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7fics · 7 years

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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.

“Oh,” Youngjae says.

“Oh,” Jaebum mocks.

“So you really aren’t that smart, right?”

“Incorrect, I’m truly that smart.”

#got7 #2jae #character:youngjae #character:jb #genre:romance #pairing:2jae #author:sally

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7fics · 7 years

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I've had so many hostages before and you're by far THE WORST HOSTAGE EVER. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE UNCOMFORTABLE BC YOU'RE A HOSTAGE

Warnings: Lots’o cursing, innuendo, some (fairly minor?) violence/threats of violence

Author: TJ

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This fill gave me more trouble than I thought it would OTL thanks Mno for helping me plot (even though I still derailed from my plan HAH) But writing struggles aside, I hope this came out at least somewhat entertaining? ^^;;

“We’retrying, okay, we’re trying. But we didn’t - power didn’t completely - enoughtime - delete the - hasn’t - it - ch - tttssssss-”

Jaebum grimaced, dropping hiswalkie back into his pocket, fully muffling the static-y voices. Not that itmattered much, given he wasn’t able to understand the words being spoken eitherway. The reception was absolutely terrible within these thick, concrete walls.

“Mmmmmph! Mmph mph mphhhh! MMPH!”

Jaebum’s frown deepened into ascowl as he turned his attention to the gagged man on the other side of theroom, though the cap pulled low on his face probably didn’t allow hisdispleasure to be fully communicated to his captive.

The other man was young, strong,and stockily built, having put up quite the resistance in their tussle not toolong ago. If his security guard uniform was anything to go by, he’d probablybeen trained to deal with such situations.

Jaebum’s greater height gave himthe ultimate advantage, however, allowing him to snag a laptop charger off atop cabinet shelf and deftly wrap it around the other man’s neck, securing himinto a chokehold.

The struggle had ended promptlythereafter, and Jaebum, inspired by his apparent stroke of genius, took tofully restraining his new hostage with whatever wires and electrical cording hecould find in the small office they were in.

Oh, and stuffed a sock in the guy’smouth for good measure, too, because god did he not know how to shut up.

And that was ten minutes ago. Now,Jaebum was only becoming increasingly impatient. Taking a hostage hadn’t beenin the original plan, so clearly something had gone wrong. Jaebum was supposedto be helping to secure their exit, not stuck here babysitting this -

“MMMMMMPHHHHHHAAA! BLEH!”

His hostage finally managed todislodge the sock from his mouth, visibly wincing as he spat loudly. Jaebum’sexpression darkened, already contemplating taking off his other sock, (he wouldnot be touching the one that had saliva all over it),when the man spoke.

“Dude, what the hell? That wasgross! If you’re gonna gag me at least use something clean! That tasted sogross, man!”

“If you were able to keep yourmouth shut to begin with, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures,”Jaebum growled as he advanced forward menacingly, raising a hand for purpose ofintimidation.

“Aw, man, that’s so mean! I wasjust asking some questions– ohhh whoaaaaa. Whoa. Holy shit.”

The other man suddenly broke off,his already large eyes widening even further as he stared up at Jaebum, who’dcrossed the room towards him and consequently stepped into the light. For thefirst time, his features were clearly illuminated, and Jaebum tensed, his jawlocked and ready to face further resistance.

Instead, he almost choked on air atthe man’s next words.

“DUDE your face is a masterpiece!”

“…What?”Jaebum didn’t even know what that meant, almost swinging his fist at the guy’s facebecause what the hell even, but forced himself to pause when he was confrontedby furious headshaking.

“No like, seriously! How do youeven look like that? Are you sure you’re not a celebrity or something? And yourjawline is unreal!”

For the first time in a long time,Jaebum was completely flabbergasted. By a hostage, at that. Ittook him more than a few seconds to find his voice again, and even longer tofind words.

“What is wrong withyou? Are you an idiot?”

“I’m Jackson! Jackson Wang,actually!” The hostage, Jackson, responded enthusiastically, having the audacity toshoot Jaebum a wink. “Nice of you to ask. And actually, yes, the only thingwrong with me right now is my circulation might be getting cut off by thesecords of yours.”

He turned slightly to show off hiswrists that were twisted behind his back, wriggling his fingers.

“Don’t get me wrong, wouldn’t wantto get in the way of doing your job and all, Mr. Jawline, totally understandthat you had to tie me up for very important reasons. Could you just loosenthem a little bit, though?”

He blinked up at Jaebum innocently,cocking his head when he earned no verbal response.

“Oh come on, just a titch? Just ateensie eensie bit?”

Jaebum took a deep breath, countingdown from ten in his head so he didn’t accidently murderthis infuriating bastard. Don’tlose it, Jaebum, the gang needs a bargaining chip that’s alive.

“You do realize that I’m holdingyou hostage, right? That I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your comfort? ThatI could literally -” Jaebum grit his teeth, reaching down to lift Jackson up byhis collar, slamming his back into wall, “kill you right now?”

“Ohhh, kinky,” Jackson grimacedslightly when his head rebounded off the wall with a painful thud, but was backto grinning almost instantly. He even went slightly cross-eyed in order tomaintain eye contact with Jaebum, whose face was now mere inches away from hisown. “You know actually, if you’re gonna stay this close to me, I think I’d befine with these cords as long as-”

“Oh what the fuck,” Jaebumhissed, shoving Jackson off to the side as he stepped back with a look ofdisgust of on his face. Kicking off his shoe, Jaebum reached down, intent onremoving his other sock because clearly he was dealing with a total incompetentdumbass, and attempting to speak with him any more was only going to spike hisblood pressure.

“Oh, dude, no, please, not anothersock!” Jackson wailed, his irritating voice sounding much closer to a whinethan fearful begging. “Oh come on, please? Oh oh, I have a better idea! Ifyou’re gonna gag me, can you just take off your shirt and use that? You’vegotta have a killer bod, right? So no need to be shy, come on!”

Having already yanked his sock off,Jaebum snarled, moving forward with a vengeful rage when suddenly, his phonewent off.

Jaebum froze, sock still clutchedin hand before he finally exhaled deeply, retreating to the far end of the roomwith surprising swiftness as his phone was retrieved from his back pocket.

“Hello? What’s -”

“Get out, now. Forget the hostage,we have what we need and police are surrounding the premises, just get out now!”

“But where -”

Jaebum swore loudly when a telltaleclick signaled the other side hanging up, but he didn’t waste any timeattempting to redial.

Shit he needed his own way out, and if police were already surroundingthe premises he needed some way to slip through undetected. Almost immediately,he started running through his options, eyes scanning the room for anythingthat could be useful.

Eyes landing on Jackson, an ideastruck him, and for the first time, Jaebum returned Jackson’s grin with one ofhis own. He strode towards him briskly, whipping out the small army knife hekept in his other back pocket.

Jackson didn’t seem to notice theweapon, appearing simply starstruck at the appearance of Jaebum’s smile.

“Whoa, dude, you should smile moreoften, it’s quite- WAIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Jackson let out a muffled shriek,Jaebum pressing a palm against his mouth just in time to block most of thesound. Immediately, Jackson’s hands were on Jaebum’s own, his eyes wide.

Jaebum had cut his bonds, and wasnow busy tugging off his outer clothing. His button-up was off within seconds,and Jaebum’s efficiency ensured his undershirt followed shortly after.

“Whoa, whoa, aren’t we moving a bitfast here?” Jackson babbled as Jaebum went for his belt next, but didn’t resistdue to the cold blade pressed to the side of his throat. “Like, shouldn’t youtell me your name first, at least? Isn’t that basic etiquette?”

Jaebum didn’t respond, directingall his attention towards stripping Jackson down. There was a large amount offumbling, but the knife pressed against Jackson’s skin never wavered.

“Oh come on, now you won’t eventalk to me? You’re just gonna - hey, hey, I thought we were over the bondage!”

Having stripped Jackson down topretty much just his underwear, Jaebum quickly restrained him once more withthe cords, shoving him off to the side when he finished.

“Aww, really? You’re just going toleave me here? Naked?”

Jaebum couldn’t help but smirk ashe pulled off his own clothes, switching into Jackson’s uniform instead. It wasa tight fit, and the pants were definitely too short, but it’d do - no oneshould question a security guard wearing the company badge.

“You’ve got your underwear, haven’tyou? You’ve got quite the killer bod yourself, so no need to be shy, right?”Jaebum didn’t even try to keep the smugness out of his voice, mood instantlylifted by Jackson’s pitiful state.

Jaebum gathered his own clothesnext, stuffing them into his pack, and therefore missed the mischievous gleamthat lit up in Jackson’s eyes.

“Why, thank you. Does that count asyou flirting back, Mr. Jawline?”

Jaebum snorted, striding towardsthe door to make his leave without a single backwards glance.

By the time the door finally swungto a close, Jaebum was already halfway down the hall. So the faint “Call me!”that was yelled out right before it clicked shut just barely made it toJaebum’s ears.

He’d merely scoffed, shaking hishead as he broke into a determined sprint.

Just as Jaebum predicted, slippingthrough the crowd of police had been a piece of cake with his security guardgetup. Arriving back at their base was easy enough after that, and Jaebum wasrelieved to find out that despite the many hiccups along the way, the heist hadbeen an overall success.

It wasn’t until much later, aftermany hours of drunken celebration and feasting, that Jaebum finally returnedhome to his apartment, slipping off his shoes to find a tiny slip of paperflutter up and out of the left heel.

It was a haphazardly folded note, with equally haphazard handwriting that was still somehow legible.

First, a series of digits that wereclearly a phone number. Then, a signature:

~ JW :)

Jaebum slept fitfully that night,dreaming of large, shining eyes and dirty socks.

#jackbum #got7 #character:jackson #character:jb #genre:au #genre:humor #author:tj

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7fics · 7 years

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I really want something like Jr and Jb have a date on the weekend but Jr's little cousen(youngjae) cames and he (and Jb) must look after him. But Jr becomes jealous and a bit sad as Jb does more things with cutie little Youngjae than with him.

Warnings: None

Author: Jo

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: sorry for the wait TT-TT i hope you like it, this prompt was rlly rlly fun to write

—–

“Tada!!”

A butter yellow bow,prim and pretty, is clipped awkwardly onto the fringe of Jinyoung’s boyfriend.Youngjae’s only seven, seven-and-a-half specifically if the mentioned ispresent, and in courtesy of not breaking what tiny heart he has managed togrow, Jaebum smiles awkwardly and cheers along softly. He’s curled his handsinto fists and he shakes them in the air along to Youngjae’s small claps, butreally, it sounds like he’s trying not to shrivel and die inside.

It’s not an ideal datenight, Jinyoung laments. What was meant to be their apartment bare and cold asthey headed down to some fusion bullshit hole-in-the-wall restaurant, maybegetting tipsy in the bar next door, maybe making out in the cinema next tothat, and maybe then heating up their place with just their hands andtheir sleepy mouths, has now become a refuge for Jinyoung’s baby cousin.

An endless war zone oftoys, blankets and furniture skewed twenty degrees from their originalplacement, Jaebum had had to rescue his very expensive and verynot-child-friendly film equipment from toppling over tabletops in the firstfive minutes that Youngjae had arrived. They sit safely atop the highestkitchen cupboard, locked shut, because from past experience Jinyoung knows thekid’s a lot wilier than appearances would assume. The cracked screen of his oldlaptop would say so.

It’s not that Youngjae’sa bad kid. Just…danger prone. Precisely the reason why his parents had rungup twenty minutes after Jinyoung had managed to squeeze into his very specialjeans, begging him to take him for the night because their, in child-friendlyterminology, gosh-darn babysitter mcflipflopping cancelled in thelast danging minute and there’s no one else but him that they trust.

Jinyoung loves his auntand uncle. Honestly. They give him birthday presents that aren’t socks, getscoddled and spoilt at every family gathering with cheeks pinched and earstugged since he was two feet tall. It’s that really, that makes him pull thereceiver away from his mouth and sigh quietly, morose about the struggle hetook to squeeze into these gaze-gluing pants that physically pain Jaebum morethan it pains his thighs, and puts on an enthusiastic smile.

Of course we’ll haveYoungjae over. No, no, I wasn’t going to do anything tonight anyway, it’ll be abreeze.

The little packagearrived twenty minutes later, dropped off in two more, and running around theirapartment within five. Stiff, Jaebum had lingered in the hallway upon the alienarrival. Whatever fragile, delicate hyper-masculine ego he had, he wasprotecting by staying a good five meters away from anybody under the age ofadolescence. Jinyoung always found it a little stupid, a little endearing, thatdespite his fondness for kids it was his permanent scowling bitch-face thatchased them behind their mother’s legs. Perhaps in tears, perhaps in mildsniffles, but always with their parental guardian mildly embarrassed and Jaebuminfinitely moreso.

Funny enough, much totheir pleasant surprise, Youngjae had taken a liking to Jaebum. A very attachedliking to Jaebum.

“Hyung, hyung,” Jinyounglooks up from where he’s behind the counter to see Youngjae gripping the sleeveof the older’s jacket, shaking it to and fro while stepping from foot to foot,pointing at the closed door of their shared bedroom “Can I pick up your cat?”

“Uh…” Jaebum glances toJinyoung for permission, and upon seeing the frantic shake of his head, smilesapologetically “Sorry Youngjae yah, not today.” He ruffles his feathery hairand pokes his round, pinking cheeks when they balloon up with a pout.

Two strong baby armssuddenly pull Jaebum’s own arms down and the younger blinks on the widest puppyeyes he can muster, “Jinyoung hyung’s just being mean! Don’t listen to him!”

Jinyoung sighs. Thiskid.

Jinyoung rounds over tothem, huffing out his own cheeks and swoops his cousin into his arms,maneuvering around his overnight duffel and setting him atop a fortress ofblankets that Jaebum had thrown his back over to construct. “What Jaebum hyungmeans by not today is never. You’re allergic to fur, remember?Nora’s locked in our room for a reason.”

“Maybe I’m not allergicto Nora,” Youngjae offers, his lips pursing into a smart smile stretchingacross his face. As much as Jinyoung loves to coo over cuteness, he’s a toughcustomer.

Tutting, he pinches alittle ear. It blooms pink and Youngjae yowls, indignant. “I find that hard tobelieve.”

He turns his back thenand immediately feels the juvenile simmer of a glare. Pointedly ignoring it,Jinyoung retires back to the safe island of his kitchen corner, behind thegrape-juice stained marble and in front of his attempt at pasta boiling over onthe stove. He hurriedly lifts the metal-hot lid with his bare hands, lidclanging on the bench.

Half the time - it’sadmittedly a lot more than half, but no one’s actually counting at this point -it’s Jaebum the one who cooks dinner. It’s nothing Michelin worthy, but theiroptions run shallow. Neither of them have a lot of time, wholly preoccupiedwith their school studies, and even though Jaebum’s extent of culinaryknowledge only extends to chicken-based meals, it is, in Jackson’s words, atough choice between dying of carcinogenic take-away and Jinyoung’s homecooking.

But, you know, wholisten’s to Jackson anyway? Jinyoung snorts to himself as he turns down theheat so the froth isn’t leaking over the side of the pot. All that organic foodis probably growing organic mold in his brain or whatever.

The soft skin of hispalm is protesting red and he’s engulfed in a balmy wave of pearly steam whenhe hears a distinctive grunt of a certain man toppling over with the suddenweight of a certain child leaping on his back.

Lost in white vapour,Jinyoung peeks through to the sight of Jaebum’s knees righting itself from abuckle as his hands hooked Youngjae’s legs into a more comfortable grip againsthis hips so the little boy could grasp his neck better.

“Sorry, hyung!” hegiggles, then puffs his chest proudly, beaming at no one with a toothy smilebehind ruffled hair, “My mom says I’m getting bigger every day.”

Jinyoung wavessauce-soaked wooden spoon, its juices dripping down to his fingers, “Youngjae,be careful.”

He’s pointedly ignored,the little kid turning cheek from him, and Jaebum does no help by laughingbreathily. The pot, a few inches from Jinyoung’s chest and emanating a melting,ferocious heat, bubbles wickedly atop its blue simmer.

He sighs. This kid.

—–

The evening had lulledfurther along into a colder, hungrier hour yet the relentless, unwaning sourceof energy that Youngjae’s life essence seemed to be tethered to, was startingto take effect on Jaebum. His stubbornness, a leaden thing in his stomachalmost heavier than Jinyoung’s, forces him to keep up with all his younger,colourful and kaleidoscope antics.

He’s Youngjae’stransport for a solid half hour. The younger perched upon on his shoulders andmaneuvered around the cramped walls of their apartment, with the glimpse yellowof his shirt and the grey of Jaebum’s appearing from corner to corner. Theflash of a bare ankle, the slip of tousled black hair, and the slip of bluesocks on hardwood at speeds that make Jinyoung fret from where he’s beenbanished in his kitchen corner. Youngjae was still sore about the whole Norathing, apparently.

Dubbed and knighted by awooden metre ruler, a device Jinyoung uses for planning out straight lines atopblue-grid paper and poking Jaebum for the television remote, not for promotingmedieval hierarchal values, Jaebum grins as Youngjae giggles himself silly fromthe now highest perch in their home.

“Hyung, don’t go sofast,” Jinyoung murmurs from where he’s leaning against the countertop. He goesunheard beneath raucous laughter. His phone is beside his elbow, screen smudgedfrom compulsively checking all his sns out of boredom and hoping to distracthimself as the other two boys left him alone. Jackson had sent him a sad winkyface when he tried to explain his predicament and then a link to a youtubevideo Jinyoung’s too wary to open. Mark sent him a snap of his weird dog, and -god knows he was desperate by reaching out to them - Yugyeom had recorded hisroommate Bambam trying to flip a bottle in response.

The repetitive thud ofplastic against a table and sloshing water against its crinkly barrier playsover and over in a loop in his head as he starts to doze out.

“Jinyoung!”

His eyes fly open.Dangling from an arm, Youngjae’s hanging off of Jaebum’s as if he were swingingfrom playground monkey bars.

“Jae’s hungry.”

Jinyoung narrows his eyes,“Well aren’t you two so chummy all of a sudden.”

Jaebum snickers, “Nyoung.”

“What?” He never said hewas above this, “The pasta’s barely warm anymore since you two played for solong.” This bubble of pettiness, shamelessness, pridefulness, whatever, he’snot above it he’ll admit.

Unfazed, Jaebum far tooaccommodated with his antics to even consider taking him seriously, a knack ofhis that makes Jinyoung both unbearably flustered yet also besmirched, hebegins to move his arm up and down. Youngjae smiles like a kid on a joyride, pleasantlythrilled at these babysitting services. Jinyoung does well to ignore hownicely-fitting the sleeves of his boyfriend’s shirt are.

“That’s okay, we’ll justmicrowave it. Is that okay, Youngjae yah?”

Delighted with the easylift of his entire weight, Youngjae giggles and begins swinging impressivelywith his sock-clad feet kicking out into the air, nodding as he hums a “Yep!And after food, can we play more?”

“I don’t know…” Jaebumsqueezes his face so that his nose is scrunched and began feigning a labouredbreath, a playful glitter adopting in his eyes, “I’m feeling…so tired.Youngjae, how did you get so heavy?” He suddenly tilts his supporting arm tothe ground and Youngjae hiccups on a yell as he dips suddenly down, “I don’tthink I can go on any longer!”

“Hyung, no! If I touchthe ground I’ll die!!”

“Well, we can’t havethat can we?” With an impressive maneuver, the boy’s hefted up into Jaebum’shold before being effortlessly lifted above his head, letting his short legsdangle and rest on his shoulders with knees bracketing his neck.

Lost in their own worldthese two become, and Jinyoung’s left to cook his indignant stew on the insideas they forget about him for another good half hour. His crappy dinner growscold on the counter.

When they do eat, thereminder punctuated by Jaebum’s stomach making a painful noise and Youngjaelaughing before his own smaller rendition growled out, the two of them arestill stacked like a totem pole. Jaebum lets Youngjae open the cabinets fromhis perch, grabbing two bowls in his grip and Jinyoung hovers close by,anticipating broken porcelain and a lot of blood and his aunt’s wrath squeezingaround his neck

“Jinyoung.” ComesJaebum’s amused voice and arched brow. Funny how that look makes him moredefensive than flustered now.

“What?

The other man takes thebowls from Youngjae’s hands and places them down, “Nothing,” he sighs, thenshakes his head, “You’re cute.”

Jinyoung’s ears tint alittle pink, “What?” he asks, puzzled.

“You’re cute when you’relike this. Whiny, but pandering.” He hands Jinyoung a bowl, who begins stabbinga wooden spoon into the pot. Youngjae has his thoroughly amused smile hiddenbehind the ruffled bird’s nest of Jaebum’s dye-job.

“I’m not whiny, and whatdo you mean? I’m not exactly bending my back to accommodate your and Youngjae’splaydate,” he makes sure Jaebum’s bowl has the least amount of sauce,that some of it even trickles over the edge and down the side. When he takesthe other bowl - a smaller one with small birds decorating the rim, he appeaseswith a close-eyed sigh to Youngjae’s cheer for more sauce! Please! Untilhalf the contents are drowned in it. What a weird kid.

“Exactly,”

Jinyoung whips his headaround, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jaebumsingsongs, opening the microwave.

—–

Youngjae slowly beginsto deflate by the time the dark fleece of the hour blanketed the horizon.Finally allowed retirement from being some sort of four-legged creature oftransport - Jinyoung doesn’t miss the way Jaebum massages his lower back andshoulders - the two of them resort to scribbling all over what Jinyoung hopesis not his sketchbook.

He’s still banned,apparently, from joining them.

“I guess I’ll just leaveyou kids to do whatever then,” he calls out from the dining table where he’sperched - not sulking - knees tucked to his chest and arms looped around hislegs. His laptop whirrs pitifully at him where a blank search page blinksalmost owlishly. “Don’t mind me at all whilst I do my homework. Like a goodstudent. With a student debt. And little to no career prospects on thehorizon.

Jaebum smiles sheepishlyup at him with a tad of guilt that makes a little huff of triumph Jinyoung’schest, which immediately dampens when the impeccable handsomeness in those thinlips and brow overthrow the reminder that Jinyoung is kind of pissed at themoment. It’s impish almost, the sight of Jaebum and the way he’s forced tocramp his knees to his chest as he positions himself beside the low coffeetable where Youngjae’s little legs fit perfectly under. A bright violet crayonis grasped in Jaebum’s hand and the side of his wrist smudged in a rosy pinkchalk.

They’re lost in a smilefor moment - a honey warm thing. It’s tenderly domestic and the night isquaint, it’s something they’ll place away to look back on later - when Jaebum’schided for losing focus. A small palm pats his face, annoyed, and he mollifiesthe young one by dutifully filling in a crudely drawn chicken in purple.

Ah, loneliness.Jinyoung’s back to being ignored again. The light from the smile dissipatesthrough his chest back into nothing and he rubs his sternum, a littledisappointed. This was not what he was used to at all. He picks up his laptopand pads away into the darkness of their spare-bedroom-turned-workspace,closing the door with a quiet click and letting the darkness be dyed with theblue glow of his screen, foregoing the light switch.

A ridiculouslyphotogenic portrait of Nora hangs above Jaebum’s desk and Jinyoung always hasto smile every time he sees it, affectionate, endeared, still disbelievingafter all these years, as he sits down at his boyfriend’s desk instead of hisown. A ring of coffee stains is permanent in the woodwork. The vinyl of theirchair scratched from their one-and-only girl.

Jinyoung quietly delvesinto his work, scourging through pdf after pdf, as he let’s the signaturesounds of a children’s animated movie starting to play in the background himsubdue over him.

—–

It’s after a solid hourof numbing his mind, that Jinyoung pads quietly out the room. He yawns andstretches, cracking his knuckles as he pulls his elbows over his head beforerealising the sudden lack of hushed whispers as from before. He reaches the endof the hallway and leans around the corner of the to peer into the lounge area.

Jaebum’s conked out,head lolling down into his chest and his chin gone soft as it’s squished intohis pullover. Colours from the movie, clouded impressions of oranges and pinksand blues, dance upon his sharp nose and mussed fringe and the shallow rise andfall of his chest. There’s a slight drooling at the corner of his lips. Hisarms hug a wad of blankets.

A seemingly empty wad ofblankets. Devoid of what should be a small, loud boy child.

“Shit.”

Jinyoung hurries overfor a closer inspection to the cradled bundle. Youngjae-less. He rounds over tothe kitchen island and checks behind the counter. Youngjae-less. He opens everybottom cabinet, even peeks into the oven and washing machine just in case.Still Youngjae-less.

Feeling the cold breathof his Aunt breathing down his neck, he scurries to Jaebum and crouches down,shaking his shoulder with restrained violence.

“Hnnrhgh?” Jaebum snortsunattractively, blindly swiping at him, “Wha? Good morning?”

Jinyoung would simper ifhe wasn’t feeling like he might’ve misplaced a very important living, breathingchild. “Hyung, where’s Youngjae?” he hisses.

Jaebum blinks, thequestion cutting through his fog of sleep and his arms squeeze the blankets inhis arm. It collapses in a shapeless form. Jaebum keeps trying, hands pattingup and down, searching the fabric for something solid and child-shaped.

“Oh,” his eyes widen alittle, then he snorts a little, “Yah, Jinyoung. Stop looking like that, I cansee your wrinkles already. Youngjae’s probably just wandered off somewhere,okay?”

The comfort backfiresand Jinyoung’s eyes fly open in alarm.

“Did we lock the door?The door’s locked, right? You don’t think he’s gone outside do you?”

Jaebum seizes his arm bythe sleeve and drags him down from where he was about to bolt, “I meantwandered somewhere in our home. And yes, Nyoung, I locked the door.”

Still, Jinyoung pullshis bottom lip with his teeth, chewing on it slightly. He pulls away fromJaebum’s hold and shoves his hands into his face, shaking his head andgroaning, “I leave you alone for one moment and you lose the baby and I lose myhead. We’re terrible parents.”

A warm, bumpy solidpresses against his cheek. Jaebum’s hand, cupping him delicately with a crinklylaugh, “I don’t believe that - wait.”

“What?”

“Shh.” A finger silencesJinyoung’s mouth and his brows rise, alert. He strains his ears to hear andfollows Jaebum’s suspicious glare around their apartment, an edgy nervousnesspushing against his sternum. There’s a hiccup of noise in the silence.

A sneeze.

A faint, very telltalesneeze from down the hallway. Jinyoung’s lips round into a small ‘o’ and atrembling relief floods the banks of his chest. A weak smile rises in him. He puffsa small breath out against Jaebum’s forehead and lets his hand come rest on hisexposed collar .

“Told you, youworrywart,” his infuriating boyfriend whispers, smirking, before a frown takesover, “Sounds like he’s caught a cold though.”

They stand up and followthe source of sound, coming to a still in front of their bedroom and theincriminating gap of its door creaked a slight angle ajar. Another sneeze,squeaky and loud. Jaebum hides a snort behind his hand.

“At least it’s not a cold,”he murmurs and pushes the door open, flipping the lightswitch on and engulfingthe walls in a dim light, illuminating Youngjae who suddenly freezes - one handraised tenderly in mid pet over the fur of a curious Nora, her eyes openingfrom a nap in confused, blue slits - and Jinyoung coughs his laughter down histhroat from behind Jaebum’s shoulder.

Nora stirs, her tailswishing at the sight of her owners and she stands on her short legs, backarching and little feline teeth flashing before she leaps down gracefully. Herpaws thud softly on the floorboards. A quiet purr rumbles through their smallroom as she entwines herself around Jaebum’s ankles, content, pleased, a littlewhiney when she begins meowing loudly for dinner. With playful satisfaction,Jinyoung watches, tickled, at Youngjae’s still-turned back, too afraid to evendrop his hand from the air.

“Youngjae yah,” Jinyoungcalls out lyrically, “what are you doing in here?”

Jaebum bends down toscoop up his cat, “Hey, don’t tease,” he murmurs, tucking his girl to his chestand scratching the underside of her chin with a finger, a delighted grintwitching on his face as her eyes close again, tail tip twitching happilyagainst his stomach. Pursing his lips but still reaching over to give Nora agood scratch behind the ears, Jinyoung ignores the two of them and moves aroundhim to get into the room, coming to kneel beside Youngjae.

The boy is pouting, adangerous wobble to his bottom lip paired with quite a heart-wrenching pair ofpuppy eyes bulging in an innocent, allergy-induced watery display. A violentsneeze shakes his body, his chin bumping into his chest. Jinyoung coos.

“Youngjae,” his voiceturns into a soft butter and he pulls his shirt sleeve over his hand, using itwipe the escaped tears trickling down his blotched cheeks, “you know betterthan anyone Nora will make you all sniffly.”

Youngjae’s button nosecrinkles, “But she’s soft.”

Jinyoung breathes asmall laugh, eyes squeezed and head dipping down in a tender, partial mix ofamusement and exasperation. The blunt and unexpected honesty thunking rightagainst his heart. Fondly, he makes to pick the boy up and wipe the snifflefrom his nose, “She is, isn’t she? But that doesn’t mean your eyes won’t getitchy and that doesn’t mean your mom won’t get mad at me.”

Youngjae loops his armsaround his neck, his grabby fingers automatically playing with his collarmindlessly. With a bout of sniffles against his shirt, Jinyoung shuffles out oftheir cat-furred room and into the lounge space, rubbing smooth circles acrosshis back and bobbing his little form up and down in calm bounces until hisrunny nose settled into the occasional sniff.

His heart bumps againsthis sternum when Youngjae’s hold around his neck squeezes into a warm embrace,his fingers interlocking and palms pressing down onto the nape of his neck.Jinyoung shifts him higher into his hold, closing him to his chest. Younger’ssmaller heart was beating steadily against the fabric of his clothes.

“Are you mad at me,hyung?” the voice is tiny. So meek and milky with the late hour, the softticking of their clock is only second-loudest to their gentle breaths. It’soddly reminiscent in the casted shadows of the apartment and Jinyoung feels sorooted, anchored, only by the warm, snotty weight of a child in his arms. Asliver of golden light beams out from his bedroom, splintering against the blueof their walls and falling to colour the top of Youngjae’s hair to a brown. Awarm beacon coming from where Jinyoung knew Jaebum was leaning against thewall, eavesdropping.

Don’t tease. The gentle reprimand rings around his head witha startling, judgemental clarity, as if Jaebum was right beside his ear. Thethought nudges him.

“I’m not, Jae. I’m not.”

“Even though I was withJaebum hyung all night?”

“Mhm.”

“And that I touched Noraeven though you said no?”

“Mhm.”

“And I got mad at you?”

“Even that.”

“Even if I thought yourfood was icky?”

Jinyoung pulls his armsout a little so that he can see Youngjae, twisting his face into a frown withhis nose crinkled like paper and bottom lip indignantly jutting out. Hesqueezes the bridge of Youngjae’s nose, tweaking it, “Hmm, now I think I’mmad.”

His baby cousin laughsand it’s a sweet little sound like silver bells.

“You’re such a handful.Let’s get you to bed.” he sighs, bringing the sleepy face back down to hisshoulder to allow a squishy cheek to press against his sleeve. He rocks himgently, swaying side to side and humming nothing in particular. The faint lightpools at his feet and across Youngjae’s back. His shallow breaths soon evenout, exhausted, into a gradual lull.

Jaebum appears besidehim then with Nora still wrapped in his arms. One of her claws is stuck in aloose thread in his shirt and neither of them seem to mind.

“I think it’s about timewe all slept.” Jaebum punctuates with a wide-mouthed silent yawn. His eyesdroop down into an affectionate smile as he lazily hooks an arm aroundJinyoung’s waist to lead all four of them back to bed.

“Aren’t you forgettingsomething?”

“Hm?” Jaebum blinksblearily.

Jinyoung rolls his eyesand nudges Jaebum’s shin with his foot. He nods down at Nora. “Your little furprincess here is a health hazard, remember?”

Jaebum blinks again.Gradual recognition opens his eyes by a fraction and his mouth curls into an‘o’. “Right, right. Forgot.”

He unhooks the clawtrapped in his shirt and lets Nora go regretfully, placing her down onto thefloor and watches her for a second as she stares up at him, confused about whyshe wasn’t joining them like every night. He scratches the underside of herchin quickly and pads over to a bemused Jinyoung.

“You spoil her toomuch.”

Jaebum snorts butdoesn’t deny it, “I spoil you too much.”

“Huh?” Unwanted heatblotches his neck and Jinyoung scrunches his nose, “No you don’t.”

“Oh, so you didn’t spendthe whole night pouty and jealous over a seven year-old? Okay.”

Jinyoung splutters,words strangled in his throat and the tips of his ears ignite. There was no wayhe was that obvious. Right? His back straightens and he summons his bestscowl, lips tight, and the other man has the gall to just crinkle his eyes athim. Jinyoung forcefully opens their bedroom door by a fraction and squeezesinside without leaving any room for Jaebum to do so too.

“You’re sleeping on thecouch tonight.” He hisses at him, grip on the handle.

Jaebum’s hand catchesthe door before it’s shut in his face, “Nyoung.” he huffs, unbelievingand trying to tame the laugh about to break surface.

“I’m serious!”

He doesn’t understandwhat’s so hilarious about the situation, seriously, but Jaebum’s facebreaks into its blinding grin, one made of all teeth and scrunched crescents,and he easily pries the door wide open, steps forward to cup Jinyoung’s cheekswith his warm hands, and ducks his head down by a slight to catch his refusinggaze. It wasn’t like Jinyoung was actually putting any muscle into it anyway,he does have a child in his arms.

“Jinyoung,” His voicedrops into a low whisper, a deep timber that only appears when they’re alone.It’s unbecoming to Jinyoung, just how much the little things Jaebum does can doto him, just the nuance, the degree, the touches paired with it that are sofamiliar, so ingrained, that it smooths away all the fractures. All ofJinyoung’s barriers drop and he completely leans into his touch, into hissoftened gaze and allows, just a little, the tempered quirk of his lips.

Naturally, it’s onlynecessary for Jaebum to open his big, fat mouth, “Don’t worry. You won’t stopbeing the biggest handful to me, even with Youngjae around.”

Jinyoung is about toclose the door on his foot but unfortunately, it’s such a devious move, Jaebumcatches his scowling lips into a kiss first, a messy press that Jinyoung is tooweak to do anything against but mold himself into, and he guesses it’s alrightif the couch stays cold tonight.

#jj project #jjproject #got7 #character:youngjae #character:jinyoung #character:jb #author:jo #genre:fluff #genre:romance

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7fics · 7 years

Text

Jackson plays crappy matchmaker for Youngjae and Jaebum, and Youngjae avoids his feelings long enough to hurt Yugyeom.

Warnings: swearing, and some sexual content (not too explicit though)

Word Count: 5.6k+

Author(s): Mia and Chewy

A/N: It’s been a really long time, but our promised fic for our lottery winner from celebrating 2k followers is finally done! Sorry it took so long, but hopefully we’ve done your prompt justice :)

I tried my best to incorporate the things you wanted. There’s also some yugjae because I have no control over my writing and who pops up in it, as usual. I really hope you like it.

Tall, polished windows set in gold-yellow sills spanning the length of at least two regular department stores call out to him, whispering in bittersweet chorus. They want him to empty his savings for the month on some stupid party where it will be too dark for anyone to see what he’s wearing anyway. Is he bitter? Yes. Does he have the right to be? Hell yes. His senior Junho told him to come dressed his best, that he should want to make a good impression since a bunch of alumni and other seniors are going to be there. Youngjae isn’t even completely convinced that he wants to be in Kappa Sigma anyway. It just seems like the college thing to do, and Junho may have twisted his arm about it.

Regardless, here he is, walking through the front door of Club Z, cringing at the ding that sounds out and prompts some shoppers to look in his direction curiously. Some couldn’t care either way and return to what they were doing. Others give him looks ranging from amusement to disgust to genuine confusion. It’s obvious his jeans and band t-shirt combo are to be looked down upon here.

Rich, snotty bastards.

Youngjae is very disappointed that there are as many men as women, thus his excuse of being apart of the stereotypically less fashion-savvy gender is useless. Now, walking around cluelessly touching this and that with absolutely no idea of what any of it is or what to pair anything with is just embarrassing.

Adding to his budding headache, just glimpses of the different clothing pieces tell him that he’ll have to be here for hours just to find a semi-decent outfit. He was born as round as a circle, and even though he lost some baby fat in childhood, traces of it harbor his cheeks, making the tiny shirt holes seem like future humiliation. He also has thick limbs and a flat but soft tummy. No abs. No definition. No chance of him looking good in any of the shear due to his slight but soft frame and not an inkling of hope in the crisper button downs because of the aforementioned reason. It was always easier to resign himself to the ranks of the fashion terrorists and call it a day. Not only is he overwhelmed, but he’s confused, and a bit terrified as well.

To make his situation worse, a handsome, well-dressed man is making his way over from across the floor where women were previously fawning over him, giggling and shoving to get their opportunity at stealing his attention. He pays no mind to the glares they cast at him for that.

His real concern is what he’s going to say to the man when he gets there. He can’t say that he doesn’t need any help because he obviously does. He has a shirt and these insufferable looking shorts in his hands that, even to his inexperienced eyes, don’t match at all. The man will see through that lie in a split second and then he’ll have to put his head in a dark hole and wait for lightning to strike him dead. If he says that he was just looking around he might be met with the same expression he has witnessed twice already today. That expression that clearly says ‘why come if you’re going to touch everything you can’t afford and then leave?’. He doesn’t think he can handle that a third time.

He may just drop everything and bolt. But then he’ll be looking through his entire wardrobe last minute, getting frustrated that nothing is good enough, eventually just blow the event off and live the rest of his college career as a hermit who never goes anywhere or does anything because he has no friends and can't dress himself properly.

...Okay, so maybe that last part is mostly just exaggerated speculation. But some of it holds true. Youngjae has been wearing the same thing since he was a geeky freshman through senior year. A fresh look is long overdue. He has no idea where to start though, or where he wants to end up for that matter.

Youngjae is still caught up in his internal dialogue when the man finally arrives, having to announce himself twice before Youngjae looks up, conflicted and nervous. He feels like a small child, mismatched clothes in hand and confidence draining from his body. Up close, the man is even more striking. Although Youngjae has no idea what he’s wearing by name, he knows that it looks good. Broad muscles fill up the shirt that would be too tight in some places and too loose in others on Youngjae. Long, built legs compliment his black slacks and shiny, dark shoes top off his whole ‘I’m too hot to approach, but feel free to drool from afar’ ensemble.

“Can I help you?” the man asks with amusement in his voice. He surveys Youngjae’s “outfit” with a speculative expression and raises one eyebrow. “You have a rather particular taste. I’m not judging, but it’s kind of written in my job description to give customers advice.”

“Yeah?” Youngjae says. “And what’s your advice?”

“Lose the shorts and we’ll see what we can do with the shirt…”

“Youngjae.”

The man smiles easily. “Jaebum.”

After twenty minutes of trying on things Jaebum brings to him, Youngjae is over the whole process. He appreciates the man’s well-intentioned determination but he’s on the verge of calling everything off because nothing is looking right despite Jaebum’s undying optimism.

“Here, last one.” Jaebum’s arm splits through the dressing room curtains with a pair of straight-legged black jeans and a soft blue cotton button-up. He’s skeptical, but puts them and steps out in front of the full-length ready to accept his fate, when he opens his eyes gingerly and is surprised to find that he doesn’t hate the ensemble.

The jeans make his legs look lean, which they aren’t, and the shirt doesn’t make him particularly podgy in any place.

“Good?” Jaebum asks with an expectant grin and a hesitant thumbs up.

“Good,” Youngjae replies.

“Awesome.” Jaebum waves him over to the register and they get on with it. Youngjae is more than glad to get the heck out of there after having sent way too much time already, even if he doesn’t mind being with Jaebum at all.

“So you go to Yeongnam U?” Jaebum asks as he’s ringing up the stuff.

“Uh, yeah. I’m majoring in Music Therapy.”

“Sweet.” Jaebum smiles and Youngjae’s heart does this thing where it feels like it’s going to explode. “So, you wanna, like, help people and stuff? Way cool. I’m only going for Composition so I can write songs and sell ‘em. But that’s noble, Youngjae.”

“Um, noble, okay. Thanks.” Youngjae scratches the back of his neck slightly as Jaebum bags the clothes and taps some numbers in the register. Youngjae pays what he owes and waves the man goodbye as he tries not to look like an animal fleeing its cage on his way out.

* * * * *

Parties have never been Youngjae’s forte.

He’s an awkward human being. It was built in him to be that way, he supposes. He’s terrible at small talk, hates being squashed by sweaty, drunk people in dark, loud places. He never knows what to say or do. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing an expensive outfit that doesn’t feel like him at all, doesn’t mold to his body like a good pair of jeans and a graphic tee. So, not only is he struggling to be anyone but himself, he’s also trying to live up to the bigshot persona clothes from Glitz warrant from someone. This was destined to be a horrible idea the second he walked in the front door. Jinyoung and Bambam ditched him, obviously preferring to hang out with their rich, cultured group of friends, leaving Youngjae to fend for himself.

Youngjae doesn’t have to think about what to do; it’s instinct by this point. He pushes his way through the writhing bodies until he gets to the back door.

Worse has come to worst.

As Youngjae is slipping outside into the warm night, a very familiar face clocks on his radar. He doesn’t have anything better to do, so he sulks on a barren swing as he watches through squinted eyes at the bodies suffocating each other on a bench near the back door. Jaebum finally comes up for air, and a girl Youngjae recognizes from his Psych class, Dasom, giggles and hiccups, begging him to come back. He shoos her away, coming to his feet and allowing her time to scramble up herself. She scurries after him like a puppy as he goes inside.

Seeing them together is almost as bitter as whatever is in his cup. He only has to take a sip to decide that the stuff is awful. He keeps drinking, though, because one, he has nothing better to do, and two, it takes some of the hurt away. He’s halfway through it when the air surrounding him becomes more crowded and the other swing’s creaking mixes in with his. As terrible as that sound is, it’s oddly comforting. It reminds him of when he would go to his friend’s house as a child to play. He had this rusty swing set that was probably the most dangerous thing they could find to play on, but it never collapsed on them and they enjoyed each other’s company while using it. He doesn’t question the welcome intrusion.

“The party’s in there,” the voice says. It has some bass, while still being very youthful. Attractive.

“I’m having my own party.” Youngjae shakes his head sadly, taking another sip out of his cup. “A party of one.”

“Make that a party of two.” The guy takes the cup right out of Youngjae’s hand and takes a whig himself. Youngjae isn’t too upset as he follows the thieving hand to a handsome face. Large yet angular brown eyes, a high, straight nose, and thick lips is what he can pick out in the semi-darkness. The stranger lets loose a long, loud sigh and returns the cup. Youngjae takes it apprehensively, sloshing what’s left boredly. He thinks he’s starting to feel it, whatever it is. This is not his first time drinking alcohol, but it’s definitely his first time getting past a few gulps without gagging and passing the wretched stuff to a more willing party-goer, or putting it back.

“I’m Yugyeom, by the way.” The stranger--Yugyeom, kicks off and begins to swing gently. The creaking gets louder.

“Youngjae.” He follows the other’s lead. The warmth growing inside of him as the liquor works its way through his system mixed with the cool breeze he unearths once he starts swinging is creating a strange synergy around him. The night becomes a little more bearable. Yugyeom is handsome, has a nice voice as well.

“So, Youngjae-hyung. You out here for a reason?” Yugyeom asks.

“Yeah,” Youngjae says, coughing to clear his clogged throat. The alcohol causes it to burn a little, but it’s just comforting warmth after that. “I’m kinda bummed about something. And I don’t really like parties. This is my frat. I would just go to my room, but there’s probably someone having sex in it. So…” He twirls the cup some more, distractedly.

“Yeah, that could get awkward.” Yugyeom laughs quietly. Another nice sound. It’s sweet, something Youngjae feels rather than just hears. It bounces along the night breeze and takes over his muddled senses.

“What about you?” Youngjae asks.

“Same, I guess. Bummed. Not one for parties,” Yugyeom says. “My friend asked me to come because he wanted to find someone here and didn’t want to look like a loser waiting around by himself. Now I’m the loser by myself. That asshole.”

“Friends suck,” Youngjae muses. He raises his nearly empty cup. It sways lightly in his loosening grip. Whatever was in it and the little bit left is strong. “Toast to the decent people left on the earth.”

So they toast to each other and drink the night away, buried in what they can handle. Surprisingly, considering his sheer height, Yugyeom is a lightweight and Youngjae has to stop himself from overdoing it because the younger had reached that point a while ago, sleepily humming tunes to songs and occasionally pairing them with the wrong words as Youngjae piggybacks him to his dorm.

The air is sweetly warm, whispering across Youngjae’s bare chest as he rummages through his drawers for some less sweaty clothes, goading on the beads of sweat as they collect uncomfortably in the crevices of his body and force him to crack the window more and more.

After tugging Yugyeom’s uncooperative limbs into cooler, cleaner clothes, Youngjae slips in beside the tall freshman, slightly distressed to find that he fits perfectly as if it were in some predestined scheme for the younger to toss one of his long, heavy arms over Youngjae’s torso, anchoring him temporarily.

“He’s a little funny-looking,” Yugyeom whispers suddenly to him. Youngjae can safely say that he is both startled and extremely peeved because how long has this ingrate been awake and why couldn’t he walk his goliath ass back to his own dorm? He’s just about ready to give it to him when the soft murmur is broken by a snor, a snuffle, and nothingness, only to repeat again a minute later with different words. Something like ‘but, cute too’.

And Youngjae realizes Yugyeom is sleep talking.

And sleep insulting him, too. This bastard.

“Hyung,” he babbles, pulling Youngjae closer. “Toast.”

Youngjae would be more livid if Yugyeom weren’t so damn cute.

* * * * *

The next time Yugyeom is drunk off his ass is at Youngjae’s induction to Kappa Sigma. His newly dubbed crush is sitting right in his lap, a hard drink of something swaying in his unreliable fingers, as they’re at the table trying to keep something down besides liquor.

It isn’t going too hot.

More than half surrounding the stupidly large table are drunk out of their minds, and the other half are swimming in varying states of less severe drunkenness, but not completely lucid all the same. Youngjae is one of the few who are still upright, and he’s not gung ho on the thought of having to carry Yugyeom across campus not a second, or third, but fourth time. He’s a sloppy drunk and bad drinker, barely able to hold his fluids after about three cups of something.

“Hyung, bathroom.” Yugyeom paws at Youngjae’s chest with a pout, wrinkling his dumb, new shirt purchased at (where else, honestly?) Club Z. “I have to peeeeeeee.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngjae grumbles miserably, helping Yugyeom to his feet, and pulling the boy over to the stairs. As they’re going up Youngjae thinks that his “wonderful induction night” can’t get suckier; then he and Yugyeom reach the first landing, padding mutely over the hardwood as they turn and commit to climbing the rest to get to the top, and Youngjae hears a gross noise upon reaching the second floor.

It’s dark, loopy, a little hot, and Youngjae can still outline Jaebum’s body pressed up against someone else’s at the beginning of the corridor, just before a long stretch of darkness absorbs anything remotely tangible into an indecipherable blob of mystery.

Youngjae aches that much more because it’s a guy he’s got his hands all over in the sticky shadows, meaning Jaebum is bi, swings both ways, and he probably would never even want to take a whack in Youngjae’s direction.

What makes it all worse is Yugyeom starts whining again, reminding Youngjae that has a new responsibility to deal with, cute sweet Yugyeom who Youngjae is almost sure likes him back. He helps the boy, finally, to the bathroom, switching the light on and pulling the toilet seat up so he can relieve himself.

Youngjae looks on with a mixture of fondness and guilt as he takes out his phone from his jeans pocket, looking away briefly to check the message from Jackson left hours ago.

i know ur butt hurt from the lecture, but jaebum’s gonna be at ur tea party later, sooooo ;););) use protection -wang jackass, 5:34pm

Youngjae sends a quick text back, a digital middle finger, before he’s focusing on Yugyeom again, watching glassily as he fumbles for soap to wash his hands and zoning out simultaneously, thinking back to the lecture in question from earlier.

Youngjae had come into his Music Theory hall with a little smile on his face from serial texting Yugyeom. It had been two weeks since the sleepover incident and they were really hitting it off. Yugyeom, Youngjae’s polisci angel, is also into reading for pleasure, so they were texting about a book they had both read just that summer, crying over the fact that the author isn’t going to release a sequel until the following Spring like a couple of nerds.

He had nearly tripped over someone from having his nose stuck in his screen. That someone turned out to be Jaebum sitting like an Adonis statue and outshining everything in Youngjae’s view. He cursed silently under his breath and scurried past the man, pretending not to hear his pleasant greeting in favor of crowding his body into a ditch and suffocating on his own damn inadequacy.

Instead he just fled a few rows down and drowned in his own awkward sorrow. It had been his own idiocy that forced him to retell all of this to Jackson, because what had Youngjae imagined him doing different from what he usually does? Which is insert new names and post anything remotely amusing that happens in his sorry little life to SNS.

Youngjae shouldn’t have been surprised to see the trials of Jaebin in his twitter feed later, along with a comment by Jaebum, ‘cute’, to which Jackson replied with ‘very’.

So Youngjae isn’t talking to Jackson right now. He couldn’t even if he wanted to because he’s too busy holding onto Yugyeom and ushering him back downstairs, past where Jaebum and some other dude were just sucking face among other things.

* * * * *

It’s at another party that shit finally hits the fan. Youngjae is on the couch with Yugyeom on his lap. He has a hard on and the younger’s weight on top of it feels good, really good. He’s doing this twisting thing that makes it feel even better. Summer air, the bass of the music, and his boyfriend’s sweet lips are all sensations that vibrate across his warm, damp skin. He would say it were a perfect night, if only Jaebum weren’t in his head kicking up a disgusting fuss.

He’s trying to give Yugyeom all of his attention, as the boy is licking into his mouth as eager as a puppy, hands playing with the little hairs on the back of Youngjae’s neck, gentle yet urgent. It shouldn’t be hard to do. Yugyeom has his long, supermodel legs swung over Youngjae’s lap, knees weighed into the couch on both sides of him, and his bum is skipping on top of Youngjae’s clothed erection, torsos brushing. It shouldn’t be hard at all to dwell solely on his sweet boyfriend’s playful hands, his busy hips, and intoxicating scent all spawned from some unfathomable source out to end his very existence.

Yugyeom is stunning, and he wants Youngjae, possibly even more than the older wants him if his breathy moans and insistent whines hold any bearing. So the fact that he’s sitting here, hot boyfriend grinding on his lap, thinking about Jaebum, has him reorganizing his priorities. Youngjae has no time to clear his mind though, because Yugyeom must sense it as his hips stop rolling and he stares down at Youngjae with a little frown that the older wishes he could just kiss away.

“It is about Jaebum?”

Youngjae blanches.

“Y-you know Jaebum?” From where? How?

“Not personally.” Yugyeom sighs. “But I hear Jackson-hyung talking about him and you get...weird. Like, your mind freezes and I could never figure out why. And, believe me, I’m not being conceited here. Just speculative. But I’m on your lap, damn near dry humping you, and nothing. Your little man downstairs has been limp for the past ten minutes. Is it because I’m not attractive enough or-”

“No, not at all.” Youngjae reaches up to cradle Yugyeom’s face and bring him down for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm and sweet, but even when he’s connected to him, his polisci angel, his mind is on Jaebum. Yugyeom pulls away with this sad look in his pretty eyes and Youngjae is on the brink of smashing something because those sad, pretty eyes are his fault.

“Do you like him...more than me?” Yugyeom asks, looking as if he’s choking up a bit.

Youngjae hates himself because he doesn’t even have the balls to say ‘yes’.

“Look, hyung. I like you. A lot. But I can see you need to do some thinking right now. So I’m gonna go.” Yugyeom presses a kiss to Youngjae’s forehead just as empty as his lap when Yugyeom slinks away.

Everything hurts.

This party is stupid.

Jaebum is stupid.

The only thing Youngjae can think to do to clear his head is get so drunk he can’t remember his own name.

He gets very close. He only remembers that Jaebum is stupid and that his dorm is on the east side of campus. He’s stumbling through the dark, eyes only half-way open as the world flies by in clips of sensations. Loud noises. Questionable smells.

Somehow he ends up in a warm building. On an elevator. Tripping through the hall. Banging on a door.

“Youngjae?” It’s truly sick that Youngjae recognizes that voice even when he’s supposed to be blown off his ass tore down.

“Asshole.” Hiccup. “Y-you, you--fuck you.”

“Youngjae, you okay?”

“What do you think, asshole?” Hiccup. “Just...just, I like you dammit!”

“You what?”

That’s when he passes out.

* * * * *

Food doesn’t taste the way it should. Youngjae’s stomach is gurgling and his head is making very loud music without his permission, against his will really.

“Good job, dummy.” Jackson scoops more soup into his bowel and pats his head placatingly, shit-eating grin full force. “Jaebum knows you’re hard for him and he still wants to take you out. You know, you definitely come off as the prunish, incompetent type. But you’ve got skills after all.”

“I’m not hard for him.” Youngjae fusses uselessly as he spoons the soup into his mouth and tries to keep it down.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.”

* * * * *

Youngjae is sitting in class a few days later when his phone starts ringing against his pants. After a few moments of awkward fumbling and thanking the heavens that he remembered to change his ringtone back from whatever crap Jackson put on it, he manages to turn it off without looking at the screen.

By the time he gets out of class, he’s completely forgotten about the call. In fact, Youngjae also forgets to turn his phone back on. Which is why he’s sitting in a baggy t-shirt he’s had since middle school, paired with athletic shorts that he exclusively uses for lounging and his one-time-a-year trips to the gym. He flips through the channels, pausing on a predictable drama as the stereotypical rich-guy takes the stereotypical poor-girl to buy some tacky name brand clothes for the first time in her life. As if the girl didn’t already own an iPhone 7 Plus.

What is completely not predictable is the knock on the door that comes right as the girl trips and falls dramatically into the main lead’s arms.

Youngjae scratches his head. Did I order pizza?

When he opens the door, instead of the rich and savory smell of Italian pie, Youngjae is greeted with a crisp and cool cologne. When he looks up to look Jaebum in the eyes, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Are you wearing a turtleneck under a dress shirt?”

Jaebum just laughs. “I said I’d pick you up at seven. I’m fifteen minutes late. Sorry.”

“That date thing is tonight?”

“Yes, the date thing is tonight. Forget?” Jaebum puts on a thinking face. “Weird. Just a few days ago someone was banging on my door like the sky was falling, confessing their undying love-”

“I said, and I quote, ‘I like you dammit’. Hardly anything undying about that.” Youngjae hopes the sass can distract Jaebum from his inner-chaos. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Jaebum stops him with a hand on his chest. Youngjae isn’t screaming. The tea’s done. “You wanna change into something less, sporty?”

“Where are we going?”

“Secret.” Jaebum sing-songs. “Just get dolled up and meet me at my car, okay? I’m parked right out front.”

“Okay…?”

Youngjae slides in Jaebum’s car about twenty minutes later. He spent ten minutes having an existential crisis and the other ten minutes running around forsaking everything in his wardrobe before deciding on jeans so black they can almost pass for slacks and a white button down that he tucked in them.

Jaebums glances over for a second. He hesitates a moment, and then reaches over to grab Youngjae’s hand. “You look really handsome tonight.”

Youngjae frowns. While he appreciates the sweetness, he can’t help but feel a little bit overwhelmed. Youngjae tries to sneakily untangle their fingers so he can wipe off the sweat that is slowly gathering in his palms. When he goes back to rap Jaebum’s hand once more, however, it’s already back on the steering wheel. Youngjae sits, staring at the hand for a moment before realizing Jaebum is talking again.

“—just opened but I heard it’s really popular. I thought you would like it. There’s a live band and everything. Your clothes are fine too.”

“Oh really?” Youngjae perks up again at hearing there’s a live band. He imagines a hipster club, the perfect opportunity to see Jaebum at his sexiest: when dancing. As his mood lightens, he gets chattier, going into a story about Jackson’s latest antics.

“We’re here.”

Shit.

Youngjae was expecting fancy, but he wasn’t expecting this. It looks like somewhere people who sneeze money frequent. The kind of place with little personal packs of fruity smelling soap in the bathroom that they’re not even afraid of people stealing because who would be caught pilfering little soaps when they have hand-made, hypoallergenic imports from Milan? Jaebum is smiling again when the maitre'd leads them to their booth and Youngjae’s breath is no longer with him. He just listens as Jaebum tells him the name of the restaurant, something European, and Youngjae can only nod and smile. Looking down at his menu, he sees that it’s all written in French, maybe, or Italian, except the prices. Youngjae actually gasps out loud when he takes in the digits, which fails to go unnoticed by Jaebum.

“Are you okay?” Jaebum asks sweetly. He smiles and reaches his hand across the table. When Youngjae just meekly nods, Jaebum asks, “Are you ready to order?” He then calls for the waiter in a voice that would have Youngjae drooling, if he wasn’t still trying to figure out what everything meant.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” the waiter asks. Youngjae can’t help but feel relieved that the waiter speaks Korean, at least.

“Yeah, um, I’ll just have… This,” he decides, pointing at one of the menu options. Hopefully it doesn’t taste like shit.

Jaebum orders, the waiter goes, and they sit in silence. Youngjae’s not sure if Jaebum thinks it’s an awkward silence or if he’s enjoying the music, and the tapping of his fingers gives no hint to either. Youngjae perks up in excitement to see their waiter returning with their food. And then he realizes that this date is really and truly just meant to be a prolonged hell as he takes in the cucumbers lining a plate of greens.

As the dinner wraps up with both Jaebum and Youngjae claiming to be too full for desserts (although they both also still have piles of food left on their plates) Youngjae reaches into his pockets to be left with emptiness. Or really, nothingness, because he doesn’t actually have pockets. Or his wallet. Or his phone to pay with apple pay. Or anything at all. Youngjae panics and looks up to explain himself to Jaebum, only to find that Jaebum has already paid for their meal.

Walking back to the car, Youngjae speaks up, “That was a pretty nice first date, I guess.” He can’t help but cringe at how insincere that sounds.

“You know what. I have to confess something,” Jaebum declares, turning to him.

“What?” Youngjae can’t help but think, This is it, this is the moment. He’s going to say he never wants to see me again.

“I actually, really, really don’t like—“

Oh shit here it comes.

“—Western food. And I don’t know if maybe you don’t like it either because you didn’t eat much of your food either, I noticed, but the restaurant had nice reviews, and I wanted to make this really special, and you didn’t respond to my texts so I wasn’t sure in the first place if you would like it or not but I thought it would be okay because Jackson recommended it, but then again Jackson trained in France for a year so he probably likes french food? But I just—“

Youngjae has to stop him there. “Wait. I just. I don’t like cucumbers, but I can’t read French.”

“Oh.”

“And I actually turned my phone off today so I didn’t get any of your texts, which is why I’m dressed like trash, as always, and you look so sleek and good and everybody thinks that you’re too good for me because you are literally in a turtleneck and dress shirt blazer leather pants suede shoes combo thingy and I’m not. Maybe I should have let you dress me again, ha ha.” Youngjae finishes with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.”

“I also don’t have pockets. Or anything. Except some lettuce stuck in my teeth that I can’t get out.”

“Oh.”

“So, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Youngjae isn’t sure how to proceed anymore. I mean, he thinks, I literally just told him I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. There’s an awkward pause, and then Youngjae says, “So do you want some bingsu?”

“Yes. A classic Korean dessert.”

Youngjae returns home that night with a smile on his face. He can’t help but blush as he thinks about Jaebum. About how cute Jaebum looked when he got a brain freeze from eating too fast. How cute he looked when he lost at the arcade Dance Dance Revolution game to a seven year old and pouted about it. How cute he looked when he had pepper paste smudged on his cheek when they got spicy rice cake for dinner, round two. And especially how cute he looked when he ran away after placing a peck on Youngjae’s cheek at his front door.

Jaebum’s really not chic and sexy at all, Youngjae decides. He’s just a ball of fluff.

As Youngjae lays on his side to get comfortable for bed, he fishes out his phone to send a message to Jackson.

you’re not a complete ding dong. the date was nice. -you, 11.03pm

* * * * *

“Jackson. When I said you could plan our date, I meant that you could pick a nice restaurant or movie for us to go to, heck, even an amusement park. Why is there a script?” Youngjae doesn’t know what to do with the packet of paper he holds in his hands. He looks over at the similar copy that Jaebum has (but with different highlights) and decides the only thing left to do is go out and plant some trees. Maybe they can plant two trees together in the name of love. The sound of Jackson slapping his Director’s Copy of the script onto the table whips him out of his daydreams.

“It’s not a script!” Jackson protests. “It’s just suggestions for the theme?”

Jaebum has already started flipping through the book, questioning, “Did you get this from the morning drama that Youngjae likes to watch? The lines are literally the same.”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Jackson protests, flapping his hands back and forth, as if that will help dispel any claims of plagiarism.

“This is literally a ‘the rich guy takes the poor girl shopping for better clothes scene,’” Youngjae deadpans. “This is so cliche. I can’t believe I’m the poor girl with bad taste in clothes.”

Jaebum pauses from where he’s flipping through the book. “But you do have bad taste in clothes.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and throws his hands up in exasperation, “That’s it, we’re breaking up.”

“NO!” Jackson gasps. “Not after all the hard work I put into getting you two together! If anything, at the very least go on this date, and then I made a reservation for this really nice restaurant where you can have a steak dinner, and then you guys can break up as Youngjae throws a cup of water in Jaebum’s face, and it’ll be perfect!”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jackson,” Jaebum groans. “Let’s just get this over with.” He reaches out and grabs Youngjae’s hand, asking for a final time, “You ready?”

Youngjae laughs and follows along as Jaebum tugs him out the door.

Jackson trails behind them, oohing and ahhing at their cuteness. “And! If I’m cliche, then you cute little assholes are cliche, too! Don’t think I’m gonna forget how you two first met! I asked the manager for a copy of the CCTV tapes!”

“You know,” Jaebum whispers to Youngjae as he looks back at Jackson, trailing along behind them, “I know it’s a little early to be thinking about marriage, but it looks like we’ve already adopted a kid.”

Youngjae laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s because this second is the happiest moment of his life.

#got7 #jack2jae #2jae #author:mia #2k followers #lottery fic #character:youngjae #character:jackson #character:jb #author:chewy

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7fics · 7 years

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i've been thinking about this prompt for dAYS lol. jjparents when yugyeom(5) watching his youngjae(8) hyung doing everything alone, from bath, choose his own outfit for school and sleep in his own room, and he decide he's big enough to do everything by himself too but when jinyoung feels his little baby has grown up, yugyeom still the maknae that they knew when thunders and nightmare take a visit:) thank you for taking this prompt:)

warnings: none? i don’t think? just copious amounts of cute i suppose!! and 1 kiss between jjp for 1 second!!

author: joey

word count: 6.5k

a/n: first of all i’m so sorry…sdfdg…rly tooth rottingly cute tho…mostly a lot of jinyoung babying yugyeom and jaebum giving him a hard time about it…also my nephew is only 3 and i haven’t interacted w a 5 year old in a million years so i don’t rly know what they’re like i did my best!!!!!

Truth be told, having a five year old and an eight year old could be equated to having two highly active, untrained, untamable marmosets.

He never intended to not have children, but the days of being an uncle to his sister’s young children seemed to have left a much different impression on him than he had once thought. His sister’s children had always been well behaved and polite, calm and serious when they needed to be but a little wild when they were allowed. The quieter one between the two of them, it had been the ideal for Jinyoung: marry his high school sweetheart Im Jaebum, get a pretty house in the suburbs, and adopt two boys who would be little carbon copies of themselves. It was the perfect plan and even Jaebum had seemed to agree, despite wanting more kids than that, but he had conceded that two would suit him fine. It would be everything that they had ever dreamed and more.

Funny how life works, isn’t it?

“Appaaaaaaaaa,” Yugyeom whines, dragging out the last syllable in his high pitched voice until it’s practically unbearable. Jinyoung feels two tiny hands pushing at his thigh impatiently: it’s 7 o’clock in the morning and despite being dressed for work already, he barely feels awake. He’s standing in Youngjae’s bedroom doorway, waiting for the older of their two sons to get out of bed and lamenting the fact that he’s not in the kitchen watching his husband make breakfast. Presumably shirtless.

Yugyeom reaches for his bicep, hands up and his arms stretched while he balances precariously on his sock-footed tippy toes. Jinyoung, despite telling him many times that it isn’t going to work, folds his arm into a 90 degree angle anyway and grits his teeth. Yugyeom insists that he’s tall enough to grab onto Appa’s arm and swing from it like a baby monkey, but Jinyoung knows he’s probably still a couple of years out from being able to do it. When he can’t quite reach, fingertips brushing against the material of Jinyoung’s power blue dress shirt, he whines and drops his arms to lean his face against his leg. Jinyoung reaches to ruffle his hair, glancing down and seeing the adorable way Yugyeom’s cheek is smushed against his thigh in defeat.

“Youngjae-yah,” Jinyoung warns, leaning his folded arm down far enough that Yugyeom can latch onto it with both hands. He grunts a little as he lifts him up, ignoring the way his shoulder begs him not to do this as Yugyeom giggles and hangs off his arm. Youngjae, however, seems unperturbed: he remains curled up under his blanket, messy black hair spread across his pillow and eyes squeezed shut against the light.

“Youngjae-yah!” Yugyeom mocks, sing song, planting his feet against Jinyoung’s hip and half standing, half hanging from Jinyoung’s arm. He mumbles a half hearted apology when Jinyoung shoots him a warning look and tries again, “Youngjae hyung!”

One dark eye opens barely a centimeter before it closes quickly, pretending that Jinyoung hadn’t seen it and that he’s still asleep.

He knows he’s not supposed to laugh, so he bites both his lips to hold it back. Them being late to school isn’t funny, per se, but watching his eight year old act like they hadn’t just made eye contact when he’s trying to get him up and dressed is.

“Youngjae-yah, if you don’t get up right now, I’m going to go get Dad.”

Both eyes open this time, blinking sleepily. His heart melts alarmingly fast: the only body part visible is his head, the rest of him covered up by a mound of blankets so that he looks like a little cotton turtle. Youngjae’s staticy black hair fans across the pillowcase decorated with various Pokemon and he wishes more than anything that they could just all stay home and pile up in their bed like they used to.

“Giving him heart eyes like that isn’t going to get him out of bed any faster,” a voice says behind him, and he feels Jaebum disentangling Yugyeom from his arm and hip to throw him over his shoulder. Yugyeom giggles and kicks his socked feet so that both Jaebum and Jinyoung have to lean their faces out of their trajectory.

With a sharp look, Jinyoung glances over his shoulder at Jaebum; despite the teasing smile on his face, Jinyoung is never not awed by his handsomeness and even this makes him soften, too. “I am not giving him heart eyes. You couldn’t even see my face, because you’re behind me.”

Jaebum wraps an arm around his waist and rests his chin on Jinyoung’s shoulder. Yugyeom seems to notice that his parents are being lovey-dovey and screeches eeeeew in an almost perfect imitation of his cousin Bambam.

“I’ve known you since our freshman year of high school. Do I have to be standing in front of you to know that you’re soft-hearted and don’t want to get him out of bed?”

Red faced and embarrassed like they’re still just teenagers, Jinyoung shoves his elbow backward into Jaebum’s bare stomach and grumbles under his breath when his husband just laughs. He half turns, holding his arms out and silently waiting for Jaebum to deposit their five year old wiggle worm into them. He’s still in his jammies and even though it is pretty cute that there’s a picture of Pikachu on each tiny butt cheek, it’s time to get dressed for school. He sighs: he didn’t think having kids, especially two hyperactive ones, would make him such a sap.

He’s not surprised, though, and he’s sure Jaebum isn’t, either.

Regardless, Jaebum smiles at him and dumps Yugyeom across Jinyoung’s outstretched arms. He immediately lets go of his back, almost dropping him until he’s got a good grip on both of his ankles and is holding him upside down. Yugyeom just screams laughter and if that’s not enough to get sleepy-eyed Youngjae out of bed, then he isn’t sure what is.

Jinyoung starts to walk Yugyeom down the hallway on his hands while Jinyoung holds him up by his feet, waiting in the doorway to his room while Jaebum quietly reprimands Youngjae for not getting up when Jinyoung had asked him to. He smiles softly when Youngjae throws off the blanket, sitting up and rubbing his eyes while waving Jaebum off like a tired parent. Jaebum slowly closes the door when he’s sure that Youngjae is up and at ‘em before joining Jinyoung in Yugyeom’s room.

“Breakfast is ready,” he says, folding his arms and leaning in the doorway while Jinyoung rifles through Yugyeom’s closet to find something to wear. The little boy leans on his leg impatiently and whines unintelligibly about God only knows.

“Thanks, honey,” Jinyoung says, finally finding a shirt and yanking it off the hanger. He orders Yugyeom to spin around with a circling motion of his finger while he looks over at his husband still watching them fondly from the doorway. “Yah, stop looking at us like that if you want to get everyone out of the house on time.”

He laughs, holding up his hands defensively before winking at him and leaving the room. Jinyoung rolls his eyes even if he doesn’t see it, helping Yugyeom to take off his pajama shirt and pull on the clean one Jinyoung had picked for him. Down the hall he hears Youngjae’s door open, and both him and Yugyeom glance up to see him heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When Yugyeom’s head swivels back around, he looks much more glum than he had just a few minutes ago. Jinyoung waits until he buttons his pants and pulls on clean socks before scooping him up again; he wonders if he should ask what’s wrong or if it’s just another morning that he’s sad to leave Jinyoung and Jaebum behind. With a sigh too heavy for his little body, Yugyeom wraps his arms around Jinyoung’s neck and leans their heads together, now uncharacteristically silent as they wander into the kitchen for a quick, pre-school breakfast.

As Jaebum is getting the plates down, Youngjae comes into the room and yawns sleepily. He shuffles over to where Jinyoung is sitting in one of the higher chairs at the island and leans his head against his side. “Do I have to go to school today?”

Jaebum raises an eyebrow. “Of course you do. Why don’t you want to?”

He replies miserably, “I want to play Pokemon.”

Jinyoung again has to bite his lips to avoid laughing, and he makes eye contact with Jaebum at the sink where he’s doing the same thing. Both of their faces split in a smile and they look down in unison as to not give themselves away.

“You can play Pokemon after school and after you do your homework,” Jaebum says, much better at dropping the smile, and hands Youngjae a plate. “Maybe we’ll even call Uncle Mark and Uncle Jackson to see if Bambam can come over and play with you.”

This seems to cheer him up, and he brightens considerably. He smiles at both of them, a little checkerboard line of white and black where some of his baby teeth have finally gone. Youngjae takes the plate from Jaebum and steps up on the stool to carefully pick and choose between all of the breakfast items Jaebum had prepared to arrange on his plate. While he does, Jaebum reaches over his head to grab another plate and nods at Yugyeom.

Looking over, he can see that Yugyeom is still quiet and watching Youngjae intently. He’s slumped a little in his chair, lower lip pushed out and corners of his mouth turned down in an exaggerated pout like a humanoid grouper fish. He watches Youngjae as he makes his own plate for breakfast and sighs another little heavy sigh.

“Yugyeom-ah,” Jinyoung says softly, and feels a bit dismayed when Yugyeom doesn’t look at him. “If you ask Dad extra nicely, I think he’ll give you an extra strawberry.”

“Daddy, can I have an extra strawberry, please?” he asks, but it’s lacking in that usual Yugyeom fervor (as in, he didn’t scream it at the top of his lungs, so now neither of them are sure that he meant it) and they exchange a worried glance across the kitchen.

“Sure, kiddo,” Jaebum says, and turns around to pile more strawberries than he would usually get onto a small plate. Jinyoung rubs his back comfortingly and starts to worry about him being under the weather.

The rest of breakfast goes by uneventfully: Youngjae tells them about what they’re doing at school today with his mouth full, which earns him another reprimand from Jaebum; he does so with a grin on his face because he thinks it’s funny when Youngjae does it, despite knowing that Jinyoung thinks it’s rude. Youngjae just laughs and turns red to mumble an apology when Jinyoung shoots Jaebum a glare across the table. Which is, of course, just met with a grin and a kiss blown to him that, much to Youngjae’s amusement, gets pretend karate chopped out of the air. Normally Yugyeom would laugh, too, but he’s barely even picked at his strawberries. Jinyoung frowns.

“Ah, Jinyoungie, the kids’ bus comes soon,” Jaebum says suddenly, pushing up from the table. “Youngjae-yah, take Yugyeom and get your shoes and jackets on. It’s time to go to the bus stop. Hurry, or you’re going to miss it.”

All three of them turn at the same time to look at the clock perched on the kitchen wall right above the stove. Youngjae’s bus comes in ten minutes and though the bus stop is just at the end of their street, Youngjae has a penchant for pulling out his Gameboy and getting distracted. The next couple of minutes are a flurry of activity getting their boys shooed into the front room while they race to pack their lunches and grab their backpacks. By the time Jinyoung is coming back from both of their rooms with their school bags in hand, Jaebum is already waiting with them by the door to help them strap on and get ready to go. The both of them stand side by side on the doorstep and watch their kids run to the bus stop down at the end of the street, in just enough time that Youngjae is pulling Yugyeom by the hand up onto the steps and to their seats.

Left alone now in the silence, Jinyoung leans in to Jaebum’s shoulder and hums when he wraps an arm around his waist. They go back inside once the bus is out of sight, and Jinyoung sits down heavily at the island again with his face in his hand while Jaebum leans on his elbows across from him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Yugyeom seemed unhappy today.”

Jaebum clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Yeah, I noticed that, too. Was he feeling sick? Did he say anything about feeling sick?” Jaebum’s thick eyebrows furrow worriedly. “Should we have kept him home from school?”

“No, I don’t think he’s sick,” Jinyoung says, sighing. He reaches out for comfort and warms a bit when Jaebum takes his hand to run his thumb back and forth across his knuckles. “I think he’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” Jaebum stands up straighter, letting go of Jinyoung’s hand to come around and stand next to him. “Jealous of what?”

“Of Youngjae. Because Youngjae gets to do ‘big boy’ things, and he doesn’t.”

Jinyoung looks up and his heart contracts at the way Jaebum softens exorbitantly. It’s a wonder, Jinyoung thinks, that he could see such a softness in him when in high school he had been, for a long time, all razor edged angles. Dating had melted him a bit, though, and marriage even more so; during their wedding he thinks that Jaebum must have cried more than his mother did. Jinyoung didn’t think that Jaebum getting any softer was possible until they adopted two kids.

The hand that had been rubbing across his knuckles comes up to cup his chin and tilt it further so that Jaebum can kiss him sweetly before leaning away.

“He likes being babied, especially by you. Maybe he was just tired today, huh?”

Jaebum’s curled fingers bump his chin in encouragement before they wrap themselves up in his silky tie and yank suggestively. Jinyoung checks the clock again and is thankful that he’s the boss so that he can make his own work hours, and he lets himself be pulled to his feet by the promise of a good time lined in his husband’s devilish eyes.

“Don’t stress so much, Jinyoungie,” he purrs, “and let’s go back to bed.”

Despite Jaebum’s alluring words of comfort, he worries about it all day.

The hours stretch on in his office as he tries not to think about how sad his son had seemed that morning, even after waking up happy and getting to climb all over Appa like a jungle gym even though he usually doesn’t get to. He wonders when exactly it happened, and if the change had come even sooner before but him and Jaebum had been so preoccupied that they had missed it, because Jaebum was right: Yugyeom adored being babied. He loved getting scooped up and held in either of their arms, leaning his head against theirs when he was tired, or curling up in their laps as they read books, or nestling between them on their bed when he was supposed to be tucked away in his own. He had his moments of independence but for the most part he still adored being treated like the toddler that he is (even though Mark and Jackson think they’re maybe spoiling him a little too much, but hey, Jinyoung and Jaebum both ended up being too soft for their kids) and it bothers him that, somewhere along the way and fairly recently, it had changed without him noticing.

In any case, he’s exhausted from overthinking it by the time he gets home from work. He comes home and braces for the impact of Yugyeom tearing around the corner and careening into his legs screeching at full volume, but the house remains suspiciously quiet. The television is on in the living room and he’s about to get worried when he finally hears the familiar voice of his nephew ribbing Youngjae over video games. Jaebum must be outside with Mark and Jackson, then, so he goes into the kitchen to start dinner.

Their routine continues as usual, even with the minor disruption of Mark and Jackson coming over and bringing Bambam to play with Youngjae. The boys all stay in the living room until dinner time, when Bambam and Youngjae set the table and make their plates while Jinyoung calls Yugyeom to his side to make his for him. Jinyoung is disheartened to see that Yugyeom’s morose mood from earlier that morning has not dissipated, and it continues all throughout dinner. His uncles make an attempt to engage him, but they get quiet, half hearted answers that have all four of the adults sharing worried glances across the table.

After dinner, Jaebum tells Youngjae and Bambam to wash the dishes while the rest of them go into the backyard to sit on the porch and chat a bit. Yugyeom, normally content to sit in Jinyoung’s lap and doze off while they talk with his uncles, insists on sitting in his own chair and complains loudly when Jinyoung tries to pull him up into his lap.

“No, Appa, I don’t want to,” he says, voice raised in a whine, and he pushes Jinyoung’s outstretched hands away roughly.

Jaebum, who sees all of this, makes a noise against his teeth. “Yah! Yugyeomie, you don’t talk to Appa like that. Say you’re sorry.”

Jinyoung’s heart breaks. Even in the fading navy of dusk he can see that Yugyeom’s cheeks are red and his eyes are wet. His little hands curl into fists and he takes a deep breath before muttering an apology. He doesn’t wait for it to be acknowledged, instead spinning around and marching across the patio to climb up into one of the chairs. There must be a look on his face, because he feels Jaebum’s hand slide onto his thigh and search silently for his hand.

The next thirty minutes go by with Jinyoung watching Yugyeom swing his legs in his chair with a heaviness in his chest and Jaebum periodically squeezing his fingers for comfort. Mark and Jackson decide to call it a night; they need to get Bambam home and into the bath before they all watch a movie together, and the rumbling off in the distance gives them a good idea that a rainstorm is coming. Yugyeom leaps off the chair as soon as they stand, racing over to bury his face in Mark’s legs and murmuring something like take me with you.

If anything, it just makes him feel like a bad father. As Mark, Jackson, and Bambam make their way from of the house with Jaebum walking them out, he can’t help but wonder: did he baby Yugyeom too much? Did he actually hate it? It seems a little absurd to assume that a five year old would be smart enough to realize that it makes Jinyoung happy getting to baby him a little bit and therefore just pretending to like it to make him feel better, but nothing is impossible. He watches as Youngjae goes down the hallway to the bathroom of his own accord to start the bath while Jinyoung just sits heavily on the couch with his eyes closed and wonders where he went wrong.

A few minutes later there’s a warm hand on his cheek, and he opens his eyes to see Jaebum leaning over him with a pouty Yugyeom leaning against his leg. “Youngjae’s done with his bath. Do you want me to take Yugyeom, or do you want to do it?”

He blinks rapidly, aware that he had maybe dozed off a little bit, and stands up. “I’ll do it. Go tell Youngjae he has thirty minutes to read or play Pokemon before it’s bedtime.”

With a nod, Jaebum leaves Yugyeom standing in front of Jinyoung with his eyes on the floor. Jinyoung stares at the shock of messy brown hair on the crown of Yugyeom’s head and sighs. “C’mon, kiddo. Bath time.”

A sigh, one that matches his unfairly, follows as Jinyoung leads him to the bathroom.

Following their usual routine, Jinyoung sits next to the tub with his back against the bathroom wall and reads to him from Yugyeom’s favorite book. Yugyeom doesn’t goof around like he normally does; the humid atmosphere of the bathroom is unusually quiet and somber as Yugyeom sits glumly in the warm water and splashes at it listlessly. By the time Jinyoung is instructing him to rinse the soap from his hair and pull the drain plug, he’s so frustrated he’s going to explode.

Yugyeom steps into his Superman undies and just waits as Jinyoung drapes the hooded towel shaped like a bear over his head. Jinyoung crosses his legs and starts to dry his son’s hair as he says,

“Yugyeom-ah. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Appa.”

He stops his hands but keeps them placed protectively on Yugyeom’s head. He turns his face up where it had been tilted toward the ground and looks into his eyes seriously. “Don’t lie to me, Yugyeom-ah. You know it’s bad to lie, right? Especially to Appa and Dad.”

Yugyeom nods and looks like he’s ready to cry. He opens his mouth like he’s going to deny it again, but then his little nose scrunches up and he wails, “It’s just…It’s just not fair!”

Jinyoung is taken aback by the sudden outburst. “What’s not fair?”

“Youngjae hyung gets to do everything by himself and I don’t get to do anything! He gets to pick his school clothes, and make his own plate at breakfast, and, and, take baths by himself, and––” he sniffles, tears starting to flow the more he talks. “I’m not a baby anymore, Appa, I want to do stuff like Youngjae hyung!”

Jinyoung feels stunned. Yugyeom sniffles again and wipes his arm across his eyes while Jinyoung just lets his arms fall into his lap. So he had been right then, in thinking that Yugyeom was getting jealous. It breaks his heart a little more to know that his baby doesn’t seem to want to be his baby any more.

Quietly, Jinyoung keeps his hands folded in his lap and asks,

“Do you want to be able to do stuff alone like Youngjae hyung?”

Another sniffle, bottom lip pushed out. He nods.

“Do you want Dad and Appa to let you do things on your own tomorrow?”

Repeat. Sniffle, pout; a brief hesitation, then a nod.

He sighs. “Okay. Tomorrow, we’ll let you do it on your own.”

The next morning starts off with their new routine: Jinyoung gets dressed while Jaebum sits on the edge of the bed and watches him, finally deciding that he’d had his fill of a morning ogling and goes to start breakfast. Where his morning was normally occupied by Yugyeom, he finds it strangely empty and boring when all he has to do is stick his head in both of their doors to turn on their lights to wake them up.

He joins Jaebum in the kitchen, doing his own sort of ogling while Jaebum cooks in just a tank top. There’s the distinct murmur of both boys in the bathroom, the sink running and the low chatter of their voices as he presumes Youngjae fills in his role and shows Yugyeom how to do things he usually doesn’t do by himself. There’s a slight pang in his chest that maybe Yugyeom really does want to grow up, after all.

The feeling is short lived, though, as a couple of minutes later he hears Youngjae’s loud laughter from down the hall. Yugyeom makes an audible noise of fear and then suddenly he’s coming around the corner with his shirt stuck on his head and halfway on a shoulder.

“Appa,” he cries, obviously frustrated that he can’t pull on a shirt (that is much to small for him now, which would explain why he couldn’t get his head through the hole) and he has to shoot Jaebum a glare when he hears the older male stifle a laugh under his breath. “Appa, I can’t get my shirt on.”

“Big boys don’t need help with their shirts,” he says lightly, but he still reaches down to pull the shirt off Yugyeom’s head. “This is one of your baby shirts. Your big boy shirts are on the other side of your closet. Do you need Appa or Dad to come help you?”

“No,” he says glumly, but he hesitates for a moment like he’s going to say yes.

Jinyoung feels a little triumphant. Just a little.

The next incident comes thirty minutes later, when Yugyeom is trying and failing to tie his own shoes.

He looks up, face red and blowing his long bangs out of his eyes with a defeated huff. “Appa, I can’t tie my shoes.”

“Youngjae hyung can tie his shoes,” he says, and feels a little more validated when Yugyeom looks like he just wants to hold his foot out so that he can do it, instead.

But their kid is determined, because he turns away to Youngjae and asks him to show him how to tie his shoes, too.

After they come home from school and wash up for dinner, Yugyeom slides into his seat at the long oak table while the three of them stand in the kitchen and make their plates. They all sit down with their food and suddenly Yugyeom looks jilted.

“Where’s my dinner?”

Jaebum points at the stool pushed up by the countertop and the empty plate by the pan. “Your plate is right there, Yugyeom-ah. You have to get your own dinner.”

When bath time comes, it’s obvious that Yugyeom is getting frustrated now. After multiple mishaps over the course of the day where he’d needed someone’s help anyway, Jinyoung wonders if he’s getting tired of being told big boys do that by themselves or you can do that on your own, can’t you, Yugyeom-ah? It’s such a departure from his own routine that Jinyoung is amazed he’s not disoriented from it all.

But, even though he’s frustrated, he still doesn’t give up. He helps his brother wash the dishes while Jinyoung snuggles up to Jaebum on the couch. They let the boys watch television with them for a while, before Jaebum is toeing at the back of Youngjae’s head and telling him it’s time to take his bath.

After he goes, Yugyeom looks up over a tiny shoulder at Jinyoung where he’d been sitting on the floor next to Youngjae. “Appa.”

“Hmm?”

He feels Yugyeom’s hand pulling on his pant leg, so he lifts it and looks down at him. “Are you going to start my bath for me?”

“Well, normally big boys start their own baths.”

Jaebum nudges him with his shoulder and laughs in his ear. “He’s only five, Jinyoung-ah.”

True, and it’s not like he was going to let Yugyeom potentially lock himself in the bathroom in a tub full of water by himself, anyway, so he nods in the direction of the bathroom when Youngjae announces that he’s finished. Elated, Yugyeom gets up and sprints to the bathroom for the first time in…well, ever.

Jinyoung sighs, disentangling from Jaebum and standing up to stretch. “He seems happier. I think he likes doing stuff on his own.”

Jaebum laughs. “Are you kidding? He might seem happy, but I can tell he misses getting everything done for him. Just watch the look on his face next time you have to tell him that big boys do that by themselves. It’s hilarious.”

Clicking his tongue against his teeth in annoyance, Jinyoung nudges at Jaebum’s knee with his own but Jaebum just laughs more. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he says, and softens.

Jaebum smiles at him, all kissable plump cheeks and handsome edges, and pats his butt. “Go keep an eye on big boy Yugyeom so that we can get them both into bed.”

In a normal continuation of their routine, Jinyoung sits next to the tub with his back against the wall while Yugyeom splashes around in the water. Bath time is more manageable when he lets Yugyeom have fun for a while and despite his insistence upon being a big boy now, he doesn’t get too invested in the idea and still makes cute little action noises with his mouth as he drags toys around in the soapy water. Jinyoung just observes quietly, head leaned against the wall as he watches his son get lost in his imagination. Though the few times he had proved that he wasn’t quite ready to grow up yet, even as Jinyoung watches his sweet, cherubic face he knows that the sand in the hourglass of time is slipping by more quickly with every day. He may want to be a big boy now, but he isn’t quite yet; however, Jinyoung realizes with a little pang that, just like Youngjae, he will be soon. And indeed he misses the time when Youngjae needed him, too. What will he do when neither of his children need him at all?

“Appa,” Yugyeom says, and Jinyoung blinks out of his stupor to see that the water in the tub has calmed with the lack of Yugyeom’s pretending. His dark brown hair curls against his face and his cocoa colored eyes are large in his chubby face.

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to read to me?”

Jinyoung smiles. “I didn’t bring your book with me. And besides, big boys don’t read in the tub.”

“Yes huh,” Yugyeom argues, his lower lip pushed forward in a pout. Water rushes away from him as he lifts his arms to cross them across his chest. “You read all the time in the bath, and you make Dad bring you glasses of that red juice that Dad says is yucky.”

He hadn’t been expecting his five year old to make such an accurate and compelling argument, and he can’t help but laugh a little. Yugyeom’s eyebrows furrow indignantly, so he just reaches for the pitcher on the edge of the tub and dumps it over his head to rinse off the soap. Jinyoung stands and waits with his back turned as Yugyeom grabs his own towel, lifts the bear hood up over his head, and steps up on the stool at the sink to brush his teeth. The entire time he can feel the sigh building up in Yugyeom’s chest: normally Appa or Dad participates in this with him, standing next to him or playfully drying his hair but rubbing the bear towel hard and fast on top of his head while he squeals with laughter. But the bathroom is oddly empty of Yugyeom’s glee now that he has to do it the grown up way.

Jinyoung looks down when Yugyeom tugs on his pant leg. His bear towel has been hung back up, and he’s dressed in the pajamas that Jinyoung had brought for him. Now that his teeth are brushed and his jammies are on, it’s time to go to bed. He looks distantly reluctant to tell Jinyoung that he’s finished.

“Appa, I’m all done.”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says, and he drops to one knee to give Yugyeom a hug. “You have thirty minutes to play Pokemon or read one of your story books before you have to turn off the light. Youngjae is going to come check on you to make sure you’re in bed after the thirty minutes. Okay?”

It is undeniable how satisfying it is that Yugyeom looks disappointed. But he is the child of Jaebum and Jinyoung and he will not show his face so easily, so he just nods and lets his wet bangs fall in front of his eyes before he marches down the hallway and into his bedroom. The house falls into its usual bedtime hush as Jinyoung pads in the opposite direction toward their own room at the end of the hall.

Jaebum is already undressed and laying across their bed with an arm under his head and a book held above his face. He glances over when Jinyoung enters, eyes lingering as Jinyoung strips out of his clothes but going back to his book when he realizes Jinyoung is just going to pull on a shirt and some sleep shorts. He flops down on the bed next to him, head resting on the arm holding the book up over his face to close his eyes.

“So?” Jaebum asks nonchalantly, lifting his head to use his other hand to turn the page and not disturb Jinyoung’s resting. “How’d it go?”

“I can tell he’s getting sick of it. He looked so disappointed when I told him that Youngjae was going to make sure his light was off.”

“You’re not even going to read to him? We even read to Youngjae sometimes still.” Jaebum laughs. “Harsh, babe.”

With a whine Jinyoung digs his fingers into Jaebum’s ribs, which makes him choke on a laugh and drop the book on his face. Jinyoung tries to roll out of the way but he’s in between Jaebum and the wall so once Jaebum pushes the book to the floor there’s nowhere for him to go. He laughs quietly as Jaebum reaches out for him, grabbing his hip and pulling until they’re slightly wrestling and giggling like teenage boys. Jaebum finally wins, both of Jinyoung’s wrists in his hands to stop the tickling and leaning down to softly kiss him on the mouth.

As Jaebum’s tongue parts his lips, distant thunder rumbles and rolls outside the window. Jaebum sighs happily, kissing him again before he drops down to his side and wraps an arm around Jinyoung’s waist.

“He doesn’t like thunderstorms,” Jaebum says, nudging him to turn off the light without saying so out loud. “The forecast said it’s supposed to rain tonight.”

Jinyoung slides back into his arms after sitting up to turn off the lamp by their bedside. From the crack underneath the door Jinyoung can see the illumination of a single bedroom light down the hall that goes dim followed by the soft sound of feet on the carpet. A door closes quietly and the house once more goes still. In the darkness of their room, Jinyoung smiles into Jaebum’s chest.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it.”

But he can’t.

Sometime in the middle of the night, even Jinyoung is woken up by the echoing crack of a thunderclap close to the mountains. His heart jolts in his chest as he sits up, blinking in the milky, desaturated glow of the moon from their curtains as harsh rain pounds the windows like fists. Jaebum turns restlessly, half awake when Jinyoung sits up in bed. So far the house is quiet underneath the storm, but with how violently it’s raging he knows it won’t last much longer.

As expected, the door to their bedroom opens a few moments later. Yugyeom’s face is already streaked with tears, and more are falling as he rubs his fists into his eyes and makes his way to the foot of their bed.

“Daddy…Appa…” he hiccups, and Jinyoung’s heart bleeds. Though he hadn’t known that a storm would occur tonight, it had been on the cusp of becoming for days. He feels terrible that he had allowed his youngest child to suffer alone in his fear under the guise of letting him keep his pride.

“Yugyeomie…” Jaebum says sleepily, lifting his head and digging the heel of one hand into his eye. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m…” his voice quivers, as though he’s trying with all of his might not to cry but unable to hold it all in. Another crack of thunder makes him jump and utter a little terrified noise. “I’m really scared.”

Jinyoung opens his arms and immediately Yugyeom is climbing onto the bed to bury himself in them. Yugyeom’s soft hair tickles the bottom of his chin as he nestles his head right underneath it, arms wrapped tight around his neck and sniffling away the last of his tears. Jaebum leans up on an elbow to rub his back, singing softly under his breath the same way he had done to both him and Youngjae when they were babies. In the washed out light of the room, Jinyoung rests his cheek on Yugyeom’s head and aims his smile toward the rainy window so that Jaebum can’t see it.

Though Yugyeom had come to them for the comfort, Jinyoung finds that he himself is comforted in the way that his youngest son had still sought him out. He had been afraid that he was being a bad father by babying him a bit more than he should at five years old, but he misses the time that he had been able to do it with Youngjae and he feels as though he is trying desperately to hang to it as long as he can with Yugyeom. If he could freeze them right now, he would never let his babies grow up, and he would keep them all here in this room with him, arrested in this moment forever.

Yugyeom grows more and more tired as Jaebum rubs his back and sings quietly to them. Jinyoung feels the fluttering of his long eyelashes against his throat as his eyes slip closed, and just before he does, another little body is slinking in their doorway to stand meekly in the shadow of the dresser.

“Youngjae-yah,” Jinyoung whispers, still smiling softly. “Are you scared, too?”

He nods, even though he isn’t. Youngjae has always loved the sound of thunder, but he had likely woken up earlier as Jinyoung had and heard his father singing to his brother. Jinyoung lets go of Yugyeom for just a moment to pat the spot between him and Jaebum that opens as he scoots over just a little bit.

When their other son climbs in bed and settles down, Jaebum’s voice gets softer and softer until he falls asleep himself. Youngjae is next, head on Jaebum’s arm and leg thrown over Jinyoung’s thigh. Yugyeom curls up in the space between Youngjae’s hip and Jinyoung’s ribs, growing taller by the day and yet still just small enough to fit perfectly in the dip of Jinyoung’s armpit. His eyelids flutter as he fights sleep, and Jinyoung gently brushes off the hair from his forehead as he mutters one last thing before giving up:

“Appa, I don’t want to be a big boy anymore. Okay?”

He smiles even though he’s the only one who knows it. “Okay, Yugyeomie. You don’t have to be a big boy anymore.”

♡

#got7 #jjproject #jj project #character:jinyoung #character:jb #character:yugyeom #character:youngjae #genre:fluff #genre:au #author:joey

120 notes · View notes

7fics · 7 years

Note

Ot7 medival time period au with jinyoung as a prince and the rest of got7 as his advisors and friends please!

Warnings: None

Authors: TJ, Chewy, Mia, Phi, Jessica, Keannah, Qi, Miranda, Jenni, Jo, Sally, Angel

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: As you can all tell by the long list of authors, we decided to do a special collab for this prompt! We put a lot of serious effort into this, so we hope you enjoy~ ^^

Edit: Happy April Fools’ 2017! This is a fake prompt and joke fic that we wrote together this year! Each author contributed around 100 words, and we were only allowed to see the last sentence of what was written before our turn. This was the result, we hope you enjoyed the crack-y fun~

“Have you heard? They’re holding a competition with all the neighboring kingdoms to see who can win our Prince’s hand in marriage!” Youngjae was slightly out of breath as he came to a halt in front of the stables, eyes shining with excitement at the news.

The other stablehand, however, didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm, not even bothering to look up from the pile of dung he was currently shoveling.

“They’re trying to find a suitor for Prince Jinyoung?” Yugyeom wrinkled his nose, clearly unimpressed, “Would anyone even want to marry him?”

“Why would anybody not want to marry him?” Youngjae sighed. “He’s so pretty, and sweet, yet also a little bit sharp. Like a perfect tart!”

“Ugh,” Yugyeom groaned, snatching away the small engraving of Jinyoung’s profile Youngjae was drooling over. “All you have to do I bake him some sweets when he asks. I have to clean his room.”

“It would be an honor to clean the Prince’s room!” Youngjae pouted. “I bet it smells like roses.”

“It’s a pigsty,” Yugyeom deadpanned.

Youngjae gasped, “Do not slander the great Prince Jinyoung’s name!”

“I’m sorry, what about my name?” a new voice inquired.

It was the same voice that Jinyoung heard in his nightmares. The ones where he’s pantless in front of his high school crush, slave to a village of unicorns, or some other acid dream he had after binging anime while eating ice cream straight from the bucket and fell asleep on the couch.

But Jinyoung wasn’t dreaming. He’s standing in the kitchen, smuggling ramen from the cabinets, stuffing them in his shirt in preparation of his all-night cram session for Psych. And the new voice wasn’t a dream-like apparition, but a breathing body waiting for some type of explanation.

When Jinyoung turned back to greet the new voice with a sinking sense of something like regret and guilt morphed together, he dropped all his ramen and gaped because he was not expecting that.

He’s not quite sure if anything could’ve prepared him for whatever strange thing was lurching in front of him, his heart hesitating just as his bowl shattered to the ground. Jinyoung vaguely registered something hot against his feet, barely protected by thin socks covered in faded thread and dust, and he blinked. His eyes were frozen wide, unblinkingly caught between gears as his mind worked desperately to apply logic to the situation. It was impossible, he knew that, but he’d always been a skeptic. Panic started to filter into Jinyoung’s thoughts as the figure stalked forward, feet scraping against the ground.

He quickly turned to run, the sound of his steps echoing against the pavement. It only took him a moment to realize that whoever was following him had begun to chase after him as well. He willed himself to run faster, desperately trying to ignore the burning in his lungs and the way his legs began to protest with each step, but it was so hard. His body began to slow down, despite his internal pleading, and soon he was collapsing onto the pavement with a pained gasp, tears already springing to his eyes.

“Please,” he whispered as they approach, feeling the eerie presence of the figure staring down at him.

“Please what, pretty boy?” The figure was still hazy in his sight, still none but a silhouette as he swallowed down the nervous pool of saliva in his mouth.

The footsteps came to an abrupt halt, leaning over him dauntingly as he tried to find the words lodged in his throat. The figure tilted its head curiously, shuffling was heard, and it’s voice was a little closer this time.

“What is it you wanted to tell me, hm?”

His body trembled and quivered out of fear, still wracking his brain to find his pleading words in hopes of getting his way.

Defeat weighed his shoulders down as he came to realise his impending doom. Slowly, slowly the arm of the the Masked Singer™ lowered itself down onto his shoulder. There would be no turning back now.

“I am your father” the distorted voice intoned.

Shock filled his body. Trembling, he made his demand.

“Prove it. Sing to me the songs of my people.”

Jackson took a deep breath and paused for a moment to gather himself, heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing in his veins. He opened his mouth, hand resting over his frantic heart, and to the tune of Pompeii by Bastille, sang, “Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop–”

A single tear rolled down Jaebum’s cheek as he watched, and Jackson blinked away his own tears. Then, very suddenly, Jaebum fell to his knees in front of the two-storey tall Paul Blart: Mall Cop poster and began to cry, “Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop, Paul-Paul Blart: Mall Cop–”

“Oh, praise thee,” Jackson shrieked, “praise thee Paul Blart: Mall Cop!”

He fell to his knees.

“What are you doing.” It was phrased as a question but the words fell from his mouth as a statement. Jinyoung had heard a shrill, panicked scream as he passed by the room, and immediately regretted following his curiosity to find a writhing Jackson on the floor, panting and shrieking.

Jackson did not answer; instead, he proceeded to scream different variations of “praise” as Jinyoung slowly backed away. His Plan A was originally to run away as far as he could, rename himself “Junior,” and live his life peacefully in a small country town where no obnoxious young adults by the name of Jackson could ever disturb him again. His goal, however, was shattered as he backed away straight into Jaebum’s sturdy chest and questioning, narrowed eyes.

“What the hell is going on in there?” Jaebum demanded, startled by the fear reflected in Jinyoung’s eyes.

“Hyung!” his voice was warbled, strained and pitchy and his knuckles were gripped white from where he was clenching his hands. Jaebum tried to stitch the whole scene together, eyes frantically darting around every incriminating corner of the room.

Jinyoung was by the open window, its curtains billowing out. The toppled lamp stand on the other side of the room, Coco petrified and shivering behind it. The amassment of dirty laundry across the furniture (not that that was particularly new). Yugyeom curled into a ball in the centre of the room. A figure covered by a blanket, unmoving.

Jaebum’s eyes bulged open, “Why is there a dead person in our dorm!??” The stress he felt, it was consuming at this point.

Despite the completely, very goddamn serious moment, Jinyoung scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s not a dead body, hyung. That’s just Jackson. he’s taking a nap.

“A nap?” He questioned. The doe-eyed youth only threw him a halfhearted nod. Jaebum squinted his eyes narrowly at Jackson’s figure before looking up suspiciously back at Jinyoung. He ultimately decided to let the questions in his mind stay unvoiced, opting for a small shrug and smile. He’d known the younger male for too long to question his antics, especially since he’d witnessed the wrath of Jinyoung for all this time. Jaebum reckoned that obliviousness was the true key to a peaceful and long life. “I don’t even want to know,” he let out.

“What are you talking about,” Jinyoung questioned. “Are you trying to evade this conversation?”

Jaebum laughed nervously, gaze still looking back and forth from the boy in front of him to the boy lying splayed out on the ground. “Just pretend I was never here today.” He blurted out, “We can save this conversation for another day.”

He threw the younger male what he hoped was a convincingly amicable grin before hurrying his steps towards the door. He should’ve known that he didn’t drop toothpaste on his shirt this morning for nothing—t’was all a warning from the deities above. And so Jaebum stumbled his way out the door, leaving behind Jinyoung to dwell on unfinished conversations.

Shouldering past him was Mark, mildly stunned and clearly smashed, holding half a plate of h’ordeuvres and covered in confetti. “What’d I miss,” he managed to enunciate impressively, before passing out into the umbrella stand. Politely, Jinyoung covered him with a teacloth, before continuing to brood in considerable peace.

18 notes · View notes

7fics · 7 years

Note

Can someone write 2jae mariagge au for me? ~_~ tq!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.2k

Author: Jenni

hello i am back from the pits of hell aka writers block! hopping back into the writing world with a collection of fluffy 2jae domestic activities~ as always, thank you for the prompt and enjoy!

They’re young and in love when Jaebum blurts out in the middle of a movie, “Let’s get married.” Youngjae doesn’t know how his boyfriend had thought of marriage; they weren’t even watching a romance film. It was an action movie, actually, and right before an intense battle scene.

It’s not the most romantic way of proposal, but Youngjae is flattered nonetheless, and doesn’t hesitate to accept.

(Though Jaebum’s forced to do it all over again when Jinyoung lectures him on appropriate methods of proposal.)

They’re twenty five and twenty seven, respectively, on the day of their wedding. Youngjae is jumpy as a flea, fingers twitching and brows furrowed as he worries. He’s not allowed to see Jaebum until the ceremony (something about bad luck?), and it’s driving him crazy because Jaebum is just the kind of person to screw up on something on the most important day of their lives.

But when the time comes for him to walk down that rose petal-sprinkled aisle and catch the expression of pure love and adoration on Jaebum’s ever handsome face, he knows that nothing can go wrong.

Youngjae thinks he can hear angels singing as he makes his ways down the rose-petaled aisle, eyes fixed on Jaebum who’s smiling so much he’s scared his cheekbones might break. He’s wearing a black tuxedo with his hair slicked back to reveal his gorgeous forehead and he just looks so good, Youngjae wonders how he managed to be engaged to such a handsome man.

The ceremony is quite emotional, a few sniffles in the crowd as the couple make their vows and exchange the rings; Jinyoung was using Mark’s sleeve as a tissue and Jackson was in tears. (So was the cake.)

Youngjae himself almost breaks down at the reception, when Jaebum’s retelling the adventures and stories of their early dating days up until their engagement (he leaves out the memory of their proposal, but Youngjae takes the mic from his hands and relives it anyway).

Jinyoung is crying again, and Mark pats his shoulder as Yugyeom laughs at the story.

When it’s time for the bouquet toss, Youngjae closes his eyes and tosses the flowers over his head and into the crowd, giggling at the obnoxiously loud scream of, “Yes! I got it!” Somehow, Jackson manages to be the one to catch the bouquet, despite his lack of height. (Jaebum later learns that he had bribed Youngjae into throwing it in his direction.)

Once the plates are passed and the cake eaten, Jaebum and Youngjae are informed that it’s time for their first dance. Youngjae promptly begins to shake, fingers clutching to Jaebum’s arm as he buries his face into his shoulder.

“Nervous?”

Youngjae nods anxiously. “There’s so many people here. And they’ll all be watching…”

“Well, it’s our wedding after all,” Jaebum laughs. He holds Youngjae’s face between his palms, staring into his dark, worried eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m here. And it’s a significant moment, enjoy it.”

Youngjae nods, his eyes brightening a little in excitement. Jaebum takes his hand and laces their fingers together, leading him to the middle of the dance floor. He guides Youngjae’s arms around his neck, while he places his own on the younger’s waist. Jinyoung and Yugyeom sing a duet as they sway, and Jaebum smiles. Youngjae had specifically requested the two sing for their first dance as a married couple, and he doesn’t regret agreeing to his decision.

Jaebum finds himself falling into a trance as he gazes into Youngjae’s eyes, which are winking up at him like twin stars. He’s shocked when his lover boldly goes on tip toe leans up to kiss him in front their audience, despite his earlier worries. He flushes immediately once he’s back to his normal height, a small smile on his lips at Jaebum’s surprised expression. Their guests cheer at the intimate gesture, and Jaebum grins as he sweeps Youngjae off his feet, suddenly feeling much more daring. Youngjae squeaks as he’s lifted off the floor, their chests pressed together.

The dance ends with Youngjae in Jaebum’s arms, faces bright as the lights shining down on them and eyes reflecting the stars of the night sky.

Youngjae sits in Jaebum’s lap, the two wrapped snugly in a shared blanket, Youngjae’s head resting against Jaebum’s collarbone as they stare up at the full moon in all its ethereal glory.

Jaebum grins as he studies Youngjae’s awed expression, his eyes shining as bright as the blanket of stars above them.

“So, how does it feel to be married, Im Youngjae?”

Youngjae feels something fuzzy in his chest, something like a flutter, and he turns to straddle Jaebum, tugging gently on his soft locks. “Say that again,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

Jaebum shoots him the slightest of a smirk. “Say what? Im Youngjae?”

Youngjae presses his lips against his new husband’s, kissing him vigorously. “Say it again.” A quick snatch of a breath. “And again.” Another breath. “And again.” Gasps. “And again and again and again and again until your voice is hoarse, until we’re old and covered in wrinkles with bent backs and stiff knees. Until we have kids and grandkids and their kids have kids and they have kids and on and on and on. Say it over and over and over, and I’ll never tire of hearing it.”

“Im Youngjae,” Jaebum whispers. “Im Youngjae, Im Youngjae, I love you so…” Their lips lock again, Youngjae gasping when he feels his husband’s teeth graze his bottom lip. “…so much.”

“Im Youngjae,” Jaebum threads his fingers through his lover’s hair, palm pressed warm against his cheek, “I am the luckiest man alive to have you as my husband.”

Youngjae blinks awake to Jaebum staring at him, a light grin on his lips as he lays on his side with his arms tucked under his head, studying his husband’s features in the lovely morning glow.

“Morning, sunshine.” His voice has a slight rasp to it from sleep, which succeeds to deepen the rosy flush of Youngjae’s cheeks. He leans in to place a quick kiss on his lips, drawing back to admire his pretty complexion in the pale light streaking through the half opened blinds.

“Morning,” Youngjae mumbles, lips still searing. His eyelids are threatening to close again when Jaebum suddenly rolls over and above him, lips barely grazing his husband’s as he hovers just above him.

“What, no morning kiss in return?” He raises an eyebrow, as if expecting one.

Youngjae flushes once again, but doesn’t hesitate to comply, leaning up to press his lips against Jaebum’s. It’s slow, languid, and as their mouths move together, Jaebum thinks his tastes sweeter than his favorite candy.

“Let’s go out today,” Jaebum suggests, fingers gently brushing against Youngjae’s forehead as he sweeps the hair from his eyes.

“Out…where?”

Jaebum just shrugs nonchalantly. “Just…out. Wherever’s fine, what do you want to do?”

Youngjae decides on coffee before a long walk along the river, so they frantically dress and grab their keys, hopping out into the crisp morning air.

They intertwine their fingers and take their time as they walk to the nearby cafe on the end of the block, eyes all smiles and cheeks a dusty shade of rose.

Youngjae hums lightly as his fingers gracefully glide across the keys, blacks and whites of the notes blending together to compose a lovely melody.

“That one sounds nice.”

Youngjae jumps, fingers fumbling, and the piano groans as they press random, scattered notes.

“Jaebum!”

Youngjae glares at his husband, who’s leaning against the doorframe to their living room, smirk right in place and looking handsome as ever. “What?”

“You scared me!”

“I was admiring your lovely voice and you respond by yelling at me? How rude.”

You’re rude. Youngjae bites back the sharp remark as Jaebum makes his way to where he sits on the piano, hair swept out to reveal a broad forehead and eyes twinkling with mischief.

Youngjae hates how he can never stay mad at him for long.

“Will you play for me?”

Youngjae glares at him again. “Last time I played for you, you fell asleep!”

“I was tired from work! Besides, it was late and you looked ready to fall asleep on the piano yourself,” Jaebum defends himself without much vigor, knowing his husband could never hold a grudge for long. He rests his hands on Youngjae’s shoulders and slowly, gently rubs to relieve them of any tension, fingers running down his arms. “So, will you play for me?”

The action seems to soothe him quickly, and he grins, his eyes smiling, scooting to the side and patting the empty space on the piano bench next to him. Jaebum is quick to comply to his silent request.

“How about I teach you instead?” Youngjae places his hand atop Jaebum’s, fingers guiding his lover’s across the black and white keys.

“Last time you tried to teach me I got frustrated and almost yelled at you.”

“Shush!” Youngjae slaps a hand over his husband’s mouth. “I told you to forget about that. This is our first lesson and you will learn how to play.”

“But-”

“And this is an A sharp!”

Jaebum turns to sneak a glance, smiling as he notices the determined look on his lover’s face. He lets his fingers be guided towards the right notes, fumbling at first when Youngjae lets go of his hand for them to play on their own.

“See, you’re getting them right!” Youngjae cheers as Jaebum hesitantly presses the keys, some seeming to sound quite decent. He shifts through his folder of ever-growing music, seeming satisfied with a particular piece and placing it on the stand before them. “Ready to sightread?”

Jaebum is overwhelmed and his head is spinning, but he gulps down his apprehension and instead focuses on the dark coloured notes and decorative lines. “I’m only doing this for you,” he replies, and Youngae’s laughter echos against the pale walls and fills up the entire room.

“Jaebum, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

(Of course it’s not a good idea. Jaebum’s ideas are stupid and Youngjae is notoriously known for following suit even when he knows there will be consequences.)

Jaebum’s always full of ideas, and Youngjae should have known that this was another one of his not so good ideas.

“You asked me if I wanted to go swimming, not break into someone’s house!”

“Okay first of all, we’re not breaking into someone’s house, we’re breaking into Mark and Jinyoung’s house. And second, we’re not breaking into their house, we’re hopping the fence and borrowing their pool for a few hours.”

Youngjae huffs in exasperation. “You know their house has an alarm, right?”

Jaebum grins, a smile much too innocent. “I turned it off when we visited earlier.”

“So that’s why you wanted to gift them flowers ‘for no reason’?” Youngjae gasps, eyes wide in disbelief. “You wouldn’t!”

“Hey, I’m trying to spend some quality time with my husband,” Jaebum frowns. “Does it matter what method I used to get it?”

“Yes it does,” Youngjae mumbles, but Jaebum knows he’s won the argument anyway, and he grins as he laces his fingers through his lover’s, leading him up to the fence wrapped around their friends’ yard.

He tosses their backpacks over the fence and holds his arms out to help Youngjae over. His husband huffs again, but accepts, taking his hands and heaving himself over the wooden fence. He waits as Jaebum takes his turn, panting slightly as he brushes sawdust off his favorite hoodie.

“Let’s go!” He grins and picks up their bags, linking their fingers again as they approach the dim-lit pool (why Mark and Jinyoung had decided to keep their pool light on overnight, they don’t know, but it’s much appreciated).

Jaebum strips of his hoodie and t-shirt and tosses them haphazardly atop his bag, then waits as Youngjae follows suit. He holds his hand as he guides him down the steps, Youngjae shrieking, “It’s cold!” before Jaebum effectively silences him with a hand to the mouth.

“Shh,” he warns. “Don’t want to wake the neighbors now, do you? What an inconvenience it would be if Mark and Jinyoung were to find out.”

Youngjae shakes his head wordlessly, lips pressed tightly together to prevent any small embarrassing noises from escaping his lips as his body adjusts to the cooler temperature of the chlorine water. It helps that Jaebum is next to him, arms providing warmth when his own body can’t handle the cold by itself.

Soon they’re both chest deep, and suddenly, Jaebum’s tugging on his arms, pulling him underwater with him. Youngjae starts to thrash and flail because Im Jaebum what was that for it’s cold! until he feels smooth palms cup his cheek and pull him closer until their lips meet and Jaebum encourages him to move his mouth along with his own.

It’s so cliche and cheesy and part of Youngjae wants to punch Jaebum for pulling off such a stunt, but the other part of him just melts, and he can’t help but want this kiss to last forever.

Youngjae groans as Jaebum presses a hot compress to his forehead.

“C-cold,” he gasps.

Jaebum’s eyes narrow and his lips frown as he studies how absolutely frail his husband looks. He tugs the blankets he had kicked away overnight over his shoulders, pressing a palm to his cheek.

“Youngjae, you’re burning up.”

Youngjae doesn’t reply. Instead, eyes still closed, he leans into Jaebum’s touch, fingers trembling as he raises his hand to place it atop Jaebum’s on his cheek. “D-don’t go.” His chapped lips part to shallowly breathe out the words. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, smoothing his bangs to the side. “Why don’t you take your medicine, love.”

Jaebum helps him lift his head, arms quivering beneath him as he leans on his elbows. He trickles the bitter liquid through parted lips, and Youngjae coughs weakly as he painfully swallows.

“Well done, my sweet little angel. You’ve done so well, why don’t you rest now?”

Youngjae coughs again, almost collapsing into the mattress as he lays down again. Jaebum grasps his hand, fingers rolling over the knuckles, rubbing soothingly. He leans down to kiss it, moving up from his hands to his face.

Jaebum crawls into the bed beside his lover, throwing the covers over himself as well. He presses Youngjae’s face into his chest, throwing a leg over the younger’s and hand finding his waist as the other strokes his hair. He places a gentle kiss to his glistening forehead.

“Get well soon.”

In the darkness, Jaebum holds Youngjae as he falls into sleep.

“I love you.”

(When Jinyoung arrives later, tulips and Youngjae’s favorite soup in hand, he finds them both sneezing.)

“Jaebum, I was thinking…”

Jaebum looks up from his morning newspaper (because he’s a grandpa and can’t read the news on his phone like a normal twenty first century man) and raises a brow. “Thinking?”

Youngjae sips his coffee and waits a moment, as if waiting for the right words to come. “I was thinking…” He tips his head to the side a bit, looking a little puzzled, eyes studying the shelves carefully as he seems to have suddenly found an interest in the wooden cupboards of the kitchen. “What if…” He stops again, and Jaebum’s about to tell him to spit it out already when he finally blurts out. “What if we had a kid?”

Jaebum’s words are swallowed back, and his mouth is still slightly open as his brain registers the thought. “A kid?”

Youngjae nods meekly. “A kid. Child. Baby.”

Jaebum’s mouth is still open and he slowly sets down the newspaper on the dining table, mind working a mile a minute. Youngjae almost regrets voicing his thoughts when Jaebum suddenly laughs, a light smile playing his lips. “Youngjae, I love the thought of a child, I really do, but you know what has to be done to have a kid, right? And I hate to break it to you, but we’re not able to do that.” Youngjae immediately flushes the moment the words leave his lips, and Jaebum adds hastily, “Not that I wouldn’t do it though! I would love to, actually.” He smiles suggestively, and Youngjae resists the urge to slap him.

“Stop that!” He scolds, restraining himself from drifting into thoughts of such a situation. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He blushes again, cheeks taking on a deep shade of scarlet.

“Then what do you mean?” Jaebum questions, and is it just me or does his voice sound a lot deeper than five seconds ago? He stalks over to where Youngjae leans on the kitchen island, arms placed in a way that traps the younger, his broad shoulders and strong build aiding him in cornering Youngjae against the counter.

“I meant…” Youngjae swallows and his eyelashes flutter shut as Jaebum leans down to kiss him, cutting off his words. He ignores the hand that finds its way to his hip, rubbing it gently. Only when they break apart does his finish his thought. “I meant adopt.”

“Youngjae, can we discuss this later?” Jaebum murmurs, voice rumbling. His eyes are glued to Youngjae’s lips, and he raises a hand to cup his cheek, proceeding to bury his nose in his husband’s neck.

Youngjae flushes the third time that morning, and he pushes against Jaebum’s chest, dislodging him of his encircling position. He picks up his mug of coffee and walks away to the living room. “Yes, we’ll talk about this later,” he agrees. “Meanwhile, you can reflect on your behavior this morning.” With rosy pink cheeks and eyes still a little glazed over, he rounds the corner and disappears from Jaebum’s sight.

Youngjae almost shrieks the moment he steps through the front door.

There’s a snowy white puppy prancing around his feet, stepping on his toes, and yapping at a rate of fifty barks a second. He looks up to see Jaebum following with bright smile on his face. “How was work?”

“Why,” Youngjae demands, ignoring his question, “is there a dog in our house?”

Jaebum at least has the decency to look sheepish, and he stumbles over himself to explain, the words and letters and sounds mixing up together before he can finally get out something coherent.

“So at first I wanted to get a cat but when I told the worker my husband wanted a kid he told me to go check out the adoption center and not the pound.” Jaebum runs his fingers through his hair sheepishly. “Anyway I went for a dog since they’re more hyper and run around screaming just like toddlers?”

Youngjae swallows the urge to grin like an idiot. “You got a dog…because I wanted a child?”

Jaebum nods in the affirmative, hand grasping his husband’s and fingers lacing together. “You know we can’t have a child yet. We aren’t ready. We’ve just moved in and still adjusting to a new life. You have a new job. But we can care for a dog, and I know it’s not the same, but I promise, I swear, that when we’re ready, we’ll adopt as many kids as you want and start the happiest family to ever walk the earth.”

Youngjae’s starting to tear up, and Jaebum brushes his thumb under his eyelid to collect the unshed tears. He gives him a look that’s indescribable with words, but Jaebum understands all the same. He looks overwhelmed with emotions of being touched, gratitude, and absolute joy. “When we’re ready,” his husband repeats in a whisper before pressing their lips together.

"When we’re ready.”

#2jae #got7 #7fics #character:jb #character:youngjae #author:jenni

48 notes · View notes

7fics · 7 years

Note

Jackbum: Jackson goes to the woods to bury a body but Jaebum is already there burying a body.

Warnings: Character Death, Murder, Other stuff that comes with burying dead bodies in woodsdisclaimer: I do not promote murder, I do not hate any of the characters that die in this fic, it was just for the sake of this fic

Word Count: Just under 2k

Author: Chewt, the writer formerly known as Chewy (I changed my name because author Jenni called me Chewt on accident)

an: this is, honestly, crack with a dash of murder. characters may come off as slightly ooc because i’m making them into murderers and they are not (i don’t think) murderers irl.

Reccomended music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HORkT4a2MhQ

“Duuuuuuude. You’re like a marshmallow. ROASTED!” Jackson pats himself on the back for a very good comeback.

“You didn’t roast me,” Mark reminds him.

“Oh, that’s awkward. I could have sworn we just had a conversation,” Jackson pouts.

“No, I haven’t talked since our first hit a while back, buddy. We’re high, not chatty,” Mark corrects, surprisingly sincere given the subject matter at hand.

“Well fuck you, I’m higher than you!”

“No, I am!”

“Prove it!”

“I can jump off this fucking cliff!”

“Why are we getting high on the side of a fucking cliff?”

“I don’t know but I’m gonna jump!”

“Yeahhhhhhhhhh! Do it! OH MY GOD YOU ACTUALLY— Wait… Mark?” Jackson calls out into the deep recesses of the void.

There’s no response but the echoes of a loud, resounding crunch. Jackson isn’t sure whether to cry in fear of what might have happened to Mark, or celebrate because he actually remembers the word “onomatopoeia” from 8th grade. He decides to do both as he scrambles down the cliff.

Really, it isn’t very high of a fall, and Jackson is sure Mark will be fine. What Jackson hadn’t bet on is Mark’s thin skull taking on the brunt of his thick-headedness. Yes. Mark didn’t jump off the cliff. He dived, like a swan, but without the grace and water to greet him at the bottom.

“What is the point of a brick head if it crumbles on impact?” Jackson laments.

Jackson really isn’t sure what the given procedure is in this scenario, but one thought does resonate. Is he an accomplice to Mark’s murder if Mark murdered himself and technically Jackson egged him on? And, if police come to investigate, surely they’ll arrest him for possession of marijuana. The situation is only looking worse.

Jackson digs around in his pocket for his phone and also inspiration. The fates must surely be looking out for him, because inspiration greets him in the form of tiny beige speckles.

“Mark always wanted to be buried as one of those tree things. I’ll do just that,” Jackson narrates, as now Mark isn’t around to tell him that his life isn’t a movie.

Jackson shakes the seeds back into his pocket, never mind that they’re tomato seeds and not acorns for oak trees. Mark looked best as a redhead anyway. Then, he gets to work tugging, dragging, and lugging. (He rhymes so well because he listens to Jay Z all the time.)

Jackson doesn’t get too far into the woods before he’s panting heavily. “I’m a fencer! We’re based on speed, not stamina!” he cries into the darkness of the forest. “X marks the spot— oh that was totally a pun, get it?” he mutters to himself, slowly spiraling into what must be shock, or maybe he’s still just high. Regardless, there is a task at hand, and Jackson is determined to finish before sunlight. It would be really awkward if somebody caught him digging a grave for a dead body in the middle of the woods.

—

And that’s why Jackson stumbles across another person not even a minute later. Ridiculous, really. Why must the fates play him in this way, always?

“This isn’t what it looks like! I promise!” He lets Mark thud back down on the ground so he can hold up his hands in the air for good measure.

“It looks like you killed someone, and now you’re trying to cover up the mess,” the other man deadpans. “Even if that isn’t it, you’re still lugging a dead body through the woods and I’d like to see you explain your way out of that one.” The man flicks his hair out of his eyes and at that moment streaks a splash of red across his forehead. Even with Jackson’s nearsightedness, he can make out the bright, foreboding color contrasting against the man’s pale skin in the moonlight.

Jackson contemplates the probability of vampires for a second before his eyes catch sight of the lump by the stranger’s feet. For a moment, Jackson thinks its a leopard, but then realizes that a) leopards don’t live here (he thinks) and b) it’s actually a faux cheetah fur coat that looks pretty shredded (in the literal sense; he can distinguish no muscle mass appearing from beneath the fur. The creepy stranger, on the other hand, is rocking the no-sleeves.)

“Wha-what about you?” Jackson stutters out. He tries to keep his cool in front of a fellow possible kind of murderer, but it’s hard being a newbie to the game of burying a body sketchily in the woods. “Is that a body?” (The question is obviously directed at the cheetah fur pile, because murderer or no, that is definitely a bod and a hot one at that. Now is not the time to think such things though, so Jackson gives himself a small slap on the face for good measure.)

“Yes.”

Taken aback by the blunt answer, Jackson coherently responds, “Oh. What? Illegal!”

“And you aren’t?”

“I’m not an illegal alien that’s what I’m not. No way.” (Nobody has to know that once Jackson went to America for a tournament with a visitation visa instead of a work visa.)

“Ok, but are you or are you not dragging a dead body through the woods and trying to bury secretly without the knowledge of the police?” the man presses.

“Well, if you put it that way… I didn’t kill him though! And still, so are you!”

“Fine, truce, we’re both dragging bodies through the woods and if the police find out, we’re going to get in trouble. What did you even do anyway?”

“Why would I tell you that? You’re a complete stranger! And you could be an ax murderer for all I know! In fact, all evidence points to the fact that you most definitely are at least a murderer, if not an ax murderer!” Jackson is in hysterics as this point. He’s still not really sure what even is going on anymore, just that he needs to move on from this place and bury Mark in some tomato seeds, or something. (But he really can’t help it if the stranger’s arms look positively ravishing.)

“You’re kind of annoying for a fellow murderer, you know? I don’t think I’ll invite you to the Murder In Trees Club after all. It’s MInT for short, you know. I’m Jaebum, by the way.”

This is the hook line sinker that reels Jackson in. “Oh. There’s a CLUB? Why didn’t you say so before, of course I’d love to join! I love making new friends! There is a contract though that says you won’t kill club members, right? Oh, do you have a secret code name? Jaebum? Jaebae? JayJay? JayBee? JB? JB! I’m Jackson, but call me JFlawless.”

Jaebum, or JB now, in Jackson’s mind, looks a little taken aback, but decides to roll with it for now. Because that’s what seasoned murderers are trained to do. “So. What happened to that body?”

Jackson’s face flickers into a thousand expressions before settling on fake smirking. (Jackson isn’t a seasoned murderer but he was a public figure for some time, so not he knows how to deal with these things.) He also realizes that now is not the time to tell the truth if he wants to join the club MInT. (The acronym is cute enough that he forgives the crime required to initiate.)

“Oh, you know,” Jackson begins, casually attempting to lean against a tree (although, being Jackson, of course he misjudged and fell over into the tree), “I was out with this kid, Mark, and we were smoking pot but he was totally hogging so I pushed him off the cliff.”

Jaebum smiles, showing all of his teeth. “Lovely.”

“Thank you, and you?”

“Ah well, really it was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill this one,” Jaebum does the tree lean, and it works perfectly for him and his long limbs. “I work in retail, you see. It’s a kind of hipster clothing brand so most of our customers are already really annoying kids. But this kid, man, his name is Bambam, always comes in with his boyfriend, this other tall ass kid, Yug-something or other.

“Well, they come in all the time. And they’re annoying as hell. Well, Bambam’s just plain annoying, Yugyeom is fine but he always asks for sizes that we don’t have. Usually, Bambam comes in five minutes right before closing time, which, ugh. Blazes through, fucks up all the nicely folded clothes, only buys one or two of the cheapest items and tries to stack as many fucking coupons on the counter as he can fit in his tiny, pre-pubescent hands.

“I can handle rude customers, up to some point. But then one night, he comes in and asks me to put on ‘the mannequin challenge song’ as if I’m some DJ, which I’m not. But he’s the customer, and there’s the boss’s motto, make the customer happy, so I do it. Takes some effort, but it works. I keep on my fake smile, keep my anger in check. Fine. But then he starts dragging the mannequins to and fro, stacking them up so he can ‘to the mannequin challenge but legit’ and then he tries to leave. And that’s when I snapped. I was not having it. Simply not at all.”

“And then what happened?” Jackson ventures. He’s a little fascinated and awed by the fury of JB’s rant. He’s pretty sure he heard a few actual real live growls, and JB’s chin seems to have elongated over the course of the rant as well.

“I’m not that good at controlling my anger. This happened,” and he kicks the dead body over, the shredded cheetah print pimp coat falling apart.

“Huh. Or maybe you’re just a gross necrophiliac. Why is the poor boy half naked?” Jackson questions.

“Because that is a horrendous coat. Would you ever wear something like that in public?”

“True.”

“Anyway,” Jaebum continues, “I only like to fuck warm bodies like yours.”

Jackson opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly he can’t get out a single word and they’re pressed up against each other, making out with a passion that Jackson has never experienced before. He’s almost sure they’ll end up doing the do in the woods, when there’s a loud crunch as Jackson stumbles across Mark’s hand.

“Oh.” He’d forgotten about the dead bodies part. “You know what. I’m way too high for this. We’ll just promise each other that we’ll keep this a secret between the two of us, and go our own ways. Thanks for the invitation to MInT, but I’ll pass.” Jackson turns to go, and then collapses where he stands.

—

“I’m sorry,” says Jaebum, standing over Jackson’s prone body. “The only way to keep a secret is if nobody knows it happened.”

Jaebum decides he’s not really that sorry. Jinyoung’s birthday is coming up, and he’ll need more than just Bambam’s thin body if he wants to harvest enough human skin to print a single edition book for Jinyoung. It really doesn’t help that Jinyoung tends not to go for the shorter books, either.

#got7 #jackbum #character:jackson #character:jb #author:chewy #genre: crack

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7fics · 7 years

Note

prompt: "even strangers can smile at me but why can't you" (to be honest with you guys my friend actually said this and i was like what a prompt)

Warnings: Honestly none except that it might be a bit hard to follow logically? Also open endings and non-plot!plot but I hope it doesn’t confuse anyone?Author: SallyWord Count: 2.6KA/N: First prompt here! It’s probably way off from what you expected, I didn’t even expect it to write out like this….I’m so sorry omg… But hopefully you like it??? I hope I didn’t ruin the prompt QAQ | Unbeta-ed

It’s half past three when Jaebum stumbles into the classroom, wooden door sliding open noisily. The white bordered clock hangs above the blackboard, second hand ticking amongst the silence. He doesn’t expect anyone, stopping midstep when a figure enters his vision. The setting sun showers the room a golden hue, basking the two of them in a field of light. For a moment he doesn’t make out who it is, sunlight blinding him as he attempts to step into the shadows. It’s only a short while before his eyes adjust, and Jaebum finally registers who was in front of him. He debates upon what exactly to say, a hand reaching to tug at the ends of his hair. “I forgot something in my desk.” He gestures towards the back, making his way to his desk.

The younger male only nods before returning his attention to the mop in his hands. “You’re in charge of classroom duty this week?” Jaebum asks the obvious as he rummages through his desk. The younger male nods again in response, letting out a small affirmative hum when he realizes that Jaebum isn’t able to see his actions. There’s no more attempts at conversation as Jaebum finally finds what he needs, stuffing the papers into his backpack. He gives the brunette haired male a curt look before stumbling out the classroom in the same manner just a few minutes ago. The wooden door shuts with a small thud, coinciding with the small ‘tick’ of the classroom clock. Jinyoung looks up at the closed door then down at the grey footprints upon the tiled floors. The corners of his lips tug downwards in the slightest way, brows knitting together as he frowns.

It’s three thirty-six as Jaebum walks down the empty corridor, footsteps rebounding off the cement walls. It’s three thirty-six as Jinyoung takes a short inhale, mopping away the traces Jaebum had left behind.

There’s something about their brief encounter that strikes Jaebum as memorable—although he isn’t sure whether it is the way the sunlight seemed to wrap around the younger male in a glow. Or whether it was the way that even amidst the warmth of the sunlight, the other’s gaze had still seemed so tepid—so stagnant. Or maybe it was because it had been one of the few times that it was just the two of them in a solitary space. He tries to recall the years before, tries to remember whether the other male had always been so collected.

It’s late night neuroticism—moonlight diffused by the sheer curtains and his rationality diffused by emotions he can’t quite place his finger on. Jaebum doesn’t deem himself to be someone that really paid attention to those around him. It hasn’t been once or twice that others have commented on his indifference to the constant change external to his microcosm. He’s almost always lived with a motto of letting things go as they be, choosing to approach from the world-in and not the other way around. Yet, an unsettling feeling finds its way under his skin as he wonders why he’s so insistent on placing a conclusive label on someone who should only be a bypasser in his teenage years.

There really isn’t anything unique nor worth remembering about today’s interaction. Nor any of their past conversations that only went a few sentences beyond greetings and courteous small talk. So why? What about it—about him—leaves him so unsettled? What is it about the doe eyed youth that seems to suffocate Jaebum with unspoken words every time? Where he’s always left not knowing what to say, yet wanting to say something—anything at all. Jaebum doesn’t quite know; nor does he know why he wants to know. The white curtains flutter slightly as night wind travels through the window, in a way that reminds Jaebum of both butterflies as well as fire. “I must be going insane,” he mutters. It’s late night neuroticism—stars lost in the night sky; thoughts lost within his mind.

Jaebum concludes his own ponderings mid-sentence, closing the unfinished file and tossing it to the back of his head. This isn’t a subject he should be lingering upon and he knows well enough that such a question would never have a logical answer. He’s navigating on emotions and intuitions—trying to find factual evidence to justify his own impressions. For what? He wonders.

For nothing, he determines.

And he continues on just as the day before—pretending the tangential nine hours of aberrant contemplation seemingly nonexistent. There’s more than enough to worry about in his third year of high school; whether it be about future paths or the fleetingness of his teen aged years. Life should be about himself—his stars shifting into introspection. Jaebum shakes his head, clearing his thoughts before looking up at the blackboard. He gives his pen a spin, rerouting his mind and jotting down the notes on the board.

He ponders upon the extent that such postulates and theorems are actually applicable to his everyday life. Looking at the numbers and formulas scribbled messily on the sheet in front of him, Jaebum gives a small sigh. There’s a fixation with logic and probability—with stability—that fuels the human soul. They’re always attempting to calculate each and every thing in prevention of disaster (of chaos); yet, when has the human heart ever succumbed to natural laws?

“Don’t think about this,” he tells himself.

“Focus,” he tells himself.

“Stop,” he tells himself.

It doesn’t.

Jinyoung sits four seats besides him, one row back. And it isn’t until Jaebum slightly turns his head to the left that he’s able to catch a glimpse of the brown eyed male in his peripheral vision. There’s always beauty in fleetingness, the uncertain—the hidden. And so he watches through unfocused lenses as the wind flows through the opened window slightly displace the other’s fringe. The other boy remains undisturbed, eyes focused on his notes.

Brief moments, Jaebum thinks, it’s brief moments like such that seem to burn into his memories. There’s a mesmerizing pull that the other boy seems to exude, something that seemingly conjures from nowhere and yet overwhelms him nonetheless. The thought of Jinyoung seems to be like that of a loose thread. It isn’t until you finally notice its presence that it seems so evident, and when he tugs at the strand he finds it all unravels at once without end. He puts down his pen, resting his head on his arm instead. His hair falls softly with his motion, interrupting his line of vision with a curtain of noir. There’s a surge of rightfulness that overcomes him, seeps under his veins and travels to his heart. Maybe it’s courage, maybe he’s delirious—who knows? But when Jinyoung finally looks up to meet his eye, Jaebum doesn’t turn away. The brunette male is first to break their gaze, eyes shifting to the side as he looks on.

Why? Jaebum wonders as he finally closes his eyes, vision blearing into black. The wind billows softly, fallen leaves traveling midair as the world continues. Jaebum feels as if they’re all falling within the quicksand of time.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, raindrops hitting the glass panes of the windows in arrhythmic ways. The smell of petrichor floats lightly in the air, settling down upon their shoulders. Jaebum feels as though the air sits above his chest, where he’s overly conscious of the energy it takes to simply inhale—exhale. And something in his mind clicks into place; epiphany reaching him in the strangest moments.

“He never smiles at me.” He realizes with a mutter.

“What are you talking about?” Mark throws him a sideways glance, messily finishing the self study assignment.

“I never make him smile.” Jaebum whispers.

“Who?” Mark finally looks up from his work, cocking his head to the side.

“Jinyoung.” He states obviously.

“What?”

“I—nevermind,” he stops mid-sentence, closing his mouth when he catches their teacher’s glance. The rain continues in the background, static noise filling the quiet classroom. And his thoughts continue as well, watered by the rain as it settles in his mind and starts to bud.

There’s something particularly “human” in the way that thoughts and emotions often run off course. And no matter how much Jaebum tells himself to focus, he finds that an appeal to logic fails miserably to that to one’s emotions. The fatal flaw of humankind, he thinks. The beauty of humankind, he reckons.

Was he seeking recognition? Approval? Why did it bother him so how the other would perceive him? Hadn’t he always been indifferent to other’s voices? Why was it that with every confrontation he’s always calculating everything to say yet leaving with it all unsaid? What was it that Jinyoung signified? Jaebum isn’t sure; neither is he sure whether or not there was any substantial meaning behind his actions and thoughts.

Was this youth? The momentaneous burst of desire and motivation with no particular meaning? Or perhaps it will only start to make sense when the lines have settled into his expression and the noir of his hair fades to speckled grey. But whether youth meant reckless actions or regrets in afterthought still remains a puzzle unsolved.

What’s there to lose? He contemplates.

What’s the point? He sighs.

The world seems to open up upside down—or maybe it’s simply because Jaebum realizes that right-side up has always been upside down. The sudden epiphany becomes all too clear, unable to erase itself from the centre of his mind. As if frost has slowly formed on the lenses, iced haze blurring his vision except for one spot in the very centre. So that when he looks up, the only image that enters his vision is Jinyoung.

It gnaws slowly at the back of his mind, at the speed akin to collecting water from a leaky faucet. Slow but rhythmic and accumulative, similar to the water clocks of the ancient past. But also similar to the water torture of ages long ago. He finds both analogies suitable; it’s time slowly passing, it’s torment that slowly drives him insane.

“Are we friends?” Jaebum finally asks after repeating such a phrase within his mind countless times. He’s moving past boundaries, trying to turn something lukewarm into vapours.

“Aren’t we?” Jinyoung repeats, slightly taken back from his words. There’s a flash of astonishment that glazes over the other’s eyes, dissolving within his irises.

“I mean…,” Jaebum starts, “we’re…friends?” He watches as the younger male nods slowly in agreement. “And?” Jinyoung inquires.

And?

Had there been a second part to his question? There was, but what had it been? Jaebum doesn’t quite remember and neither is he quite sure what he wanted to inquire about.

“And?” He repeats, thoughts covered within a veil of haze. Jaebum observes as Jinyoung’s expression turns from one of confusion to one of slight dismay. The glimmer in the other’s eyes fades dully, brows knitting together. It’s that look again, he thinks.

“You never smile at me.”

“Huh?”

“Even strangers can smile at me, why can’t you?” He’s pondering aloud, mind lost within reality and daydreams. “But we’re not strangers,” he reassures himself. The room around him spins in ways that seem hallucinatory, as if time was both frozen and fastwording at the same time. Jaebum wonders if this was only another dream, so that when he does wake up in the end, he’ll be able to forget everything by the time the day ends. (So that Dream-Jinyoung can also forget all that he says.)

He closes his eyes tightly before reopening them, in an effort to focus his thoughts. The room stops spinning this time, though the feeling of instability still stays within him.

Jinyoung still has the same expression when Jaebum recollects his thoughts. Though this time he isn’t sure whether it’s an expression of confusion or one of disapproval. A part of his consciousness wonders if Jinyoung’s figure would dissolve into ripples when he reaches out.

“I’m catching the moon in the pond,” he says aloud. It’s half trepidation and also half anticipation that overwhelms him as he shifts between states of hyposensitivity and hypersensitivity. A if all his senses were registering reality and the imagined all at once.

“You’re not making sense,” Jinyoung tells him.

“I’ve never seen you smile because of me,” he comments in disregard.

Jaebum can’t tell whether the constant drumming he hears is from the rain upon the windows, the second hand of the clock, or whether it’s his own heartbeat. Maybe it’s all of it at once, each running off in its own tempo—a cacophonious song that reminds him of battle hymns. He looks up intently at the male in front of him, leaning slightly forward—

“If I smile at you, would you smile at me?” He wants to ask.

“Are you dream-Jinyoung or reality-Jinyoung?” He wants to ask.

“I’m not making sense,” he says in the end.

“I know.”

“You don’t make sense,” he stammers. “To me—you don’t make sense to me.”

“There’s an aura you hold,” he says. “Something that makes you seem like the moon in the city sky.” Jaebum searches for the right words, phrases only coming to him in fragmented pieces. “Distant but bright. Solitary.”

Jinyoung doesn’t give him an answer, setting his book down on his desk and looking up at him instead.

“I’m catching the moon in the pond. One more step and I’ll fall within the waters, look up and find that I’ve caught nothing at all.” Jaebum sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not making any sense to myself either.” He mutters with an attempt at a casual smile, though he feels it looks more like a grimace.

“There’s no moon to catch,” is what Jinyoung finally says when Jaebum finds his expression faltering. He catches the younger male’s gaze, looking within the obsidian irises of the other boy. “I’m not a question waiting to be solved, Jaebum.” Jinyoung continues with a small sigh that only further unsettles Jaebum’s thoughts. It’s in afterthought that he regrets never suppressing spontaneous momentum, wishing that he had never opened up this conversation at all.

It’s not that Jaebum doesn’t understand the foolishness of his thoughts—he does. In fact, Jaebum is more than well aware that such a foolishness stems from him not understanding his own thoughts. He knows that he’s asking Jinyoung for something—but what it was that he’s asking for, he can’t pinpoint yet.

“You’re the one in question,” Jinyoung tells him. “You’ve always been.” Such a reply fazes Jaebum, as he tries to register all the words left in between the lines. As if he’s had all the pieces of an unsolved puzzle all along; yet, never putting them in the rightful places. Something in his chest seems to lock into place, blurred lenses slowly clearing up.

And when he finally reaches out, Jaebum finds that all doesn’t fade into ripples. He watches slowly as his fingertips brush against other’s fringe, soft locks sweeping back with his actions.

“There’s no moon to catch,” Jaebum tells himself.

The rain continues to water the grounds below, as the seed of his thoughts finally begin to sprout underneath seemingly barren soil. Jaebum wonders vaguely if it’ll sooner or later bud into a touch-me-not; hiding within from the external world. Or whether it’d bud into roses armed with thorns. But as he looks into Jinyoung’s gaze, he figures that such ponderings can only be left up to the future.

Jaebum loses count of how long passes until he fully comprehends all that’s lost in days of youth and flowers. Though it’s after many spring and autumns until he realizes that the moon of the skies (nor the waters) was never meant to be caught. Yet, still existent whether or not he’s standing on dry land or not.

“You’re the one in question,” Jinyoung tells him.

“I’m the answer.” Jinyoung doesn’t say.

#got7 #jjproject #jj project #character:jb #character:jinyoung #author:sally #genre:romance

14 notes · View notes

7fics · 7 years

Note

omg omg omg baby!got7 with parents!jjproject

warnings: a tiny hit of sexual stuff but nothing super explicit (it’s ~in their past~), kind of angst–mention of a death (it’s none of them!!!)

author: joey

word count: 2.4k

a/n: hello it is joey……i feel like this prompt was supposed to be super cute and funny but i just made it really really emo i’m so SORRY !!!!!!!! my hort is soft for jjparents…..too soft….

Fatherhood did not come for him kicking and screaming as it had done for others, instead, it came with the sweet soft hush of his husband’s lullaby and the crisp finality of a pen to paper.

It came slowly, tediously, the impatient creeping of the low tide to a shoreline. Adoptions. At first the word had scorned him, turned him away from the idea of being a father in fear—could he love something, a child, that had not been borne from his own body? But he could, and he must; his love was a slim-hipped man with a pretty mouth and a sharp tongue seated at the bar. A man could, biologically, bear him no child.

How long do you think we have? he had said, a hand between his legs and sharp teeth at his throat.

Five minutes, maybe, the man would moan, four fingernails digging into the fleshy part of his wrist in pleasure.

Their sex was wild, aggressive yet yielding like a blunt-edged knife. A hurricane of activity at all times, Jaebum’s bed the aftermath in the eye of the storm named Park Jinyoung. Hands were desperate and clawing, pulling and pushing, gripping and siding and pleasuring until Jaebum’s body felt like a sack of bruised apples. But then Jinyoung would caress him, a cold wind brushed across his face despite the heat of a desert between them.

Do you want me? Jinyoung had asked, some weeks after their first encounter, some days after he’d been spending the night more and more, some hours after Jaebum had found his toothbrush by the sink and smiled.

Of course I want you. I have, since that night in the bar.

Jinyoung had reached up to touch his face. How long has it been?

Five months.

The younger man on his bed smiled. The fingers on his face trailed under his chin to tip it up and give Jinyoung access to the length of his throat.

Is that enough?

Jaebum’s reply was breathless with the feeling of Jinyoung’s lips against his neck. For what?

For me to say I love you.

Sometimes five is all it takes, Jaebum had murmured, heart thumping giddily in his chest like an overzealous drummer. I love you, too.

Time passed in the steady rise and fall of years. Twenty-two turned into twenty-three, to twenty-four, to twenty-five, six, seven. Twenty-seven and five years gone underneath the waves of time, their love and their memories preserved underneath the surface like specimens in glass cases. They had moved in together, changed jobs, tearfully hugged their families goodbye as they loaded up the car they bought together and drove it to the house they had bought when they married. Twenty-seven bleeds into twenty-nine bleeds into thirty when Jinyoung asked,

Hyung, have you thought about kids?

At some point, sure.

But not now?

He had shrugged, a hand deep in the silk strands of Jinyoung’s dark hair where they laid tangled on the bed like vines. Not really. We can’t have one, so I haven’t really considered it.

We can adopt, you know.

It had struck him, somewhere, deeply. Adopt? Someone else’s kid?

His husband had leaned up on an elbow. They’d still be ours, Jaebum, I just didn’t give birth to them.

He remembered the way his father used to slap him on the back and roar about the way his bloodline would be carried on through Jaebum, his only child, and make it thicker still. He had been more into girls then, only just discovering that he liked boys, too, and so it had seemed possible. But then he’d met Jinyoung at the bar and the younger had plunged a stealthy hand into his chest and stolen his heart like a petty thief. The backs of Jaebum’s eyelids were stained with the blood that runs through his fingers and is swallowed up by the ground; a bloodline ended by his fingertips.

Jinyoung’s dark eyes searched his face. Why do you look so scared?

I don’t know, he had said, and lied.

Jaebum—

It’s just—my father had been expecting me to marry a girl. To give him a grandson, or a granddaughter.

Jinyoung smiled that smile that crinkled up Jaebum’s heart the same way it did the corner of his eyes. You still can.

But would they really be mine?

The smile dropped. Jaebum, of course. You just didn’t make them.

He said nothing. This was his fear, laid out in the space between words so that he wouldn’t have to speak it.

Jinyoung, ever clever, softened. Is that what you’re afraid of? That they won’t feel like yours?

He nodded even as Jinyoung buried his face in the warm juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Family is what you make it, Jaebummie. And we can make a family, if you want it.

Days later, and Jinyoung was sitting at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle with his downy baby bird’s hair and dark glasses slipping down the pretty slope of his nose. Jaebum leaned against the counter and watched him around the rim of his coffee cup. He imagined the way Jinyoung would look down as a small boy tugged on the hem of his shirt and begged to get in his lap to help him with the puzzle. He imagined the way Jinyoung would smile that crinkle cut smile up to his glittering eyes and lift a little boy into his lap and teach him how to play. A dry swallow in his throat, he looked down at his own slippered feet against the tile and imagined a sleep-mussed toddler leaning against his legs.

Jinyoungah.

Hmm?

How many do you want? he asked, but didn’t clarify.

Jinyoung didn’t turn around, only held up a hand that had a heavy silver band on one finger that reflected a slice of sunlight into the room. Fingers splayed with a number, he hadn’t lifted his pencil from the page.

Five, he’d said, because he knew.

Fatherhood didn’t come for him the way it had for others, with purpose and life. It had come to them both shrouded in car exhaust and death.

The winter before thirty-one, a knock came at their door that was hesitant and sounded like it held bad news. Jaebum had watched from the couch as Jinyoung opened the door quizzically, a polite Hello, officer, halfway from his lips before it was interrupted with a low murmur. Jaebum watched as his love collapsed to his knees with grief. He pulled Jinyoung up in the face of his older sister’s death and held him as steady as he could despite the shake that started up in both their bones as they digested the bad news.

Later, Jaebum held Jinyoung as tears rained from his eyes to pool in his palms, little lakes of agony that dripped down his wrists and stained like stubborn blood.

She has two sons, he said, voice as cold as the frost that crowded their bedroom window. I’m their godfather.

I know, Jaebum had said, and pulled him tighter to his chest, tried to put his hands anywhere it wouldn’t hurt but Jinyoung’s whole body was an open wound.

We shouldn’t have gotten kids this way.

It took barely any time at all for Youngjae to stop calling them uncle. He’d been barely four years old after the accident, with his baby brother Yugyeom barely passing one. For the first few months, hearing Uncle, uncle, where’s my mom? felt like a knife blade pressing against the spot on his chest over his heart, ready to sink in. Jinyoung had barely spoken, crying often and eating barely. But he doted on the both of the boys frenetically, almost obsessively, as though he was trying to make his sister proud; as if he was trying to preserve her memory by falling asleep with both boys in his arms after reading them their favorite story.

But the time went on and Youngjae seemed to grasp more and more that the mother that he’d known was gone and that his uncles were now his parents. With that strange intelligence of a child, it didn’t take him long before he stopped questioning it; he had, in whatever way a child that young does, accepted it quietly. It was a few months later when Youngjae had run up to Jinyoung standing in the kitchen, pale faced and haunted, grabbing him by the legs and burying his sweet face into the back of his knees.

I love you, Daddy, he’d said, for the first time.

Jaebum had never seen him smile so wide.

Despite.

Fatherhood hadn’t come to him the way it had come to others; it had come with the sound of nervous footsteps on the floorboards of a boy’s home.

Jinyoung had lead the way. They’d searched the rooms, Jaebum’s sweating had in Jinyoung’s, as they greeted each of the boys who lived there and talked for a while. Jinyoung had been serious when he meant five boys: Jinyoung had told him plenty of times that they wouldn’t stop until they were seven.

Why seven? He’d asked one night, watching Jinyoung sway back and forth on his feet to quiet music, his third glass of wine in one hand.

Jinyoung had closed his eyes, drink sloshing, mouth curved in a smile.

It just feels right, doesn’t it?

At the time, Jaebum hadn’t really had an answer for him. He never really put much stock in things like that, in destiny or numbers or stars aligning. To him, everything just happened, regardless of the circumstances, and it was just the way of the world to accept that. There was no divine intervention, no gods or devils who influenced the way a path would go. Jinyoung wanted five children, to make them, what, lucky number seven? He could only guess. To him, though, he’d just fallen in love with a man who believed.

They’d lost sight of Youngjae on the second floor of the house; six now, he was quick on his feet and Yugyeom wasn’t much slower. Youngjae rounded the corner with a shout, not really aware of why there were so many boys around their age gathered in a single house, just that there were, and that meant playing. Yugyeom had stopped, though, looking back at his parents asking with his big brown eyes if it was okay before running off after his brother.

Go, Jinyoung had said softly, as though the house was filled with roosting birds and he was afraid to disturb them. Go.

He went, teetering after his brother, into some other room where he’s sure there were boys playing with trucks or blocks or army men on the floor.

So? Jaebum had asked, slipping his hand back into Jinyoung’s after wiping nervously on the thigh of his jeans. What do you think?

They’re all so wonderful. They all need homes.

But?

Jinyoung sagged, shoulders titled with strange guilt. But, sometimes you just know.

And you don’t know yet?

He shook his head, offering up little else. Jaebum hadn’t pushed him.

They’d gone in the directions of their other sons, listening carefully but suddenly assaulted with the loud screech of Yugyeom’s laugh from a bedroom down at the end of the hallway. They’d shared a look of amusement, wondering what hell their three year old could have made already, and walked with quiet steps on the hardwood toward the open door of the last room on the left.

They arrived at the same time, shoulder to shoulder in the the doorway. He’d heard Jinyoung’s sharp intake of breath, and then the exhale of Oh, Jaebum…

On a pile of blankets on the floor were five boys, piled restlessly over one another like clumsy puppies. Hair was pulled and feet dug into backs but all of them were laughing, rolling over and pushing gently and falling on top of each other again. Five different laughs, including the two he knew well, blending together into this sound, this mix of joy or elation or just pure, unadulterated happiness. Something clicked, something deep, that told him this is what a family feels like. He didn’t understand it, then, but Jinyoung did. He believed in fate, or planets aligning, and he had silently and altruistically understood in that moment that this is it.

Two of the boys looked older, maybe seven and eight, while the other was small and loud like Yugyeom. Giggles and squeals as the five of them tussled and tumbled rose up in the air, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up as his husband blindly gripped at his forearm.

Jaebum, Jinyoung had said breathlessly, and they’d looked at each other.

Do you know now? He’d asked, and he’d never seen the sun shine so brightly as it did in Jinyoung’s eyes when their sons had, by some miracle, found their own brothers. He asked, but he himself already knew the answer.

Do you?

Jaebum had never believed in lucky numbers. But when he looked away from his husband for just a moment, back at the writhing pile of happy boys, he couldn’t imagine it being anything other than this.

He looked back. Jinyoung watched him impatiently, but quietly. In the background of their staring contest, Youngjae screamed out the name of the three boys they’d found; or the boys had found them. Mark hyung! Jackson hyung! Bambamah!

Life had been strange, if a little unfair. They’d met wrapped in the cloying nicotine smoke of a bar, and made a home between the nights they spent together. They talked about kids, getting married, buying a house, getting a dog. Jinyoung’s sister had been taken from them, two little boys given right to them in the most awful way but Jinyoung had expressed in the year that followed that fate had brought them here and he’d be damned if he ever let her down; he’d love those boys to his last breath. And then life lead them here, to five boys, sun shining in the window and like some kind of miracle Jaebum finally believed Jinyoung when he said that he’d just know.

Without thinking, he’d pulled Jinyoung in for a sweet, chaste kiss in the doorway. One of the boys noticed and suddenly an entire chorus of ewwwwwws! with Youngjae’s interjected Dad, come on!

Jinyoung pulled away, laughing and red, but let Jaebum hold on to the back of his neck.

Yes, he’d said, and for once in his life, believed in destiny. Believed in a lucky number.

I know.

#got7 #jjproject #jj project #character:jinyoung #character:jb #author:joey #genre:au

92 notes · View notes

7fics · 6 years

Note

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

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.

#got7 #2jae #character:jb #character:youngjae #genre: fluff #author:chewy

62 notes · View notes

7fics · 8 years

Note

Markbum please! Jaebum's a serial killer, and Mark's either a criminal profiler or a special agent. These two are actually in love, so Mark's just putting up a front that he's really into his job. In the end, they both escape? Haha, I don't know. Markbum fics are super duper rare despite them having quite a few moments with each other. The world needs more Markbum.

Warnings: slight gore, sexual content.

Word count: 6K

Author: Pi

A/N: Hi guys, sorry for being MIA all of a sudden, but I’m temporarily back to finish off my claimed prompts. Once those are filled I'lll be leaving 7Fics, but I’ll still be writing on AFF :) Thanks for your support and patience. xo

Admin Note: As Pi no longer has a tumblr, the admins will be helping Pi post her remaining fills. As of current, she can be contacted through her AFF profile only, which is linked in the author’s name. The writers at 7fics wish her all the best \o/

Jaebum slowly drinks his coffee. On the small television in the corner of the dingy diner they show the breaking news. The Daejeon Slasher has struck again. Thirty-seven knife wounds, all of them severe. A rage kill. The Slasher’s signature.

Such a crude name. Jaebum shakes his head in disapproval.

For the first time, there’s an eyewitness, the reporter announces in that creepy over-enunciated voice that’s supposed to show excitement. A male about six feet tall. Black or brown hair. He was seen leaving the rest stop the same day investigators say the body was dropped just a few hundred yards from it in the woods. The killer is getting sloppy.

Jaebum drops a few bills on the counter. It’s time to retire that particular persona. Let the FBI, now all hopeful over an escalating kill pattern, get excited and chase their tails, while Jaebum drives off into the sunset. He hasn’t been out west in a while.

With a small nod towards the waitress, Jaebum leaves. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees her hopeful smile, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. It’s not the smile he wants.

Outside, he gets into his dark blue sedan. While a truck is more practical, he only uses them when he really needs them. Sedans are much more inconspicuous.

His three duffel bags are in the trunk. He only packs clothes and a few books, household tools. He’s not stupid. He’s not going to get into a road control with rope and knives in his trunk. The one knife he always carries is safely hidden behind a loose panel. His laptop bag is resting on the passenger seat.

He puts on his seatbelt and starts the car. The Spice Girls are telling him what they want, what they really, really want.

Jaebum smiles and starts driving.

“The key to evading law enforcement,” Jaebum tells Jimin, excitement buzzing along under his skin and making him talkative, “is being unpredictable. Having no pattern.”Jimin’s eyes are wide and terrified. He tries to talk, but it’s muffled by the duct tape.“The tape, for example,” Jaebum continues, while he sharpens the katana, “that’s new. The last few times I used scarves or ties. Before that, I just cut the tongues out at the beginning. But that’s not as effective; people still make a surprising amount of noise after that. The important thing is, though, to be different.”Jaebum bought the katana six years ago at a yard sale in upstate Incheon. It looks a lot like the one Mark’s dad had owned. He thinks enough time has passed to use it safely now. Besides, he’s in Daegu. It’s a big enough city to actually stay in this time. No need to get the FBI involved in all of his kills.“But,” he continues his lecture, “if you’re different every time, people get suspicious. Especially if the M.O. is too different. You know what that means, Jimin? Watch enough CSI?”Jimin nods frantically. Sweat is running down his face. Jaebum’s not sure if it’s from the heat or because he’s scared. There’s no doubt though about the origin of the stain at the seat of his pants. Good thing Jaebum isn’t bothered by smells.The katana is reasonably sharp now.“The trick is to give them a killer,” Jaebum says absently while he watches the sun reflect on the blade. “Let them interpret the kills, build up a persona. Give him a name. The Daejeon Slasher. The Cemetery Killer. The Hangman. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it’s catchy enough for the press.”Carefully, Jaebum puts the katana on the ground, then he starts packing his tools into his duffel.“Kill a few people. Establish a pattern. An M.O. Then, you escalate it. Show them a progression. Then, you disappear. Maybe you died. Maybe you went to jail for another crime. Maybe you just moved. But do they make the connection when a new kill happens, with a different M.O.? Well, they might look into it.”They do. Occasionally the FBI shows up in town when he picks a new method.“But if you stick to your new methods, do they really think a serial killer has a makeover?” Jaebum shakes his head. “No, they don’t.” He sits down in front of Jimin. “That’s the secret.”Jimin still looks terrified. Jaebum sighs. Just once, he’d like to share his genius with someone and see it recognized. He pushes the thought of big brown eyes away. They’ll never see what he’s doing now and he can’t imagine how they’d react. Sometimes, when he dreams, they shine with excitement. They watch his deeds, see his skill and they are full of love and admiration. They approve of his offerings. He’s been killing for almost ten years now, averaging ten people a year. He’s one of the most prolific killers ever, certainly the most prolific he knows of, and he’s never been caught. They never even came close.It helps that to him, it doesn’t matter how he kills. There’s no ritual he has to follow, no tool he has to use. For him, all that matters is the killing itself and the emotion he feels when he does. The memories which are so much clearer, so much more potent when he kills.If they ever were to find him, he wonders if they’ll call him the Chameleon.He shakes himself out of his thoughts.“Anyway, time’s up.”In front of him, Jimin starts to struggle against his bonds. Jaebum tied him up with his arms over his head, rope fastened to a big hook hanging from the abandoned factory’s ceiling. Jimin’s stretched, but he can still stand. Jaebum had no intention of dislocating his shoulders, he’s not a sadist and neither is the killer he’s going for here.“This is actually a first for me,” Jaebum explains and picks up the sword, “so we’ll see how it goes.”Jimin is screaming behind the tape, and if he continues to struggle like that, he will dislocate his shoulders. Jaebum steps in front of him, katana raised.He took off Jimin’s shirt when he tied him up, so he can see now where he needs to cut. Jimin’s muffled cries get louder and Jaebum swings the sword.He’s used to the resistance of human flesh and the katana is sharp. It goes in smoothly until it hits the vertebra. Jaebum expected that. He pulls the sword out again.Jimin’s cries, impossibly shill for one second, have tapered off to heaving sobs. Tears are running down his cheeks and his eyes are filled with a terrified hopelessness. The familiar rush of the kill, which has been buzzing in Jaebum the whole time he was with Jimin, crescendos. It sets his body on fire, fills his veins, makes his head light.He strikes again. Again and again, until finally, the spine is severed, and the katana smoothly cuts through the skin, flesh and intestines, and Jimin’s severed lower body thumps to the ground, his upper body still hanging from the ceiling, head now drooping low onto his chest. Blood continues to spill onto the floor, growing into a dark red pool. It washes around Jaebum’s feet.He’s achingly hard in his pants, so he gets on his knees, and pulls down the zipper. Taking off his gloves, he grips his dick. It doesn’t take long for him to come into the glove, nose filled with the smell of blood and death, looking at Jimin’s dead body and seeing a dimpled sunshine smile.“I wish he was dead,” Mark says, eyes too serious and too angry for a twelve-year old.“Would that make you happy?” Jaebum asks doubtfully. He never knew his own father, and he’s always been told he’d be happier if he had.With a determined expression, Mark nods. “Yes, yes it would.”“You have to really imagine it,” Jaebum says. “That’s what my grandma used to say when I told her what I wanted. You have to really imagine it, picture it, in detail.”Mark closes his eyes, nose scrunched up adorably in concentration. Then a slow, beatific smile spreads over his face.“It would make me very happy.”Mark’s father is the first man Jaebum kills.-For clean-up, Jaebum decides on amateur sloppy. He burns the body on a regular fire, not hot enough to hide what he’s done or who the victim is. He even leaves the rope.The multiple tries with the katana will reveal an inexperience with a sword, so it seems like a good idea to establish a new killer. He’ll have to lay low for a while before he can strike again, a low burn maybe, he hasn’t done that in a while. A kill roughly every three or four months, waiting for about half a year before he escalates. Or maybe disappear before.He’ll see how it goes, how long the sword fascinates him. When he drives away from the decaying building in a stolen truck, he wonders if the press will call him the Samurai. From the speakers of the truck, the Backstreet Boys are telling him to quit playing games with their hearts.Jaebum remembers a lanky boy giving him an embarrassed smile. “These are the only CDs in the house,” he’d said, when Jaebum caught him dancing to boy band music.So Jaebum had turned up the music, sang along to the newest hit and they’d whipped their heads to the beat, exaggeratedly singing along to the lines they knew while they shared the loot from Mark’s kitchen, Jaebum’s grandma’s pantry and what had fit into Jaebum’s pockets at the grocery store when no one was looking. They were having a feast while Take That told them to never forget.-Daegu doesn’t work out. He doesn’t get enough work, he doesn’t like his apartment and the neighbor’s baby cries all the time. Even singing N*Sync’s Bye Bye Bye at the local karaoke and remembering how Mark’s hair used to fly when he jumped up and down doesn’t help with that level of stress. Jaebum throws out all his plans and kills four people in as many weeks.The press doesn’t call him the Samurai because the local Medical Examiner takes too long to figure out the sword Jaebum used is a katana and by that time the term the Magician already sticks. It’s one of the worst monikers Jaebum ever got. With the level of sloppiness he leaves behind, there’s nothing magical or mysterious about it. But apparently cutting people in half is a magician’s thing. Jaebum thinks himself into a rage and in the end, he goes and kills the reporter who first came up with it.He burns the guy’s body in his apartment and doesn’t stick around to see the flames consume the whole building. He’s in his trusty sedan already, driving north.He picks up a hitchhiker, a rosy cheeked girl, not a day over eighteen, clearly running away from home and trusting the nice-looking guy in his nice looking car. Jaebum knocks her out and then drives off the highway, following a dirt road. He waits until it’s dark, and then he lays her out under the stars. He tapes her mouth shut, undresses her and gets out his favorite knife he only uses on special occasions.It’s a regular kitchen knife with a black handle, a long, straight blade for cutting meat. Slowly, almost tenderly, he drives it into the girl’s body, watches the blood well up on her porcelain skin. She’s got moles and Jaebum caresses them all with his knife. He keeps cutting her after she’s already dead, just pushing the blade into her flesh again and again, letting the motion calm him down. He doesn’t count the cuts.He leaves the girl like that. Scavengers will find her before people do.He’s cut between her legs too, so she’ll be another sad runaway, found, raped and then killed by a faceless predator.That night, Jaebum stays in an almost-clean motel room. In bed, he buries his face in the pillow and slowly moves his hips, rubbing his dick into the mattress. He relives the whole time he spent with the girl, cuts blurring into each other, dark blood on porcelain skin, dancing over the moles and he comes thinking of another set of moles, gracing skin much more flawless than hers.-He sets up shop in Pohang. In the less populous cities, he tries to focus more on people who won’t be missed. Homeless people, prostitutes, travelers, criminals.He hides all his kills, buries them deep in the forests. It works for seven months, then a hiker’s dog digs up one of his victims. Unfortunately for Jaebum, the boy he’d caught on his hiking trip had rich parents who are important enough to put pressure on the law enforcement. The FBI comes to town and when the medical examiner announces that this was the work of a pro with a knife, they bring in the cadaver dogs. They find three more of his victims. The fourth body they find is not one of his, but at this point, it doesn’t matter.The press dubs him the Pohang Punisher. Not very original, but the alliteration is catchy.Jaebum lays low. Even though he already scouted his next kill, it’s too risky. He knows how to be smart. He can’t kill while the FBI is in town and leaving just when they arrived would make him suspicious. He’s been around for over half a year, people will remember him. Old Maangchi down in the cafe even knows his breakfast order.For a few weeks nothing happens. Then Jaebum sees two FBI agents in the diner. One of them is older and balding, Jaebum doesn’t spare him more than a rudimentary gaze to catalogue his face.The other one though… He’s lean and tall, but that’s not what catches Jaebum’s eyes. He’s standing with his back to Jaebum and the sun is filtering in through the windows, lighting up his shiny, brown hair.The desire to run his fingers through that hair hits Jaebum impetuously and he’s still wondering why he’s so affected when the agent turns his head.He looks so different, is Jaebum’s first, and very stupid thought. Then again, he always was a bit slower around Mark, too much of his brain busy with cataloguing the beauty of his features and the sound of his laugh.He looks good, is Jaebum’s second thought. It’s still stupid, because Mark was gorgeous as a boy, with all the promises to grow up into a beautiful man. Still. Jaebum thinks he shouldn’t be too hard on himself, after all, he hasn’t seen Mark in over ten years. Eleven, next summer, but who’s counting.Jaebum stands there, frozen in the entryway of the cafe, and waits for Mark to recognize him, acknowledge him, do something. But Mark just looks at him, then turns around again.Jaebum keeps standing, keeps waiting, for Mark to turn back. He doesn’t. He keeps talking to a man, Youngjae or Yongji or something, the guy who runs the gas stop out of town. Like he’s moving through cotton wool, Jaebum slowly walks to his regular table, hearing everything on mute.Mark doesn’t know him anymore. Or doesn’t want to know him. Jaebum means nothing to him. Jaebum left and this is his punishment.Maangchi comes over and pours him a cup. Usually Jaebum looks up at her and gives her his nice-boy-next-door smile and then Maangchi will tell him about her nieces who live in Anyang and how Jaebum needs to come by when they’re around.Today, Jaebum doesn’t look up. He still stares unseeingly out of the window. Mark doesn’t know him anymore. It hurt when he left, but this is worse. It’s unexpected. A moment of hope, the possibility of something… again, then taken away. Jaebum thinks that for the first time in his life, he’s actually in shock.“You alright, dear?” Maangchi asks. “You look like you seen a ghost.”“A ghost,” Jaebum repeats. Maybe that’s all he is to Mark. The ghostly memory of a teenage boy who shared his sandwiches with him when his mom couldn’t make him any because her arm was broken again.Mark’s voice permeates the fog in Jaebum’s mind then when he moves through the diner, saying goodbye to the gas station owner. Helplessly, Jaebum’s eyes follow him until he has to turn his head.“Ah,” Maangchi says, sounding enlightened and deeply satisfied at the same time. “Strapping young man, that FBI agent.” Then she leans down to Jaebum under the pretense of straightening out the tablecloth. “You could’ve told me, you know. I might be old, but I think love’s a beautiful thing, no matter which way it goes.”Jaebum looks up at her, confused. Maangchi just shakes her head. “No wonder you never wanted to meet my nieces. Tell you what though. That nice agent over there, Mark-something was his name, he’s coming back here tomorrow. Two o’clock.” She smiles at him.Jaebum knows he needs to say something, but he has no idea what. He realizes Maangchi just figured out he’s gay, but he has no idea why she’s talking about Mark. She couldn’t know about their past.“I don’t understand,” Jaebum forces himself to say.Maangchi laughs, deep and throaty. “Jia, the pretty redhead in the corner, she noticed that nice agent too.”An almost forgotten red rage surges through Jaebum. Jia might have to meet Jaebum’s favorite knife, FBI or no FBI.“Now, I haven’t seen many men that weren’t interested in her and none that didn’t have a ring on their finger. And that agent… Well, he looked at you when I came over here.” Maangchi winks at him and turns around, waddling back to the counter.Mark didn’t look at Jia, he looked at Jaebum. But then why didn’t he say something?Did Mark figure out that Jaebum was the one who killed his father? He’s an FBI agent now, hunting murderers. Does he do that because of his father’s death?Jaebum plays out the different scenarios, imagines different reasons. In the end, he can’t know, but now he knows he’s here, he can’t not see Mark again.He’s never sought him out, never looked him up. The memories of him, that sweet faced boy with the gleam in his eyes, they’re special. Precious. They’re what he sees in that ecstatic moment of the kill. Mark, happy. It was the first thing Jaebum ever wanted besides killing someone. It was what gave him the courage to actually kill someone. Mark’s happiness, it set him free and he’s treasured it ever since.Now that he’s seen Mark again, looked into his eyes, now he can’t let go. He needs to see Mark again. Needs to see him smile. Needs to know if it’s as powerful now, as it was then.-“Figured you’d be early,” a quiet voice says.Startled, Jaebum looks up from his coffee. It’s noon and here Mark is, two hours early, standing next to Jaebum’s table. Jaebum’s heart starts beating a staccato rhythm in his chest.“Mind if I sit?” Mark asks in his regular voice. “We’re asking everybody a few questions.”If it wasn’t for the opening sentence Jaebum would be sure Mark doesn’t know who he is. As it is, Jaebum leans back, trying to appear much calmer than he feels and gestures to the bench in front of him. “Sure thing, agent.”The hint of a pleased smile flashes across Mark’s face and with startling clarity, Jaebum realizes, Mark knows. Knows him, knows his secret, knows what he’s doing here now. _“My dad’s dead,” Mark says, gangly legs swinging from the wall. “I heard,” Jaebum says. “Sorry.”Mark looks at him, searching him with his eyes. “Why? You know I hated him.”Jaebum shrugs. “He was still your dad.”He’d known it was the right thing to do, known that Mark wanted it. But maybe he’d changed his mind. Jaebum remembers Suzy, his neighbor. She’d said she hated her aunt’s old stinking dog because he always slobbered all over her, but when Jaebum had killed him, she’d cried.Mark just raises his bony shoulders. “Just because he’s my dad doesn’t mean I have to love him. He was a bastard.”Jaebum nods relieved. He did good.“I wonder who did it,” Mark says, looking Jaebum dead in the eyes.For a moment Jaebum is sure, Mark knows. It’s there, in his eyes.Jaebum opens his mouth, but no words come out. If he admits it and Mark tells on him, he’s gonna go to jail. He wants to tell him, desperately wants to trust him, but when he’s finally ready, Mark starts talking again.“They say it was probably a robber. They don’t think they’re gonna catch him, I overheard the detective talking.”Is Mark giving him an out? Does he want to reassure him? Jaebum isn’t sure.“Do you need to know?” he finally asks.Mark gives him a small smile, the pleased one only Jaebum gets.“Nah,” he says. “I’m happy no matter what.”They never talk about it again. _“You’re a hard man to find,” Mark says, after Maangchi brought him a coffee, and winked at Jaebum before walking off.“You were looking?” Jaebum asks, calming heartbeat picking up again.Jaebum had left when he’d finished school, had to leave, really, too many bodies and the police getting suspicious. Mark had been fifteen, still in school, home alone with his ailing mother. Jaebum had to leave and he knew Mark wouldn’t come with him, couldn’t come with him really, so he’d never asked. Never said goodbye, either. He’d just left a letter on Mark’s nightstand.“I was always looking,” Mark says.That — Jaebum doesn’t know what to do with that. There had been something growing between them that last summer. Jaebum had lost his heart and his soul to Mark the moment he’d met the boy, but he never knew if Mark just saw more than the older brother figure in him. As Mark grew older, sometimes his looks lingered. They lingered on Jaebum’s mouth, on his eyes, on his hands when he was whittling away at a piece of wood. His hands lingered too. On Jaebum’s shoulders and his back, sometimes on his knee when they were sitting next to each other.Jaebum thought there was a maybe, a possibility, but Mark was so young, so full of sunshine smiles and happiness and Jaebum was already killing.“I didn’t think you would,” Jaebum says, voice scratchy. He clears his throat. “We were just neighbors for a few years.”For the first time, the air of confidence around Mark wavers. “I always thought we were friends.”“Yeah, we were,” Jaebum says hurriedly, because there’s a hint of sadness in Mark’s voice and there should never be sadness in Mark.For a while, they sit in silence, both of them looking at their coffee cups. Jaebum wonders what it means. Was Mark looking for Jaebum, his friend, or was he looking for Jaebum, the killer? Has he made the connections to Jaebum’s other kills? And now that Mark has found him, what will he do? Like so many times before, Mark is a puzzle. Beautiful, mysterious. Jaebum doesn’t know what’s going on and he desperately needs to know.When he looks up, Mark does too.“Did you have a thing for me? Back then?” Mark asks abruptly. “I thought… Sometimes it seemed like it.” He looks at Jaebum, resolved. “I had a thing for you.”“A thing,” Jaebum repeats, voice flat. “A thing.”He mulls it over, what it could mean. If it’s a casual admittance, building a bridge to way back when, gaining his trust. Or does it mean more? Is it a game, a ploy, or is it real? He badly wants it to be real. He hasn’t realized he was waiting for this until it’s right in front of him. Does “thing” refer to the same unnamable, too strong feeling that’s been eating away at Jaebum ever since he saw Mark smile for the first time?“No,” he decides. “I never had a thing for you.”The slump in Mark’s shoulders is almost imperceptible, but Jaebum’ catches it. He’s always been very observant.“You were the first person that ever mattered,” Jaebum says and Mark’s eyes widen in surprise.“All those people out there, they’re meaningless.” It just bursts out of Jaebum. “Sacks of flesh and bones, running around like headless chicken, thinking they actually matter to this world. None of them do, Mark, never have. But you…”Jaebum breaks off. Thinks of the light in Mark’s eyes, how the sun lights up his hair in the sun, how it becomes so shiny. Almost like a halo. Jaebum’s grandma used to have a picture of an angel in her room at the nursing home. Mark looks nothing like that angel, yet Jaebum always had to think of him when he saw it. It’s the halo.“You saved me, you know?” Mark smiles, full of fond memories and satisfaction. “He would’ve killed my mom and me. You set me free.”“So you knew all along,” Jaebum says, tensing in case he needs to bolt. He doesn’t believe it, but he has to be careful.Mark’s eyes are soft when he answers. “I knew, yeah. I was just waiting for you to tell me. But you never did. I thought maybe you didn’t trust me enough to admit it, so I was waiting. Waiting for you to trust me like that.”Jaebum cocks his head. “Why? Because you had a thing for me?” He has to know.Mark smiles ruefully. It’s not one Jaebum has ever seen before, and he instantly catalogues it, how one corner of Mark’s mouth raises up his than the other one, digs back deeper, denting a bigger dimple in his right cheek then his left where it’s barely visible.“So, thing might have been a bad word. But walking up to a guy you haven’t seen in ten years to tell him that you’re still in love with him when he abandoned you is kind of awkward.”The words are everything Jaebum never wanted to admit he needed, so he blurts out what he thinks. “You don’t know me. We both grew up, you have no idea who I am.”Mark leans back against his seat, stretches out one long and muscular arm along the red upholstery. He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and his skin looks just as smooth as Jaebum remembers.“You have many names,” Mark says quietly. “The River Killer, the Highway Killer, the Demon, the Cemetery Killer, the Hangman, the Hillside Strangler, the Flower Killer, the Vampire Killer, the Campus Killer, the Daejeon Slasher, and most recently, the Pohang Punisher.” He lists every name calmly, almost clinically. “There are more, I guess. Some names, you haven’t gotten because people haven’t figured it out yet. You’re good at what you do, even I’m missing about four years total since you left.”“You forgot the Magician,” Jaebum says.Mark raises his eyebrows. “Really? I thought that was too sloppy to be you.”Jaebum shrugs, heartbeat finally calming down. Mark knows his work. He figured Jaebum out and instead of freaking out, it actually calms Jaebum down. Mark knows him.“Needed to keep the FBIs off my trail,” Jaebum explains, which reminds him of why Mark is actually talking to him. “Which is you, actually. Interesting career choice, by the way.”“Well, I wanted to find you,” Mark says, completely unashamed. “It seemed like the best way.”“What do you want from me, Mark?” He’s not sure what Mark is imagining here and he has no idea what he has to offer.“I admire your work,” Mark says, a gleam in his eyes he used to get about his favorite ice cream. “Always have. I found my dad’s body, you know.”Jaebum didn’t.Mark smiles, serene and happy. “It was a work of art. You were always so gifted with your hands. And it was for me. Were the others for me too, Jaebum? I couldn’t help but hope. The Cemetery Killer always picked grave stones with people called Thomas to pose his victims. My dad’s name. And the Flower Killer left dandelions with his victims. The profilers thought you wanted to express the evanescence of life, but I remembered how we picked the dandelions growing in my backyard and blowing off the petals.” Mark’s eyes are shining now, hopeful and excited. “So, were they for me?”Jaebum is disarmed by Mark’s smile. “They all were,” he croaks out.It’s true. They were all to satisfy that hunger in Jaebum, to give him that rush of power, but it always led him back to Mark and his angelic smile. He hadn’t even picked the first dandelion on purpose, but even unconsciously, everything he did led back to Mark.Mark reaches across the table, takes Jaebum’s hand. Mark’s long fingers wrap around Jaebum’s, his thumb rubs over Jaebum’s palm.“You should have come looking for me.”“I didn’t know. I didn’t think you’d accept this side of me,” Jaebum says.“I get it,” Mark says. “I’m just sad that I didn’t find you sooner.”Jaebum can’t stop himself from smiling.“I’m a very good agent,” Mark continues, “but if my partner died, that’s something I’d never recover from. I’d have to take some time off, maybe even quit.”“What did he do?” Jaebum asks calmly, even though excitement is rising up again.“He’s a slob,” Mark says disdainfully. “He dirties up my car all the time. And he always flirts with witnesses that are half his age.”Jaebum takes a sip of his now cold coffee, trying to understand. “That doesn’t really make him a bad guy.”“No. Does it have to?” Mark asks.Jaebum shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter to me. But I thought it would for you.”Again, there’s that rueful smile Jaebum’s coming to love. It’s boyish, remembering him of their first summers together, when he was Mark’s hero and they were full of mischief.“Disappointed?” Mark asks and there’s something coy about it.It’s just like when Mark was the most charming, wide-eyed boy to get out of throwing a ball through the window of the elderly lady across the street from them. Jaebum had suspected Mark had an evil streak but he’d left before he’d ever gotten to see it. It’s a shame, really, Jaebum would’ve loved to see that develop. Who knows though, what’s possible now.“Do you want to do it?” Jaebum asks. He wonders if Mark wants them to be a team and he’s not sure if he can share his ritual, as changing as it may be.Immediately, Mark shakes his head, hair flying with the motions and Jaebum’s stomach sinks. Then Mark grins. “I want to watch.”-It’s almost too easy. Mark’s partner never sees it coming. Jaebum performs his last ritual as the Pohang Punisher, leaving a goodbye message written in the agent’s blood on the wall for good measure. When Jaebum’s done, bloody and sweaty, Mark crawls into his lap and they kiss for the first time.“So beautiful,” Mark murmurs between kisses, “so fucking beautiful.”Jaebum takes his face between his bloody palms and kisses the mouth he thought of so often. Mark moans against his lips. “I want you to fuck me. Here.”Jaebum doesn’t care where they do it, but they have to be safe. It’s the middle of the night, they have hours until Mark needs to ‘discover’ his partner. Old Maangchi saw them talk and flirt the whole day, saw them leave together. He will be Mark’s alibi, if he should ever be suspected which is doubtful, with the impeccable service record that he assured Jaebum he had.There are other concerns, probably, but Mark’s already kissing down Jaebum’s neck, his hands are tugging at his shirt and they’re sitting on the large tarp Jaebum brought with him when Mark let him in through the room’s window.When Mark bites Jaebum’s neck gently and whispers a needy ‘please’ into his skin, Jaebum can’t say no.It’s been a long time since he picked himself up a brown haired guy in a bar. It was never enough and it could never compare to the rush he got after a kill, memories of Mark filling his mind. Now, he’s got the real Mark right next to him, bloody smears marking Jaebum’s deed on his skin.They undress hurriedly and Mark fishes out a tube of lube and condoms out of his pants before he throws them to the side.“You wanted this,” Jaebum says, chest filling with a dark satisfaction. “You planned for this.”“Usually I only have the pictures,” Mark says, breath going quicker, and looks over to his dead partner. “Now I have the real deal. You were even more beautiful than I thought you’d be. So sure.”Jaebum picks up the lube and presses Mark down on the tarp.Mark struggles and turns around. “Like this,” he says, when he’s on his hands and knees, the dead body in his line of sight when he looks up to the right.Pride mixes with the satisfaction and Jaebum hurries to open Mark up. He pushes two fingers in at once, suspects Mark has a thing for fast and maybe a bit painful and he’s rewarded with a beautiful sensual arch of Mark’s back and a bitten-off moan.“Yes, come on. Want it now.”When Jaebum pushes inside, one hand on Mark’s back, the scent of sweat and blood filling his nose, his kill lying next to him in all his broken beauty, he feels complete.Then Mark pushes his ass back, taking Jaebum in deeper and Jaebum grips him tighter so he doesn’t collapse at the sudden rush of pleasure.“Jaebum, please.”Someday, Jaebum will take his time. Someday, he might even reach for his favorite knife, leave a more lasting mark than the blood smears.Today, all he can do is push inside, fucking Mark faster and deeper, chasing the ever growing buzz under his skin, feel the tension inside of him growing, a feeling that’s so similar and yet entirely different to what he feels when he kills.Mark’s moving with him, eyes fixed on Jaebum’s work. He’s panting and a trail of sweat is running down his back, gather in the dip of his spine. Jaebum leans forward, kisses and tastes him.“One day,” he says into Mark’s skin, “I’m gonna bathe you in blood.”Mark bites out a breath and tenses around him, then he comes with a violent shudder. Entranced, Jaebum watches him, watches his muscles tense under the skin, his blood-coated skin moving. It doesn’t take Jaebum long to come after that, to push deep into Mark’s relaxed body, see him dreamily look at the corpse and then back over his shoulder at Jaebum, deeply satisfied smile on his lips.Jaebum’s orgasm shakes his whole body, and he collapses exhausted on Mark’s back. Killing and fucking, it’s a potent combination and it leaves him completely drained. He just manages to pull out, then Mark turns on his back and pulls Jaebum’s head down onto his chest, and strokes his hair.A deep, soothing calm settles into Jaebum’s body, something even an exhausting kill hasn’t given him in year, maybe ever.“Next time, can you do something with fire?” Mark asks around a yawn. “A small blowtorch, maybe?”Jaebum takes Mark’s hand and lifts it to his mouth. The gesture is over the top, too romantic for a bloody motel room, but he doesn’t care. “Anything you want.”“And we should have music.”“I have the Backstreet Boys greatest hits in the car,” Jaebum says.Mark smiles, pure sunshine and just for Jaebum. For that smile, Jaebum will do anything.

#markbum #got7 #character:mark #character:jb #author:pi #warning:gore #warning:sexual content

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7fics · 8 years

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Hi! Can I request a delinquent Youngjae and a strait-laced Jaebum please? Fluff 2jae pleaseeee!!! *coco's eyes*

Warnings: some swearing, tiny bit of smoking, mention of violence (but there’s no actual violence)

Author: miranda

Word Count: 4.8k words

A/N: its me. i havent filled a prompt in so long but high school is over and i have graduated and im going to vomit out fics all summer until uni starts so prepare yourselves.

about this fill... well anon i know you said fluff but its kinda more angsty??? until the end. the end is fluffy.

Youngjae’s grade has dropped again and he’s not sure how his parents are going to react. Youngjae, they might say, you are such a smart boy – I don’t understand. Then they’ll put on that you’re better than this face and Youngjae will drink four cups of coffee in succession to each other in defiance. Still, anything is better than why did you let Jaebum go?

“So you’re getting a fifty,” Bambam says. “You’re passing, at least.”

“Passing isn’t good enough for my parents.”

“Then study, maybe?”

“Easy for you to say. Your parents don’t give a shit about anything in your musically gifted family.” Youngjae plays with the fraying threads on his jacket, dull nails catching and worsening the carnage. Bambam gives him a pitiful look and offers a bite of his sandwich. Youngjae doesn’t have lunch so he takes it gratefully.

To his right, Jackson is passed out on Mark’s shoulder and Mark’s got a cigarette hanging between his teeth as he scrolls through some social media network on his phone. Ever popular, his phone vibrates endlessly and in classic Mark fashion, he ignores each message that comes in. Their little group of misfits is known throughout the school, but more as that group of kids that don’t talk to anyone else. That’s fine with them. Mark, the only one people actually try talking to, is the one least likely to break away from their group. He’s shy and doesn’t care much for anyone else.

There is no bell that signals the start of class, just the sudden appearance of students rushing off to wherever they need to be. Youngjae and Bambam stand, but Mark stays still. “Not going to class?” Youngjae asks.

Mark says nothing in response, just glances down at Jackson (who is still completely passed out) and brings his attention back to the dim screen of his phone. Youngjae is close to just curling up into Mark’s free side, but an image of two disappointed faces flashes before his eyes and he decides he’ll attend class.

In class he ends up falling asleep. It would be one thing if Youngjae just slept, but it’s another thing when he dreams of someone he’d rather never see again. When he wakes up, he shakes his head furiously, as if to dislodge Jaebum from the grip he has on his mind. He gets stares from students, including Jaebum, and he ignores them all. Fuck Jaebum for screwing him over, and fuck everyone else for falling for that straight-laced goodie-two-shoes persona.

When class ends, Youngjae is the first to leave. He contemplates going to see if Mark and Jackson are still in the same spot he’d left them in, but decides against it. Instead, he heads home.

His parents aren’t happy when they hear about his grade, but they seem less disappointed than usual. It makes Youngjae fidget in his chair, wondering why they care less now. He finds out ten minutes later when the doorbell rings and he’s called down to get it.

“Alright, alright. I’ll get it,” he mutters as he hops down the stairs.

He opens the door only to find Jaebum standing there, on his porch, a bag casually slung over his shoulder. Jaebum is dressed in his usual clothes – neat button up and clean black jeans. He’s got a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his well defined nose and his hair is windswept and effortless. Jaebum’s good looking and smart and Youngjae is pretty sure his parents would rather have him as a son. Instead they’re stuck with Youngjae who isn’t anything special to look at and who has below average grades.

Youngjae is speechless for a moment. When he finds the words he wants to say, which is something along the lines of get the fuck off my property, his mother materializes behind him, her shrill voice welcoming Jaebum into their house. Jaebum bows politely before stepping past Youngjae and toeing off his shoes. His mother closes the door behind Jaebum and starts to go on about how much she’s missed him coming over. “We’re neighbours,” she says, “but I never see you anymore.”

Youngjae remains speechless up until his mother is ushering them both into Youngjae’s messy room, telling them to study well. “What is he doing here?” Youngjae hisses. His mother looks at him sternly, warning him not to be impolite because Jaebum can hear him, but fuck if Youngjae cares.

“I ran into him the other day and asked if he would tutor you.”

“Yeah, right. I can study on my own,” Youngjae protests. Jaebum stands in the doorway of Youngjae’s bedroom, his eyes downcast as he is forced to put up with Youngjae’s blunt disgust.

“You’ve been saying that for two years and yet you barely pass your courses. What about university? That’s coming up soon and you won’t get in anywhere with fifties. I don’t know what went on with you two but at least get over it enough to study with him. He’s being very nice spending time to help you.”

So Youngjae ends up sitting beside Jaebum at his desk, staring down at the biology book in front of him. “We’ll start with cellular respiration, I think. It can be hard to memorize,” Jaebum says, tapping the book with his finger.

“Why are you here?” Youngjae asks. He doesn’t look at the book. Instead, he finds a stain on his shirt and he stares at that.

“To tutor you.”

“Bullshit. Why would you agree to help me study?”

Jaebum sighs. Without answering the question, he fishes around in his bag and brings out a novel. Youngjae watches as Jaebum leafs through the book until he comes across the page he’d left off at. “Answer those sections and in–” he glances at the clock– “half an hour I’ll mark it to see where you’re at.”

And then he’s shifting his attention to the novel in his hands. Youngjae sits for a moment, dumbfounded. Jaebum’s presence is almost dreamlike, as if he’d vanish if Youngjae tried to touch him. It’s so odd having Jaebum sitting here beside him – just like how they used to when they were kids. Back then they would forget about the homework and the world, and they’d fabricate a world of their own where it was just them and they didn’t have to worry about anyone else.

And things were good. Youngjae tastes something bitter in his mouth when he begins to think about all those nights he’d stayed up late wondering why Jaebum didn’t want to be with him anymore. Why Jaebum had stopped talking to him and started hanging out with other people. Why Jaebum ignored him as if they’d never met.

Despite the years that have passed, the wound is still fresh and tender. Whenever he thinks about it too much and tears well in his eyes, he trades sadness for anger. He swears and proclaims his hatred for Jaebum.

(Maybe if he says it enough, he’ll really believe it.)

Youngjae slowly picks up the pen sitting next to his biology book and he looks at the first question. He reads it once, and doesn’t understand. By the third time he reads it he realizes he can’t focus. He glances at Jaebum through his bangs, looks at his jaw and his nose. Jaebum is handsome, effortlessly so, and Youngjae hadn’t realized just how good looking he was until they entered high school. By then, they had already grown so far apart it felt like there was a sea separating them.

“Are you not even going to try?” Jaebum says, eyes fixed on some paragraph in his book. Youngjae is quick to look at his knees but he can’t hide the redness of his ears.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Jaebum whispers, more to himself than anyone else, but Youngjae hears it. And Youngjae won’t have it.

“Fucking what did you say?”

Youngjae’s voice isn’t menacing at all but his actions speak louder anyway. Out of impulse, he lunges forward and grabs Jaebum’s collar, tugging him roughly. His chair is knocked over and the paperback book in Jaebum’s hand makes a dull thump as it hits the floor. If Youngjae wasn’t as close as he was, he wouldn’t be able to see the shock in Jaebum’s eyes.

“Is everything okay?” comes the muffled voice of his mother.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, calmly, Jaebum replies, “Books fell. We’re fine.”

Youngjae sighs, his grip on Jaebum’s shirt loosening. He finally lets go and picks up the fallen chair, brushing off his t-shirt. In the corner of his eye, Jaebum does the same. He picks up his novel and stuffs it back into his bag. “I think it’s best if I leave for today. Do those questions,” Jaebum’s voice is monotonous.

With Youngjae riled up like this, he can’t find it in himself to answer. Instead, he stares at the wall in front of him, lips trembling. Jaebum lets himself out then, and Youngjae is left feeling like a kid being punished for having a fit.

Why do you hate me so much?

If Jaebum doesn’t know, Youngjae doesn’t think he’ll ever tell him.

He leaves the biology workbook blank and opts to fall stomach-down onto his bed with his face shoved into his pillow.

When he tells Bambam of the nightmare that was the day before, all he gets is a pitiful look and a pat on his shoulder. “Maybe you should try telling Jaebum then?” he suggests and Youngjae throws a candy wrapper at him in response.

“How could he not know?”

“Hey, look at it from his perspective. Maybe you abandoned him?”

Youngjae feels bile at the back of his throat when he thinks about the possibility. But it wasn’t Youngjae who did the abandoning. Youngjae remembers how he watched Jaebum ignore him, remembers the nights he had tears falling from his eyes before he could stop it all because Jaebum hadn’t said hi.

Youngjae curls up into Mark’s side, and Mark places a comforting arm around his shoulder. “Bambam is right,” says Mark.

(Youngjae can see the logic behind it, but the feelings just won’t go away.)

When Jaebum arrives the next week, Youngjae is more prepared. This time the shock doesn’t get him – instead, he decides to play just like Jaebum. Pretend they’ve never been friends. Pretend they’ve never stifled giggles under makeshift tents at night or chased each other until they couldn’t move. Pretend they never were.

And it goes well, too. Youngjae does the work given to him and listens when Jaebum explains math problems. It’s when Jaebum is explaining trigonometric identities to him that things go wrong. Youngjae doesn’t get it, finds it too confusing that sin over cos is the same as tan. Unable to focus without his head throbbing, his eyes go from boring into the math textbook to Jaebum’s face. He traces his jawline, the curve of his nose. Looks at the two freckles just above his eye. Jaebum has always been handsome but up close Youngjae can really see it. Every little mannerism of his is apparent just in the way he sits and explains the lesson and it makes Youngjae’s heart feel sore. It pumps hot red blood quickly, as if Youngjae is dying and it has to work twice as hard in a desperate attempt to keep him afloat.

“Are you listening, Youngjae?”

The quiet words bring Youngjae crashing back down to Earth. He jumps and he ends up knocking over the glass of water on his desk. The almost-full glass tips and falls, and the cool liquid rushes out like a violent flood. It soaks his books and he curses loudly.

Jaebum is quick in his response. He rights the fallen glass and swiftly pulls the books away from the spill. He jogs out of the room and Youngjae finally finds himself standing and using his jacket to stop the spread of water. Jaebum returns seconds later with a towel and he finishes cleaning up the mess.

“Still so clumsy,” he hears Jaebum say quietly. The words have no malice behind them, just fond reminiscence. Jaebum has always been there to clean up his spills, help Youngjae up when he’s fallen and bandage up the wound, metaphorically and literally. Watching Jaebum carefully shake the excess water off his books brings him back to all those times Jaebum’s helped him.

Jaebum looks over the damage and then looks at Youngjae. “Do you have a hairdryer?”

Youngjae and Jaebum stand next to each other, the sound of the hairdryer filling the silence between them. Without any words they manage to formulate a system. Youngjae keeps the papers from flying away while Jaebum dries them.

After a while, Jaebum finally speaks. “How have you been?”

Youngjae glances at him through his eyelashes. “Fine, I guess.”

“I see.”

And then silence looms over them again. Jaebum is looking at him and Youngjae can’t meet his eyes.

“Don’t you ever wonder how I’ve been doing?” Jaebum asks carefully after a moment. The question takes Youngjae by surprise and for a moment he wants to say yes of course I’m always thinking of you but the pain that had been plaguing him for the last few years comes back and he clenches his teeth.

“You’re the one who left. Why would I worry about you?”

It comes out meaner than Youngjae means it to, but he doesn’t allow himself to care. Jaebum has the audacity to look hurt and Youngjae wants to punch him and scream and demand answers.

Jaebum swallows, his eyes going back to the hairdryer in his hands. His knuckles are white and Youngjae can see that his fingers tremble ever so slightly. “Shall we finish quickly?” Jaebum says. Despite the shaking of his hands and the fluttering of his eyelashes, his voice sounds completely unaffected.

Youngjae takes one of Mark’s cigarettes and borrows his lighter.

“What’s gotten into you? You don’t usually smoke,” Jackson says behind Youngjae. He’s got his arms wrapped around Youngjae’s waist, shoulder resting on his chin, and Youngjae sits comfortably in between his legs.

“Jaebum,” he answers before taking a drag.

“Ah. Prince Charming.”

“He is in no way Prince Charming–”

“Handsome, goodie-two-shoes with the best grades? And every girl after his ass? Sounds like Prince Charming to me.”

“Would Prince Charming abandon his friend and then act as if he isn’t at fault at all?”

“What do you mean?”

“He asked me why I hate him. Asked me if I’d wondered how he was doing. As if he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong,” Youngjae says bitterly.

Jackson sighs, nuzzling into the crook of Youngjae’s neck. “Why don’t you talk to him then? Tell him what he did. Maybe you did something wrong, too. If it’s going to make you resort to smoking you should do it. Smoking isn’t good for you.”

“What about Mark? He literally smokes all the time.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I haven’t given up on him yet.”

Mark only glances up momentarily before going back to his sandwich.

Youngjae gets caught up with some university thugs over something stupid that he can’t even remember. It was one against three and Youngjae can fight but he’s at a disadvantage when he’s outnumbered by three brawny guys with too much height and not enough brain. The fight may have started with Youngjae bumping into them or maybe it was Youngjae’s sigh that ticked them off. Whatever it was, Youngjae curses it.

After deciding that killing some high school kid wasn’t worth it, the thugs had left, but not before bruising Youngjae up enough that his mouth is splitting open, ribs all shades of red and black and purple. It’s been raining for ten minutes and Youngjae has yet to move, his body sore and uncooperative.

Sitting here all beat up makes him wonder what decisions led him here. Was it when he started hanging out with Mark? Mark definitely hadn’t forced him into anything, but maybe it was Youngjae’s own insecurity that led him into a world of trouble, alcohol, and drugs. Maybe it wasn’t anyone but Youngjae who got him here.

He wants to blame Jaebum for it. Wants to say it’s his fault for not stopping Youngjae. But Youngjae is finding it hard to keep lying to himself. In reality, Jaebum had tried to stop him, had warned him of what he was getting into. Youngjae had always blamed Jaebum for leaving him, but maybe Youngjae was the one who left.

Youngjae had always felt like Jaebum was in another world. Even when they were kids, Jaebum excelled at everything while Youngjae desperately tried to keep up. At some point, he’d started talking to people who were more on his level. Under achievers. Not to say his group of friends aren’t amazing, but they aren’t Jaebum. They drink and get into fights and their grades aren’t too stellar. And Youngjae fits in with that crowd. Afraid that Jaebum would leave him in the dust, Youngjae was the one to turn away and leave. And Jaebum was powerless to stop it.

By now, Youngjae is soaked to his bones. He hadn’t felt too cold before but the rain and the night air is getting to him. His teeth start to chatter and he can almost feel his veins constricting to desperately hold onto precious heat.

When Youngjae realizes how lost in thought he is, he finds himself on a dark street he doesn’t recognize. He thinks about calling someone – maybe even his parents – but the thought dissipates quickly. It’s late and he doesn’t want his parents to see him like this. His phone is probably soaking wet anyway so it doesn’t make a difference.

He comes across a 24 hour convenience store and he takes shelter there. The rain has lessened some and he digs around in his pockets for some money, anything to get a little caffeine in him. He comes short of the cheapest caffeinated drink they have so he guesses he’ll just have to suck it up. Maybe he can sneak into his house without anyone noticing and maybe he can try borrowing some of his mum’s makeup to mask the blooming bruises on his face.

The convenience store door opens and a bell rings. Youngjae vaguely wonders what anyone’s doing shopping at this time but he loses interest quickly. He wanders around the store a little as if he’s contemplating buying something, but he stops when he accidentally bumps into the other shopper.

Without looking up, he mutters a curt, “Sorry,” before continuing on. That is he tries to, but the stranger is grabbing onto his sore wrist and he’s saying, “What the hell happened to you, Youngjae?”

And as Youngjae looks up, it occurs to him that it’s no stranger at all. It’s Jaebum who is also soaking wet. His unnaturally black hair sticks to his forehead in strings and the white shirt he’s wearing is translucent from the rain.

“Um. What are you doing here?” Youngjae asks carefully.

“You butt-dialed me and I heard fighting, so I ran over as fast as I could. I was worried.”

Youngjae pulls out his phone, surprised to see that it’s still working, and navigates to the call log. Sure enough, there’s Jaebum’s name at the top with the time that Youngjae got into the fight. How embarrassing.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I didn’t. So I ran around a lot. And then I saw you come in here.”

Youngjae takes stock of the situation. He’d gotten into a fight and butt-dialed Jaebum, and then Jaebum had gone out in the pouring rain just to find him. Because he was worried.

Jaebum reaches forward and grabs Youngjae’s wrists, pulling his arms this way and that, and Youngjae realizes he’s checking for damage. “I’m fine,” Youngjae mutters, but Jaebum isn’t listening.

Youngjae bites his lip as he watches Jaebum scan him over carefully. He winces when Jaebum applies pressure to a spot on his forearm and then Jaebum is gone, leaving Youngjae stunned. He comes back moments later with a few boxes of antiseptic cream and bandages. He takes Youngjae’s hand and despite the rain, his skin is hot.

Maybe it’s the fatigue that’s spreading through his limbs or maybe it’s the shock, but Youngjae follows Jaebum without protest. He lets Jaebum carry him on his back and he lets Jaebum take him to his house.

It’s been so long since he’d been in Jaebum’s room and a lot has changed. Where a boy used to live is now a man’s room. The walls have been repainted to be a light grey and the furniture is monotonous. His room is organized and the only character comes from his desk where he has stacks of CDs and vinyl albums. The only poster in the room is one of Michael Jackson.

Jaebum sits Youngjae on his bed and digs around in his dresser and produces a fresh set of clothes that he tosses to Youngjae before searching for some dry clothes of his own. Youngjae looks at what he’s been given: black sweatpants and a grey hoodie, as well as a pair of boxers. Youngjae looks at them skeptically and mutters, “You’re giving me underwear?”

“It’s not like we haven’t shared underwear before,” Jaebum answers casually as he tugs off his wet shirt, giving Youngjae a full display of his toned back and broad shoulders. The display makes Youngjae shift nervously. He’s seen Jaebum naked but they were kids. Now it’s different and Youngjae doesn’t want to examine the pleasure he gets from seeing Jaebum strip too closely.

Youngjae shakes his head and changes himself as quickly as he can. He doesn’t notice that Jaebum’s already waiting for him to finish and he keeps glancing in Youngjae’s direction as he slips on Jaebum’s boxers and sweats.

Blushing, Youngjae tucks his knees under his chin as Jaebum grabs his wet clothes and disappears. It takes a while for Jaebum to come back. When he does, he grabs the supplies from the plastic bag and sits beside Youngjae on the bed.

He starts with the antiseptic cream and Youngjae winces when it touches the wound. Jaebum ignores his discomfort and continues to clean the wounds. His movements are slow and methodical and he’s so concentrated that it makes Youngjae’s heart race.

“Why did you fight?” Jaebum asks as he fiddles with the box of bandages.

Youngjae gulps. “I– it just happened.”

Jaebum nods and Youngjae’s surprised at the response He expects Jaebum to shake his head in disappointment just like everyone else but he instead he shows Youngjae some respect and understanding and it makes Youngjae’s chest swell with warmth.

When Jaebum is finished with Youngjae’s face, he moves onto Youngjae’s hands. “You know, I’ve thought about you every day. I worry about you all the time,” Jaebum says quietly.

Jaebum isn’t looking at him but he can see that the tips of his ears are red. Could he be flustered? When Youngjae doesn’t answer, Jaebum continues. “Did I do something wrong? You stopped talking to me, started to ignore me. I was fine with you hanging out with Mark and all but it hurt when you stopped looking at me. I was always the only one looking at you.”

Youngjae finally meets Jaebum’s eyes. “I– You know, I always thought it wasn’t me and it was you. That you were the one who walked away, but you– you tried. And I think, maybe, I was really jealous? Or no, not jealous. Insecure? You were so smart and when we started caring about high school I couldn’t relate to you. You had dreams and I– felt so inadequate. Like I didn’t deserve to be with you because I just wasn’t enough, you know and–”

Youngjae is cut off abruptly when Jaebum pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Youngjae realizes he’s shaking and there are tears down his face and Jaebum is holding him so tight–

“I wish you’d told me. But I think I get why you didn’t want to. I’m sorry, Youngjae. I--,” he cuts off. The feeling of his lips moving against Youngjae’s neck makes shivers run down his spine. Youngjae clenches his fists. “I’ve loved you for so long, Youngjae, and I’m sorry you felt hurt. I’m sorry I hurt you.” Jaebum lifts his head and gazes at Youngjae sincerely. Lovingly.

Youngjae runs his tongue over his lips, feeling lightheaded and like none of this is real. Jaebum had said he loved him and Youngjae is so ready to say yes yes I love you too but he swallows the confession before he can fuck everything up. Maybe Jaebum only loved him as his closest friend.

Youngjae can’t seem to calm himself down. Jaebum had opened the floodgates and now he was drowning. It’s only when Jaebum leans in and kisses him chastely that he feels like he can breathe. Like Jaebum is breathing life into him.

Jaebum’s lips are chapped but he barely feels it. Instead Youngjae only feels the warmth and the emotion. Blood rises rapidly to Youngjae’s cheeks and he feels like he might pass out. A moment later, Jaebum pulls away and he looks at Youngjae carefully.

It’s reassuring that Youngjae isn’t the only one positively red.

“Um, Jaebum, I–”

And then Jaebum’s lips are on his again, fiercer this time. He kisses with an urgency that wasn’t present just seconds ago and Youngjae finds it hard to keep up. He tries his best, lets Jaebum lead, and finds purchase in Jaebum’s shirt to keep him from melting away. Jaebum has a hand on his thigh, the other around the back his neck and he’s so impossibly close that it makes Youngjae’s head spin.

When they’re both running out of air, they pull away heaving. Youngjae scrambles to catch his breath. Youngjae hadn’t noticed before, was too caught up in the force of Jaebum against him, to feel that the corner of his mouth was bleeding again and the band aid is close to falling off completely.

Jaebum notices this and he apologizes quickly and profusely as he works on getting a new band aid. After that, they sit in silence and Youngjae fiddles with the string of the sweatpants he’s wearing. His nerves are starting to calm down now and he the fatigue starts catching up to him. He yawns and when Jaebum sees this, he finally says, “You’re tired right? You can sleep on the bed.”

He stands then and Youngjae pauses before maneuvering under the warm sheets and pulling the duvet up to his chin. The smell of Jaebum surrounds him and it’s comforting. Jaebum smiles at him and says, “Good night,” before he makes his way to the door.

“Uh- wait–” Youngjae says, and Jaebum turns around to give him a quizzical look. “The bed is big enough for both of us and I’d feel bad making you sleep on the couch,” Youngjae mutters.

He sees Jaebum let out a breath and stride forward, moves over so Jaebum can fit into the spot next to him. Jaebum’s got this warm smile on his face and Youngjae turns over, shutting his eyes and forcing himself to fall asleep. He feels Jaebum turn so that he’s facing Youngjae’s back and he chooses not to say anything about the hand on his waist.

Youngjae is not one to wake up early and Jaebum has to spend a solid fifteen minutes coaxing him awake. When Youngjae finally wakes up, he sees that Jaebum is ready and dressed for school. “Are you coming to school today?” Jaebum asks.

At first, Youngjae doesn’t remember how he got here. His mind is still foggy from sleep and he almost punches Jaebum until he realizes that this is Jaebum’s room, not his, and that he’d been brought there last night. And suddenly, everything comes back to him and he pulls the covers up over his face to hide his blush.

Jaebum chuckles with that sultry voice of his and he strokes Youngjae’s hair affectionately. Youngjae peeks out from under the covers, just enough that his eyes are visible, and Jaebum leans down to kiss his forehead. “You should go to school,” Jaebum whispers.

Youngjae relents and ends up walking to school with Jaebum. They’re walking close enough that their arms brush each other every so often and Youngjae stares at the ground. When they get to school, Youngjae tries to run but Jaebum is quicker. He grabs Youngjae’s wrist and spins him around, swiftly kissing him before Youngjae can escape.

Youngjae spends the rest of the day with a face as red as a tomato.

#2jae #got7 #character:JB #character:youngjae #7fics #genre:fluff #genre:angst #author:miranda

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7fics · 8 years

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jjp please. i've always wanted to write this myself instead but can't get it right. i have no talents for writing. its mainly based on an anime- the plot is jaebum is an ethereal being like a mountain spirit who never gets old and jinyoung is a 6-yr old child who got lost in the forest and jaebum helped him out. the thing is that jaebum will disappear into nothingness if he gets touched by a human. even knowing that, jinyoung keeps visiting. they fall in love. angst. tho the ending is up to you.

Warnings: death kinda but not really death

Word Count: 2.3k

Author: Jenni

hello dear! please don’t be discouraged with your own writing, i’m sure you would have written your prompt exceptionally well. everyone has their own style, and there are multiple ways to interpret a prompt and write it just right. i hope you continue writing yourself, and someday come with a piece that you will be proud of. after all, practice makes perfect! nevertheless, i couldn’t not help myself to such a lovely prompt. thank you for your lovely request and i hope you enjoy!

With the passing of a god comes the birth of man. As spirits roam the empty earth and man takes his first step, a god can only live with the belief of the breath of man. Winds travel the earth as a shoot sprouts with growth to flower a lifetime of forests. Dew gathers to a single drop, leaves glossy in a dying silver moon.

With the passing of death comes the birth of life.

Birth comes in a way that death does not, where life awaits death and death is forgotten.

Gods are made for man and man for god. That is the way it has always been, and the way it always will be.

Jinyoung, a child at the young age of six, is lost in more ways than one.

Lost child, lost son, lost brother.

Lost boy.

Small feet stumble through starless nights and wild winds. The roar of the ocean as it cascades over rippling falls. Jinyoung is drowning, falling, flying all at once, lost in a tunnel of time and space and all the elements. Starlight flashes in his eyes and clouds swim before him.

He can barely grasp it, like silk slipping through his fingers, as if a veil is lifted over his eyes, obscuring his vision. Roses prick at his limbs, gentle and cold but painful all the same.

The fears crawl up his neck, tighten around his throat and envelop his stomach. Trapped in a world where the skeletons of trees loom hauntingly above him and all he can see, feel, hear, taste is red.

Jinyoung reaches out, grasping for something, anything, everything. A moment later his fingers are engulfed in freezing water and he draws back quickly, startled. The ocean swims around him, enveloping him, wrapping him in a gentle wave and pulling at his fears the way the sea laps at its shore.

His heart slows to a steady beat, his chest warming as gentle moonlight holds him. His eyelashes flutter as his eyes fall shut, the memory of pupils filled with starlight imprinted in his mind as a fading memory.

When Jinyoung wakes, he is laying at the edge of the forest, his mother calling for him, panic in her eyes and fear in her heart. Jinyoung retells the story of his memories, eyes glowing as he describes the warm eyes that hold him.

It must have been one of the mountain dwellers from the forest, she assures him. The ones who live in isolation and peaceful bliss, surrounded by nature and all its glory.

But Jinyoung has never heard of a mountain dweller who holds the stars in his eyes and the sea in his arms.

Jinyoung’s small feet guide him to trickling streams and broken undergrowth. He spins in a circle, absorbing his surroundings as leaves painted red and gold swim before his dazzled eyes. He wonders why his mother always warns him of the dangers of the forest when all he can see is beauty.

Jinyoung is lost again, lost in mind and perception. Lost between time and space and stars and sea, confusion proves to be much more unbearable than before.

A crackle of dying leaves alerts him and he spins to find a young child, not much older than himself, staring at him with bright eyes and a curious stare. He’s far away, no closer than twenty of Jinyoung’s tiny feet stacked side by side, but he can still see the gleam of stars glimmer in his eyes.

Jaebum, Jinyoung learns, is not a mountain dweller, but he still won’t clarify what he is. I’ll explain when you’re older, Jaebum promises, but Jinyoung argues that he is older, he’s six years old! And Jaebum looks to be no older than seven, so why can’t he know as well?

Jaebum’s eyes laugh as if he knows much more than Jinyoung, and maybe he does. Soon, he promises, and Jinyoung trusts him, believes in him in every small piece of his being, through every vein and every vessel, so he lets it go.

Lets go of the insistence, lets go of his curiosity.

Lets go of his heart.

Jinyoung is ten now, ten and still small, but older now.

He hasn’t seen Jaebum in four years, when he was six and Jaebum was seven. Jaebum, who he calls for so desperately, for he’s lost once again. Jaebum, whose name he screams into the sky and echoes through the forest.

It’s been four years since Jinyoung had vanished, leaving without a trace, but Jaebum appears almost instantaneously, almost as if he’d appeared the moment Jinyoung blinked. Jaebum is here, before him, just as he had been four years ago.

Exactly how he’d been four years ago.

Jaebum looks to be no older than a day over seven, his hair ruffled in the same tousled style, his fingers small as they’d been before, the two miniature stars nestled above his eyelid winking up at him.

“You’re bigger now.” The child tilts his head slightly as he makes his observation.

And you’re not. Jinyoung’s fingers curl and uncurl, the tips pulsing with the beat of his heart like tiny drums. He doesn’t dare say the words allowed, but he thinks Jaebum can see it in his eyes.

Jaebum’s gaze looks him up and down, back and forth, and he tips his head to the side, his eyes slightly misted over in thought as if to say well this won’t do.

“I’ll be back!” he chirps brightly and dashes into the forest, gone almost faster than he had appeared.

Jinyoung blinks, and suddenly he’s there, but older, as if he’d aged four years in a mere second. He stumbles, his feet shifting to take a step backwards, and his backside collides with the dark trunk of a tree.

The boy’s expression falls to one of disappointment. “I thought…” he stammers just as a child of ten would. “I thought you’d like me if I looked like you.” His eyes are bright with sincerity.

Jinyoung wills himself to relax, for every muscle to loosen, for a gentle smile to grace his lips. “Of course I like you,” he says simply.

Jaebum’s eyes glow like pieces of falling starlight, like each piece is a clue to another mystery.

His eyes hold secrets never to be told.

Sixteen is an age not far off from adulthood, but Jaebum still seems older, and Jinyoung finds himself struggling to keep up.

Sixteen is the age of romance, a time of blossoming first loves. Jinyoung is different, though, because he has known his love for long before sixteen.

A streak glowing silver flashes through the forest, and Jinyoung stumbles after it. “Jaebum!” The silver ceases to stop. Jinyoung tumbles over fallen oaks and darkened pine.

“Jaebum!”

Jinyoung looks up and finds himself by flowing waters, the stream clear and sparkling as the sun beats down like burning stars. His palms are darkened and red and he dips them into the creek, surprised to find them a moment later pale and unblemished, gleaming crystal drops falling from his fingertips.

Jaebum seems to notice and motions for him to hold it out. Jinyoung presents him with his open palm, and he folds his hands over with a cloth, careful not to touch as he does so. His lips are bent in the smallest of smiles as he bandages Jinyoung’s hand.

“The river runs to the sea,” he murmurs, almost to himself, but Jinyoung knows it’s to him. “Tumbling over rocks and traveling through forests, cascading over cliffs but it makes it, all the way to the great expanse of the ocean.” He looks up, and Jinyoung swears he can see the very waters he speaks of swimming in his eyes. “Time. Water is the movement of time.”

Jinyoung doesn’t understand until much later. What’s there to understand when age is a number that defines your limits?

Jinyoung’s fingers hover just beside Jaebum’s, almost, but not yet touching. He wants to hold his hand, to seek comfort in another being. But Jinyoung knows the rules. Jinyoung knows not to touch. They’ve been ingrained in him since the beginning.

Touch is a powerful thing. It can garner emotion, it can arouse feeling. What Jinyoung doesn’t understand is why Jaebum doesn’t want to spark the sentiments.

Jinyoung sits in the shade of a cherry blossom overlooking the side of the riverbank. The same creek from when he was ten. Jinyoung pauses. How old had Jaebum been then? Jinyoung is nineteen now, nineteen and still fairly young, but older now, and understands much more, yet still not enough. How old is Jaebum now?

Jaebum reaches over to pluck the baby’s breath that outline the edge of riverside, humming a gentle tune that Jinyoung’s never heard before. He adds a handful of white lilies, stalks clean and limp.

Jinyoung watches as he pauses beside a patch of periwinkle, the soft lavender hues of the flowers sharply contrasting the golden sun that bathes Jaebum in a gentle morning glow. He beckons for him with a gentle laugh and a swift hand gesture, leaving Jinyoung scrabbling to his feet to meet him where the earth meets water.

Jaebum hands him the bouquet of wildflowers, their fingers almost brushing as he does so. Almost, but not quite.

The bundle is passed on from one palm to another, and as Jinyoung holds the thin stalks between his fingers, blood seeps from the flesh, trickling down the stems and falling soundlessly into his lap, his clothing dyed a deep shade of scarlet. The dark red petals peel off the stems and float around him like bloodied feathers.

For every rose there is a thorn, and for every thorn a heart that bleeds.

Jinyoung is engulfed in blue. Drowning in a color cool as ice and hot as fire, every one of his limbs is frozen, burning with the flames of death and desire.

He stumbles through forests of fire, the flames licking at him the way waves lap at its shore. He’s running, sprinting, falling to escape the fires that follow him, tangling between his legs and licking at his fingertips. Jinyoung’s swift feet take him through dense forests and vast mountainous terrain, fear crawling up his throat and a warning fresh on his tongue, yet the threat lingers in the far corners of his mind, and he doesn’t seem to understand what it means. The winds whisper a song of love in his ears.

He’s stumbling over mountains of ice and rock when he trips. The pain is unbearable, lightning bolts of shock rippling up his leg and he grasps at it, hugging his faltering limb to his chest.

Then there’s Jaebum, merely a shadow of himself, a silhouette fragile enough to be blown away with a gentle sigh. He wears an expression of sorrow, a sort of wistfulness, as if he knows what’s to come but there’s nothing to be done, as if fate is sealed and destiny is bound to run its course.

Jinyoung is running again, flashes of dark blues and purples edging his vision. His legs carry him to the creek, only an empty clearing that holds memories more precious than time.

The sky glows with a gentle luminescence, and he’s caught staring at the moon as it rests above the gentle curve of stars. Suddenly the sea is snapping at his heels, the waves lapping at his toes.

The tide rises and falls, as if the very ocean were breathing.

Jinyoung wakes with a longing for the sea.

Jaebum’s feet do not scuffle the earthen floor as he tiptoes through looming trees, the tallest of oaks casting shadows that stretch like wilted taffy until they’re no longer recognizable figures. The piercing ache in his heart does not cease, the searing throb in his skull does dull. Something is wrong with Jinyoung, some sort of agony, some sort of discomfort that will ultimately swallow him whole, consume him until there’s nothing and Jaebum is left with emptiness yet again.

His figure gently melts into the curve of the shadows, and his body is lithe as it makes its way to the only One that matters. The peeling wood of a pale painted cottage greets him through the dark of night, and his footsteps are silent as the wind as he stands before the door that shields him from death.

Jaebum pulls a page from his breast pocket (the pocket, he recalls, that Jinyoung had mended after it had caught on a thicket of brambles in a frantic chase through the woodlands) fingers on fire and freezing to the touch. The edges of the paper crinkle like fallen leaves, the intricate calligraphy printed with careful penmanship. He handles the letter with the utmost care, fingertips trembling as it’s whisked away with the gentle autumn breeze.

Jaebum raises his palm to place it against the doorframe, his fingers melting into the cold wood. His feet are careful not to scuffle against the worn hardwood floor or squeak against the tile. The breezes carry the letter pace by pace, careful not to drag, until it makes itself comfortable on the edge of a quilt, the covers pulled over the curve of a sleeping face.

Jaebum’s fingers hover by Jinyoung’s, until they almost brush. He blows upon the curve of his cheek to brush away the fine hairs that frame his eyes. His face is abnormally scarlet, his forehead glistens with perspiration. There is none of the slightest hesitation as he leans in close.

Jaebum paces a gentle kiss upon Jinyoung’s lips, and melts into the stars with the soft whisper of a final farewell.

(Gods are made for man and man for god. That is the way it has always been, and the way it always will be.)

#jjproject #character:jb #character:jinyoung #jj project #7fics #author:jenni

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