantic moments as she described him as she knew Kim Dokja saw him, all rugged masculinity. Crafting a story for him to hold on to, and a man for him to fall in love with. Besides, Yoo Joonghyuk was her creation, so he was exemplary in every way possible. She had a certain amount of pride in her work.
But she was still stuck. She glanced at the clock. It was late. She probably shouldn’t text Sangah, but if she’d had morals she wouldn’t be her, so she did.
- Me
- Who do you think would top, Yoo Joonghyuk or Kim Dokja?2:23
- Yoo Sangah
- ????2:24
- Me
- Well?2:26
- Yoo Sangah
- idk
- but I have QUESTIONS2:32
Yoo Sangah
April 1, 2026
“Pah,” she said aloud, and promptly felt silly. She sighed. So much for that.
There wasn’t really any plot. Maybe she should just give both versions a try. Skip everything and get straight to the bonking. Maybe the anger would draw Kim Dokja back to them, either at her gross mischaracterisation, or at the way the scene skipped wildly from one moment to the next. She could hope. It was all that was left.
Yoo Joonghyuk was taller, so maybe he should top. Besides, she kind of liked the idea of someone pinning Kim Dokja down. He always managed to slither away like the slippery weasel he was, so this seemed right. Maybe handcuffs should be involved. Or possibly more restraints. He was a wily fellow after all. Maybe she could use Yoo Joonghyuk’s sword belt for that. It was the kind of thing that she suspected would probably turn Kim Dokja on.
Joonghyuk tightened his sword belt, firmly affixing Dokja’s wrists to the head of the bed. Dokja wriggled, trying to squirm his way free, but the restraint held.
Joonghyuk smiled, a slow satisfied smile. He had Dokja right where he wanted him.
Dokja licked his lips, eager in anticipation. He might struggle and resist, but there was nothing he wanted more than for Joonghyuk to hold him down and take him. Carnally.
Joonghyuk’s fingers were strong and thick, probing their way inside. Even with the lube coating them, Dokja could still feel the invasion, the slight strain as his body adapted to the breach.
He was slow. Joonghyuk had been through many turns. He had learnt patience to a degree few men could even dream of. He was content to let this last all night and then some. He had nothing planned for the foreseeable future bar making Dokja lose his mind.
Dokja by contrast was not patient. He was increasingly desperate, those fingers curling and teasing, pleasure building but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted something bigger than fingers, wanted it harder and faster. Wanted Joonghyuk to focus the full force of himself on him, no longer toying but destroying.
To him it felt like an eternity, growing evermore desperate, until finally Joonghyuk relented. Shifted. Pressed his monster cock against his entrance, and began to slowly push.
Dokja endured the discomfort, enjoying the burn of pain as his inner sanctum was breached. He had always been a bit of a masochist. He had to have been, to reread TWSA so many times.
Relentlessly, Joonghyuk pounded him, spearing him much like the Yoo Joonghyuk of the 41st turn had speared anyone who got in his way.
Dokja gasped in pleasure, struggling against the restraints. He wanted to cling to Joonghyuk, to hold him close as they both came, but he had been hoisted by his own petard.
She sighed, putting her head in her hand. Maybe that wasn’t it. Besides, spearing him much like the Yoo Joonghyuk of the 41st turn had speared anyone who got in his way was not a phrase that belonged in a sex scene. Though, it probably was what would get Kim Dokja going.
She sighed again. Maybe Kim Dokja should top? He was, after all, a control freak. And Yoo Joonghyuk did tend to submit to his whims. He wasn’t as harsh as he seemed on the outside, just as Kim Dokja wasn’t the docile little lamb he appeared to be at first glance. Maybe Kim Dokja should be the one giving orders, as she knew if it was him then Yoo Joonghyuk would listen. And maybe after everything, Yoo Joonghyuk deserved to lie back and let someone treat him like a princess.
She groaned and started again.
“Get on the bed,” Dokja said, his voice as firm as Joonghyuk’s abs.
Joonghyuk obeyed, but he didn’t go alone. He dragged Dokja down on top of him, wrapping his strong arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck.
Dokja laughed, warm and rich, ruffling Joonghuk’s hair. “Of course I’ll be joining you,” he said, peppering the other man’s forehead with countless kisses. “I’m here, it’s my turn to take care of you, just like your story took care of me when I needed it the most.”
Joonghyuk relented, letting him go long enough that they could shift, languidly kissing as they lay sprawled on the bed, naked flesh on naked flesh.
Slowly, Dokja ran his hands along Joonghyuk’s skin, caressing and kissing each and every scar tenderly, working his way downwards where he teased his balls as Joonghyuk mewled in frustrated pleasure, opening his legs wider as he wordlessly begged for more.
Dokja had never been able to resit the other. Was only too happy to continue, to work his way inside his favourite character first with his fingers and then his cock, burying himself to the hilt just as he’d once buried himself in Joonghyuk’s story.
Joonghyuk wrapped his strong legs around Dokja’s slender waist, holding them together. Wrapped his arms around Dokja’s shoulders, desperate for kisses but unable to stop his moans of pleasure for long enough to manage a kiss.
Dokja moved, just like how he had moved Heaven and Earth to reach the end of the scenarios, shattering Joonghyuk with each thrust of his hips as he had shattered the Star Stream. He let himself feel, no more barriers between them, just endless eternal ecstasy.
Sooyoung stopped again. Was that in character? Was it better? Worse? She was losing all way of knowing. She fished her phone out again, typing in frustration.
- Me
- I’m condemning them to a lifetime of celibacy3:33
- Yoo Sangah
- ????
- Don’t you ever sleep?3:35
- Me
- You’re still awake too3:36
- Yoo Sangah
- At least I’m not… doing whatever it is you’re doing
- I DON”T WANT TO KNOW
- IGNORANCE IS BLISS3:38
Yoo Sangah
She smiled softly. Maybe she should just go to bed. Her phone pinged again.
- Yoo Sangah
- Happy birthday, btw
- Don’t stay up all night3:41
- Me
- It’s my birthday, I can do what I want3:42
- Yoo Sangah
- I know
- But then you’ll be too tired to enjoy your birthday party3:43
Yoo Sangah
Sooyoung looked at the documents, and closed them, giving up at least for the night. If her boys wanted to make her birthday a good one, Kim Dokja would return. She’d done her part, and Yoo Joonghyuk had played his role. Now they just needed their reader to come through.
- Me
- Good night3:50
- Yoo Sangah
- Good night
- See you in the morning3:52
Yoo Sangah
At least she had Sangah. And who knew what the morning would bring?