Warnings: ddlb dynamics, if that’s not your cup of tea
Word Count: 1.9k+
Author: Mia
A/N: This is just straight fluff. Absolute, teeth-rotting, cavity-inducing sugary fluff. Hope you enjoy it!
He feels strange, and rightfully so. He always does when he boards the train on his way back from his parent’s house. It’s like stepping through a portal and having reality shift on its nauseatingly winding axis. Youngjae goes from the responsible and self-sufficient twenty-two year old Polisci major, pride of his little town, to…well, he’s not really sure to what. And maybe it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t have a name for it. All he knows is that the overpowering desire to be coddled and pampered preen low in his gut, and it won’t be satiated until he gets back to their apartment.
Although he’s a fidgeting mess most of the ride home, in his defense, his stay was dragged out a little too long. On Friday, his original day of planned departure, a blizzard rolled in with a score to settle apparently. It lasted half a day and everything was a wreck: the roads, all forms of public transport, etc. His mother couldn’t have been more thrilled. However, Youngjae was aching inside. He had expected to be home to see Jackson off for his overnight business affair. The surprise extended stay felt like much longer than it really was.
Moping aside, he’s finally back in the same area code and his nerves are doing a number of clawing excitement. His stop finally comes around and he bids a quiet farewell to the elderly woman beside him who surely thinks he has some sort of restless condition. The biting chill slips beneath the openings in his coat and he diligently fastens the few loose buttons as he climbs the stairs leading up from the subway and spills out onto the street above. After breaking away from the small crowd, he focuses on what he had planned to do before getting back to the apartment.
The only way to quell his swollen need to be petted and praised is to be at home. But he swings by Jooheon’s uncle’s bakery to get a couple pastries and combat his twisted mood. Jackson had wired him his allowance a little early, probably because Youngjae’s disappointment at Mother Nature holding him captive was palpable through the phone. He has a little to spend. And so after the bakery he stops by his second favorite place on the planet.
Subspace.
The warmly lit store can only be found by going down this alley and then descending a set of slick (thanks Winter) stairs. The interior is unbelievably aesthetic. The racks are color-coordinated and full of discounted goodies. The woman who owns it, Hyorin, is a dom who runs a much loved blog in the ddlb community. She always makes sure to give Youngjae extra love when he checks out. Youngjae is inclined to believe it’s something instinctual. A way she’s circuited, for lack of better terminology. Hyorin, however, had once told him comparing her blatant fondness to animal instinct was more than insulting. And Youngjae was coerced into feeling flattered.
A mauve, velvet shorts and long sleeve pajama set piques his interest. He reckons he’d look podgy in it, but he is intimately familiar with Jackson’s love for velvet anything. So he grabs that and picks up another pair of pastel knee-highs to add to his growing collection.
“There’s my beautiful boy.”
Maybe it’s a dom thing, but it’s like Hyorin can sense his unease. As if there’s some sort of radio frequency she’s tuning in to. That, or Youngjae looks like the mess he feels like. She skips her usual smart quip and gives the boy what he’s been craving for a week now. It should be mortifying, the way Youngjae melts into the soft palm that cups his cheek. Youngjae is the bashful sort, after all. But, Hyorin has a discreet magic that prevents Youngjae from feeling like the mewling, needy child he is.
She wishes him a safe walk back to the apartment (snow and all, crazy what a fiending conscious manages to block out) and Youngjae is on his way home. From Subspace, it takes him less than ten minutes to walk home. Crossing the lobby, riding the elevator, and walking from the elevator to their door feels like a drag. Everything feels like a drag. Even though Jackson had to priority fly straight to Miami for a meeting last night and isn’t there to snuggle him, Youngjae is eager to just get inside. He wants to curl up on the couch with his favorite stuffie and wait until Jackson does get back and he feels whole again.
After shedding his coat and boots, Youngjae turns up the thermostat a few degrees and goes straight to his room. It looks the same it had. A few stuffies flung about the neatly made bed, but most of his Little stuff being arranged in the closet. With a fluttering heart, Youngjae changes into his new outfit. It’s as soft as he hoped it would be. He grabs Todd, his stuffed giraffe, and heads out into the living room to lounge on the couch and watch whatever is on the TV.
The couch is more comfortable than he remembers it being. He pulls a blanket around him and burrows like a small, woodland creature. Without fighting the belated fatigue, Youngjae drifts off.
* * * * *
“Little prince. “
A deep, smooth voice rouses Youngjae from his nap. He can’t possibly know that it’s considerably late. But he can hear fire crackling on the earth, and even his groggy conscious recalls Jackson once telling him fireplaces should only be lit in the evening. Something about them looking stunning while protruding onto a dim room. Jackson also said…
Jackson.
His eyes blink open with the haste of a flustered sloth. But once they lock on the figure hovering above him, Youngjae sits up in a flash, only taking a moment to nurse his whiplash before he flings himself into Jackson’s arms. A throaty chuckle escapes the man as he squishes Youngjae tighter and presses feathery kisses to the boy’s temples. Youngjae can’t help the storm of warmth that flocks to his chest and settles there. He’s fluttering and suddenly overcome with so much love he’s afraid his heart will implode in a burst of glittering pastel.
“Daddy.” He’s unsure when the choked whines in his throat became audible, but he has no time to feel embarrassed because Jackson pulls back to take a good look at him and Youngjae is flushed all over. The man looks even more dashing than when he’d last seen him, if that’s earthly possible. Miami has given his complexion a charming glow and warmth. He looks positively sun-kissed. His round, brown eyes are pouring into Youngjae so fondly it’s overwhelming.
“Did you miss me, baby?” Jackson’s voice can unwind even the tightest coils in Youngjae’s chest, popping them one by one until he’s loose putty in the man’s embrace.
“I did, daddy.” Youngjae scrambles up to kiss his lips, speaking hastily through them. “So so so much.”
“Oh, my little prince,” Jackson coos and brushes locks of hair away from Youngjae’s eyes, fingers warm and adoring. “Are you hungry?”
Shaking his head with a pout, Youngjae says, “Not hungry. But, I want a bottle. My Red Ranger one.”
“You want your bottle, what?” Jackson fixes him a warning look.
Feeling warm and fuzzy, Youngjae can’t help but sigh a little. It’s been a whole week. A whole week since anyone has treated him like anything other than a boring, responsible adult. As strange as it seems to be happy about being chastised, the boy is giddy all over. His daddy is back to him. His stuffies, his bottles, his blankies and Todd are all finally back to him and he revels in it. Usually, Youngjae would’ve given Jackson a big pout and a whine for that tone, but all he does is flutter his gaze down a bit, bashful.
“I want a bottle, please.” He pops the ‘p’ and bats his lashes.
Jackson hike one eyebrow and smirks, giving Youngjae’s lips a quick peck. “That’s what I thought. Strawberry or banana, love?”
Youngae tilts his head in thought for a moment. Strawberry milk is his all-time favorite, but he’s hankering for something warm and strawberry is no good warm. He tells Jackson he would like some warm banana milk in his Red Ranger bottle pretty please. Jackson ruffles his hair, presses a light kiss to his pouty lips, and goes to warm him some milk.
“How was your trip home, angel? You only called me, oh, just shy of a hundred times. You must have been busy having fun.” Jackson moves around the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk. Youngjae leans over the back of the couch and watches him make quick work of his bottle.
“Fine, daddy,” he sighs. “I love my family, you know that. But, it’s like my mother is scheming up a plan to get me to stay longer every time I come back home. I wouldn’t put it past her to do a little storm dance and pray for terrible weather just so I can’t leave.”
“Storm dance?” Jackson snorts.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Youngjae pouts, blinking sadly. “I just always miss you when we’re apart. And my mother gets this crazy look in her eyes when I talk about leaving, like she’s getting ready to plot something to trap me there forever.”
“I can’t blame her.” Jackson takes the warm bottle out of the microwave and gives it a good shake, walking back to where Youngjae is sitting up in anticipation. “I’d want to trap you, too.”
“I wouldn’t mind if it was you.” Youngjae smiles big. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“Do you want it here or in your big boy bed?” Jackson asks.
Youngjae stands quickly and runs over to Jackson. “Big boy bed! Big boy bed!”
Chuckling with a fond expression, Jackson nods. “Okay, my little prince. Up.”
Youngjae wraps his arms around Jackson’s neck and hops. His daddy catches him with sturdy arms and hikes him up securely, making sure the bottle doesn’t fall or drip. He carries Youngjae to his big boy room. It’s all pastel blue. His bed is nicely made with his favorite blankie. Just when Jackson lowers him onto the duvet, Youngjae makes a displeased noise.
“Wait, daddy,” he whines. “I forgot Todd.”
“Well..” Jackson quickly shifts through some of the stuffies on Youngjae’s bed, eventually plucking out a white bear. “Can’t you snuggle Ty?”
“No.” Youngjae shakes his head. “Ty does tea time with me. Todd is for sleep snuggles.”
“Can’t Todd do sleep snuggles tomorrow?” Jackson asks. Youngjae doesn’t even dignify that with a verbal response. He just shakes his head and sighs heavily.
“Do you want daddy to go get Todd?” Jackson eventually gives in. Youngjae giggles, nodding happily. Jackson is gone and back with Todd within a minute, setting him down and letting Youngjae snuggle up close. They do their routine like always. Jackson tucks Youngjae in, making sure the folds are comfortable but secure. So the monsters can’t get in. He climbs in next to his little prince and hands him his Red Ranger bottle. Youngjae takes it with a happy sigh and leans back into his big pillows, blinking sweetly and sleepily at Jackson as the man rubs calming circles on his tummy.
“You’re always a good baby boy for daddy,” Jackson coos, peppering kisses on Youngjae’s cheeks. His little prince giggles. He’s holding his bottle with two hands so he doesn’t drop, just like daddy taught him. Even as Youngjae’s eyelids become heavier and his daddy’s soft praises lull him to sleep, he can’t help but use his last bit of energy to think about how he has the most bestest daddy in the whole wide world.
Jackbam; Jackson and Bam are in realtionship, they always bickering, teasin each other so their friends are wondering why they are a couple because they act like friends, but they share cute moments (that only they know)a lot of fluff!! I love your writing ^^ (and sorry for my english lnao)
Warning(s): a little (a lot of) swearing
Author: val
Word Count: 3.5k+
A/N: Hey guys! This took forever wOw but I’m finally here with my first fill! I’m a casual writer val who joined at the start of this year and is amazing at procrastinating but I hope you’ll enjoy this, even if the tenses might be hella inconsistent because I suck. Also, fun fact, I’m the youngest here!!
“Bambam!” Jackson Wang’s shrill scream pierced through the room like a knife.“You’re an absolute fucking shithead, you know that?”
In situations like these, the boys had learnt to keep themselves as busy as possible and try not to pay any mind to whatever attention-seeking announcement Jackson had for the rest of the group. Or specifically, for his shithead (his words) of a boyfriend.
“What did he do now?” Yugyeom whispered sardonically.
“He ate my fucking chips!” Jackson screeched back.
“I did not,” Bambam replied resolutely, eyes never leaving the movie that was playing on the television screen.
“We are literally the only two people who live here. Who else could have taken it?” Jackson demanded, his already-high pitch rising ever so steadily by some miracle of God.
“Pudding,” Bambam replied without missing a beat.
Jackson looked like he was about to explode.
“I’ll get you more chips, Sseunie. Sit your ass down and stop blocking my view of Chris Hemsworth,” Jinyoung appeased, rolling his eyes as he inched over on the couch to make room for the newcomer. Begrudgingly, Jackson plopped down, and silence fell over the room once more.
It barely lasted for a minute.
“I swear you took it!”
Everybody groaned.
“I didn’t.” Bambam sounded almost bored.
“You always do this! You always lie to me! Our relationship is all based on lies!” Jackson insisted hysterically, leaping back onto his feet and pointing an accusatory finger at Bambam.
“Our relationship is based on lies,” Bambam imitated, his face scrunched up in comical manner as he raised his voice to a high-pitched squeak.
Jackson gasped, seeming offended. “I do not sound like that! Take it back! And give me back my chips, too!”
“I do not sound like that,” Bambam continued to squeak in a manner that genuinely did not sound like Jackson. “Take it—” was all he could manage before he began to choke on his own laughter.
“I said I’ll get you new chips, please sit down Sseunie,” Jinyoung pleaded almost desperately, patting the spot next to him on the couch.
“Fine,” Jackson’s shoulders slumped in defeat, slinking down to the couch and snuggling closer to Jinyoung.
“How the fuck are they even dating?” Yugyeom grumbled softly from the other end of the room, stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Next to him, Jaebum shrugged.
And then, the only sound that could be heard in the room was the droning of the actors on television.
Oh, and Bambam cackling hysterically while simultaneously hacking up a lung. But that was a minor detail.
——————
By the end of the movie, Bambam had fallen asleep, Jackson’s lips were still arranged in a pout and Jinyoung was about to fling himself out the window into the depths of hell.
Bambam hadn’t stopped laughing for ten minutes straight, and Jackson wasn’t as quiet in his death threats as he thought he was. Although, Jinyoung would admit, the numerous methods Jackson had fabricated to murder the Thai boy were extremely amusing, if not slightly terrifying. Maybe Jackson could consider a career in homicide.
Jinyoung picked up the TV remote and aimed it at the screen.
“Time to go, everyone,” he announced as the screen turned dark. “Thanks for having us, Sseunie,” he waved half-assedly, one foot already out the door. The other boys trailed after him, some yawning tiredly as they mumbled their goodbyes.
“We’re leaving, Bam,” was the last thing Jinyoung hollered before slamming the door shut and leaving Jackson with silence and a sleeping boyfriend.
Oh, an awake boyfriend now.
Bambam blearily opened his eyes as he glanced around the room, trying to make sense of what was happening. When his sleep-addled brain finally managed to decipher that the movie was over, everyone had left and Jackson was still sulking on the other end of the couch, it told him to move. What kind of a boyfriend would he be if he didn’t?
Bambam blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he crawled towards Jackson, whose signature Wang Gae eyes were about to be the death of him. He flopped down next to his boyfriend, snuggling closer until any space between the two were practically nonexistent.
“I’m sorry for taking your chips,” he mumbled, voice muffled from his face being pressed into Jackson’s chest.
All of a sudden, Jackson’s demeanour seemed to shift.
His entire body relaxed into the couch, as if he was melting into a puddle of syrup and honey and all the love he held in his heart for Bambam. If Bambam was looking, he would’ve seen Jackson’s eyes soften and his lips turn up in the brightest of smiles.
“It’s fine, Bam,” Jackson whispered, even though they were the only two people left in the house. He ran his hands through Bambam’s hair comfortingly, fingers gently massaging the younger boy’s scalp. “We can get more. I’m not mad anymore.”
Bambam hummed softly, and Jackson could feel the vibrations travel through his body, through his veins, sending tingles down his spine and turning his heart into gooey, syrupy mush. “I love you, Ja-” Bambam’s words slurred, sleep enveloping him before he could even finish his sentence.
Jackson smiled fondly, fingers tingling with warmth at the sight of Bambam cuddled close to him, body rising and falling steadily with every breath he took. He gathered his boyfriend into his arms and heaved, pushing the both of them off the sofa and Bambam safely into Jackson’s embrace. He padded to Bambam’s bedroom and gently set Bambam down on the bed, brushing back a stray strand of hair on his forehead and leaning down to kiss the younger sweetly on the cheek.
“I love you too, Bambam.”
——————
Yugyeom let out a long, drawn-out groan on Jackson and Bambam’s couch, leaning his head back and slinking down in his seat.
“We’ve been waiting forever, now,” he lamented, reaching a lanky leg out to kick the man sitting opposite him. “Jackson, where’s your boyfriend?”
In response, Jackson hollered, “Yo, Bam! We’re all waiting!” He glanced over at Yugyeom and rubbed his calf ruefully, before tacking on completely out of spite, “your best friend’s complaining!”
Yugyeom kicked him again.
“I’m coming,” was the frustrated screech that rang from the Thai boy’s room. “You guys always fucking rush—”
Crash!
“Fuck!”
From his room emerged a frazzled, but nevertheless dolled-up Bambam, hopping awkwardly on one foot as he clutched his toe. “You guys always rush fashion! Now look at me, you fuckers—I stubbed my toe!”
Admittedly, Bambam looked incredibly dashing. His hair had been parted in the centre and rested artfully in strands down his forehead. His eyes were framed by deep red eyeshadow, accentuating his bright blue eyes (which were clearly contacts, but Jackson digresses). There was only one word he could use to describe his boyfriend—sexy.
Or handsome. Or gorgeous. Or hot. So maybe there were more words.
“Sucks to be you,” Jackson snickers instead, and jiggles his car keys in his hand. “Now let’s go—we’re actually late now.”
Bambam grins, picking up his phone. “I call shotgu—”
“I think the hell not!” came Yugyeom’s screech as he interrupted the Thai boy before he could even complete the word. “I had to wait a whole hour for your crusty ass to get ready, you bitch, I’m going to ride shotgun.”
Bambam’s eyebrows furrowed, cocking his head ever so slightly to the side as he fixed his gaze on Yugyeom. There was a pregnant pause, and then Bambam swiveled around to face Jackson.
“Jack,” he implored, tone sickly sweet. “I’m your boyfriend, right? Don’t you think I should ride shotgun?”
Jackson pretended to think, even though a smirk was beginning to spread on his face. “I don’t know, Bam,” he drawled. “Yugyeom has a point…”
“Oh my god,” Bambam gasped, aghast that he’d be betrayed this way by the one person who was supposed to be by his side through thick and thin, the one person who was supposed to—
“Yeah, I think Yugyeom should ride shotgun, instead,” Jackson concluded smugly.
“I think he should not!” Bambam fired back indignantly.
“It’s my car,” Jackson pointed out levelly, which all the more made Bambam fume.
“I’m your—”
Yugyeom groaned into his palm, burying his face in his hands as he tried to block out the couple’s bickering. He honestly didn’t get how they’d gotten together when all they seemed to do was argue—let alone how they hadn’t broken up yet. While he did love to spend time with each of the boys, not to mention he’d been best friends with half of the couple since their diaper days, being in the same room as the couple on his own was enough to give him a migraine.
“He’s going to ride shotgun,” Jackson declared with a note of finality, and Yugyeom felt a hand grab onto his wrist and pull him up sharply.
Whatever protests Yugyeom tried to weakly splutter out were promptly ignored as he was dragged out of the apartment all the way to Jackson’s car, with Bambam loudly complaining as he trailed along behind.
Oh, why did he ever try to butt in between the couple?
The door slammed as he was shoved into the passenger seat and Yugyeom winced, meekly pulling on his seatbelt. From behind him, Bambam continued to grumble as he crawled in the back.
For the rest of the journey, Bambam never stopped.
——————
When Bambam awoke, it was to low light and a fluffy blanket pulled over him.
Granted, his head was pulsing and he felt like he was about the throw up. Scratch that—the taste of bile was lingering on the tip of his tongue—maybe he already had.
A sliver of light sliced through the room as the door was slowly pushed open, a head popping in to reveal his boyfriend.
“Oh,” Jackson whispered, a bright grin on his lips. “You’re awake.”
Bambam could only groan in response.
“Bad hangover?”
Bambam nodded.
“Hangover soup?”
Bambam nodded again, a small smile beginning to spread across his face.
“Go wash up,” Jackson said fondly, cocking his head in the direction of their bathroom.
Bambam let out a noise that could only be described as a cross between a groan and a whine, and pulled his blanket over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a sharp breath, trying to force his vomit back down.
There was a soft pattering of footsteps and the blanket was tugged off. A gentle hand ran through his bed head and ruffled his hair. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much,” Jackson teased.
This time, Bambam let out a drawn-out whine, opening his eyes to gaze at his boyfriend and blinked sluggishly. “I know,” he pouted.
Jackson chuckled, the sound resounding uncomfortably in Bambam’s ears and making his head pound, but was still a bright, tinkling sound nevertheless.
Before he knew it, a pair of hands were snaking under his back and hoisting him up in the air, and Bambam almost yelped in surprise.
“You need to wash up, Bammie,” came the admonishing words, although Jackson’s tone held no meaning to it all. “You stink,” he teased playfully, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust.
Bambam swung one of his arms up to swat at Jackson’s face.
“I love you too,” Jackson cooed, screwing up his lips and making obnoxious kissing noises. “I love my baby Bammie so much, he’s so adorable, I love my itsy bitsy—”
“My head hurts,” Bambam whined again, squirming about in Jackson’s arms and effortlessly shut his boyfriend up, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he tried to balance the lanky boy in his arms.
Bambam felt himself being set down on a surface, and he hung his head as he felt his eyes drooping and his head was pounding and maybe the toilet wasn’t such a bad place to fall asleep on, you know—
“Bam,” came a gentle voice. “Come on, you can at least brush your teeth, right?” Jackson nudged his shoulder playfully, slotting a toothbrush in between his fingers. “Get yourself ready, and we’ll be out for your soup in no time.”
After the agonizing half-hour—in Bambam’s opinion—that it took for him to brush his teeth and slip his clothes on, Jackson was threading his fingers through Bambam’s as he tugged the younger out of their apartment and to his car.
Bambam felt the press of muscle against his own arm and warmth begin to spread through his body as Jackson began to walk with a light spring to his step.
“You okay?”
Bambam nodded, pulling his hand out of Jackson’s to wind his arm around the latter’s instead.
Jackson beamed. and Bambam’s heart fluttered. “I hope you had fun, even if you were pretty shitfaced,” Jackson chuckled.
There was a pause from him as Bambam let out a guttural noise, and then Jackson stopped abruptly in his tracks, causing Bambam to almost trip over his own two feet. Thank God for his boyfriend’s steady grip.
“Hey!” Jackson exclaimed in an accusatory tone, whipping to around to glare at his boyfriend. “You tried to make out with Yugyeom last night!”
Bambam’s heart stopped for a moment.
And then it was back to racing like a galloping horse, the loud thump-thump-thumps imitating heavy footfalls and laboured breaths as the horse thundered forward, on and on, ringing blaringly in his ears. Oh dear, what if Jackson was mad; Bambam swears on his life he didn’t remember any of the previous night’s events. What if Bambam did try to make out with his best friend, what if—
“Bammie! I thought you loved me!”
And suddenly Bambam was brought back to the ground. Suddenly Jackson’s words didn’t sound so horrifying, more like a harmless tease, something that was supposed to simply rile Bambam up, ruffle his feathers, jolt him awake just a little more. Maybe Bambam was overreacting—scratch that, he was definitely overreacting.
Suddenly, Jackson’s defiant gaze from below him seemed more like a pitiful kitten looking for their owner’s attention. It was almost identical to the way Latte would paw at his calves when he was hungry.
Bambam stroked his arm appeasingly.
“I do, Jacks,” he smiled warmly, and no matter how much shorter Jackson was compared to him, no matter how uncomfortable the position was to him, Bambam leant down, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder and tightening his grip around the elder’s arm every so slightly. “I love you so, so much Jackson, I’d never want to make out with anyone but you.”
Bambam almost saw Jackson’s eyes shining as the latter pulled him in for a tight embrace, pressing his face into Bambam’s neck and nuzzling in. “I love you too, Bam. I’m so sorry i don’t say it enough.”
They pulled apart, holding each other with bodies nearly pressed flush together, eyes twinkling, ghosts of smiles lingering on their lips.
And then it was over, way too quickly than Bambam would have liked. He wouldn’t admit it, but he adored these moments of sappiness he’d occasionally share with his boyfriend. The moments they hid away from their friends, the public eye. The moments that belonged to them.
Jackson was tugging on Bambam’s hand again, and they continued their walk to the car.
“For real, though, you actually did try to kiss Yugyeom.”
“I’m sorry, Jacks,” Bambam grinned, not sounding very sorry at all.
It barely took them a minute before Jackson’s car appeared in sight, and there was a beeping sound as Jackson pressed the button on his keys to unlock it.
“Ride shotgun today, please?” Jackson quirked his eyebrows hopefully.
Bambam grinned as he slid into the front seat.
And as Jackson started up the car, Bambam slipped his fingers in between Jackson’s.
——————
Bambam was supposed to be in charge of the new guy that day.
Being one of the employees who worked the longest at the coffee shop, he would know how things worked around there. Naturally, the role fell to him.
Well, it could have fallen to Youngjae, who’s worked just about as long as him. But Youngjae had a knack for shirking responsibility, that little traitor, so there they were.
The newest employee, Dowoon, is a bright young man who has too much enthusiasm in his tiny body. He’s willing to do whatever Bambam asks of him, and while it might be little overbearing, Bambam thinks he would make a great barista in the future.
After showing him the basics of brewing coffee, Bambam had been making Dowoon wipe down for about an hour, as the customer stream grew heavier and Bambam and Youngjae were busy behind the counter. As the number of customers began to lessen, and Youngjae snuck into the kitchen to nab a pastry for himself to snack on, Bambam decided to let Dowoon take his very first order.
“Hey,” Bambam smiled as he approached the table Dowoon had been dutifully scrubbing at. “I think you can take your first customer now!” He took the rag from Dowoon’s hand. “Let’s swap. The next customer is yours. Take their order, make sure Youngjae isn’t stealing more food from the kitchen, and serve them their order.” Bambam cocked his head toward the counter. “Simple as that.”
Dowoon’s beam could have rivalled the brightness of the sun.
“I’m on it,” Dowoon saluted, and scurried behind the counter, fingers tapping eagerly on the cash register. From behind, Youngjae emerged from the kitchen, a danish between his teeth and a croissant in his hand.
“You want one?” he offered it to Dowoon.
Dowoon shook his head. “It-it’s fine, Youngjae-hyung. I shouldn’t be eating on the job.”
“Yeah, Youngjae,” Bambam called out dryly from the table he was at.
The door bell jingled.
Dowoon jumped. “Wel-welcome! What can I get you?”
Bambam grinned at the familiar silhouette.
“I know this one,” he called, before the man could even open his mouth to reply. “Caramel frappe, with…” Bambam pretended to ponder. “Extra whip?”
“You know me so well, Bam,” Jackson grinned.
The tips of Dowoon’s ears were a bright pink. “Well,” he smiled. “I’ll get right to it. I mean—Youngjae will get right to it. I don’t—I don’t know how to work the machines yet.” Dowoon was stuttering like a high-schooler at his first day at school.
“It’s my first day…” Dowoon trailed off, the flush spreading to his cheeks.
“No problem,” Jackson smiles warmly, before turning to face Bambam.
Jackson walked over and slapped Bambam heartily on the back. (A little too heartily, Bambam might add. He nearly choked on air.) “He’s so sweet. And cute.”
Bambam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a snort from behind the counter, and Dowoon’s face seemed almost as red as a tomato.
“I’ll be back,” he reassured, before ducking behind the counter.
“What’s going on?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Dowoon thinks your friend here is really handsome,” Youngjae snickered, stuffing his face with the croissant he had saved from earlier to stifle his laughter.
“H-he said I was sweet too. And cute,” Dowoon stuttered.
“Yeah, he sure did,” Bambam frowned.
Dowoon let out a high-pitched noise that could have been a squeal. “Do you think he’d give me his number?”
“I don’t know, Dowoon,” Bambam cocked his head to the side, eyeing the younger. Dowoon, though, bless his adorable self, seemed to be completely oblivious and continued to gape at Jackson as the latter’s head was bent over his phone.
Bambam’s phone pinged.
i think he likes me bam
Bambam clenched his teeth.
i think i should give him my number. he’s a qt
Youngjae, practically about to burst into tears at the whole affair, shakily caps Jackson’s drink and hands it over to the smitten Dowoon. “Finish up your first customer!”
Dowoon looked as if he was about to melt into a puddle on the ground.
“Uh—caramel frappe for Jackson?” he called shyly, and Jackson walked up to the counter with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“That’s me.”
Dowoon reached over to hand the cup to Jackson, before pulling back and grabbing a marker, scribbling something on the side of the cup.
Bambam clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palm.
“Here,” Dowoon thrust the cup over, averting Jackson’s gaze.
Jackson grabbed the cup and glanced at Dowoon’s messy handwriting, biting his lip as a smile began to spread across his face.
“Did you just give me your num—”
Bambam reach over the counter to pull on Jackson’s shirt harshly, reeling him in into a rough kiss that cut off whatever the latter was just about to say. He made sure their lips lingered, tilting his head a little to try to deepen the kiss. He felt Jackson’s lips tilt upwards as he played along.
When he finally pulled away, the shit-eating grin was back on Jackson’s face.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous, babe.”
Dowoon let out another high-pitched screech.
(“Oh my god!” Youngjae hollered into the phone—since when did he get on the phone?
“Gyeom! I just watched them kiss. Yes, Jackbam! I just watched the two of them /kiss/—ha! You owe me twenty dollars now!”)
small drabble about how Jackson and Jinyoung are dating but since they really don't want anyone to know they hide their affection but in the "Look" choreography it gives them a chance to hold hands (if you guys look at the live performances Jackson always grabs Jinyoung's hand when they do the arm thing around JB)
Warnings: Nope
Word Count: 960+
Author: Mitchie
A/N: This turned out to be more angsty than I had planned…I hope you like it :)
“You have to stop doing that,” Jinyoung groaned as he tried to finish his message while Jackson tried to distract him.
“Doing what?” Jackson asked while grazing his nose down Jinyoung’s neck and leaving soft kisses in the dip of his collarbone.
Rough shivers took Jinyoung by surprise and he gripped his phone tighter, “That.”
Jackson chuckled, the warm air sent another shiver through Jinyoung. Jackson rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder and watched as he texted his sister. Jinyoung loved feeling Jackson this close to him. It was something he wanted every day, but he knew that Jackson wasn’t comfortable being affectionate in front of everyone else. Every time one of the members were around, Jackson became more distant; in his eyes, Jinyoung could tell that he still loved him, but he just wished he would show it publicly. It was a selfish thought but it was how he felt internally.
“Come from around the couch and sit with me,” Jinyoung commanded.
“Why?” Jackson asked, moving from behind the couch anyway and standing in front of his boyfriend.
Jinyoung tugged on his hand so Jackson sat next to him and nestled his head onto Jinyoung’s lap. Jinyoung leaned down and left a light kiss on his temple, making Jackson’s stomach flip and his fingers tingle. Jackson could tell by the way that Jinyoung timidly played with his hair that something was wrong. “What’s wrong?”
Jinyoung sighed and Jackson already knew what he was going to say, “Will we ever be able to tell them?” Jinyoung asked, clearly upset but trying not to let it show too much. “I know you don’t want to, but I can’t keep you a secret anymore, at least not to the other members.”
Jackson lifted himself from Jinyoung’s lap. He huffed out a breath of frustration; they had this conversation almost every time they were alone together. “Why do we have to tell them? We both love each other, isn’t that enough?”
Jinyoung stood up angrily, “Sometimes it is, but I’m tired of being ignored by you whenever we’re near the members or out in public! I’m tired of not being able to even hug you when we win or kiss you whenever I feel like. I want you, Jackson, at least in front of the members if not in front of the public!” he ran a hand through his hair and paced in front of the couch for a second before sitting down.
They both stared at each other. Jackson’s fear prominent in his eyes even when he tried to hide it; Jinyoung’s eyes were tired and broken down from the secret he will never be able to tell anyone. The only reason he had still kept it a secret was because he knew Jackson wouldn’t forgive him if he said anything without talking to him first, he might have even broken up with him which was something Jinyoung wouldn’t be able to handle.
“We’re home!” they heard and Jinyoung felt the usual pain in his chest as Jackson quickly rose from the couch and traveled to the other side of the room.
“Let’s get ready to do choreooooo!” Yugyeom cheered happily.
Jinyoung made eye contact with Jackson once more, but Jackson looked away as soon as the members reached the living room.
***
It had been a tense dance practice. Everytime Jackson caught Jinyoung’s attention it was a look filled with something angry but also something sad and then he would quickly look away. It hurt Jackson knowing that he caused that pain in Jinyoung and Jackson could do nothing to fix it. He was scared to tell the members. He was scared of how they would react and how the public would react, but he loved Jinyoung more than anything else. He was just as angry at himself as Jinyoung was, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
They started to get into the eye formation that surrounded Jaebum. Jinyoung didn’t look Jackson’s way as Jackson held onto his elbow. As they pulled away, Jackson accidentally hit Jinyoung’s hand, and he grabbed onto it briefly to apologize but it seemed like Jinyoung didn’t even notice.
Jackson suddenly got an idea and it caused him to trip up on his steps. All the members looked at him, except for Jinyoung, and he apologized. “Can we start from the eye formation again?”
They all got into position and Jackson held onto his boyfriend’s elbow tightly. His heart began to race inside of his chest; he hadn’t been this nervous since he had first asked Jinyoung out; it was a terrifying feeling. After they began to separate, things went in slow motion. Jackson held onto Jinyoung’s elbow this time and slid his hand down until their hands grasped each other’s. For the first time since they started dancing, Jinyoung held Jackson’s gaze. He was shocked as Jackson squeezed his hand slightly and winked at him. Jinyoung felt like he could cry. The unplanned action caused Jinyoung to trip over his feet and this time all the members looked at him.
“Are you guys okay?” Jaebum asked, clearly concerned as to why they kept messing up.
“Yeah we’re fine,” Jackson answered, looking at Jinyoung again. This time his angry gaze was replaced with shock and his eyes looked like he was about to burst into tears.
“Eye formation again?” Jinyoung offered and the other members agreed. They both stared at each other. Jackson’s fear replaced by contentment as Jinyoung’s eyes lit up with hope. As the rest of members separated, Jackson held on tightly to Jinyoung’s hand. He gave Jinyoung a squeeze to remind him that someday everyone would know of their love and that nothing would be able to stop them and this time Jinyoung noticed. He couldn’t be happier.
food blogger au please? i dunno if that exists honestly lol. 2jae fluff please with jaebum as the overly rude on the brink of being fired waiter and youngjae as the internet star with amazing photography skills, but a cute and unsecure behaviour in real life.
Warnings: japanese flower emoticons abound lol
Word Count: 1.6k
Author: Chewy
special credits to @gyugyugaga for coming up with @bon_appetweet <3
also fun fun fun i’ve been on a moodboard rampage and i made one for this fic here~ if you want a visual lol
You’re the Apple to My Pie by @bon_appetweet
Hehe, hi guys! It’s me again, Ars! I just wanted to update everybody on this new gelato place I found! It’s so~~ good ^.^
Youngjae pauses his typing. Should he include the emoticon? He’s not sure. Some of his readers think it’s cute, but he doesn’t want to annoy them with too many unnecessary emoticons. Following a few moments of pondering, he shrugs and moves on.
I went for the Smurf flavor-I never really knew there was such a thing before! It tasted rather like blue raspberry, which was really cool! My friend from Hong Kong got the Pistachio flavour, which he said was yummy. He also said it looked like I blew a Smurf. D:
Youngjae pauses again. He hesitates for a moment, but it’s not long before he’s quickly deleting the last sentence. Youngjae prides himself on keeping a cute, family friendly blog. It probably doesn’t help that all of his willing, taste-testing friends are all filthy minded.
Finishing up with a few aesthetic pictures from his Gelato Journey (as the blog post is titled), he hits post. Youngjae sees that he still has some time to kill, and decides to take a few minutes to check out the comments below.
Scrolling through his post from last week on a Western-Korean fusion food restaurant, he can’t help but smile as he sees a comment from one of his more dedicated followers.
@noralover7 commented: hmm I’m not really a fan of Western food, but since it’s a fusion maybe it will be ok? I know I have to try since you recommended it!!
Youngjae giggles and contemplates how to respond.
reply to @noralover7: hehehe I promise it’s good! but make sure to ask for the an extra side of kimchi pancakes, they taste the best! (ó ꒳ ò✿)
He’s not sure if the flower emoticons were a little bit overboard, but that will have to do for now, as he needs to get ready for his dinner reservation. Youngjae had been rather excited when he had gotten the booking because so far he’s only seen the best reviews for it online. Even though it goes a little bit out of his usual price range, hence no tag along taster with him today, Youngjae decides that it’s good to treat himself once in a while.
As he gets ready to head out, he spends half an hour looking in the mirror trying to decide between his white or black button down before realizing that it’s almost 6:30pm. Throwing on the white shirt, he grabs his camera and lens bag before rushing out, patting his pockets to double check for his phone and wallets.
At the restaurant, Youngjae has absolutely no regrets coming. He had called the managing host on the phone earlier and gotten permission to take photos, so as he waits for the waiter he snaps pictures of everything from the cutlery to the chandeliers and the floor to ceiling murals and mirrors adorning the walls.
Suddenly hearing a cough from his side, Youngjae startles and drops his camera into his lap. “Oh! Hi, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Youngjae says to the waiter who stands there with an impatient look on his face.
“That’s fine, sir. My name is Jaebum, I’ll be taking care of you today. Is there anything I can get you to drink? Perhaps a glass of wine?” he says, setting down a menu and wine list in front of Youngjae.
“Yes, actually, what would you recommend? I’ll be having the steak special today, so something that goes well with red meats preferably,” Youngjae asks, perusing the list. Everything seems rather pricey, but he supposed that’s what’s expected as he sees the imports.
“Ah, then you might want to try the Syrah, it’s imported from Spain and quite popular among our customers,” Jaebum says, pointing at one of the red wines on the list.
“Oh, that sounds perfect,” Youngjae says. “In fact, would you mind if I went ahead and ordered now as well?” He’s done his research ahead of time and knows everything to be said about the menu.
“Of course, what will you be having today?” the waiter asks, pulling out a notepad with an experienced flick of his wrist. Youngjae notices a small patch of ink peeking out from under the sleeve and is startled for a second upon seeing the intense contrast in this high end restaurant but goes ahead and orders. Jaebum nods and heads back to the kitchens with his orders.
As Youngjae waits in the meantime, he pulls out a notebook of his own and begins jotting down notes of what he can to match the pictures he’s taken so far. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jaebum returning with a wine bottle and hastily sets down his book on the corner of the table. “Back so soon? That was fast,” Youngjae giggles.
Jaebum just gives him a tight smile as he sets down the glass. As he goes to begin pouring the wine, he moves closer to the table and unknowingly bumps Youngjae’s book. Almost as if in slow motion, Youngjae watches the book fall with a thud onto Jaebum’s foot, to which Jaebum startles and loses his grip on the wine bottle. It falls with a crash onto the table, knocking over the wine glass and leaving behind trails of deep reddish purple stains all over the tablecloth and Youngjae’s clothing.
They both freeze where they are, silence surrounding them broken only by the glug glug as the wine continues to spill out onto the floor.
“Oh God,” Jaebum says, stooping to pick up the wine bottle. “I am so, so terribly sorry about that, please don’t report me to the manager, I promise I will pay for your cleaning bill, I am so terribly sorry, that was awfully clumsy of me,” he continues to ramble on and on, apologizing as he attempts to rub away the wine from Youngjae’s shirt.
Youngjae is pretty sure that his face matches the wine stain on his shirt, but he doesn’t have it in him to scold the waiter. “Oh… It’s okay really! I didn’t like the shirt much anyway,” he says, trying to laugh off the situation. He grabs Jaebum’s hands to stop them from scraping a hole into his chest and says, “I think that’s fine, now. Do you think I could still get my dinner?”
Jaebum just nods silently before running off to the kitchens after yet another apology. Youngjae doesn’t bother to take anymore notes or pictures that night, opting to ignore the sad visuals of his outfit in favoring of savoring the taste and flavor of the steak he ordered. He’s not sure that the food is necessarily worth the trouble of losing a shirt, but later, when Jaebum returns to get his check and leaves behind a giftcard with a hastily scribbled note on it, Youngjae decides that, yes, it was worth it.
—
When Youngjae gets home, he goes back to his computer to check for any comments to cheer him up as he throws his favorite shirt into the trash chute. “It’s been a long run,” he whispers dramatically before giggling a little bit. At least he can find solace in the fact that the waiter had been cute.
Opening up his computer, Youngjae slides his sim card in and clicks transfer on the photos. As the pictures from his latest foodie adventure load into the cloud, he opens up his inbox to see if he has any new comments. Lo and behold, another reply awaits him.
@noralover7 replied: well then it’s settled! i’ll have to see if i can squeeze in some time to go between practice and work… (ꈍ ‸ ꈍ✿) thank you so much for your constant updates, blogger-nim! they really give me strength to get through my day lol (///∇///✿)
Youngjae finds himself laughing at all the emoticons, and the smile remains on his face as he begins writing the post for tonight. He debates for a little bit before deciding, ah, well, Seoul is a big enough city that he’s sure nobody will notice and includes a picture of the note the waiter had handed him on a napkin earlier that night.
—
Five minutes later in a small apartment on the other side of Seoul, @noralover7 gets a notification on their phone saying
@bonappe_tweet has just posted a new update! “I’ll Stop Wine-ing About It!”
Jaebum decides to settle in with a bowl of ramen noodles, rewarding himself from that train wreck of a day at work by reading his current favorite blog. He begins with a smile on his face, but as he reads further and further, he’s not sure whether he should be horrified, embarrassed, or… grateful? On the one hand, his embarrassing mistake has been enshrined for all of the readers of Youngjae’s blog to read, but on the other hand… It looks like he’s been forgiven and… Youngjae thinks he’s a cute waiter. A cute waiter. Emphasis on cute.
Jaebum decides he’ll go somewhere in between and thinks up of a comment to write.
@noralover7 commented: oh jeez… that waiter was me ( ˃̣̣̥﹏˂̣̣̥ ✿) but i do hope you’ll forgive me!! and do come back to our restaurant!!
He waits with bated breath until he hears a ding from his phone.
@bonappe_tweet replied: oh! really!? well… maybe you could take me there (⁄ ⁄◕⁄ω⁄◕⁄ ⁄✿)
If anybody asks, Jaebum will refuse to admit that he spent the rest of the night screaming and pounding his fist into the wall, but the landlord will know by the many complaints he receives from Jaebum’s neighbors.
is it possible to have a super angsty songfic with "all or nothing" song? main pairing is jjp with the hint of markjin or 2jae as side pairing depends on the POV. I hope it's clear enough for the prompt.
Warning(s): Swearing, Heavy Angst, Maybe tearsAuthor: EllieWord Count: 500+A/N: Ahh it’s so short… forgive me
“Please Jinyoung, can you stop being so fucking indecisive and just pick one of us? I can’t do this anymore.”
Jaebum was shouting at Jinyoung, whilst pacing around the room and punching the wall. He could feel the blood dripping down his knuckles onto the floor, he knew it would stain the carpet he was standing on. But he didn’t care. The pain in his hands was more bearable than the pain in his heart.
He didn’t know what he would do without Jinyoung. They had been together for three years now, and from the beginning it was love. They had been through so much. Jinyoung had always supported him, and he had done the same for Jinyoung. Jaebum shook his head, he was getting distracted from the situation.
“Why can’t you say anything!” He shouted, frustrated and confused. Jaebum had never done anything wrong, but then maybe he just wasn’t enough. “Please just say something so I know what you’re thinking!”
He used to be able to read Jinyoung’s expressions so well, he could tell instantly what he was thinking. Now, all Jaebum could do was shout and plead and beg, as Jinyoung stood there with tears silently streaming down his face. What was his expression? Jinyoung had never looked at Jaebum like that before, not even when they had argued over this same topic before.
“You’re going to pick him. That’s why you’re not saying anything.” Jaebum could feel his heartbreaking, underneath his quivering anger. He had always known inside, that he wasn’t good enough for Jinyoung. But he ignored the stabs of pain in his chest, and instead focused on his anger, his rage.
“I’m sorry Jaebum…” Jinyoung tried to speak, but trailed into nothingness, as he heard these words from his lover cut him off.
“I’m done with all this shit. Just pick one of us, either way, you win. Stop giving me this hope, that we’ll be okay. You know I love you with all my heart. You know I’ll fight for you until the end, but it’s hard to fight for someone who you never see. It’s hard to fight for someone who’s never here.” As he said these words, Jaebum started to pack his clothes into a small duffel bag. He wasn’t shouting anymore, but spoke with a stone cold voice, his words slicing through the air and slicing through Jinyoung’s heart.
He didn’t want to leave. But Jinyoung had used him too much. Jaebum was worthless to Jinyoung, tossed aside as he sought out a better life, with someone else. That wasn’t the worst part. Jaebum could have understood if Jinyoung had just told him, ended it. But he hadn’t. And that’s what gave Jaebum the strength to leave the love of his life.
“You couldn’t decide, you coward, so I’ll decide for you. Have a nice life with Mark. He’s a good guy, so don’t use him like you used me. I hope I never see you again.”
That was the last Jaebum ever saw of Jinyoung, although he sometimes dreamed about what would have happened if he had stayed. But as soon as he started to dream, he would shake himself out of it and focus on the present.
Jinson married life please :) the world definitely needs more jinson.
Warning(s): Nope. Don’t think so..
Word Count: 1.1k
Author: Mitchie
A/N: I added kid Bambam and Yugyeom. I hope you enjoy :)
Today Jinyoung woke up alone. The unoccupied space next to him felt odd, out of place. He hasn’t woken up alone in almost 5 years. His mind began to wander as he played through every possibility that would make sense as to why Jackson was not in bed with him. It wasn’t a busy work day, they didn’t fight, there’s no fire….so why wasn’t he here?
Jinyoung didn’t start to panic until he checked the kids’ room . Both beds were empty with disheveled covers. ‘Downstairs. They must be downstairs’, he thought as he rounded the corner of their hallway and travelled down the flight of stairs. As he neared the living room, he could hear the faint ruckus of cartoon characters on the t.v.
“I thought you said I would be king!“ Jackson argued. Hearing his voice relieved Jinyoung’s nerves.
“No, I’m king,” said little Yugyeom. “You’re the peasant.”
“What am I?” Asked Bambam.
Yugyeom put a finger up to his mouth and pretended to think. “You can be the Jester! You do funny things to make me laugh.”
Bam went along with the idea and began to jump wildly around the living room. Yugyeom climbed his way onto one of the large recliners and acted like a king with both arms stretched out on the armrests. Bam stopped to stick his tongue out at his younger brother and laughter erupted from both of the children.
Jackson came out of the laundry room with a scarf draped over his head and tied under his chin; he took a knee in front of King Yugyeom, “Please, sir, can I have some money?”
“No!” Yugyeom answered with a big mischievous smile.
Jinyoung watched fondly at the bottom of the stairs as his husband began to fake cry in front of their children. He cleared his throat, making Jackson’s crocodile tears stop abruptly.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake.”
“Yeah,” Jinyoung chuckled. “It looks like you had all the fun without me.”
“Good morning, daddy!” The boys said in unison before wrapping their arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly.
“Good morning, boys,” he bent down to place a kiss on both of their heads. “Did you brush your teeth?” They nod, “Let me see,” Both boys proudly showed off their nice, clean teeth. “Good!” He praised. “Go upstairs and get dressed so we can take you to school.” They both nodded again and raced each other up the stairs.
Jackson dumped the scarf on the recliner. He puts his hands on Jinyoung’s waist and they share a kiss. Jinyoung thinks he oddly tastes like toothpaste and….gummy bears?
“I’m guessing the boys didn’t have their usual breakfast of pancakes and fruit.”
A mischievous smile crept up onto Jackson’s face, “ Gummy bears might have been added to today’s menu,” This was Jinyoungs favorite thing about his husband: No day was ever the same with Jackson. Even after 5 years, Jackson still finds a way to add a little something different to each day. Even something as planned out as their wedding was changed ever so slightly.
****
Jinyoung had the day planned down to the color of their socks, but of course Jackson had to change up a few things. Before the ceremony began, Jackson had his niece, Aimee, exchange the real wedding rings with little candy ones. The intimate crowd at the venue giggled and “awee’d” as she brought them out. Jinyoung could not believe what he was seeing; he knew only one man could have done this.
Though he began to feel quite anxious about how everyone else felt about the rings, he was put at ease as Jackson interlocked his fingers with Jinyoung’s. He didn’t think he could love Jackson anymore than he already did, but that day was like icing on the wedding cake. Jackson gave him a wink before slipping the candy ring onto his finger.
It fit perfectly
****
Jackson rested his arms behind Jinyoung’s shoulder and interlocked his fingers behind his neck. “What’re we doing after work today?”
“Well…the kids are sleeping over Mark and Youngjae’s, so we could…” Jinyoung trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows and moving a little closer to Jackson.
“Stay home and watch Running Man on the couch?” Jackson offered.
Jinyoung grinned at his husband, “You know me so well,“he whispered. He brushed the tip of his nose over Jackson’s before kissing him again.
Jackson smiled against his lips, “I know.”
****
Jinyoung was welcomed home by the smell of chicken being cooked for dinner. After stressing himself in the studio and dropping the kids off at Mark and Youngjae’s, he was ready to relax and spend the weekend with his husband. Jinyoung set his things on the table by the front door and headed to the kitchen. Jackson was working hard over the stove, whistling to some tune in his head and mixing the chicken in with the vegetables.
Jinyoung came up behind Jackson and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Dinner smells great, Wang gae,” Jackson relaxes into Jinyoungs embrace and continued to stir the food.
“Somebody is happy,” he said while tilting his head to kiss Jinyoungs cheek. “You haven’t called me ‘Wang gae’ in a while now, Park gae.”
“I’m just reminding myself that I have a good life with amazing children and the best husband a man could ask for.”
Jackson kissed his cheek again, “Ditto,” they stood there for a while, Jackson continuing to make dinner while jinyoung embraced him and watched. It was a peaceful silence, one that didn’t require them to open their mouths in order to speak to each other. It’s been a while since they had the weekend to themselves like this. They loved both of their children, but time away from them is healthy and needed for both parties.
Jackson eventually interrupted their intimate silence, “Alright, dinner is just about done. Get dressed so we can watch our show,” Jinyoung gave him a slight squeeze and left upstairs to change.
****
Jackson watched as Jinyoung’s eyes fluttered shut as soon as his head rested on Jackson’s chest. Dinner was good as always and the first episode of Running Man erupted laughter from the both of them. Jackson knew his husband wasn’t going to make it through 2 more episodes, so he brought a blanket down for them to cuddle up under. He smoothed out the kinks in his hair and listened to the peaceful breathing of the man underneath him.
He whispered a small ‘i love you’ into Jinyoung's midnight black hair and his heart fluttered when he got a small ‘hmm’ in response. He knew the ‘hmm’ translated into an ‘i love you too’ and with that, Jackson rested his head on the cushions of the couch and closed his eyes.
Hello! Can I request a 2jae fic where in one of them can see everyone's red string of fate and one day he finally sees the person on the other end of his line? I would love it if it's a fluffy happy ending. Thank you! :)
Warning(s): Mythology references, a lot of self thoughtAuthor: SallyWord Count: 10.4KA/N: I honestly am the worst person to ever interpret “fluff” i’m so sorry!!!! Unbeta-ed
Read on AO3
Youngjae doesn’t find it to be a blessing—more of a curse, if anything. He glances idly to the people around him, biting down on the straw of his medium sized Americano, observing the thin strings tied around their pinky fingers. Some are straining, pulled until the strings are taut (he wonders if they’ll ever break. They won’t, he tells himself.) while others are loose and piled over one another. They’re always some that are knotted here and there, which after so many years of observing, Youngjae recognizes it to be the times where they’ve almost let go of one another ( almost) but still came back for each other.
He shifts the plastic cup in his hands, the sound of ice rustling reaching his ears, as he surveys the red string tied around his finger. It sits comfortably, not too tight and not too loose, leading off into the distance and further to places that Youngjae doesn’t know of. He doesn’t dwell on it much now, having gone past the days of wanting to meet his fated lover so much .
It had died down when Youngjae fell in love for the first time, a boy named Yugyeom with soft hands and bright eyes. Where he couldn’t help but pass his days where his brain was filled with the younger’s laughter and endless chanting of He’s-the-one-he’s-the-one-he’s-the-one. Except he knows that Yugyeom isn’t the one. The string at the end of his finger doesn’t connect to the string that was tied at the end of Yugyeom’s. It doesn’t stop him from falling in love; however, doesn’t stop him from thinking that they can fight against the heavens and whoever played matchmaker way above the clouds. The Old Man under the Moon, was it? He recalls vaguely from mythology class.
But when the days pass by and they fall out of love—with raging fires and crumbling buildings—Youngjae can’t help but succumb to forces beyond his control. The flames of Yugyeom’s eyes burned into his irises at the age of fifteen, the two of them overwhelmed by life and romance , saying goodbye with all the wrong words. For “ I knew we wouldn’t work out from the beginning” isn’t really the best way to break up, is it?
It confines him, brings too much rationality upon him for any possible romance when he meets people who he likes and those who like him. Because they are those who aren’t meant for him, only another passerby in life. Where even though he knows they will make a mark in each other’s lives, it’s too distressing to be confirmed of the bitter end even before they start.
He doesn’t speak of it anymore, doesn’t desire love as much these days either. It all fades out into a soft numbness as he navigates life focusing on other things: school, family, and friends. It’s nothing much, he reckons, with the way that he has never been one to prioritize romantic relationships as the utmost goal in life. Plenty of others are like him, still too preoccupied with themselves and the general happenings of life for other fanciful things. Besides, Youngjae reasons, he’s simply waiting for the right person to enter his life.
And so, the world continues, and he breaks from his thoughts to messily scribble another line upon his notes—returning his focus to his studies.
It’s only at odd delirious hours, where he’s kept awake at night despite being mentally fatigued for no particular reason, that he wonders if he’s growing all too cynical. Where even if his fated lover—his soulmate—appears in his life, his passivity will turn their relationship into a watered-down one. Is it that because they’re destined to fall in love that they will? Will it ignite instantaneously like fire around oil or is it still more on his part to accept this growing love? Or will his cynicism only bring them together like water and oil—clashing here and there but still shackled to one another in some venomous love? Youngjae reaches to the silk thread at his fingers, wondering if it would cut into his skin like a sharpened blade when pulled with enough tension.
His mind wanders, thoughts going through various pathways at the same time. He suddenly feels weightless, floating above the surface of his mattress—dissociating from the world as his conscious seeps into the night air. A tinge of excitement (or was it anxiety?) works its way into his blood where he grasps onto the blankets in an attempt to stay grounded.
It’s nights like these where when he finally does fall asleep, he’s already lost within clouded thoughts, unable to discern between his dreams and reality. Eyelids heavy and body light, sleep overtakes him like sirens beckoning to Odysseus.
It’s not until Jinyoung starts to stare his phone more and more, something so uncharacteristic of the other boy, that Youngjae’s thoughts ponder upon the idea of love again. He raises his brows, partly due to curiosity and partly due to bemusement, for when was it that Park Jinyoung was so concentrated on his phone and not another one of his many novels? It must be nice, he reminisces, to be doused in the butterflies of early romance. He throws his roommate a knowing glance before shuffling to his own deskspace, flipping open his textbook and returning to his usual mundane life.
He doesn’t miss the blatant signs, the slight sparkle in the older boy’s eyes and the constant smile after every late-night text. It brings a mixture of feelings to Youngjae’s hearts, where he is genuinely happy for Jinyoung but there’s also a tinge of discomfort that uncovers itself from the depths of his heart, for what if ( what if) Jinyoung’s romance wasn’t to last forever?
Youngjae scans another paragraph of his music theory textbook, reading up on different modal scales. He takes it in half-heartedly, mind preoccupied with other things. He’s being silly, he knows. For any encounter, is only another learning experience in life. If anything, he should be worried for himself, rejecting such encounters only to save himself heartbreak. Immature, the printed words tell him.Shush , he whispers back.
If Youngjae hadn’t believed that the heavens have cursed him before, he’s fully convinced of it now, opening their door to find Jinyoung’s date—his boyfriend—at the doorsteps. A sickening feeling overtakes him, nausea seeping under his skin, as Jinyoung introduces them to each other. Youngjae nods, stomach morphing into a bottomless pit as he looks at their intertwined hands, unable to process whether the discomfort in him rises from the fact that their strings of fate do not connect to each other or from the fact that the red string tied around Jaebum’s hand leads to his own.
“This is Jaebum,” Jinyoung says happily, before gesturing to Youngjae, “and this is Youngjae. My roommate.” The vile feeling settles within him and Youngjae only has enough strength to let out a breathless “hi” before Jinyoung heads out side by side with Jaebum.
“I’ll be back later tonight,” Jinyoung tells him, voice echoing in the dorm hall. “You don’t have to wait for me!”
“Okay,” he whispers, barely audible to anyone but himself. He tightens his fist behind his back, holding on the string until it sears into his skin. He hopes that it’ll break from the tension.
It doesn’t.
Love doesn’t take him over by storm, Youngjae finds out the next day when he wakes up groggily, feeling just as horrible as the night before. Jinyoung is in his bed, still asleep in the early morning, phone clutched loosely in his hand. Youngjae turns around, shifting under his covers, to face the boy in the bed adjacent to his.
It all feels like a sick joke, a grand scheme planned by someone with perverse humour. Someone who found joy in toying with people’s lives. He wonders if it’s the Elder under the Moon, wonders if the old man finds it thrilling to tie strings around people’s hearts like it was only a puppet show.
Why him? Why me? He wonders, feeling all too wronged that this was the way that his life crumbles into pieces. For he doesn’t love Jaebum, and the other clearly didn’t love him either—heart infatuated with not just anyone else but his friend. How did they go on from here? Does he wait until they reach their destined end? Does he remain friends with Jinyoung after? Will he magically grow to love Jaebum once he hits a certain time in life? Is it the same for the other?
All the questions swim in mind without answers, a tangled web akin to the ones that Youngjae sees daily. And it only reminds Youngjae why he hated this gift in the first place, hated being the one to see how fate always ran opposite people’s wishes. Where obstacles were just as predestined as blessings. Where the heavens have given him all the endpoints but never showed him the roads to embark upon.
The nausea from the night before finds him again and Youngjae only wants to vomit until his heart also lurches from his throat. If only, he wishes, then love would never be a problem for him again.
But when he leans over the bathroom sink later that day, head pounding, all that comes up is bile.
It’s when Jaebum starts staying over in their dorm more and more that Youngjae feels as though he can’t breathe. Where even being in the same room as him and Jinyoung just doesn’t seem right. Where no matter how much he tries to focus on his studies, the black and white text only seems to taunt him.
It’s cowardly.
It’s groundless thoughts.
But it doesn’t stop him from scrambling out of their small dorm room whenever Jaebum steps inside. Their red string of fate trailing between the two of them with each step he takes. When Jinyoung asks him about it later, he gives a perfunctory answer of not wanting to disturb their moments. Which wasn’t a lie on his part. He supposes it’s also the answer he relays onto Jaebum.
There’s only so many places to escape to as he slips to the university library, finding himself a secluded spot before putting on his headphones to fall asleep to the accompanientments of Buxtehude and Bach. But there’s also only so many hours that he can dwindle within the labyrinth of books before melancholy finds itself within the crevices of his mind again. And Youngjae’s left alone to all his vexations of: Why? Why does it matter? Would Jaebum even take notice of him when he’s still in love with Jinyoung? And why was he so insecure over his own feelings that he felt the mere sight of Jaebum will succumb him to the strangling hold of romance?
Because if anything, Youngjae doesn’t like Jaebum—doesn’t know anything beyond his name and face—and Jaebum doesn’t like Youngjae. Jaebum likes Jinyoung who reciprocates his affections. And maybe, it’s not until they’re well past the precarious age of youth that he and Jaebum will meet again. By then, Jaebum would have separated from Jinyoung who would have also moved on from Jaebum. By then, he would be able to have the liberty of falling in love with Jaebum without knots in his stomach and discomfort under his skin.
But then is not now.
So as the notes shift into one another, the organ sounding slightly too ominous, Youngjae thinks he’s rightful in his decision to maintain his distance from Jaebum.
One day he’ll fall in love, he vows. Someday.
“Hey, Youngjae, right?”
A voice brings him out of his own thoughts. Youngjae jerks his head towards the sound source with too much force as if the strings of fate have finally snapped and he’s sustaining the recoil of it all. He blinks nervously as Jaebum stands to the side of his seat, which only confirms his theory that the Elder Under The Moon was a sick, sick man. He stands a bit too abruptly, knees banging into the table as he mutters, “Y-yes. Jaebum, right?”
“Mind if I sit here?”
Yes.
“No. It’s fine.”
He wonders if the heavens are amused at this scene where the both of them sit in awkward silence, at a loss for words now that it’s Jaebum and Youngjae and not Jaebum and Jinyoung. And Youngjae. He frowns slightly at the cup of coffee in front of him. The vapours hiss back in reply.
“You’re a music major, right? I’ve heard from Jinyoung.”
“Yeah, Piano Performance. You?”
“Classics. I’m minoring in Music Theory though,” Jaebum says with an apprehensive smile that Youngjae doesn’t know how to decipher.
“Ah,” he says, ending the conversation on a wrong note. But he really doesn’t know what else to say except, of course . Of course Jinyoung would like him, someone who’s also into literature and philosophy and the romances of years too long ago. He takes this time to survey the other, through calculated glances whenever he takes another sip of coffee. It’s his first time to sit and finally take in the other boy, noticing that this time around Jaebum’s hair is styled down instead of up. That the other’s irises were darker than he remembered, an intensity that only seems to be accentuated by the sharpness of his features.
On first look, Jaebum seems to be like that of a dagger—a sharp blade cutting through the air. The array of earrings and accessories he wears only complimenting his aura. It’s completely unlike Youngjae’s demeanor, who prefers to dress in oversized cotton blends that envelops his frame as his blankets do. They’re people of different worlds, opposing forces that Youngjae can’t help but wonder how they will blend into one another. Or maybe they won’t, and ten years down the line, Jaebum would be the loosely held dagger at his neck. Maybe the silk string will become that of iron and confine him like shackles.
But then Jaebum smiles, features softening in ways that Youngjae doesn’t expect, and looks so utterly shy—a side of him Youngjae wishes he hadn’t seen. He had expected the other to be bold, confident and stoic. But like the duality of light, Jaebum seems to be both the thundering roar and soft twinkling of piano notes all at the same time. And Youngjae. Seems to be both in love and not in love with Jaebum all at once.
One day. He reminds himself.
Not today.
“You compose too?” Jaebum asks, eyes peering at the mess of notes that Youngjae has on his notebook.
Too?
“Yeah, not really good at it though. You?” He replies meekly, warmth rushing to his cheeks as he attempts to inconspicuously hide it by resting his chin in the cup of his hand.
“Sometimes. When I’m suddenly inspired.”
“It’s hard to be though,” he huffs as he thinks too much of days where he ponders and ponders but melodies just won’t come to him. He wrinkles his forehead in annoyance, “composing is always a struggle.”
“Creativity is always a struggle,” Jaebum amends, “Be it music or literature.”
“You write?” Youngjae asks, tension slowly easing from his shoulders.
“When I can. Mostly prose though.”
And they return to the soft humming of silence, Youngjae simply nods and fiddles with the scribbles on his notebook. He holds his curiosity within him, not wanting to pry too much into the other’s inner mind.
Jaebum doesn’t seem to mind the silence, taking out his own set of notes to study with while Youngjae returns to his previous actions. He hums here and there, attempting to find melodies that flowed into one another. And when he later finishes the piece, huddled relaxedly in his blankets, he tries not to reminisce too much about the comfort he feels simply sitting quietly with Jaebum. Not now, he tells himself. Not now.
He figures there’s not much that’s changed, although he now exchanges small smiles with Jaebum before he stumbles out of the older boy’s dates. Everything is still within his control. He twists the string around his fingers, pulling it as if playing cats cradle on his own. Everyone still seems to be the same, with the way that Jinyoung smiles so radiantly whenever he talks of Jaebum. Though every time Youngjae is there to witness it, a small voice gnaws at the back of his head.
It’s not that he doesn’t know that he’s over thinking the whole situation—too fixated on how Jaebum isn’t his, but Jaebum isn’t Jinyoung’s either. Well, ultimately. But he doesn’t love him, right? So what is it about knowing that one day he would that makes it so utterly perplexing?
A part of him thinks it’s the fact that he doesn’t know just when and how he’ll inevitably fall in love with Jaebum. (Neither does he know when and how Jaebum and Jinyoung will fall out of love.) And in some twisted fate, what if he misses the right moment simply because he’s betting too much that their romance is secured by their stars?
And if so, is it truly love?
Or is it just another game that the heavens are playing to pass the idle time?
Love, he contemplates on the idea, pressing his fingers onto the heavy piano keys. The notes thunder around the practice room, bouncing off the old wooden floors. The crimson red of his string clashes against the black and white of the piano, the only colour in his sight.
Red, for romance.
Red, for danger.
When the seasons shift and the earth rotates closest to the sun, Youngjae can’t help but feel that the rusted gears in his life have also begun to crank alive—slowly but surely. Jinyoung packs his bags and goes back home for the summer break, showering him with goodbyes and promises to bring back presents. Youngjae stands awkwardly at the train station, scuffing his shoe on the ground while Jinyoung bids his farewell to Jaebum. He keeps his gaze on the cracked platform surface, humming mindless tunes to block out conversations that weren’t meant to be his.
When Jinyoung finally steps aboard his train, Youngjae gives him one last wave and a big smile, which the older male reciprocates. “Take care!” He says over the rumbling engine of the train. Jinyoung gives a curt nod, pointing between the two of them as he replies, “I will, you two take care too, okay? I’ll call when I arrive.”
“Yes, mom.” Youngjae huffs with a chuckle.
“I’ll miss you,” Jaebum says with a smile.
“Jinyoung told me to keep an eye out for you,” Jaebum tells him when they walk back to campus, the both of them still confined to the walls of higher education for the summer. “He said you tend to daze out and neglect your daily necessities.”
“He’s just exaggerating. I take good care of myself.”
“Not from the stories that I’ve heard,” The raven haired male teases, throwing his head back slightly in a smile. “You seem to sleep the days away.”
“Sleep,” Youngjae retaliates, “is important.”
“And so is eating meals. You’re human, you know?”
“I’m finally free from Jinyoung’s nagging, I can’t believe he sent you to replace him,” he says with a groan, though more of his dejection seems to come from how Jinyoung—and now Jaebum—only seem to view him as child. “I’m an adult,” he says, a bit more monotonous. “I can take care of myself.”
Jaebum seems to notice his change in mood, switching the subject as they continue down the street. “Jinyoung said you’re taking summer classes too?”
“Yeah, I’m taking Music Therapy.”
“The one at 9:45? I’m taking that section,” Jaebum tells him, as if not dropping news as heavy as a boulder onto Youngjae’s arms. It only feels all too familiar when the discomfort ripples through his veins. He twists the hem of his shirt, counting duple metres within his mind, “Yeah, I’m in that section too.”
“Relax, I heard it was a pretty chill class.”
“Yeah, it can’t be that bad,” he lets out softly, though he figures it’s a statement more to himself than the other male. Certain things— this —cannot and will not worsen.
It’s his mind running off on unnecessary tangents, Alice running after the white rabbit, when Jaebum slides into the seat next to his 9:30 in the morning smiling all too bright for morning lectures. The soft scent of Jaebum’s shampoo finds its way to him, tickling his sensory neurons. Youngjae shifts forward in his seat, resting his chin on the lid of his coffee—letting the scent of caffeine take over instead.
“Morning,” Jaebum says, setting out his notebook and pen, surprisingly unorganized and lackadaisical compared to the multitude of post-its and coloured pens that Jinyoung always carried with him. But when he looks at the faint sleep marks on Jaebum’s cheek, it doesn’t seem all too out of character. Maybe he was wrong, Youngjae thinks. Maybe it wasn’t that birds of a feather flock together. Maybe it was more so that opposites attract. Or maybe it was both, but he wouldn’t be one to know. He hums a greeting back, taking a sip of his latte so that the sucrose and caffeine drown out the voices in his head.
“Excited?”
“Ecstatic,” he deadpans to which Jaebum only stifles a laugh in response.
“ Someone isn’t a morning person.”
“I’m just your normal college student, feeling the morning lecture hate that every college student feels.” Youngjae leans a bit more into his seat, “Jinyoung-hyung ain’t a morning person either.”
“I’ve figured that one out from the scowls I get in Greek and Latin Law.”
“See?” Youngjae beams, “You’re the odd one out.”
“I,” Jaebum takes a small pause, covering his chest with one hand, “just happen to like sleeping early and morning exercise.”
“You,” Youngjae mocks, “are truly out of the ordinary.”
Youngjae figures it’s a blessing that both him and Jaebum are rather studious and they spend the two hour lectures in mostly silence. There are no small whispers here and there, no passing of messily scribbled notes. There are only the sounds of their professor, the flipping of pages and soft inhale-exhale of their breaths. But on days where the sun filters through the glass window panes, golden rays drenching Jaebum’s figure, Youngjae also hears the soft ba-thump, ba-thump of his heart. Sometimes it heightens in crescendo, other times it’s halts to a rest before continuing.
But it’s only for a small moment, and then he catches his breath and breaks his gaze. The warmth of the sun burns into his retina like light leaks on exposed film. He blinks slowly before looking back at the powerpoint slides in front of him.
The images come back to his mind at obscure moments, sepia tinted and grainy. It’s befitting, he reckons, something analog and raw about the way that Jaebum holds himself—rough edges, flawed, unapologetic. Something that feels all too precarious but intentionally so. Nothing potent enough to damage all at once, but something that stealthily lurks its way into the nooks and crannies. And before you notice, you’re already drowning in his existence.
He frowns at the thought, copying down another sentence onto his notebook. Tick tock, his watch whispers. Hush Hush, he replies. He’s counting down to an unknown number, approaching infinity backwards, walking in half steps and never reaching his destination.
He counts his days in the number of times Jaebum and him walk down the campus road after lecture—a ten minute walk where they scavenge for topics here and there. Youngjae wonders vaguely how long those minutes would accumulate to when their course ends, and so does their interactions. By then, the leaves of the campus trees would’ve fallen to the paved grounds, lifeless yet vibrant.
Crossing another day off his calendar, Youngjae reclines back onto his bed. He holds his hand into the air, letting the red string dangle in mid-air. Danger, he reminds himself.
It’s the foolishness of humans to be lured into the vices of bright colours when all of nature deems them to be a sign of caution—venom, death. We never learn, he sighs, as he thinks of all the colours that seem to morph into Jaebum’s prismatic existence. It’s so easy to fall, wanting to get just another step closer to someone so beautiful, attractive, charismatic. Where even when he paces himself to a safe distance, he takes one step too much and finds himself falling off the cliff edge. The flower at the edge of the precipice, mesmerizing and vibrant, screams of danger.
It mocks him, taunts him in his dreams with soft whispers of I-told-you-so , when his will and conscious is all too vulnerable. It claws at his heart, wrangling it as if it was a broken doll. So that when he wakes up the next morning, the guilt crawls slowly under his skin. And when it’s approaching noon, sun basking him and Jaebum in golden hues, it eats him from within.
But Jaebum doesn’t love him. (Not yet.) It’s not the right time even if it had been the right person. Jaebum shouldn’t love him. And had Jaebum reciprocated his feelings while still seeing Jinyoung, Youngjae doesn’t think he’d be able to love such a person. A pang of jealousy, bitter and helpless, strikes him in his heart. It makes a hollow thud, sound waves rippling through the air.
And maybe it’s the masochistic part of him that both selfishly wants to simply be near Jaebum (nothing more, nothing less) but doesn’t want to break the stage play the heavens have laid out. So when he diverts their conversations from them (meaning Youngjae and Jaebum) to them (meaning Jinyoung and Jaebum), he can only hope that the other won’t notice.
He wonders if such actions would make up for the ugly desires within him, so that the guilt could stop flowing through his body with every pump of his heart. In this way, he wouldn’t be a bad friend, right? This way, he can wait slowly for this play to reach its rightful end—curtains drawing to a close as the actors prepare for the sequel.
“It’s okay,” he says to no one particular, “Jaebum doesn’t have to love me now.”
If it’s one thing that Youngjae forgets about the nature of mankind, he figures it would be their unbounded greed. One gains an inch, and he wants another yard. So that he relishes in the way Jaebum greets him every morning, looks at him so intently whenever they engage in conversation, and swings his arm around his shoulder all too easily. Where for a moment, he thinks that such actions are his. And if Jaebum had lingered on for just another quarter beat, Youngjae would turn in his hold and place his arms around the other’s frame.
But he doesn’t.
He’s Icarus flying too close to the sun, wax wings melting as he plunges to the depths of the ocean below. The waves knock him over with too much force, air drawing out of his lungs and muscles aching against the tides. It depletes him, sucks all the energy out of him until he’s just another empty carcass.
Unrequited love. He gives and gives until he’s parched and dry.
He’s retreating in small steps, careful strides so that the loose gravel beneath him doesn’t slip and crumble. If anything, Youngjae reckons, he’s only trying to restore things to the way that it had once been. So he paces himself, stopping himself before every interaction so that he can gear it in the right direction.
But Youngjae also feel as if he’s attempting to piece together broken glass—cracks evident and minute shards lost—with the way that Jaebum sees through his facade. Two could always play a game of pretend, so why is it that Jaebum’s so unwilling to do so?
He nods perfunctorily, thoughts repressed as he gives Jaebum another half-hearted answer. It’s almost over, just a few more days until the sudden bloom of summer dies into muted tones. Autumn’s right around the corner, and when the green leaves fade into brown, they’ll crush underneath his footsteps as with his heart.
In some other fanciful world, it seems too much like summer romance but he knows it’s nothing close. They’re running on borrowed time and dreams can only go for so long before he’s jolted back to reality.
He wonders where they stand. Were they friends? Mutual friends? Or maybe simply acquaintances when they fall out of the spark of communication. No more early morning talks, afternoon strolls and daily texts.
Jinyoung comes back on a Sunday afternoon, cloudy and dry. Youngjae finds himself in the same spot as a few weeks back, Jaebum by his side as they wait for Jinyoung to arrive. There’s something slightly ritual-esque about it all, and Youngjae can’t help but feel that this is the moment he officially bids Jaebum farewell.
“Here,” he tells Jinyoung as they all walk back to the dormitories, “I’ve returned your boyfriend to you.”
They laugh as if it’s another joke, and Youngjae can only wish that it truly was.
He trails slightly behind, stuffing his headphones into his ears as he stomps pettily on the shadows of their interlocked hands. The string between him and Jaebum is still there although it doesn’t cast a shadow.
No one sees it but him.
When Fall Semester rolls around, Youngjae returns to his old patterns. The unpleasant feeling still resides within him, growing ever the more now that he doesn’t have to say it to remind himself that Jaebum’s in love with someone else. He wakes up to the sight of Jinyoung sleeping in the bed beside his, falls asleep to the sight of Jinyoung sending Jaebum goodnight texts.
But it’s worse this time around. For when he had only used to know that he would one day fall in love with his friend’s boyfriend, he now knows that he’s already begun falling in love with his friend’s boyfriend. Which, he knows, just isn’t right.
And whatever abhorrence he holds for himself is displaced in all the wrong ways. It turns into countless hours spent in the rehearsal room, playing melodies in all the wrong time—too fast, too loud. It turns into too many meals spent asleep, huddled in the corner of the library as Jaebum spends another day with Jinyoung in their dorm room. It turns into frustration that only translates poorly into irritation when Jaebum approaches him.
He takes in a deep breath, counting the small knots that have formed on the silk string. Youngjae really doesn’t know what to do, his initial resolve crumbling into ashes. At this point Youngjae feels as if he doesn’t know what he wants either.
He only wants everything to revert to the days before romance, before soulmates. Days where he was only preoccupied with himself in this vast world.
Youngjae knows that Jaebum picks up on his change of attitude, notices the way the other’s eyes flash small signs of hurt when he lashes out. He doesn’t mean it, but the jagged edges of his words inflict wounds anyways. It really isn’t anyone’s fault but his own—and even then, he feels so utterly wronged for thinking so. Had the heavens not cursed him like so, Youngjae figures that everything wouldn’t spiral into the calamity that it was now. But if he wasn’t at fault, who was? Who would be responsible for his actions but himself?
Jaebum finds him in the coffee shop near campus late afternoon, after so many lukewarm instances between them. He hopes wistfully that Jaebum had only been here for a coffee run, though he knows it’s not so when Jaebum scans the room before marching over to take the seat in front of him.
“Did I say something to tick you off?” Jaebum asks, sounding even more exasperated than how Youngjae feels.
“No,” he answers curtly.
“Then why is it that you’re suddenly treating me as if I’m the plague? I can’t read you, Youngjae.” The older male sighs, running his hand through his hair, “One moment we’re fine, talking about stuff, and suddenly you recluse yourself and shirk away. If I said something that made you uncomfortable, you can tell me. I can take that much, okay?”
“There’s nothing wrong!” Youngjae heaves softly, the air suddenly turning stale—pushing down his shoulders like iron claws digging into his flesh. “You’re just reading too much into it, okay? Shouldn’t you be spending time with Jinyoung-hyung instead of having meaningless conversations with me?” Though that seems to be the wrong thing to say, as it ignites something that’s been kindling within Jaebum for all too long. Small flickers of flame that finally aggregate into something he wasn’t ready to handle.
“Why is it that you’re always turning our conversations about Jinyoung? Is it so difficult for you to see me as myself and not just Jinyoung’s boyfriend?”
“Well, are you not?”
“How is that one attribute of myself is the one that you become fixated on? I’m simply trying to make friends, is that so hard for you handle? I thought I said something that made you feel bad, Youngjae. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“And maybe the thing is I don’t want to be your friend, okay?!” Youngjae snaps, menace seeping into his words. “Can’t you just leave me alone?!” He stuffs his notes into his bag hastily, pages crumpling as he tries to dump everything in as fast as possible. And with that, he stumbles out, brass bell clanging loudly as he finally pushes the door open.
There’s a tug on his finger, and he looks down to see another knot forming on the crimson string. A warmth wells up within him, rising like the ocean tides and crashing against his chest. He brings a hand up to wipe at the tears on his cheek, pulling his hood over to conceal his face.
Forget it, he thinks. Just forget everything.
The wooden door of their dorm room slams with a close, floorboards creaking as he makes his way to his bed. He draws the covers above his head, burying himself within the soft fabric.
“Youngjae?” Jinyoung’s concerned voice sounds, muffled by his blankets.
“Not in the mood to talk right now, hyung,” he utters, voice hoarse.
There’s a small pause before he feels his bed dip and a hold wraps around his figure. “Is everything okay?”
“No,” he says childishly though he regrets it as soon as his statement leaves his mouth. “It will be though,” he amends, “I’ll be okay.”
The fabric of his covers rustle as Jinyoung shifts, moving his arms to uncover Youngjae’s face from beneath the blankets. “Is this about Jaebum?” He says slowly, “Do you not like him?”
“No! It’s not that!” He says, too fast as he tries to read the unspoken words. The older male gives a soft sigh, reaching over to tuck Youngjae’s hair behind his ear. “It’s just that…you’ve always seem so avoidant whenever I bring him up or when he comes over. I thought you guys would’ve made friends over the summer but I guess it didn’t work out.” Jinyoung gives a soft smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know I wanted you guys to get along, but I’m not as immature to insist that my friends have to befriend my boyfriend.”
“It isn’t that,” Youngjae lies, “I’m just…going through things right now. I promise I’ll be better soon.”
Fire burn his throat.
Things simmer to a slow boil, fire encaged within a controllable range. Though the tension still lies in the air like a horridly humid day. Youngjae apologizes hastily via a text message the day after, but he doesn’t find it in himself to explain anything beyond that. Jaebum seems to get the point, responding with a similarly terse response. Though in some unknown tacit agreement, they both don’t tell Jinyoung about their argument.
The days go on. The butterflies in Youngjae’s stomach threaten to flutter out.
Autumn seeps in slowly but surely, and before long the trees are barren and the campus floors are decked in shades of red and orange. Youngjae looks out the cafeteria window, fiddling through his soup with his spoon. Mark—Jaebum’s roommate—sits beside him, while Jaebum and JInyoung sit across from them. The hall is filled with chatter, individual conversations blending into static noise, but the four of them sit almost silently save for small sentences exchanged here and there.
Mark wasn’t one of many words and Jinyoung, having picked up on the aura between Youngjae and Jaebum, seemed to have piped down as well. He picks up his bowl, drinking the last of his soup before standing up. “I have to rehearse for the recital,” he says before excusing himself. He’s in the middle of returning his tray before Mark makes his way to him, waving goodbye to Jaebum and Jinyoung as they exit the dining hall.
“I can’t believe you left me to be a third-wheeler,” the older male says.
“You have your own hands and feet, hyung. I can’t leave you anywhere.”
“Sure, Youngjae, Sure.”
He lets out a hearty laugh, looking at the other male questionably as they enter the elevator together. “Where to?” He inquires.
“Following you for some post-meal music. I’ve got some time to kill before my next class.”
“What’s that?”
“Abnormal Psychology.”
“Sounds fun,” he teases, elevator coming to a stop as the doors slide open. They make their way to the end of the hallway, taking a left to enter the rehearsal room. Youngjae moves towards the piano as Mark saunters into one of the stray chairs around the room.
“So, you want to tell me why Jaebum suddenly had to drag me into his dates?” Mark starts out of nowhere. Youngjae wonders if it’s a trait of those around him to be brutally honest about everything. “Why would I know? You should ask him.”
“If he’d answer, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“Then maybe I don’t have an answer for you either,” he says, feeling defiant in his own right.
“Logic tells me that it’s to keep you company so that you don’t third-wheel their dates,” Mark continues without a care, “But that’s that thing. Why would you even third-wheel their dates.”
“I don’t,” he says while pressing on random keys, “but I didn’t want Jinyoung-hyung to think I didn’t want to be friends with his boyfriend.” There’s something oddly intriguing in the way that one feels uncharacteristically bold when disclosing to a bystander—and the courage surges within in him, bottled emotions ready to burst.
“And you don’t like Jaebum?” Mark asks, leaning foreward against the backrest of the chair as he sits in it backwards.
“Now’s not the time for free-association therapy, Mr-Psychology-Major.”
“Please continue your psychological sublimation then, Mr-I-Have-To-Rehearse-For-The-Recital.”
Mark picks up the clues and strings it together by their fourth meeting, spent at the nearby mall as they replenish their snack supplies after a movie. And while Youngjae knows that he should be more anxious about it all, he doesn’t find enough energy in him to do so. It seems to be so long since he’s been harbouring all these emotions within him. Long enough that Youngjae doesn’t even care if anyone else knows—tears him open and reads the very words on his heart.
Perhaps it’s because he’s already grown tired of pretending—where everything he does seems so telling. Or perhaps it’s just how Mark is so observant, well versed in all his psychology, that he reads Youngjae like an open book. But Mark, being Mark, was also trained in client confidentiality and Youngjae finds comfort in how Mark knows but would never tell.
“Are you just going to keep on waiting?” Mark had asked then. Youngjae doesn’t answer, though he knows that such was only a rhetorical question.
But for how long? Would he tire out before then?
Was the inevitable end that all between him and Jaebum were the strings on their fingers and their burnt out romances?
Winter comes with frosted breaths and deafening fireworks. All’s barren on the trees and they’ve all packed to go home for break. Lights dangle here and there for the Christmas spirit and they gather at the nearby beach to celebrate. There’s more than the four of them this time, a handful more mutual friends as they all revel in post-finals euphoria. Christmas carols play from the tinny speakers of the portable radio that they borrowed from the orchestra room. Youngjae huddles into his scarf, oceanside wind billowing. He takes a glance at Jinyoung, setting off yet another pack of fireworks while Jaebum stands on the side taking photos.
He chews on his lower lip, looking up to see the varying shades of the fireworks instead. In a way, they feel like his own emotions—fleeting, explosive. Little impulses that come and go before he suppresses it all down.
He huddles his way to Mark, dragging his feet in the sand. “Merry Christmas, Mark-hyung.”
“Aren’t you jolly.”
“I’m tired,” he finally makes out, thumping his forehead into the older male’s shoulder.
“Well,” Mark shivers slightly in the cold, “nothing like the Christmas festivity to make you realize how lonely you are.”
“Truly.”
“It’s okay, we can be sad together.” Youngjae shifts his head from the crook of Mark’s shoulder, moving over to face him instead.
“Can you kiss me?”
Mark looks up at him, bright eyes that remind him like a deer’s. “Do you want me to?” It seems like forever, the sound of ocean waves crashing behind him mixing with that of the radio static. He musters the best of a smile he can before nodding, and Mark leans in.
Mark smells like his cologne—woody and light in ways that remind Youngjae of spirits beyond their existence. Though, with the way that Mark seems to read his mind, he wouldn’t be all too surprised if Mark had descended from other realms. It’s comforting, the way that Mark tastes sweet—like the peppermint candy someone was giving out earlier—the way he places his lips upon Youngjae’s but does nothing further.
He lifts his arms, about to embrace the older male, barely grazing the other’s arm before there’s a mixture of shouts and Mark’s out of his grip. He opens his eyes to find Mark rubbing his shoulder sorely and Jaebum suddenly by his side, looking at him with eyes of disbelief. Jinyoung is there a few moments later, just as confused as he was at the whole situation.
“Are you dating Mark?” Jaebum finally asks, more so interrogating than inquiring. But Youngjae doesn’t answer, still in slight shock from the earlier events. “No, we’re not,” Mark answers for him instead.
“I wasn’t asking you,” Jaebum snarls menacingly. “I’m asking you,” he says, stepping in between Youngjae and Mark, “if you like Mark.”
But what is he to answer? Yes , when he wasn’t? No , and that Mark was only a solace he’s found when he’s moping on and on about him ?
“What does it have to do with you?” He says defensively, all thorns and wounds.
“What the hell, Youngjae? I’m ju—”
“No,” Youngjae all but shouts, “Why do you care? Why do you have to make everything worse than it already is?! Why can’t you just leave me alone? Is that so hard to ask?!” It all feels too much like deja vu, air channels constricting as he gasps for air. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Mark’s pulling him away and he falters to follow, tears falling upon the sand below.
“I guess I just always fuck up,” he mutters, when he’s finally calmed down. He swings his legs back and forth, leaning into the cushioned seats of the diner booth. “Well, judging from before, you aren’t the only one that fucked up.” Mark settles his spoon down after giving his coffee a good stir, drumming his fingers upon the table.
“You didn’t do anything,” Youngjae frowns.
“Not me,” Mark clarifies, “Jaebum.”
“What are you on about.”
“If you’re asking me, I honestly think that Jaebum cares more about you than he lets on.”
“And so what?,” He quiets down his tone, nodding a thanks to the waiter who sets down his plate of waffles. “He’s dating Jinyoung-hyung.”
“I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t think Jaebum likes you back even the slightest. And after today, nothing good is going to come out of it if the three of you don’t sit down and talk about it.”
“What then? Do you think there’s some fairytale ending for all three of us?”
“You’re all adults—rational ones from what I know. You can keep avoiding the issue and hope it goes away.”
He grunts stubbornly, cheeks full of waffles and syrup—carbohydrates and saccharides. “I’ve been doing so for this long.”
Mark only gives him a knowing look, picking up his cup of coffee. “And look where it got you.”
Mark’s words resonate within his mind as he spends the rest of break huddled up in his house, refusing to step out into the cold outdoors. The holiday lights blink green and red, taunting him as he remembers the fireworks of not too long ago. Had Jaebum liked him back? Even just the slightest?
He shouldn’t, given the way that he and Jinyoung were.
But if not, then why? Why had it mattered who it was that Youngjae liked?
And even then, was this infatuation something that was inevitable? Or was it the way that he unknowingly acted, crossing boundaries even when he had tried so hard to not do so.
They’re fated, he reasons, tugging at the string around his finger and wrapping it around his hand a few times. Maybe even if he hadn’t done anything, they would still find their ways to one another. But was that love? Or was it more some innate feeling, bestowed upon them against their will.
Had Jaebum liked him back, where does leave him and Jinyoung? Where does it leave him and Jinyoung? Was this another game of forked roads and he can only pick one of the two. You give something up for everything you take—some things (some people) are bound to be lost.
But he doesn’t want to, having tried so hard so that even despite his intertwined fate with Jaebum, he wouldn’t have to lose Jinyoung. Jinyoung, who cares so much with open arms and a tender heart.
Jinyoung calls him one night, half past nine, and Youngjae picks up on the eighth measure. His phone feels heavy in his hands, and he manages a soft “hello,” before slumping down on his bed—finding support for his insecurity.
“Youngjae?”
“Hey, hyung,” he mumbles.
“Can we talk? About Jaebum?” Jinyoung asks in a way where Youngjae can hear the underlying anger in his voice.
“There’s nothing to talk about him,” he sighs, rolling over in bed.
“Do you like him, Youngjae? Is that what is it?”
“No,” he replies nonchalantly, wondering if the thousands of needles he’ll have to swallow are worth the lie.
“He’s my boyfriend,” the older male states, his usual gentleness lost within the brooding storm clouds. The thunder roars and lightning cracks, the world below drenched in pain.
“I know that!” He raises his voice, feeling a headache impending. As if he would’ve forgotten such a fact that has plagued him for the past year and so, gnawing at his heart until it was rotten and hollow. “I know that he’s your boyfriend, I’ve known for all this time. And I’ve kept myself away from him. What more is it that you guys want?”
“Youngjae, you fell in love with my boyfriend,” Jinyoung inhales heavily, “how did you expect me to process this?”
“Hyung, do you think I wanted this? Do you think that I liked living knowing that I was falling in love with someone who’s already in love with you?”
“Well, now it’s so that he’s no longer in love with me. Are you happy now?” Jinyoung sounds like a detonating bomb, self destructive and bringing the world down with him. It’s something that’s so characteristic of him, someone who loves and loves so much that even if he hates, he is clawing his own heart out as well.
Youngjae takes a sharp breath, eyes closed as he grits out his words from his hardened throat, “He doesn’t like me, hyung. Not now, not yet.” He brings a hand up to tug at his hair, scalp numbing as he lets go, “I didn’t want this and I don’t know—don’t care anymore whether or not you trust me right now. I never wanted to come between you and Jaebum-hyung. I only wanted for time to pass until everything comes to an end.”
He continues, losing his pace as he slurs his words, “And it isn’t even that we’re in love, hyung? I’m slipping on the trail of one-sided love and Jaebum-hyung doesn’t even know. We aren’t even friends, not at this point. And if you won’t take my words, than so be it. I’m tired, hyung. I’ve been tired for all this time.” And with that, Youngjae hangs up the line, tossing his phone to the side while he continues to lay in bed, staring at the light above head until it burns halos into his vision.
“You win,” he says bitterly, to whoever had staged this entire play from the celestial heavens, “Take me to hell.”
Everything comes to a stop—tension overbearing as all the strings connecting them are tangled and taut. It wraps around Youngjae, red marks bearing into his limbs and silk thread choking his neck. Youngjae doesn’t think he can breathe.
He doesn’t want this, losing both of his pillars at once to some poor execution of fate. But hadn’t he known it would ultimately boil down to their current situation? Where Jinyoung and Jaebum would eventually fall out of love and Jaebum and him would eventually fall in love. So why was it that he felt so guilty of it all, feeling as though he didn’t deserve to be loved after all that has happened. He had tried so hard, walking against the will of his own heart, so hard, so that the three of them could co-exist in subtle ways. So why was it that despite his efforts, some people are bound to be hurt. What is it about life that would never let him be happy? Had it been retribution for ages past, lives that he couldn’t recall where he had angered the heavens and been cursed with wretched love?
Why was it so difficult? Why was it so complicated? That he only wanted to exist, loving Jaebum who would love him back. Had he been wishing for too much? Or was it that he was walking against the currents of fate, destined to be swept away with the crashing waves.
And he only wonders, where it leaves him—with Jinyoung, with Jaebum. Was it already to a point of no return, glass shattered into pieces. Were they only going to find reconciliation years down the line and they’ve all separated on their own roads—if they were to reconcile at all.
“Cursed,” he mutters. “Cursed Love.”
There’s a familiar sting in his eyes, warm tears that pool but never fall because he feels so utterly hollow—a void in his chest that he can never seem to fill.
“Do you believe in fate?” He asks Mark one day when he gets sick of staying indoors. He can only linger within caged walls for so long—yearning for something boundless, something free. Something akin to oceans and skies.
“As in?”
“That some people are destined to be together, some people destined to cross paths and never align again.”
“As lovers?” Mark asks, “or friends?”
“Lovers,” he clarifies, tugging lightly at the loose strands of his shirt.
“Is this about Jaebum?” The older male was never one to leave words unspoken. “So is it that you and his stars are fated? What makes you so confident, Youngjae?”
“I’m not,” he snaps, “It’s not about confidence, neither is it about justifying everything that has happened.”
“People fall in love and people fall out—there really isn’t someone who’s the one. They come to obstacles and new emotions. It’s just how much you’re willing to hold on. There’s little that’s passive about love, people choose to stay in love.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Youngjae sighs as Mark gives him a skeptical gaze. “We’re fated,” he whispers under his breath.
We’re fated.
Jaebum seems like a spell marked under his skin, running its way along his bloodstream, indigo ink that reminds him of poison. And when the night falls, blankets the world in stars, the only thing in his mind are the soft chanting of Jaebum-Jaebum-Jaebum. It brands itself to the cracks and crevices of his mind, numbing out to a soft whisper when the moon dives into the ocean and the sun creeps its way through the day.
The red string wraps around his wrist, overlapping here and there until Youngjae isn’t sure where it begins to unravel. It parallels his mind, too many twists and turns so that the string knots together and he’s lost trying to find a way out. So that the harder he pulls, the tighter the knots become.
Maybe that’s the way of things, where the harder you try to hold on to something, the faster you are to lose it. The opposite must also be true, where the more you attempt to avoid something, the more you find yourself facing it head on. One is only so feeble in the grand scheme of things.
Time slips away from his grasp as well, sands trickling down the hourglass as days weave into weeks into months. He stands on wobbly legs, hand grasping the handle of his suitcase, outside the door of his dorm room. He feels a bit too much like Alice, potion in hands, not knowing what to expect as she steps through unlocked doors. He shrinks and shrinks, until the world seems gaugantic and even the smallest of life is ready to trample him over. Jinyoung watching on as the vultures find his body, pecking here and there until they find his heart. And Jinyoung would find then that all over Youngjae’s heart are markings in a language long lost. But he would know, somehow, that the scriptures are only repetitions of a name. Jinyoung would know then, that Youngjae was helpless against the ways of the predestined.
But that wasn’t now. Youngjae’s heart nested between his ribcage, beating soft rhythms of one-two, one-two. Where no one else is able to see the red string between him and Jaebum but himself. No one knows, no one would understand the forces beyond them.
Youngjae takes a deep inhale, chest rising as he reaches out for the doorknob. The wooden floorboards creak with his steps, door opening with a click. He’s venturing out to wonderland.
Jinyoung reminds him of the cheshire cat, almond shaped eyes that stare into his own. He can’t read his emotions, not clearly. Though Youngjae can tell that Jinyoung is strung on a dainty equilibrium. One wrong move, and the world implodes.
“Youngjae.”
“Hi, hyung,” he mutters, the wheels of his suitcase clicking against the uneven ground. He parks his luggage next to the closet, settling into his bed. Were they playing a game of pretend?
“We should talk.”
He guesses not.
“We’ve talked already,” he mumbles, “and look where that turned out.”
“I’ve thought about it since then,” Jinyoung says pointedly, “and I don’t think I’m in wrong for how I feel.”
“I never said you were in wrong,” Youngjae frowns, tossing around so that his back faces the other male. He knows he shouldn’t be acting so childish but he’s also too tired to care. Burning bridges, they say.
“So what did you want me to make out of it?!”
“Nothing! Nothing at all. This wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.” He slurs, intonations rising up and down as they both switch into their familiar dialects. Something about the change in tongue breaking the civil facade they were holding up. “I couldn’t help that I liked him, but had I ever done anything so far besides withholding such emotions? And even if—if —he had reciprocated such feelings, had he ever done so much as to act upon it?”
It feels a bit more like deja vu, as he regurgitates words that were forced down his throat, “People find themselves astray on roads but they make the conscious effort and choice in which path to take. Humans fall in love, in infatuation—maybe both at once—but they choose which one to preserve.” He takes a pause, breath faltering, “He chose to hold onto you . So why is it that you have to rip openmy wounds.” Venom replaces the oxygen in his blood, as bitterness seeps his words.
You don’t know, he wants to say. You don’t understand.
We’re fated.
“He didn’t,” Jinyoung makes out after what seems to be eternity. “We broke up, Youngjae.”
“I get it,” the doe-eyed boy continues, bright eyes hidden by downcasted gazes “I know that not everyone are meant for one another—that each relationship is trial and error. But he…he let me go . I wasn’t the one for him and I just feel so… angry .”
“…”
“And it’s not like he didn’t try. I know Jaebum and I can feel the strains in our relationship but even after all this time, he chose you. You, of all people, someone so close to me that I can’t even ignore the fact that I wasn’t the one for him. That he wasn’t willing to try just one more time.”
“But we aren’t together, hyung.”
“But you will be. Someday.”
“Someday,” he muses. “You talk as if we’re fated.” A small warmth pulsates within him, like a small seedling suddenly sprouting as the winter melts away and spring awakens from sleep. It stirs silently—slowly mustering energy as it circles in his bloodstream. Youngjae pushes himself up from the bed, leaning back on the frame of his bed as he glances at Jinyoung. “Some people are destined to meet, hyung.” He shifts a bit to the right, pulling the blanket covers around him. “But they lack fate between them.”
“Star-crossed?” The older male asks in a tone that slowly morphs back into the calmness that Youngjae had always associated Jinyoung with. Not the fire that was just threatening to implode a few moments earlier. Youngjae wonders if Jinyoung feels burned out—turned into ashes from within and left with no more energy to even be angry or upset. That too many emotions in him had overloaded his system and turned into a fumbling mess of nothing.
“Not star-crossed,” he frowns, “just lovers that were meant to be in the past.”
“And what makes you think that it won’t be the same for you.”
“Maybe, but you can’t escape your fate. Life runs its course and we can only follow.”
“And what will become of us then? Friends? Or yet another person of the past.” Jinyoung gives a sigh, rubbing his eyelids into the palms of his hands. He gives an empty laugh, one of self-pity. “Promise me ‘jae?“ Jinyoung mumbles, "That when ‘someday’ arrives, you don’t tell me.”
“Am I going to lose you?” Youngjae grasps at the heavy fabric of his blankets, heavy gaze falling upon Jinyoung. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“LIfe is always give and take, you gain something for every thing you lose. Maybe, I’m destined to only be someone in your past—in your future, but not now.”
“Do you still like— love— Jaebum-hyung?”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” And a meek smile makes its way to Jinyoung’s lips—as if the puppeteer had lightly tugged on his strings with a flick of his wrist. The show goes on and the characters make their entrances and exits. The stars are carved into their bones.
“Do you believe love at first sight?” Jaebum asks him with a whisper, wind blowing lightly through his hair. It’s longer now, as time slipped past by, falling a bit below his eyes. It veils the sharpness of his gaze, morphs it into something softer—gentler.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know, to be honest,” Jaebum cocks his head slightly to the side, lips parting in thought. “Is it love then, when someone catches your eye at first sight and the curiosity inside you manifests into something so potent over so little time?”
Youngjae gives a small frown, fiddling with the invisible red string as if playing cat’s cradle. “It isn’t love then, something less profound.”
“It seems profound though,” the older male comments, “as if a force was holding us in place—displacing that of gravity.”
He huffs, blowing upwards at his fringe immaturely. “You don’t love me. Not yet.”
“ You don’t love me yet either then.” To which Youngjae only nods halfheartedly, leaning back into the wooden bench as Jaebum shifts closer and circles his arm around his back.
“But one day, we will.” There’s a look of determination in his eyes, a fire that surges and roars with his every breath. It pulls Youngjae in, as if moth to candle flame, and he can only feel too much like Icarus who craved for the warmth of the scalding sun. “We’ll grow to be in love,” Jaebum reiterates.
“Someday,” Youngjae whispers shakily, all too close to Jaebum as he gazes back into boundless irises. “Today.”
The wheel of life continues as the old man under the moon raises another glass to toast to the heavens. The alcohol leaves a fragrant smell in the air—reminding one of flowers—honey-like sweetness that wraps around the bitterness of alcohol until it melds into a soft warmth. He puts down the empty glass, pulling at the myriad of silk strings around him.
2jae au where Youngjae is a delivery guy and JB starts ordering take out a little too often
Warning: None? I think?
Word Count: 1k
Author: Mitchie
A/N: Hello, I’m Mitchie, one of the new writers! I don’t talk much and I write a lot! This is my first 2Jae fic, so I hope you enjoy :)
The doorbell rang as Jaebum finished his fourth round of Overwatch. He had ordered take-out from his favorite place, AmeriThaiKong, and picked the money up from the table to give to the take-out person. He had expected it to be the usual delivery boy, Yugyeom, who had delivered to him the past few weeks. He was a pretty nice kid but they only exchanged a few words each time.
This time when Jaebum answered the door, it was a new person. The guy looked a few years younger than Jaebum and his brown hair covered his eyes as he grabbed Jaebum’s food out of the heating container. He continued to stare until the delivery guy’s brown eyes met his. The man extended the food towards Jaebum with the biggest smile he’d ever seen. The man seemed to have no flaws; from his beautiful brown hair to his bright smile, even the mole under his right eye looked good on him.
The bright smile disappeared as the man retracted his arm back in confusion, “Is this not your food?” He asked. Jaebum began to form words but could only manage a stutter. “You are Im Jaebum, right?”
“Uh…yeah,” he finally managed to say.
“Oh well…here,” the delivery boy smiled again and handed Jaebum his food, which he took this time and sat it on the table next to the door.
“Are you new, uh…”
“Youngjae,” he answered. “And yeah, Yugyeom got transferred to another neighborhood.”
“Great, welcome. I order from here quite often, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me,”
“I hope so,” Youngjae bent his head slightly as he handed Jaebum a receipt and a pen for him to sign.
Jaebum fumbled with the pen longer than he should have before finally being able to sign his name. He handed back the receipt along with his money, “Keep the change.”
Youngjae’s eyes widened, “Really?? This is almost a $20 tip!”
“Yea, you can keep it.”
“Wow. I guess I have to deliver here more often.”
“I hope so,” Jaebum grinned as Youngjae bent his head down once more and messed with the latch on the heating container.
He smiled as he began to leave, “I’ll see you next time, Jaebum.”
Hearing Youngjae say his name again made goosebumps run down his arms. His stomach flipped with a nervous feeling he hadn’t experienced before, “Until next time, Youngjae.”
***
“Next time” turned out to be the next day.
This time Jaebum made sure to wear something nice instead of the dirty sweats and t-shirt he had worn the day before. He found himself anxiously waiting by the door and fixing his hair in the mirror.
When the doorbell finally rang, he answered the door a little too quickly. “Hey,” Youngjae’s smile seemed to glow today.
“Hey,” Jaebum replied, a little too quickly and a little out of breath.
Youngjae handed him the food and scratched the back of his neck. “Are you having someone over? You look dressed up…” He trailed off and looked down and his foot tapping on the concrete.
“This? Oh no, no one’s coming over.” Youngjae perked up at that and Jaebum grinned. “I…Uh, I just wanted to get dressed today.”
“You look good,” Youngjae’s eyes widened like he had not meant to say that.
“You l-look good, too.”
The delivery boy blushed, “Well, I try to look as good as I can with this uniform and all…”
“It’s nice on you,” Jaebum reached forward and fixed the collar on Youngjae’s shirt. He let his hand linger briefly under his chin as they held eye contact. It was odd how this brown-eyed delivery boy made him feel…
Quickly, Youngjae stepped back and pushed the receipt towards Jaebum, running his hands through his hair and chuckling to himself. Jaebum smiled and handed Youngjae the money and the receipt.
“It was nice seeing you, Youngjae”
“You too,” the man said while stumbling on the way towards his car.
Jaebum didn’t order the next day because he didn’t want to seem desperate, but he did order the day after.
***
It took a week and a half before Jaebum actually did something. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans multiple times, he even got in a few more rounds of Overwatch before the doorbell finally rang. He took in deep breaths to try and get rid of the butterflies, but his nerves stayed. Youngjae was laughing to himself as Jaebum opened the door.
“What’s so funny?” He slowly felt his nerves leave at the sight of Youngjae’s beautiful, full-toothed smile.
Youngjae, still laughing, took out a fry from the heating container. “You ordered a single fry.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to buy a lot of food because I kind of just wanted to see you.
Youngjae placed the fry back in the heating container. “Y-You did?” He stuttered.
“Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve ordered food almost every day for these past couple of weeks.”
Youngjae scoffed, “You’re a pretty hungry guy.” They both laughed.
“Yes, but not that hungry. I don’t even eat most of the food you bring. It’s just an excuse for me to talk to you because I like you,” Jaebum blurted. Like ripping off a bandaid; scary but quick. “Would you mind going on a date with me?” Jaebum’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, he was way too nervous. It felt like he would pass out before Youngjae even answered.
Before the world went black, he heard Youngjae scoff and Jaebum looked up. Youngjae grinned, “Of course I’ll go on a date with you! As long as it isn’t take-out…”
Youngjae has schizophrenia. He wants everyone to believe in Jackson, his perfect lover, and for a moment they play along. But someone has to tell him the truth.
Warnings: mentions of mental illnesses (schizophrenia)
Author: Ellie
Word Count: 500+
A/N: Haiii! I’m Ellie, a new writer for 7fics, and this is my first fill! I currently live in London, England and my family is of Chinese descent. I’m one of the youngest here, so I’m super excited to be working with all the incredible writers and I hope you enjoy my work in the future. You’ll see my writing for most, if not all pairings, and it will all be extremely angsty so read at your own discretion. However, I’m most comfortable with writing for Jaebum, Mark, and Youngjae as I know their personalities the best, with Jaebum taking the spot of ult. Please treat me well here, and I hope you enjoy this little drabble <3
He seemed perfect. Everything that Youngjae needed at this time. He needed the support Jackson would give him when no-one else believed him. He needed the validation that Jackson gave him when everyone ignored his ideas. Jackson was always there by his side, never taking a moment to turn away from Youngjae.
Jackson didn’t force him to have sex. Didn’t make him do things he was uncomfortable doing. When Youngjae asked for cuddles in bed, Jackson would be here to give him cuddles, nothing more, nothing less.
Jackson didn’t laugh at how he preferred wearing pastels and soft clothes when everyone else teased him and called him a cissy. When Youngjae asked him if his outfit looked good, Jackson would proclaim that he was beautiful the way he was, whatever he wore.
Jackson didn’t get annoyed or cranky like the others when Youngjae would stay up for hours into the night writing his music or playing with coco. Instead, he would always make sure Youngjae was supplied with a steaming cup of vanilla milk tea, his favorite, and fluffy blankets to keep him warm.
Jackson didn’t leave him to go out with his other friends. Instead, he would always cheer Youngjae up when he was annoyed or lonely. When Youngjae was sad because his songs were rejected or when his voice cracked, Jackson would be there to assure him he wasn’t wasting his time, and that he was doing amazing.
Jackson was the perfect blanket for Youngjae to hide under, a protective sheet which shielded him from the horrors of the world. But he also blocked out Youngjae’s friends, the real ones.
Sometimes it was just small things that made Youngjae confused. When his bandmates would always pause a little after he mentioned Jackson, and then put on their fake smiles and conversation. Youngjae didn’t understand why sometimes they didn’t notice when Jackson was in a room or talking to them. He was bewildered when they suggested that he should not spend so much time with Jackson.
He didn’t realize when his world started to revolve around this man, this perfect man. He stopped going out unless it was to go to a fan meet or a variety show. Even then, he seemed like a ghost, ignoring the fans unless a direct question was asked. His bandmates noticed this, and decided that however perfect Youngjae thought Jackson was, he was not okay.
It was three months after Youngjae had first met Jackson when he got a call from Jaebum-hyung.
“Youngjae, can you come over to the JYP building now please?”
It was weird, he was never really called to the building unless there had been an accident or Yugyeom and Bambam had broken something valuable… again. But he didn’t dare oppose his leader and rushed over.
Youngjae walked in. He saw the nervousness on the faces of his bandmates. But before he could ask why, Jaebum started to talk.
“Youngjae, we need to tell you something. Please stay calm. You have acute schizophrenia.”
“W-w-what?”
Mark replied, “I know this is hard to hear Jae, but we’ll always be here to support you. Please just leave Jackson behind and let us care for you instead.”
“But, Jackson is my true love!” Tears had started to stream down his face as he realized they wanted him to break up with Jackson, disregarding Jaebum’s initial statement.
“No Jae. I’m sorry but Jackson never existed.”
The last they heard of Youngjae was the slam he left echoing in the deathly silent practice room and the deafening sobs as he rushed out of the building.
As usual, thank you to everyone who sent in applications this time around! It was a tough decision, as it always is, but now we’d like to congratulate Anna, Val, Mitchie, and Ellie as our new casual writers! We’re super excited to have them join us, and hope our followers will be on the lookout for their upcoming works! \0/
If you applied this time and wasn’t accepted, we hope you aren’t discouraged - there are many factors that go into our final decisions, and ultimately our goal is to write as wide a range of fics as possible for Got7. This is in terms of pairings, genre, style, and more. As such, we try our best to bring on new writers that will balance out the weaknesses of our current authors. Our next round of recruitment will be in roughly six months, so when that time rolls around, if you’re still interested in becoming a 7fics writer, please to reapply!
Finally, thanks again to all of our followers who continue to support our fics. We’ll do our best to continue writing!
Hi guys this is writer Jin here, i've been on indefinite hiatus for more than a year i think and i've finally decided to leave for the better ;; u ;; life is sucking me dry of my creative juices and time is just not on my side. 7fics was a huge part of me and i truly enjoyed writing for you guys and proud of every piece i put out; please please keep supporting 7fics and give all our talented authors the love they deserve, it's been a good run for me! xoxo
- Jin
hi it's monica! Being part of 7fics was an honour n I had a lot of fun meeting the other writers and writing fics *coughs* just two *coughs* anyway it's time for me to leave with life getting busy and all that. It was nice being here and good luck to the new writers!
Jackson and Youngjae are caught in a bank during a robbery. They become friends and giggle in the corner, trying to avoid getting shot. Also, Jackson thinks Youngjae is cute so it's kinda fun. At least if he dies, he died in a good mood.
Warnings: character death, too much exposition, how to write action?, “I love Dark” -seo changbin voice
Word Count: 1.1k
Author: Chewy
how… do banks work lmao
Jackson wakes up that morning to an envelope hitting his face and a dog scratching his leg.
“What.”
He squints at the bright light coming in through the blinds before smacking the offending rectangle of paper off to the side.
“Jackson! Don’t go back to sleep. I need you to drop this off at the bank before you go in for your shift this afternoon. Don’t forget unless you want to be out on your ass with the landlord hounding you for a paycheck.”
“What.” Jackson thinks he hears Jinyoung’s voice say some more words ranging from “careful” to “I’m late” to “you’re dead to me” but he opts to rather ignore his roommate’s ritual morning mumbo jumbo in favor of turning over and falling back asleep, this time very much without the sun shining in his eyes. Heating bill be damned, Jackson does not appreciate Jinyoung ruining his beauty sleep by yanking open the blinds every day at eight in the morning.
“I said don’t sleep!”
“Okay mom,” he mumbles to the sound of the front door slamming shut.
—
Jackson forces himself out of bed after a few moments of tossing and turning. Jinyoung always knew what kinds of smells to cook up in the morning and how to open doors in just the way that would scratch on the back of Jackson’s half-conscious mind until he dragged his ass out of bed. This hadn’t been what Jackson had been expected when first signing the lease with Jinyoung.
This and the mess of our living room, Jackson thinks as he picks his way between piles of clutter and makes his way to the awaiting omelet in the kitchen. At least there’s one good side to this arrangement, Jackson concludes as he munches through breakfast while scrolling down his newsfeed. Its an average start to an average morning before he’s off to his afternoon shift at work. He picks up the envelope Jinyoung had dropped on him and decides that thirty minutes before work should do the trick, checking the time as he starts getting dressed.
Jackson checks the time on his phone once more as he leaves the house, checking the lock once, then twice because sometimes their neighbor gets confused and likes to barge in. He sees that he has plenty of extra time and decides that today is a good day, a leisurely day. He walks out the door with a smile reaching his eyes and a whistle on his lips, waving at the guard at the front as he passes.
Jackson is enticed by the sweet aroma of lattes and espresso coming for the little cafe around the corner and stops in for a green tea latte, dropping a tip for the barista because if his day is going this great, then so should everybody else’s.
Once he reaches the bank, the shining sun and chirping birds have made it so that he feels like he’s practically floating at this point. The heavens truly appear to be blessing him today, because he bumps into a man at the door with a smile that could outshine the sun.
“Oh, sorry!” the stranger giggles, pulling back from the door as Jackson reaches forward.
“Oh no, after you,” Jackson gestures, and hey, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do! Although if somebody asked, he wouldn’t be able to truthfully say that he hadn’t used the opportunity to check out that fine ass as it walked by him.
As they get into line, Jackson is so dazed by the smell of actual sunflowers and daisies emanating off of this angel in front of him that he ends up bumping into his backside. The stranger turns around with a surprised expression on his face, and Jackson opens his mouth to apologize when the moment explodes.
He hears it behind him in slow motion, the tinkling of the bells above the doorway emphasized by the shattering of the glass windows. Logically, Jackson knows it isn’t possible, but he’s sure he can hear each individual crackle and snap match the reflection in the stranger’s eyes as they widen in shock and fear.
And then snap, life is back on normal speed, people are screaming everywhere and Jackson does the only thing he can think of to do. He drops Jinyoung’s envelope and grabs the man’s hand in front of him, drags it behind him as he leaps behind a booth and crouches, panting heavily. There’s panicked shouting and scrambling everywhere, and for some reason, the sprinklers have gone off so now they’re wet. Jackson, with water dripping down his hair and face, mouths, “Are you okay?” and when the stranger nods, still with those wide and solemn eyes staring at him, Jackson finds a sliver of a smile within him. “Hi, Okay. I’m Jackson.”
The stranger opens his mouth wide, and even though Jackson has never heard his laugh, and maybe never will, he can imagine how loud and carefree it would be. Jackson imagines it bouncing around a classroom full of little kids as the man reads a fairytale to his students, or outside, laughing and rolling off the picnic blanket and into the grass, or in a movie theatre on an awkward first date while everybody else in the theatre shoots death glares while Jackson can’t help but laugh along, or in a car on a long road trip to the beach as kids in the backseat whine, “Are we there yet?”
But instead, in this heavy moment, he gets to hear a strangled breath before the man shakes his head gently, fondly, even, following up with a smile and a whisper of, “It’s actually Youngjae.”
As Jackson turns his head to the side and sees thick black boots stomp over Jinyoung’s check, a small part of his brain tells him that later, Jinyoung will be so upset with him for letting this happen, although he’s not sure whether this is the fallen envelope, or the hiding behind the desk about to die, or not getting this strange man’s number and letting Jinyoung be their best man in the future and adopting the cutest little babies who will grow up knowing that their father was an angel and naming Jinyoung godfather and sending their children on little playdates and crying together as a family as they watch their babies go off to college and, and, and… And instead making Jinyoung be a primary mourner at a funeral, or whatever.
But he decides that, in the end, it doesn’t matter, as he tilts his head back against the wooden panel and looks up into the barrel of a gun, smiling, as he whispers, “Okay, Actually-Youngjae.”
—
Later, when the police arrive just a few minutes too late, they’ll discover two bodies sitting side by side with their fingers interlocked. They might scratch their heads for a minute, but in the end, they shrug and mark their files, No Known Relation.
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Markson, xmen au, Mark-rogue, Jackson- iceman; Prompt: Mark is used to the quiet, the solitude; he knows his power scares all the other students away from him...well, all the other students except for the new (and loud) transfer student from Hong Kong.
warnings: jackson’s sense of humour
author: angel
word count: 3.4k
a/n: happy new year friends~ anon i know this is super late, but if you’re still around, hope you enjoy it all the same! this was supposed to be way longer and kind of angstier (oh dear) but i felt we could use something happy ;u; hope you guys enjoy this, thank you for reading~
“Hi.”
Mark looks up pensively from where he’s trying (andfailing) to complete a conclusion for his essay, a pen in his mouth. There’s avery unfamiliar, very tanned boy standing in front of him with a Very Bigsmile, a hand extended.
There’s an abundance of empty seats around them,seeing as it’s a Saturday afternoon, so Mark wonders what this guy wants. He’snot one to judge, but it’s a little freaky to intentionally share tables withstrangers (and that’s saying something coming from a student in this school).Mark’s rethinking the pros and cons of carrying pepper spray around the schoolwhen the boy continues speaking.
“Name’s Jackson, I was assigned to your unit,” the boysays. He’s wearing a loose black T-shirt with a band name Mark vaguelyrecognises, a backwards snapback and black jeans, and his forearm is lean and muscled,like he does sports often. “The grumpy sunglasses boy with the piercings in ourteam says I’m rooming with you.”
Mark unfolds his arms, tucking his hands into sweaterpaws. “Space must be getting tight, then.”
Jackson’s sincerely bright expression doesn’t falter.“I just got here this morning, it’s a cool place you all got here- grumpysunglasses man says you’re supposed to show me around. I’ll buy you dinner?”
Mark eyeballs him for a good five seconds or so,before shrugging, shaking back his sweater sleeves to accept Jackson’s hand ina handshake. “My name’s Mark. Mark Tuan, from California, US.”
“Nice to meet you Mark. Jackson Wang, from Hong Kong,”He reaches up, flipping his snapback around to show the white 852 emblazonedacross the front. Jackson settles in the seat across Mark, and Mark swears hiseyes flash blue for a second there, before settling on him with barelyconcealed friendly interest. “Cool gloves, by the way.”
Mark flashes him a wry smile, picking up his pen,black gloved fingers melting back into his sweater sleeves once more. “Thanks.I like them too.”
*
Jackson is, very generally and simply put, everythingthat Mark is not.
He’s the kind of guy to strut into a room and walk outfriends with everyone in it. He’s loud. Friendly. Enthusiastic about life andeverything it has to offer. And very, very touchy.
Mark carefully extricates his elbow from whereJackson’s looped his arm with his on the way from the classrooms to the dormarea for the third time, politely reminding him that he’s not comfortable beingtouched. Jackson apologises for the eighth time, and proceeds to forget about30 seconds later when he grabs Mark’s arm to point at something.
“Hey, look!”
With pursed lips, Mark grudgingly looks out of thewindow where Jackson’s pointing, at the various pillows floating outside.They’re almost done with the circuit tour of the classrooms, and Mark’s trying(and failing) to remember where the labs are, Mark makes a small annoyed noise of so?
“There are pillows! Floating! Outside!” Jackson hasthis amazing ability to put exclamation marks on every word he says. It’s veryannoying. Also a little cute. But mostly annoying.
“Yeah, Jinyoung usually does his target practicearound this time,” Mark mumbles. “You might wanna watch out for the open-…”
Mark’s warning comes about a split second too late-the pillows shoot in (mostly) one direction, mostly because one errant pillow comes flying in through the openwindow. It’s the years of carefully honed experience (and only that) whichguide Mark to jump out of the way in time, so it’s no surprise when the pillowcatches Jackson in the face with a whump.
“Oh shoot, I’m-…I’m sorry!” Someone’s voice travels upfrom downstairs, and Jackson stares, stunned, the pillow now in his hands. “DidI-…did I hit anyone? Are you okay?”
Jackson runs up to the window, then, and Markhalf-panics, wondering if he’s going to hurl abuse down at Jinyoung and getkicked out of the team by Jaebum before he even moves in (though wouldn’t thatbe a good thing?), before the boy sticks his head to look down.
“That was totally awesome!”he shouts down, clearly ecstatic. “Can you do it again?”
There’s a politely puzzled silence from downstairs,and Mark rolls his eyes, going over to stick his head out of the window withJackson.
“Hey, Jinyoungie,” he says, to the black-hairedtelekinetic, currently standing, confused and slightly unnerved, in the garden.“This is Jackson. He got assigned to our unit, he’s rooming with me.”
“Oh, hey Jackson!” Jinyoung smiles, though Markdoesn’t miss the way he glances at Mark in concern for a moment, as if to askif you’re okay with this?
Mark plaintively conveys his best I had no part in this decision because Jaebum obviously doesn’t give adamn face, before Jackson launches into an entire shouted conversation withJinyoung, starting from where he came from and going into his favourite foodand pastime. This carries on until Nayeon pokes her head out from the classroomtwo floors below, looking confused and slightly pissed off at the noise, andMark has to drag Jackson away before any potentially fatal acidic spitballs arethrown their way.
*
Jackson moves into the room quickly- he has two, atmost a little under three boxes of stuff, mostly black clothes and lots of oddherbal and organic foodstuffs, which barely fills the closet he’s allotted.
“Travel light,” he jokes, sitting with a thump on hisbed. “Never know when you’ll have to move again.”
Mark had helped him unpack, only because he knewJinyoung would nag if he didn’t, and sits cross-legged on his bed now, playingwith the patterns on his bedspreads.
“The other rooms for this dorm, who do they belongto?” Jackson says curiously, peering out of their door into the central livingroom area. “That Jinyoung guy, does he live here too?”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugs. “We’re all assigned differentunits, each unit gets an apartment and the leader of the unit assigns you aroom. Our leader’s Jaebum- grumpy sunglasses guy with the piercings, like yousaid.”
“There are other guys?”
“Yeah, they’ll be getting back in a while. Except forYoungjae- he’s in Busan studying cloud patterns, he’s coming back later tonight.”
Jackson frowns, about to open his mouth to ask, beforedeciding better of it. Mark smirks. He’s learning.
“So how does the school thing work, exactly?” The HongKong native stands again, seemingly unable to keep still, now looking throughMark’s pile of schoolbooks. “We still do the math science language thing?”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugs, pushing his hands into hispockets. “They think it’s important. Training’s mostly kept till afterlessons.”
Jackson raises a brow. “Training? Like forsuperheroes?”
Mark scoffs. “Try training to control it, first,doofus.”
The other boy doesn’t respond- he’s staring at Mark’sdesk. “Okay, I don’t mean to pry, man, but is there a reason for all yourpaperweights? Like is it a hobby, or something, to collect paperweights-…”
“Shit,” Mark’s eyes widen, and he pushes Jackson outof the way, before throwing the wide window open and jumping back. “I forgot,today’s-…”
There’s a one second, twosecond reprieve, before a ball of white and dark blue corkscrews through thewindow, and a strong gust of wind blows all of Mark’s books open and attempts(but fails) to send his papers into chaos.
The cannonbolt unravels, landing perfectly onits feet with a small whirlwind, and Yugyeom beams, arms wide in his landingpose, white wings spread in an arc. “Ta-daa~” he says proudly to Mark, wholooks less than impressed. “Another perfect landing nailed. I’m going to passthe exam for sure.”
“I still don’t understand why you have to use my window,” Mark grumbles, straighteningall his things with an ease that can only be afforded to one who has to do thisevery single day.
“Yeah, hyung, well Jaebum did say we could trade so I could use the room with the big window,but you were like, no,” Yugyeom says,pulling off his shoes. “You know, having a roommate isn’t all that…” he’s turned around, finallynoticing Jackson, and suddenly looks very self-conscious. “Bad. Oh. Uhm, hey.”
“This is Jackson, Jackson Wang,” Mark says,suddenly slightly uncomfortable. The ratio of awkward to socially adept peoplein this room is starting to unbalance. Then he adds, “He’s older than you.”
“Hi, Jackson hyung,” Yugyeom mumbles, bowing alittle out of habit. “Uhm, I’m sorry, I don’t-…I don’t usually, uh, have thewings out. When I meet new people. Sorry if I messed up your-…”
“Are those real wings?” Jackson says, lookingawed. “They’re so cool.”
“You think so?” Yugyeom looks genuinelysurprised, turning back to see the soft feathered appendages coming out of hisback. “I mean. Yeah. They’re kind of cumbersome, though- oops,” the wingsaccidentally knock over a stack of books, which the other boy fumbles to catch.“Sorry Mark hyung.”
“Yeah, really,“ Jackson grins."Yugyeom, right?”
“Oh, yeah, Jaebum mentioned a new additionwhen he messaged earlier!” Yugyeom says excitedly. “That’s reallycool, you’re going to love this team, we’re-…”
What exactly they are in Yugyeom’s opinion, Marknever manages to find out, because at that very moment, there’s a sharp crackand a burst of dark blue smoke, and suddenly Yugyeom’s flat on the floor andsomeone’s sitting on him, looking curiously at the new addition to the dorm.
“Hi! I’m Bambam,” The boy sitting witha very natural, practiced ease on top of a long suffering Yugyeom saysenthusiastically. “I like your muscles.”
To Mark’s surprise (though should he honestly besurprised anymore, when it comes to Jackson), the other boy doesn’t look theleast awkward or embarrassed by the outlandish statement. “Thanks, I likethem too,” he says proudly instead, giving an obligatory flex.
Yugyeom looks slightly scandalised, but mostlyawed, Bambam seems to puff up in uncontrollable, vibrating excitement, and Markvery slowly and deliberately rolls his eyes.
“You’re so cool!” Bambam squeaks.
“Better check yourself before you wetyourself,” Yugyeom grumbles, trying to push Bambam off him.
“That’s Bambam, he’s a transfer too, fromThailand. He teleports,” Mark mumbles, as the sound of the door openingmomentarily distracts everyone in the room.
“Bambam, get off Yugyeom,” Jinyoungsays absently as he strolls past the room, an assortment of different thingstrailing behind him in the air, before looking in to smile at Jackson.“Great to see you’ve settled in so fast.” One of the things floatinglazily behind Jinyoung (an English paperback) bumps into his head, and thetelekinetic turns back to glare it. The book shrinks away with a smallapologetic nod. “Anyway, anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask Mark or therest of us.”
“Believe me, he won’t be hesitating,” Markgrumbles, and Jackson gives his best offended look.
It’s about a moment after he leaves that anotherman stops by to walk in, lifting Bambam by the collar off Yugyeom anddepositing him on Mark’s bed, before turning to stare Jackson down throughtinted maroon shades. Jackson very notably swallows, looking slightlyuncomfortable, and Mark resists the urge to laugh.
“You got the briefing about what we do herefrom the professors?”
“Yessir,” Jackson replies instantly,mockingly or not, Mark can’t exactly tell.
“You know what this team means?”
“I will soon. Cool glasses, by theway.”
“Don’t do anything that’ll make me takethem off,” Jaebum turns away, stretching as he walks out of the room, andthe thundercloud aura that’d hung in the air moments before this seems to goout with him. He’s picking several articles of clothing off the sofa when hecalls back to them. “Whoever doesn’t have shit to rush, Jinyoung and I aregoing to pick up Youngjae after dinner, feel free to come along.”
“Oh yeah, Jae’s coming back tonight!”Yugyeom gets up from the floor, half tripping over his wings, and Bambamsnickers. The youngest frowns, and Mark totally calls it when Yugyeom reachesover in one lightning movement, and the other boy squeals.
“Jinyoung hyung,” Bambam wails,running out of the room, something long and dark trailing behind him from theseat of his pants. “Yugyeom made me Tail in front of the cool new guyyyy.”
Mark and Jackson are left in the now empty room,poorly shielded from the chaos happening outside as the two youngest startarguing.
“Sorry about the-…” Mark gesturesoutside lamely for lack of anything better to describe it. “They’re alittle more sane on normal days, and JB’s always like that- it takes some gettingused to, but-…”
Jackson’s beaming, face split into the biggestsmile as he turns to look at Mark. “I love everything.”
Mark looks over, hands folded nervously in frontof him, a little puzzled and a little gratified. “Thanks.”
He sees the other boy’s eyes follow his action,gaze lingering on his gloves for seconds that feel like hours, and when Jacksonopens his mouth he braces instinctively.
But Jackson’s breath skips over his words, andthe moment’s swept away by the force of his sentence. “So who’s this Youngjaeyou guys were talking about just now?”
*
Youngjae hugs everyone and everything when hemeets them later in the cafeteria, and, as expected, is delighted to meetJackson. The country dialect lingers in his words after two weeks in Busan, andhe gushes for five minutes straight about how much he’s learnt.
Mark feels a certain odd sense of completenessas they troop into the dorm that night, the combined vocal efforts of Jackson,Youngjae and Bambam making Sungjin pop his head out of the opposite dorm tofrown and inform them drily that somepeople are trying to study here.
Even when it’d been just the six of them, he’dfelt content with the status quo, prickly at the thought of pushing hisboundaries for more but unable to see them as any less. Now, though, withJackson, it feels- strange. Happy. Whole.
He still wonders with a long suffering sigh ifhe could live without it, when they’re in the kitchen that night, ready to turnin, because the maknaes have broken all codes of conducts to blatantly askJackson what he can do.
“Okay, okay, check this out,” Jackson’sgrinning, holding the bottle of soda that Yugyeom had eagerly gotten for him.There’s a moment of reverent silence from all three youngest, forming a littlesemicircle around him, and Mark, sitting at the opposite end of the kitcheneating watermelon slices.
Jackson plays it off, obviously putting a lot ofeffort into making it look as effortless as possible, focusing hard on thebottle, before lifting the mouth to his lips and blowing quickly.
There’s a collective ooh from the kids, and even Mark looks on, pretending he’s notinterested, as the bottle frosts rapidly from the top to the bottom, andJackson grins, lifting it in a toast (to himself, probably, that egoistic jerk)before downing a mouthful.
“That’s so cool,”Youngjae’s looking on with wide eyes, as if forgetting the fact that he canpretty much make it rain lightning himself.
“Cool,” Jackson chuckles. “Get it?”
There’s a muffled someone throw him out of the window from Jaebum, at the other endof the apartment, as the maknaes burst into laughter.
“Hyung, you need to chill,” Jackson continues gleefully, and Mark groans into his mugof water, rolling his eyes. He can’t believe this is what he’s going to be rooming with until further notice.
Bambam makes it out of the kitchen with thebottle of soda, Youngjae lathering on praises for the intricate snowflakepatterns on the side of the glass, while Jackson gets another bottle, doing thesame thing, except without the bravado and bluff from earlier.
“Liked the trick?” he says smugly, settlingopposite Mark at the kitchen island to take a sip, and Mark rolls his eyesagain, unable to hold back a smile.
“Yeah, real cool, Jackson.”
“Then it’s your turn,” the other boy leans back,gaze flicking down to the gloves. His demeanour is curious, but not unkindlyso- he has a knack for making himself out to be sincere to a fault. “What canyou do? Let me guess,” he interjects quickly, squeezing his eyes shut in focus.“Fire. You’re a total pyromaniac. You need the gloves to stop the fire.”
“Nah, that’s Younghyun,” Mark takes a sip ofwater unenthusiastically. “Also, introduce me to these gloves you’re talking aboutthat can apparently stop fire.”
“Meh…telepathy?” Jackson squints. “What am Ithinking of.”
Mark shrugs. “A hardcore threesome.”
Jackson snorts. “Close. Okay, I’m out of ideas. Unlessyou’ve got like, super cool mouths on your hands that chew and shape explosiveclay.”
“I wish,” Mark says drily. He waits outJackson’s expectant look, before letting out a sigh, tugging the fingers of aglove out, before pulling the whole left glove off.
He hears Jackson let out a small disappointednoise at the lack of hand-mouths, and almost laughs. He doesn’t because helifts the hand to lay it over Jackson’s, the one holding the bottle.
Jackson’s skin is both fire and ice againstMark’s at the same time, glowing with a powerful, restless cool energy, and foronce it pulls Mark in, intrigues him to the point he almost doesn’t want to letgo. For a moment, they remain like that, both holding the same bottle.
“Uh,” Jackson says, slightly confused. “No homobro?”
Mark laughs again, waiting for the telltale dropof perspiration on Jackson’s crown, before he withdraws his hand likelightning, and the other boy blinks, hand quivering around the bottle.
“Whoa, was that like, some sort of possession,or something,” he sounds like he’s struggling to put words together- the usual,then.
“Something,” Mark shrugs, leaning over.Casually, he blows on the mouth of the bottle like Jackson had just now, andthere’s a muted crackling as the soda freezes over into ice. “Cool, huh,” Helets out a colourless laugh, standing to put his mug in the sink.
As Mark turns around to give Jackson a glance, he’ssurprised to see a smile on the other boy’s face.
“Pretty solid,” Jackson lifts the bottle then,grinning.
It takes Mark a moment to process it, but heeventually breaks into gales of laughter, harder than he ever rememberslaughing, Jackson following almost immediately. This carries on until Bambamwalks by, casting a curious look into the kitchen.
“That wasn’t bad,” Mark chuckles, dabbing at thecorner of his eyes with his gloves, and the other boy puffs out his chest.
“I’m insulted you thought any less of me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t stay up too late,” Mark rollshis eyes, turning around to rinse the mug, before setting it on the dish rack.“Big first day tomorrow.”
When he turns around, though, Jackson’s wanderedover with a grin, almost right in front of him, and he startles a little.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Mark backs against the sink instinctively,wincing as the closet handle digs into the back of his thigh. Eyes averted, hesidles away. “Well,” he shrugs. “See you back in the room later, then.”
He hurries out of the kitchen, unable to ignorethe watchful eye Jinyoung’s giving him from across the room, or the fact thathe’d left his left glove on the table in his rush to get out.
It’s too much all at once, and the roar at theback of Mark’s head is deafening, a persistent chant asking him how many ruleshe’s just broken in the past few minutes.
Whatever it is that’s started – all that mattersis that it ends. Before people get hurt again.
But Mark returns to his (their) room after ashower, rubbing a towel into his hair, and spots the glove on his pillow, andis forced to stifle another laugh.
The fingers of the dark fabric have beenarranged into the cheesiest finger heart he’s ever seen in his life. Markdebates sighing or continuing to laugh, and he neglects both in favour of afond smile, swiping the glove and pulling it on.
Outside, the sound of Jackson’s shriekinglaughter over a dumb video with Bambam echoes through the dorm, and Mark rollshis eyes, turning over to start surfing Youtube for cat videos. It’s loud, justloud enough to frighten away the ghosts of years past.
And for now, that’s all that Mark can ask for,if he’s to be honest.
markson crack fic where "no, jackson, you can roll down the aisle in your Heelies. yes jackson, the wedding is next week. no, jackson, we're not postponing the wedding so you can find heelies"
Warnings: None except for questionable crack
Author: TJ
Word Count: 1.2k
A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Hope this silly fic is amusing for someone xD
~~
Markis a laid back, calm, and collected person.
Just in case that wasn’t clearenough, Mark is a very laid back, calm, and collected person. Sure, hegets caught in the throes of passion every so often like any other human being,but all in all he’s much more content to go with the flow.
Perhaps it’s fitting, then, thathis fiancé simultaneously manages to be a hyperbolic version of himself as wellas his exact antithesis.
“Jackson,” Mark says, his tone ofvoice exactly that of a parent whose child was teetering on the edge of somecatastrophic act, “we have an hour before the store closes. We’ve barely made a dentin our shopping list.”
It should be no surprise that theresponse he receives mimics exactly that of a petulant child.
“But Mark~ they have adult Heelys! Did you know they made these inadult sizes?”
Jackson doesn’t even look at Markwhen he asks his question, too enraptured by the pair of shoes currently in hispossession. He’s crouched down on the tiled floor, a hand in each shoe, the boxtossed haphazardly aside. Experimentally, he swipes the bottoms against the ground,whooping at the satisfying slide.
“They’re so cool!”Jackson gushes, and only now does he peer upwards at Mark, all doe-eyed anddopey-grinned.
Mark can immediately anticipate theupcoming question, and hastily attempts to cut Jackson off.
“Yeah, they are! I had a pair whenI was a kid! But they’re actually quite tricky, and I think I fell on my face acouple of times. And we still have a bunch of things we need to pick up,Jackson, so we should really-”
“Ohhh ouch! But that’s when youwere a kid, right?” Jackson’s selective hearing has conveniently kicked in, andMark sags, knowing there’s no stopping him now. “Oh my god, Mark! You know whatwould be awesome? And totally unique? If we rolled down the aisleat our wedding instead of walking!”
“Jackson,” Mark saysthrough gritted teeth. This is turning out to be a much more serious situationthan he originally anticipated. “Our wedding is in week. A week. Seven days. Wecannot suddenly decide to go down the aisle in Heelys.”
Jackson pauses, head snappingsharply to look at Mark, his pupils blown.
“Wait, it’s in a week?Seven days?!” Jackson nearly screeches, and Mark has the suddenurge to smother his fiancé’s face into a nearby rack of sweaters. He resists,however, and instead peers furtively left and right to see if they’ve managedto attract the attention of a concerned sales associate yet. Getting kicked outof the store for causing a disturbance would be a mortifying end to thisalready disastrous night.
“Yes, Jackson, our marriage is in aweek, so can we please move on and finish our shopping list before thestore closes down?” Mark hisses, ready to drop down next to Jackson to forciblypry the shoes from his hand. As a result, he is nearly headbutted when Jacksonsuddenly shoots up to standing, eyes sparkling in a way that makes Mark’sstomach turn with both serious apprehension and irrational attraction.
“That’s right,” Jackson breathesout, still looking starstruck. “You’re going to be mine forever in a week, andI’m going to be yours.”
At this, Mark can’t help but flush,shocked by the sudden confession.
“You’re ridiculous,” Mark drops hisgaze, embarrassed but pleased, “That’s already true anyways, it’d be true evenif we weren’t getting married. It’s just a formality.”
“Of course,” Jackson agreeshappily, grinning when Mark finds it in himself to meet his gaze again. “Butstill, I can’t wait. It’s going to have to be extra special.”
“Yes, yes, it will be,” Marklaughs, reaching out to grasp one of Jackson’s wrists. “And to make sureeverything goes smoothly, can we please finish our shopping now? Before thestore closes? Besides, I thought we talked about having the most beautiful, clichéwedding with a fairytale-esque happily ever?”
“Right, right, yes. Yes, ofcourse,” Jackson finally seems to snap out of it, leaning forwards to leave aquick peck on Mark’s cheek. Mark releases Jackson’s wrist, satisfied, but realizeshe’s relaxed too soon when Jackson’s eyes land on the Heelys he still has ineach hand.
This time, however, it’s notfervent pleas or excited hoots. No, Jackson is staring at him with those eyes,the sad, puppy dog eyes with his eyelashes fluttering and his lips pushed intoa pout.
It’s an all around disgustingexpression to see on a grown man’s face, but Mark is just so, so weak.
“Jackson… those aren’t even in yoursize….” Mark gives it one last, feeble attempt, but Jackson holds on strong,and Mark can feel his resolve crumbling to the ground.
“Jacksonnnnnn,” Mark groans, handscovering his face as he gives up. “I swear to god, if we can’t find Heelys inyour size, we are not delaying the wedding.”
“What if we can’t find Heelys in yoursize?” Jackson responds cheekily, finally dropping the shoes to pry Mark’shands off his face, grin so wide Mark’s afraid his face will split.
Mark finally explodes.
“I am NOT getting Heelys! And I amNOT rolling down the aisle in them!”
~~
Fortunately, their wedding does notget postponed.
Unfortunately, they do end uppurchasing a pair of Heelys.
Fortunately, they are not inJackson’s size.
Unfortunately, they fit Markperfectly.
“I’m going to die, I’m literallygoing to die. There’s going to be tiny crease in the carpet and then I’m goingto slip on it and hit my head and then bleed out on the aisle of my very ownwedding.”
Mark is usually a laid back, calm,and collected person. Clearly, all the above traits have deserted himcompletely on the day of his wedding, moments before he’s supposed to walk, no,roll down the aisle to meet his fiancé, soon-to-behusband.
Except Jackson will never evenbecome his husband if Mark’s brains end up splattered all over floor insteadwhen he trips and falls and oh godit’s time.
When Mark steps out onto the aisle,there are cheers, there are gasps, there are sniffles and sobs. The church hasbeen decorated beautifully - the tall, vaulted ceilings and the wide, brightwindows allow the space to be flooded with light that hits every flower, everyface, every figure just right to make everything picture perfect.
But Mark takes none of it in, heartpounding in his chest as he puts one foot in front of the other, dreading thelast few feet where he’s promised, and even practiced, to rolltowards the pew.
Mark trips.
There isn’t a small bump in thecarpet, or even a stray flower petal. Mark has managed to trip on air, or atleast some unseen, foreign substance, and Mark is ready for the end.
And yet, he doesn’t crack his headopen.
Instead, he falls into strong, warmarms, and when he looks up, is greeted by familiar starstruck eyes that manageto reflect his own awe.
The guests all cheer, somestanding, some clapping, but again, Mark doesn’t hear them, unable to resistleaping forwards to capture Jackson’s lips in a premature kiss.
It’s what they both wanted afterall - something a little special, ending in the best cliché possible.
PLEAS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GIVE ME JINYOUNG SPANKING IDC THE PAIRING HIS PEACH IS TOO PERF
warnings: smut, using the word ‘oppa’ too much, camboys
author: jessica
word count: 2157
a/n: finally posting again! I hope you enjoy this anon.
Youngjae peaks over at his closed door, checking for theumpteenth time that it is indeed locked and not something he only imagineddoing (which has happened to him before and resulted in one of his roommates,Bambam, walking in on him with his cock out and cum splattered on his nakedchest. The kid still teases him about it to this day).
After confirming that it’s still locked, he turns hisattention back to his laptop, earbuds carefully nestled in his ears. The volumehas been carefully adjusted, laptop perfectly balanced on his deskpillow, and the button in his boxers has already been popped open, ready forhis hand to slip inside.
It was during his freshmen year, on a particularly rainyafternoon, that he’d discovered camboys online, having grown tired of the pornhe had been previously watching. He was sick of weird plot lines andridiculously loud, fake moans. He wanted something real, to watch a beautifulindividual truly lose themselves in the throes of passion.
He had been watching some skinny blond ride a muscular blond’sokay-ish size cock when the advertisement on the side of the screen caught hiseye; or, rather, the beautiful man with the devilish smirk and messy burgundyhair. He clicked on the link, which led him to a website with a variety ofcamboys ready to get nasty for his pleasure, which led him further down therabbit hole until he found the boy who had caught his eye, JB.
For weeks, he watched JB’s videos, turned on in a way hehadn’t been in a long time. There was nothing fake about the way JB moaned ashe jerked himself off, and there was no ridiculous dialogue when he got down onhis hands and knees, his hole stretched gorgeously around whatever toy hedecided to play with that day.
It was everything Youngjae had been needing, withoutactually having to go out into the world to satisfy his sexual urges (which hecould have, of course, but the whole process of dressing up, flirting, left himmore exhausted than the sex itself, and with a full course load at school, plushis job on the weekends, he just didn’t have the energy. His other roommate,Yugyeom, just tells him he’s pathetic).
He watched a few other camboys while his obsession with JBgrew, but none of them got his blood boiling the way JB did; until Peach, that is.
He actually learned about Peach through JB during one of hisvideos. He had been teasing his rim with sticky fingers when he suddenly begantalking about the new boy who had recently joined their ranks, who had the mostbeautiful, pillowly lips he had ever seen and the most deliciously plumpbehind. He made his viewers promise to watch Peach’s first video later thatevening, before finally plunging his fingers into his hole, a stuttered moanfalling from his lips.
A few hours later, he logged back into his account andwaited for Peach’s video to start. It seemed like the other viewers wereexcited, based mostly on the way JB had hyped the boy up earlier. Youngjaereally didn’t care either way, but he figured if the boy didn’t catch hisattention, he could always get a head start on his paper for his childpsychology class.
When the video started though, he knew immediately he wasfucked.
Months later and Youngjae is still just as addicted toPeach, spending far too much time – and money – on the beautiful boy. There’sjust something about him though, something that even JB didn’t have, thatpulled Youngjae in and refused to let go. Maybe it was the sweet, dulcet toneof his voice, or the way his eyes scrunched up when he orgasms, somehow lookingboth adorable and hot as fuck? Whatever it is, Youngjae never misses a show.
So, when his watch beeps at him that it’s now ten o’clock,Youngjae gives his door one last check before logging in. Immediately, he seesPeach’s sweet face, his hair styled back messily with a few pieces framing hisforehead. “Good evening everyone,” hesays with a smile, leaning casually on what Youngjae assumes is a desk, hischin resting in his hand. “I’m sorry I haven’t been on in awhile, I’ve justbeen so busy,” he sighs, casting his eyes downward as he begins to pout.
The chatroom is immediately flooded with messages ofreassurance, such as, “We could never be mad at our beautiful boy!” or “Makesure you’re taking care of your health!”
Youngjae, however, sends a different message. It’s not thekind of thing he normally says (and if he did, he’s pretty sure his previouspartners would have laughed at him), but under the guise of anonymity, it’seasy to let go of his insecurities and to express his desires freely.
“Oppa is verydisappointed in you.”
He watches as Peach’s eyes scan through the comments, hishead tilted slightly to the right and exposing his pale neck. It’s a bit nervewracking, to wait and see if Peach will notice what he wrote. A part of himkind of hopes he won’t, because while Youngjae’s been dreaming of the day hecan finally express his kinkier side,it’s still very new to him and he’s not entirely sure how to go about this.
“Oh, what’s this?” Peach pauses, a flicker of amusementshowing in his gaze. He quickly schools his expression though and pulls hisbrows together, deepening his pout. “My oppa Ars is disappointed in me…” helooks up and into the camera, making it feel like he’s looking atYoungjae directly, who can’t believe this is actually happening. “I’m sorryoppa…is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
Youngjae can already feel his cock hardening as his mindreplays the word oppa over and overagain in his head. He slips a hand underneath the waistband and squeezes aroundhis length, trying to relieve some of the pressure. He can already feel beadsof pre-cum dripping down his cock and lets out a small whimper, shuddering.
“Take off your clothes.”
Peach quickly stands up, causing his chair to slidebackwards, and begins to pull his shirt over his head. Once it’s off and on thefloor, his jeans soon follow, until every inch of smooth, sinuous muscle isrevealed. “This too, oppa?” he asks, hooking his thumbs into the edge of hisbriefs and lightly tugging on them, exposing the short, curly hairs beneath.
“Yes,” Youngjaebreathes out, heart hammering in his chest. “Bea good boy for oppa.”
Peach responds with a teasing grin and slowly lowers hisbriefs, sliding them down his long legs. Once they’re off he straightens backup, his cock jutting out from between his thighs, the head pink and shiny with pre-cum.It’s such an inviting sight that Youngjae can’t help but lick his lips,wondering what it’d be like to get down on his knees for Peach and take hisbeautiful cock into his mouth.
“What next, oppa?” Peach interrupts Youngjae’s thoughts ashe sits back down and begins to lazily play with himself, using one hand tostroke along the length of his cock while the other rubs at the head, smearingthe pre-cum and letting it drip down the sides. “Do you wannawatch me play with myself?” he asks, sliding one of his hands down towards hisballs and giving them a squeeze, letting out a breathless moan in response.
“Stop,” he types and Peach immediately lets go, his cheeks flushingas he pouts. “Don’t whine. You want to bea good boy for me, right?”
“I…” Peach falters, his hands clenched tightly in his lap ashe glances away, looking both aroused and embarrassed by Youngjae’s words. “Ofcourse,” he replies, but there’s something different about his tone, lessteasing and more real, like this is the person Peach really is, not the personahe’s created online.
“Kneel on your chair,facing away from me.”
Peach gets up and assumes the requested position, showingoff his broad shoulders and plump backside. He’s smirking, falling back intohis usual role, as he grabs one of his pale cheeks and pulls it aside, exposinghis pretty hole and the pink plug he always wears during his videos. “Does oppawanna see me play with myself?”
“Spank yourself.”
The smirk drops and Peach’s mouth falls open, his eyeswidening. “Well…if that’s what my oppa wants,” he chuckles, almost nervously,before pulling his hand back and giving his ass a light smack.
“Harder.”
The comments begin pouring in like crazy (crazier thanusual, that is), with some of the people telling Peach to be careful, while theothers are already offering to pay exuberant amounts of money to see him hurthimself. Peach doesn’t respond to them though, or even thank them for theircontributions. He just takes a deep breath and raises his hand in the air,before delivering a harsh smack to his behind. He hisses, but Youngjae doesn’tmiss the pleasured expression on his face as he pulls his hand away, revealinga large, red mark on his pale skin. “How many, oppa?” Peach asks, his voicestrained as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Ten.”
Peach nods and spanks himself again, this time on the othercheek, leaving a similar mark. Youngjae moans as he admires the way Peach’s assjiggles with each slap and quickly lifts his hips, shoving at his boxers untilthey’re halfway down his thighs. He takes his cock into his hand and squeezesaround the heated, slick flesh, cursing under his breath as he resists the urgeto fuck up into his hand. He doesn’t want to get off before Peach, who lookslike a vision of ecstasy with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes,threatening to spill over as he delivers one last smack to his reddened cheeks.
“Oh god,” Peach gaspsas he collapses onto his chair, his bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead andhis cheeks stained with the tears he wasn’t able to repress. “Oppa,” he whinespitifully, looking over his shoulder and back into the camera, his gaze heavywith arousal. “Can I touch myself now, please? I’ve been good, right?” hepouts, turning back around in his chair and gingerly sitting down, unable tohold back a slight wince. His cock stands firmly between his thighs, lookingpainfully hard and begging to be touched.
“Go ahead baby.”
Peach immediately grabs his cock and begins to jerk himselfoff, letting out a relieved sigh as he groans in pleasure. Youngjae mirrors hismovements, matching the quick pace of Peach’s hand. He lets his eyes slip closeand just listens to the sound of Peach’s hand sliding up and down on his wetcock, the earbuds amplifying the sound. He feels his own hand moving faster asPeach’s breathy moans increase in frequency, echoing around in his skull anddriving him closer and closer to the edge.
He hears a stuttered cry and quickly opens his eyes, just intime to see Peach reaching his orgasm, his cum hitting his chest as he throwshis head back, moaning unabashedly. Youngjae follows suit a moment later,stifling his moans by clamping a hand over his mouth. Once he’s finished andcleaned up, he slumps tiredly against the wall, watching Peach as hebegins to clean himself up as well, a slight blush on his cheeks. He then apologizes for nottaking requests as normal and promises he’ll be more attentive next time beforesigning off, his smiling face the last thing Youngjae sees before the screengoes black.
His browser redirects back to his profile and Youngjaeyawns, looking down at the clock and seeing that it’s nearing eleven. Just ashe’s about to close his laptop and get ready for bed (he definitely needs ashower), a chat request pops up on his screen. Curious, Youngjae accepts therequest and waits for the messenger to load, wondering who’s it going to be onthe other end.
“Holy shit.”
No way.
No fucking way.
“That was a lot of fun, oppa ;),” the message reads andYoungjae flushes in response, now feeling embarrassed by the term as hesubconsciously covers his flaccid cock. “Come play with me again sometime.Goodnight~!”
Youngjae closes his laptop as Peach signs out and removeshis earbuds, exhaling slowly.
Hi! Can I request a 2jae fic where Youngjae is a clumsy librarian, and JB literally just borrows random books in the library just to see Youngjae? What's worse is YJ assumes JB is some sort of well-read, highly educated person whose thirst for knowledge knows no bounds (that's why he borrows really difficult books of varying topics) which makes YJ slightly intimidated/nervous around JB (which in turn confuses JB a whole lot more). If anyone picked this prompt I'll be eternally grateful!
warnings: none except my usual nonbeta-ed mistakes.
author: sally
word count: 3.2K
a/n: I really didn’t expect this to take so long..I don’t even know if it makes sense anymore given that I wrote this with so many interludes
The first time that Youngjae takes note of Jaebum, he’s sitting on the tiled floors amongst the back shelves surrounded by scattered books with yellowed pages and dusty covers. He’s in the middle of reorganizing the archives when a figure blocks off his light. He looks up abruptly, pushing his glasses back up to see clearly.
“Did you need help?” He asks still seated on the floor. The other male clears his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “A-ah yes,” he stutters. “I…needed that book.” The raven haired male points towards the book in Youngjae’s hand. He follows the other’s motion, eyes landing on the book title. The Sanctity of Life and Criminal Law lays engraved on the leather cover in golden letters. “Oh,” he lets out, “that brick of a book.” Though it’s right after that he catches himself thinking aloud, “wait no—I mean, sure.” Youngjae holds out the book as his brain begins to process in the early morning. A warm shade of red tingles the tips of his ears as he lets out an embarrassed laugh, “This book’s on reserve, you can’t check it out.” He explains.
“I can’t check it out?”
“But you can read it here,“ Youngjae replies with a nod, “you just have to sign the logbook.” He fumbles towards the librarian counter, stepping precariously out of the maze of books on the floor. Jaebum watches amusedly as the caramel haired boy disappears behind the wooden desk, a hand waving up an old battered notebook a few minutes later as he lets out a triumphant cry. ”Found it!”
“Do you have your student card with you?” He asks, opening the book to a fresh page, copying down the decimal code on the spine. His glasses fall forward to gravity, oversized frames weighing down on his nose bridge. Wire frames catching the glint of the fluorescent lights above, softly reflecting the light rays. The particular sight lingers in Jaebum’s mind as he nods, walking slowly towards the sweater clad youth as the other looks up into his eyes with smile. It’s then and there that Jaebum feels something small settling within his chest, a subtle warmth that begins to nest itself in his thoughts.
It’s memories nested within the corners of his mind, sepia tinted like the faded pages of a book printed too long ago. Youngjae can’t exactly determine whether this piece of memory seemed blurry or not–shifting in and out of focus in his mind at the oddest moments. And the more he recalls upon first meetings, he finds that the more it’s altered out of reality.
The old clock in the room ticks loudly, gears turning strenuously as time flows on. Youngjae pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, finally looking away from the computer as he finishes with his paperwork of the day. He glances over to the entrance, counting down by seconds in time with the clock.
Jaebum’s a punctual person, he deems after the older male steps foot into the library for the fourth week in a row at the same time. It’s a contrast from his own lifestyle, preferring to forgo the construct of time and lay within the recluse of his blankets until he musters enough energy to bear through the day. But then again, Youngjae reckons that a routinely event in his life gives him just enough anticipation to pass the days with enough positivity.
He hints at this in subtle ways though he thinks it’s probably too subtle for the other to notice. The slight momentous joy in his irises shielded by the lenses of his glasses. Jaebum walks in when the clock hand hits the thirty minute mark, and Youngjae rubs his clammy palms against the fabric of his jeans. The older male throws him a smile—a greeting—to which he returns politely.
He watches quietly as Jaebum sits in his usual seat, world slowing down as the other drowns within another story, another world. It’s not academia today, Youngjae notes, as he spins around in his swivel chair, searching for his own novel to parallel the others’. It’s his own personal enjoyment, reading something that would relate even the slightest to whatever the other was reading. Though he reckons that the level he reads on only skims the surface in comparison. He sighs mentally, shoulders weighing down as he exhales.
Youngjae doesn’t know where exactly this desire for approval stems from, especially when he’s always been one to live within his own bubble. Yugyeom had described him once to be someone without a care for how the world revolves so long as it doesn’t disrupt his own pace. And those around him had only been passengers, mixing within the background as he courses his way through everyday life. It’s not like him to this self-conscious; though, he thinks it’s partly because the other seemed too intimidating. He thinks back to the various books the other has checked out during this time, reading pace and scope at a level that far surpasses his own.
There’s slight self-abasement that tints his own motives as Youngjae turns the page of his book. He considers it an investment, hoping for moments where he’s able to communicate of common topics without feeling like he’s standing on soft grounds. Youngjae selectively neglects the fact that he could count the number of times they’ve had proper dialogue with one hand.
“That’s not important,” he thinks to himself. “I’m just missing the right moment,” he reassures, throwing his locus of control up in the air for the deities to catch.
Time continues to flow, as the soft sound of page flipping fill their auditory senses in odd beats. Fate hangs above amongst the storm clouds in broken pieces, slowly accumulating until it’s ready to descend upon the earth. Jaebum’s lost within stories of abandoned friends and unopened roads, Youngjae’s following through past adventures guided by faded footprints.
They’re always stuck in half-conversations, where Youngjae rehearses too many dialogues within his mind yet never manages to go along with his pre-written script There’s always a string that tugs him back—though he isn’t sure whether it’s the way Jaebum’s eyes seem to be laced with ice or it’s the way that the warmth scaling up his throat feels like fire. He wonders if it’s obvious that he’s filled with unspoken words, always threatening to overspill yet somehow maintaining enough viscosity to not do so.
Youngjae thumbs the corner of the page, paper rolling in from the moisture of his hands. Clammy hands, he thinks to himself. Youngjae’s always jumping between stagnant calmness to flustered anxiety. It’s as if his soul if either not present, or at too many places at once. He sighs softly, he’s over too conscious whenever Jaebum’s in his sight.
Despicable, he mutters, turning his gaze back to the book when Jaebum turns towards his direction. He spends the rest of the afternoon peering back and forth between the text printed on the pages and the silhouette in the corner of his eye. Time continues to pass amidst the subtle sounds in the room, and Youngjae’s thoughts continue to run amidst the whispers in his chest.
It’s not like Youngjae doesn’t want to initiate conversation. It’s more that he doesn’t know how, with small talk always leaving them in silence and polite smiles. And if they were to move on to other topics, Youngjae always feels as though he wouldn’t be able to catch up. He gives a small sigh, sliding down in his chair and resting his head on his arms. Youngjae settles the book on the side, drumming his fingers upon the wooden desk. He looks vaguely at Jaebum, waiting for momentaneous courage to leap into his life.
It doesn’t come.
They’re taking small steps, he reassures himself when he looks up from his phone to find Jaebum in front of him. The night wind billows softly while Youngjae tugs his bag a bit tighter in his hold. He lets out a soft smile before gesturing Jaebum to take the seat next to him. “Going home?” The older male asks.
“Yeah,” Youngjae says with a nod. “You?”
“Going back to the dorms,” Jaebum answers. There’s a slight pause in auditory senses as Youngjae only nods his head in return. It’s Jaebum who breaks this temporary silence, backpack rustling softly as he shifts slightly. “I never see you around though,” he comments.
“I don’t usually get off until later,” the younger of the two says and Jaebum hums in reply.
And the two of the falter in and out of silence, the mindless noise of the neighbourhood filling in empty sentences. Youngjae pulls at a loose thread at his sleeve, watching as the fabric unravels with his tug. He wonders vaguely what exactly laid on the other end of his string of fate—just exactly what this new road would lead to. He catches Jaebum in his peripheral vision, an unprecedented calmness overtaking him. And for once, just this once, Youngjae finds that he’s not searching aimlessly for words. The corners of his lips upturn lightly into a carefree smile and he leans back in his seat, listening to the rhythm of their breaths overlap.
Inhale, exhale.
The world oscillates around them, time ticking on as the bus hisses to a stop in front of them. Youngjae looks at Jaebum in front him, suddenly conscious that this is the closest he’s ever been to the other. The doors swing close with a thud as they make their way to the back, footsteps sounding ever so slightly against the humming of the motor engine.
Thud, thud, as he follows behind Jaebum.
Thud, thud, sounds his heart.
Youngjae finds the calmness from earlier slipping through his fingers and he slides into the seat next to Jaebum. He leans in ever so slightly so that his shoulder rests against the other, as if the two of them were supporting one another. The sunlight filters through the glass windows, and Youngjae watches on as their shadows fade in and out with the moving light.
Jaebum reads silently adjacent to him as Youngjae leans his head against the window, closing his eyes and counting his breath while he pretends to rest. He makes out words here and there through half-closed eyes though he eventually stops trying, focusing on sight of the other instead.
Youngjae feels as if he’s searching for something; yet, he doesn’t know exactly what. Where all the words that come to mind are hopelessly lacking. He wants to tell the other something—but what was it? And what was it that he wanted to hear in reply? Something heavy sits upon the answer, stopping him from finding it.
Too conscious, he tells himself softly. I’m too conscious of him. It’s something that both excites him and intimidates him all at once—desiring approval and attention as he looks up at Jaebum from below. There’s a distance between them that seems to transcend different planes. Youngjae wonders if this obscure fondness stems from this distance. Whether or not it’s this very demeanor—seemingly too idealistic— surrounding Jaebum that pulls him in. Youngjae reckons it is.
Nobody’s perfect, he reminds himself, even though such a statement does nothing to stop him from regarding the other as so.
Nobody’s perfect; Jaebum isn’t perfect. And even so, Youngjae feels himself seem too ordinary in presence. He huffs under his breath dejectedly. He kicks around at the boulder sitting atop his ego, wanting to uncover hidden desires. It doesn’t budge and nothing surfaces from the subconscious. He lets out another sigh, finally averting his gaze away from the subject of his inner turmoil.
The humming of the bus engine continues in the background, and Jaebum flips another page of his novel. He looks at the black and white of the page, attempting to focus on the words printed on the page and not the warmth of the younger male’s body leaning against his side.
Focus, Jaebum reminds himself as he rereads the line for the fourth time.Focus, Jaebum reminds himself as he doesn’t think of the way Youngjae’s cologne mixes with his own.
The road ahead twist and turns with the text in front of him and Jaebum struggles to string together its meaning as he stares on at the inked letters. The bus makes its way down the asphalt roads; the sun settles lazily into the caress of the horizon. Jaebum glances at their shadows sit together side by side, spiralling into his own thoughts.
Youngjae reckons it’s improvement—slowly moving from courteous nods to small exchanges and dialogue. Though he still needs to give himself a mental boost of confidence before every conversation coupled with the reminder that he isn’t (and shouldn’t) be looking to impress the other male. It’s only a normal interaction between the two, he tells himself, trying to diminish the disappointment that stems from Jaebum’s lack of expression.
He’s reading too much into it, he knows. But when has logic ever been the victor? Hasn’t the heart always conquered in such battles? Youngjae thinks he’s fighting lost battles—walking up against the river current until his legs tire out and he finds himself being thrown to the stream below. And if by then the water would’ve filled his lungs, adding onto the weight that he already feels on his chest.
He lets out a deep breath, looking up at Jaebum’s figure in front of him. The setting sun showers them in golden rays, and for a near moment, Youngjae finds that Jaebum looks all too ethereal—as if a golden halo settles softly onto the other male.
And a small—miniscule—fear stirs up in him. As if Jaebum would slowly disintegrate into a dream if Youngjae reaches out to him.
The clouds stir on ahead while Youngjae listens to the sound of their footsteps on the cement grounds, listens to the soft buzz of music ringing from Jaebum’s headphones, listens to the thousands of thoughts that infiltrate his consciousness. Youngjae fixes his vision onto the older male, wondering if the other could also listen to the silent screams within his head.
There’s something between them—an opposing force that Youngjae is all too preoccupied about. Where he feels that all the minute progress he’s been marching forward suddenly comes to a stop at a force he can only feel but cannot see. He tries to recall if every relationship has to reach a point of no progression—left in stagnant positions where even if he reaches out he can only graze the tips of his finger off of Jaebum.
He takes a look up at the other across the room, sitting silently as his gaze stays fixated on the pages in front of him. Youngjae wonders if Jaebum can feel his gaze—whether the other is oblivious or only pretending to be so. He gives a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly, refusing to venture into such thoughts. Youngjae takes off his glasses, rubbing the lenses with the fabric of his hoodie.
It’s an unrehearsed play onstage, exits and enters all in the wrong timing. He wonders if this was evidence that fate doesn’t lie between the two of them. A small frown settles on his face at the thought, and remnants of it linger throughout the day. One-sided infatuation tires him out, as he runs on endlessly without a goal.
Where is the end? He wonders. Is there an end awaiting him?
“I never know what you’re thinking,” Jaebum tells him one day as they walk side by side underneath Autumn leaves. There’s a tinge of sadness underlying his voice in ways that Youngjae doesn’t grasp. “I never know what you’re thinking either,” he mutters, voice low enough that only the two of them can hear.
Jaebum pushes back his fringe, giving a soft sigh. “It’s like I don’t know what type of person you are.”
Youngjae shrugs, “I mean, I don’t really know what type of person I am either.” Jaebum gives him a short glance, stopping momentarily before walking forward again.
It’s always like this, he thinks. He wonders if they’re really just not two meant for meaningful conversations. Or is it just him who isn’t meant for conversations at all—fumbling over words and lost meaning. Youngjae tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them over his hands. Jaebum continues as they walk slowly underneath the setting sun. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s because you don’t want to listen to what I have to say.It’s as if you’re always ready to avert away.”
Youngjae stops midstep, autumn leaves lying underneath his figure—wilted and broken. He turns abruptly to face Jaebum, wanting to refute but losing the right words to do so. “I’m not averting,” he stammers. “I’m never trying to avert anything.” Jaebum only looks back at him, letting out a frustrated sigh before running his hand through his hair. “Youngjae,” He starts. “I don’t deem myself someone that has the utmost patience; nor do I see myself as someone that’s overtly passive. But I also don’t see myself as someone that’s striving to cling onto something impossible.”
“So?” Youngjae whispers in reply, listening to the ticking of the bomb ready to detonate within his thoughts.
“So,” Jaebum says, the kohl in his eyes resembling embers, “It feels that I’m the one engaged in soliloquies, and every time I think I take another step forward, I see you take one backwards. And I can never tell, Youngjae, what you think of me.”
“What I think of you?” Trepidation seeps underneath his veins, travelling along his bloodstream in ways that almost feel like toxin. “I think,” He searches for the right words, “highly—too highly of you.” He settles on this thought, trying to avoid the weight of Jaebum’s gaze on him.
“Highly?”
It’s Youngjae who sighs this time, shoulders giving out from too many thoughts and burdens. “I don’t think I’m me whenever I’m in front of you. Where I’m always too quiet—too anxious, and too conscious of every little thing.” There’s a tinge of fire that sparks in the air, igniting everything that’s accumulated over too much time.Youngjae feels the timer tick down to zero, the world imploding into fireworks—to ashes. “You never know what I’m thinking,” his voice wavers, though he continues with unfound courage, “But I never know what you’re thinking either.”
The world slows to a halt after calamity, and Youngjae only holds his breath as silence finds its way between them again. It clings onto their skin, melding into the nooks and crevices of every atom.
“I thought I made it obvious,” Jaebum gives an unconfident laugh, “That I’m always here to see you.”
“I thought you were here to read,” Youngjae mumbles, scuffing the tip of his sneakers onto the fallen leaves. A trickle of warmth finds its way to his ears, tinting it with the same shade of red as the leaves on the ground.
“There didn’t seem to be another excuse to keep returning,” Jaebum says, tugging awkwardly at the loose thread of his sweater.
