That day, ice cream landed on Korea

fourteen | caught beneath the landslide | yoochun/junsu

Thu, 27 Aug 2009 21:51:07 GMT

caught beneath the landslide
pg - past!yoosu
652 words
happy birthday mani ♥ i'm sorry that this is all i can give you.

Yoochun chain smokes on the balcony, takes a deep, soothing breath as the smoke clings to his lungs. Liberating.

He feels the burn of moonlight on his skin, ash on his fingertips, and tries to hold back a smile. Is only half-successful, lips quirking around the pale tip of his cigarette.

It has always been like this, he thinks. Emotions have always got the best of him, slipped beyond his control at the most inappropriate moments. Tears, fat and salty, running down his cheeks on stage. Laughs that threaten to wrack his frame when he is caught smuggling alcohol into the apartment.

But that, he muses, is just the way things are. The way he is. Yoochun has long since accepted this, that he is different from the others. Broken. He takes another puff, breathes out, smoke spilling from his lips like he is some kind of dragon, green and scaled atop a vast mound of treasure.

Wrapped in boxer shorts and a thin t-shirt, Yoochun doesn’t shudder when he feels a cold gust of wind dance up his spin, coiling with the smoke before his eyes and stealing it away. Shattering the illusion.

Yoochun doesn’t even sigh. This is the way it is, he convinces himself. The way he likes it. There is no spark behind his eyes, no fire in his heart. Just smoke in his lungs and wind his hair; memories of a lifetime passed.

He could change things, he supposes. Could make the effort. But for what? A half-hearted shot at a ship that has already sailed? No, Yoochun thinks, he is much better off alone. He has never been a strong character, and he’s not entirely sure that he could stand the feel of his shattering heart again.

Despite it all, despite the miles and the years and the heartbreak between them, Yoochun still remembers. Still clings to the memories that not even excess caffeine and late night Mozart can take from him.

Yoochun still remembers the warmth of his skin, the light dancing in his eyes. Still remembers the sound of his laugh and the flush of his cheeks as they made love. Love.

Yoochun scoffs, forces back the wetness clinging to his lashes and angrily stubs his cigarette out against the wall. The mark is one of many.

Despite it all, regardless of everything Yoochun had thought, everything he had felt, they had never been in love. Not really. And, looking back, Yoochun should have seen it coming. But he had let his heart rule his head, brushed aside common sense, and allowed himself to fall, harder than he had ever fallen before.

No, Yoochun thinks, he could not survive that again. Still remembers the sharp stab in his gut when he had told him it was over. The twist. The rip. Still remembers that smile, that beautiful, disarming smile. The ugliest thing Yoochun has ever seen.

His cheeks are wet, lungs constricting as he gasps soundlessly, curls his hands around the metal rungs of the balcony. He has to be strong, has to pull himself together. Has to remind himself that Jaejoong is not here to piece him back together again.

By the time Yoochun has stopped crying, the sun peeks tentatively over the horizon. Yoochun feels the weak rays falling across his face, as though they are not really there. He feels empty. Hollow. The new dawn holds nothing for him, he knows this. Nothing but the promise of shallow smiles, cheap coffee and another sleepless night.

Yoochun does not linger to watch the sunrise, still holds strong to the promise that he will never do it alone. Instead, he leaves the balcony. Leaves the ashtray on the table and the tear stains on his face.

It is better to have loved and lost, Yoochun thinks. But, given the opportunity, he is sure he would choose never to have loved Junsu at all.

thirteen | the fine art of seduction (as such unlearned) | yoochun/junsu

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 03:42:48 GMT

the fine art of seduction (as such unlearned)
yoochun/junsu
nc-17 - awkward!yoochun, bad language + first time writing smut :|
pornnn. dirty dirty porn and nothing more.
752 words

for miss_skitchiez, because she's a slave driver and the biggest pain in the ass you could ever not want (ilu & ty for checking this ♥), r_hr_maniac because i don't know what i'd do without her, and uchikins because she's been trying to wring this out of me for such a long time. this is all your fault.

happy new year everybody ♥

'y-yoochun,' junsu gasped, nails scratching deep groves into yoochun's skin as he tugged the other man closer. this was wrong, this was wrong, this was so- oh. oh god, junsu arched into the touch, toes curling into the sheets.

'yoochun, please. stop fucking around and ju--'

yoochun groaned breathlessly, fingers dancing over junsu's thighs, muscles hot and pliant on either side of yoochun's hips. his breath ghosted across the bare skin of junsu's stomach, causing the younger man to whimper helplessly.

yoochun moved away briefly, junsu's legs slipping from around his waist as he growled in frustration, only to groan loudly, placated, when he felt yoochun's lube slicked finger pushing gently at his entrance.

'chunnie,' junsu canted his hips upward, hands fisting into the sheets as yoochun slipped his finger slowly into junsu's aching passage.

junsu's body was on fire, heat flaring up under his skin, sweat running in fat drops down his temple. he cried out as yoochun slid a second finger in, tightening his grip on yoochun's hips and working the digits further into the warmth of his body.

'junsu...'

junsu chanced a glance upwards, hair plastered to his face with sweat. he needed this, needed yoochun, needed to- junsu lost all semblance of coherent thought when yoochun drew his fingers out, only to slam them back in again, webbing pressed tight against junsu's ass.

'are you..' yoochun grunted out, eyes glazed with lust, fingers of his free hand curled painfully into junsu's hip bone.

'yes. i, yoochun, ah. just.'

yoochun nodded, pulling back from junsu with an obscene popping sound and fumbling for the discarded bottle of lube. 'front, or would you prefer to-'

'fuck yoochun. and they call you the casanova. i don't care, just fuck me.'

smiling nervously, yoochun squirted the lube onto his fingers, trying feebly to rub some warmth into the gel before lathering it onto his cock.

'you're so beautiful,' yoochun murmured, pressing soft kisses up junsu's stomach and along his collarbone as he adjusted his position and slid slowly into junsu's body.

stars erupted behind junsu's eyes, white hot and burning and no, no, this wasn't wrong. couldn't be wrong. small jolts of pain raced up junsu's spine and he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning at the sensation.

'shh, it's okay. it'll feel good, i promise.'

junsu just nodded, keening softly and arching up into yoochun's touch as he cupped junsu's buttocks, drawing his body up into yoochun's and gently settling him down again.

then he hit it, hit that spot that had junsu crying out beneath him, fingers clawing desperately at his back. yoochun laughed breathlessly, body trembling, all previous traces of nervousness gone.

'yeah?'

'y-yeah, yoochun please, i just want, i need,' junsu was babbling, completely senseless as yoochun slid out of his body and slammed back in again, hitting that same spot over and over, junsu's name a mindless mantra on his lips.

his body was on overload, every sense tingling, mind fogged with lust and need and yoochun, filling every part of him with his touch. junsu cried out, one final warbling tremor, and then he was coming violently, yoochun's name a dying whisper on his lips.

yoochun succumbed just after, releasing into the warmth of junsu's body with a helpless scream before collapsing onto the younger man, shaking arms unable to withstand his weight any longer.

a moment passed between them before yoochun pulled out with a hiss, falling back against junsu's side in a boneless sprawl that, at any other time, junsu would've found amusing.

'that,' junsu mumbled under his breath, leaning into yoochun's touch as he ran shaking fingers through junsu's sweaty hair. 'was incredible.'

'mm.' yoochun agreed softly, before pushing himself weakly onto his elbows and fixing junsu with a watery smile. 'i love you, you know.'

junsu paused, taking in yoochun's flushed skin and the way his eyelashes stuck together with barely restrained tears and did the only thing he could think to do.

with a snort, junsu lent over and gave yoochun a playful shove, nearly sending the older male tumbling off the edge of the mattress.

'i love you too, even if you are a sentimental fool.' he opened his arms and gestured to yoochun, pulling him an embrace. 'now come here and stop being an idiot.'

yoochun smiled and moved to lean against junsu's chest, pinching sleepily at the skin of his arms in retaliation. 'we're still dirty.' he murmured halfheartedly as junsu laid them both down on the bed and linked his feet over yoochun's ankles.

'hmm,' he agreed with a smile, nose brushing softly against yoochun's hair. 'you stink. but don't worry, i'd still be up for a repeat performance.'

twelve | a little bit of christmas cheer | yunho/jaejoong

Fri, 26 Dec 2008 23:52:37 GMT

a little bit of christmas cheer
yunho/jaejoong

i felt bad for not writing any christmas fic (not that i do often, but hey) and i felt that i should. written directly into lj, because i don't have word at the minute, so if there's any spelling/grammar mistakes, i apologise.

Christmas is Yunho's favourite time of year. It isn't because of the baubles and the tinsel and the time they get off from work, although those help - Yunho can't deny that waking up in a warm bed on a winter's morning and not having to move is nothing short of blissful.

But no, fairy lights and family meals are not the reason that Yunho holds Christmas so close to his heart.

The season makes them all more festive, more merry and amiable - especially when Yoochun smuggles enough soju into the apartment (behind their manager's back, of course) to get them all pleasantly buzzed. But the change is most noticiable in Jaejoong.

It is Jaejoong, humming as he strings wreaths of holly around the fireplace. It is Jaejoong, singing along to carols as he irons at two in the morning. It is Jaejoong, sat by his side on Christmas eve, the other members having headed home to be with their families, sipping happily on hot chocolate and chiding Yunho for not adding enough marshmellows.

And it is Jaejoong, as he wakes Yunho at five-thirty am on Christmas morning, having crawled from bed half an hour earlier, silver tinsel around his waist, brandishing the most shoddily wrapped present Yunho has ever seen.

Because if it weren't for Jaejoong, Yunho muses as he watches the elder male pulling on a pair of new boots and strutting happily down the black runner-cum-catwalk, Christmas wouldn't be worth celebrating at all.

eleven | fetch | jaejoong-centric, yunho/jaejoong

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 01:43:15 GMT

fetch
jaejoong-centric, yunho/jaejoong
r - death, blood, potentially disturbing content
horror
1046 words

oh yes, i wrote it :| i'm not going to lie to you, this fic is a ~~bit~~ lot disturbing, and deals with death, violence, kind of mental disorders, so if that's not your thing, i wouldn't bother reading. if it is, this one has the lot! :D

the product of being fed up of not having written anything recently (lack of time!) and an attempt to distract myself from ulcer!pain DD:

for r_hr_maniac and miss_skitchiez because i love them and because i can ♥

Your childhood was filled with monsters. The kind that all children fear. Bed bugs and creepers and things that go bump in the night. The kind of things you look back on, years down the line, armed with hours of schooling and a greater knowledge, and laugh about. But you never, not in your wildest nightmares, imagined that one of those monsters, perhaps the most terrifying and dangerous of all, would sink its claws deep into your life, watch you grow, and never truly be shaken free.

-

Your friends had always known you as a bit of a dreamer. You remember well the way a twinkling in the corner of your eye would grab your attention, draw you away, oblivious to the calls and the laughter and the exasperated ‘yah, jaejoong’s away with the fairies again,’ as you stared intently into nothingness. You remember how it alienated you, friends never sticking around for long, tired of seeing your glazed eyes staring over their shoulders when you promised you were listening.

And you didn’t mean to do it. Didn’t even know you were, half of the time, but you just couldn’t help it. Couldn’t brush away that niggling feeling. That quiet paranoia. Couldn’t help but zone out as voices turned to white noise against your ears, eyes glued firmly to the shadows.

You were always a little bit jumpy, restless and unsettled and, thinking about it now, it was probably that, more than anything, which drove them away. Nobody, it seemed, could cope with your constant state of unease. Makes me so damn nervous, you’d hear them whisper to each other, hidden within your secluded toilet stall, always got that strange look in his eyes, like he’s seeing something that’s not really there.

-

It got to them, in the end. Bothered them more than it bothered you, and they forced you to see a doctor. You weren’t a malicious person, never had been, but sometimes (oftentimes) you would find yourself wishing gruesome circumstances to befall the man.

He made you take pills, little white things that rattled noisily in your pocket and messed with your head and made you ill. Oh, so violently ill. But you did what they said, popped your pills for six months. Six months of retching and screaming and crying until your eyes stung and your throat bled.

They never voiced it, but they didn’t have to. You could see it in their eyes.

They thought you were mad.

-

And that’s when you stopped taking the pills.

It was too much. The constant state of false induced euphoria. So you just stopped. Just like that. Stopped taking the drugs, stopped being compliant and stopped being weak. You flushed them away and started to live. You came off the drugs and started to see.

-

And what you saw, what you saw was Yunho.

-

He didn’t know, didn’t know anything. Not about the paranoia or the dreaming, not the doctors or the darkness, so you let him in. And for a while you were happy, safe. You laughed. You loved.

Yunho thought nothing of the brief lapses into silence. Thought the unresponsiveness was endearing, not worrying, so you deigned to keep him close.

-

The two of you moved in together, to a small and overly expensive little place in the heart of Seoul.

This, you thought, had to be right. Had to be proof that you were normal, that the shadows you saw over your shoulder sometimes were just a trick of the light. That the strange, barely there sensation of another’s hands on your waist was nothing more than a misconstrued product of your imagination.

But you had only been there a week, if that, maybe a little more, you can’t quite remember, when you first found them.

The holes.

Tiny, non-descript little things, dotted strategically around your home, hastily made and rough around the edges and – you felt your blood run cold – about the size of a human eye.

-

There was one above the fridge, two hidden behind the soap in the shower. One, slightly larger than the others, on your bedroom wall. An almost perfect vantage point.
You felt your skin prickle with fear.

How many times had Yunho made love to you on that bed? Spread you out across the mattress, calves hooked gently over his shoulders? You could taste the bile as it rose in your throat.

Someone had seen it all. Someone had seen the way your bodies moved together, seen your tentative smile as the two of you lay side by side, completely at peace for once in your life, and you’d never even had a clue.

-

Legs shaking, you crept along the hallway towards your bedroom. The house was dark, silent, Yunho having begged a headache and gone to bed early. You’d stolen a kiss and let him go, for once not overly concerned. You let your hand rest gingerly on the door handle. No, it couldn’t have, not here, not now. Not your Yunho.

Copper hit the back of your throat as you pushed open the door. A sharp and obtrusive taste that had you gagging, streaming eyes pinned to the body on the bed as you fell helplessly to the floor.

Bent over double, sobs bubbling up from your throat, you retched onto the carpet.

There was blood everywhere. Splattered up the walls, painted across the curtains, drip drip dripping soundlessly onto the floor from Yunho’s lifeless fingers.

Movement caught your eye and you looked away from Yunho’s battered body, scream dying in your throat when you finally saw him, saw the shadow that’s been haunting you all these years.

He’s a carbon copy of yourself, right down to the hair and the lips and the faraway look in his eyes. But he’s smiling, shoulders shaking with laughter as he reaches up and slowly, with just a thumb, smears Yunho’s blood against his lips.

You throw yourself at him. At least, you thought you did, but the copy is right by your side, fingers pinching roughly under your chin, tilting your head up so sharply that you almost don’t hear him hiss into your ear.

“Take a peek, precious. I’ll bet you both look beautiful in red.”

ten | there is a fountain filled with blood | junsu-centric

Sun, 05 Oct 2008 00:10:16 GMT

there is a fountain filled with blood
r
angst
junsu-centric, slight ot5, religious fic
454 words

this actually started off as a little scrap of a thing while i was freewriting, but the more i wrote the more i grew to like the idea and i suppose i just let it run away with me. also, the thought of trying to characterise junsu kind of terrifies me, so i'm sorry if this is terrible or sth.

religious fic warning! nothing terrible, but please no flames or anything. for r_hr_maniac because she's my junsu and i love her and i hope you enjoy this bb ♥

The dying thief rejoiced to see
that fountain in his day;
and there may I, though vile as he,
wash all my sins away.
- There is a fountain filled with blood

Junsu steps through the doors of the Church, old and magnificent and most of all welcoming, and not for the first time in his life feels a familiar rush of belonging somewhere inside his soul.

It’s nice, warm and tender and a little bit nostalgic, and Junsu remembers his childhood well. He’d spent all of his Sundays here, rain or shine, through thunder and hail, singing in the mornings, studying in the afternoons and smiling regardless the hour.

He remembers it all too well, and he can almost see himself, ten years younger, fresh faced and bright eyed, standing at the altar and singing his heart out. Junsu remembers the way his mother had smiled, watching him from her seat in the pews, bursting with dignity and pride as she reminded all the others – neither boastful nor pretentious – that’s my son up there.

But the happy memories begin to fade, begin to slip and slide away, when Junsu remembers all the other things that he’s done. He takes a seat at the back, shoulders sagging in defeat – defeat, but never shame – as other memories, no less happy or precious, begin to flood his mind.

Yunho’s touch at his waist, Changmin’s breath on his neck. More than once, twice, so many times that Junsu’s lost count. Jaejoong curled against his side, fingers dancing slowly up his thighs. Yoochun. Junsu’s breath catches in his throat and he tips his head back, tries to remind himself how to breathe.

Yoochun’s lips around his cock, hot and heavy and groaning his name softly through the darkness. Junsu can almost feel his cheeks colouring, body temperature soaring and tangling with the regret and fear bubbling beneath his skin.

And Junsu wishes he could have both, wishes that embracing the warmth of one didn’t force him into the hate of another. But they clash, incompatible, and Junsu has lived with it long enough to finally realise that two mismatching halves will never ever make a whole.

And he knows why he’s here, but even as he stands, heart pounding against his ribcage and tears glistening in his eyes, Junsu can almost hear the shadows of his past, voices whispering in his ears, begging him to reconsider, to make the sensible decision, to do what’s right.

But Junsu’s tired, tired of doing what’s ‘right’, what’s expected, and with one final glance, he turns to leave, footsteps echoing in the silence. And the only comfort in Junsu’s mind is the knowledge that he’s playing by their rules, not his own.

nine | and in your eyes, the sun | jaejoong-centric

Wed, 24 Sep 2008 14:24:21 GMT

and in your eyes, the sun
g
angst
jaejoong-centric, potentially sensitive content
470 words

uh, i don't really know? okay so i have another fic that i'm working on atm, and i'm kind of struggling with it, so i wrote this piece just so i could have a bit of a break and not start to get murderous. wrote this at various different stages of the day (i even wrote some on the bus, wtf) so if it's a little bit disjointed or weird then that's why (fail :|).

for miss_skitchiez, because she's a freak and i'm sure she'll appreciate this ♥

the process of losing your sight is a gradual one. unfamiliar blackness begins to settle itself over your senses, clouding your vision, pinks and yellows and greens slipping boundaries and bleeding, washed out, into each other.

it scares you. the prospect of closing your eyes at night and never opening them again causes your fingers to tremble helplessly as you stumble down the hallway, cautiously mapping out the all too familiar confines of your home.

you don’t ask for help and you don’t pretend this isn’t real, like creatures of the night and bugs that aren’t supposed to bite. you just deal with it the best you can, the only way you’ve ever known how.

and when the others ask if you’re okay, when yoochun sits beside you at dinner and takes your hand in his, you almost falter. you almost give in, cracks and breaks, fault-lines, crisscrossing over your self-imposed misery and leaving you breathless.

but you don’t. you take a deep breath and laugh, joyless, push them away with a broken smile and tell them everything’s fine. and, in a funny sort of way, it is. you’re fighting a losing battle, you know that, but letting them in won’t change a thing. all you can do now is try to enjoy the time you have left.

the last thing you ever see is the bathroom tiles, white and dripping with water. you stand for a moment, motionless, unblinking, droplets running down your back like little rivers of unshed tears.

you’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, months, apprehensive and restless, but you’re completely unprepared for the feeling of heartbreak that begins to bubble in your chest.

you sink to the ground, helpless, bang your head on the edge of the tap as you sit back under the spray.

and you don’t even realise you’re crying, hardly even remember what sound is, until you feel hands against your skin, palms cupping your cheeks and tilting your face up into the light.

all you can do is stare back, eyes unfocused and damp with tears, as yunho, you know it’s yunho, can hear his voice, frantic and fuzzy against your eardrums, pulls you from the bath, wraps a towel around your shaking body and guides you from the room.

it’s okay, you’ll be okay, you can hear him whispering beside your ear, shouting for yoochun and junsu and changmin before he settles you down on the couch.

just look at me, jaejoongah. can you do that for me? just look at me and everything will be okay.

his fingers are back on your cheeks, another hand resting on your thigh, warm bodies hovering on all sides, whispering words you don’t want to hear. and you have to resist the urge to laugh, because you know it’ll be anything but.

eight | the geek at your feet | gen

Mon, 15 Sep 2008 19:14:08 GMT

the geek at your feet
g
ridiculous fluff/crack/attempt at humour
406 words

uh... harro. stupid little piece that i just whipped up in about ten minutes. college is wearing me down (already, i know, right? :|) and i'm a bit :( over some rl stuff, so i wanted something to cheer me up a little bit (I DON'T THINK THIS WORKED :|). also, inorite, Christmas!fic in september and lulz girls aloud reference :)

enjoy? (if there's any glaringly obvious typos, pls don't hesitate to point them out. i haven't re-read this or anything :S)

Jaejoong grunted softly. Exams were growing ever nearer and Jaejoong resolved to cram every last minute he had with studying, praying to whichever deity might be eavesdropping that something would stick in his mind long enough for him to pass.

Hunched uncomfortably over the table, Jaejoong reached up with one hand and pushed his glasses haphazardly back up his nose.

“This is useless,” he grumbled to himself, staring angrily down at the heavy textbook. Maybe if he stared hard enough the book would burst into flames, and he could escape the exam with third degree burns.

“What’s that smell?” Jaejoong started as Changmin flopped happily down into the vacant seat beside him. The younger boy was smirking smugly, finished essays and pages of multi-coloured notes smiling happily up at him. Jaejoong wanted to die.

“Don’t work yourself too hard, Jaejoong,” Changmin reached out to pat the other boy’s arm. “You might strain something.”

Oh, well, Jaejoong was almost tempted to take his Biology textbook and thump the boy with it, but images of the stern librarian that had been eyeing Jaejoong unhappily all afternoon soon banished that thought.

“It’s nearly Christmas, Min! The season of joy and goodwill!” Jaejoong gestured wildly around his head, pink highlighter smearing across his cheek. “They shouldn’t be allowed to put us through this kind of torture.”

“You know, if you’d started all of this earlier, instead of going on countless bar crawls with Yoochun-hyung, you’d probably be filling Yunho-hyung’s underwear drawer with snow right now.”

Yes, Jaejoong decided, he really really wanted to die.

With a snort of annoyance, Jaejoong stood from the table and brushed all of his notes back into his bag. Before the younger boy could react (or admonish him for not treating his work with ‘respect’), Jaejoong yanked him up from the table and began to make his way out of the library.

“Hyung!” Changmin fought only half-heartedly, more focused on keeping the folder of meticulously arranged work under his arm. “What are you doing? You have an exam in five days! Five! An exam that you’ve barely even studied for!”

Jaejoong smiled wickedly, glancing over his shoulder and blowing the bat-like librarian a kiss. The snow met them viciously, crunching under Jaejoong’s feet as he pulled the two of them out into the cold.

“Come on, Minnieah,” Jaejoong whispered, barely audible above the roaring wind. “There’s a pair of Yunho’s boxers with my name on.”

...*kills self* D:

seven | smile like you mean it | jaejoong-centric

Tue, 26 Aug 2008 17:28:54 GMT

smile like you mean it
jaejoong-centric
pg13 - mental disorders, dark content
horror
1211 words

~~long fic!?!?!~~ okay, so not really long fic so to speak, but this is pretty long for me! i'm really quite happy with this piece. horror is my absolute favourite genre to write but i've never really been sure where fandom stands on it, so i haven't really written any? idk. i talk too much in these things. warnings for schizophrenia (i'm sorry if i didn't portray it realistically) and potentially disturbing content? enjoy! :)

Changmin is the first to notice the change in Jaejoong. It’s subtle at first, small and insignificant things, unnoticeable, had Changmin not been living with Jaejoong for so long.

He mentions nothing to the other members. Just quietly nurses his concerns and makes a mental note to keep a close eye on the older man.

Then Jaejoong begins to grow quiet, staring, unblinking, into empty spaces, as if the particles of dust pirouetting through the air are putting on a show only he can see.

Changmin makes a list of pros and cons, checks them all with a red marker pen, debates silently in his mind how he should approach the subject. Part of him is convinced he’s blowing everything out of proportion – this is Jaejoong, after all – but the niggling uncertainty at the back of his mind is more than enough to tell him otherwise.

And so Changmin takes the plunge, gathers up all of his wits and courage, and corners Jaejoong when he’s alone in the kitchen.

But when questioned, Jaejoong takes one long look at the concern shining in Changmin’s eyes and smiles, the gentle curve of his lips hidden behind a chipped cup of coffee.

Jaejoong climbs into bed slowly, house dark and silent. He’s the only one awake, the only one not tucked safely into bed, Yoochun snoring softly at his side.

All is quiet as Jaejoong watches Yoochun’s chest rise and fall with each breath, the bony expanse of his ribs rising on each inhale. But then he hears them again. The whispers. Leaking into his brain with a ferocity that preys on the already tattered ribbons of Jaejoong’s nerves.

Jaejoong squeezes his eyes shut, fists his hands into his hair and tries to focus on the constant sound of Yoochun’s ragged breathing. But he can still hear them; feel them crawling over his skin like ants on scattered sugar.

you’re no good for them. better off without you, without you and your issues.

Jaejoong can feel his body begin to shake, small tremors rippling through his bloodstream. He pulls the covers up, over his head, hunches down, hands over his ears. Shrouds himself.

they don’t want you. don’t need you. but you know that, don’t you princess?

Yoochun wakes to the sound of Jaejoong screaming.

The four of them gather in the living room, Yunho and Yoochun and Junsu and Changmin, pressed together on the couch, thighs rubbing and eyes still stuck with sleep. Jaejoong is in his room, curled up in bed, soothed into a fitful sleep by Yoochun.

Junsu clears his throat and Yunho sighs, begins to speak.

“I think…” he starts slowly, glancing at the other three men in the room, carefully choosing his words and judging their expressions, their reactions. “I think we should call a doctor.”

Yoochun shakes his head, bites his lip, the sound of Jaejoong’s screams still ringing loudly in his head. “He isn’t crazy, hyung."

They try to carry on as normal, take every day as it comes, but everyone is on edge, wary, and Jaejoong can feel eyes on him when they think he isn’t looking. Can hear them, whispering amongst themselves, quiet and restrained and sharp like knives against Jaejoong’s skin.

He sits in the corner of the dressing room, stares down at his fingers, face caked in makeup. Junsu sidles over at some point, tries to engage Jaejoong in conversation that doesn’t last long before he smiles, excuses himself, scared away by the blank apathy of Jaejoong’s face.

Jaejoong can’t speak to them. Won’t speak to them. Not when he knows what they’re saying behind his back, knows what they really think.

they think you’re a freak. an abomination, a mistake. a blemish that just won’t go away.

Jaejoong leaves the room.

Yunho can only take so much of Jaejoong’s unresponsiveness before he snaps, mouth drawn into a thin angry, line. Jaejoong is staring, unmoving, at the wall before him, small specks of light dancing along the pale curve of his jaw. Yunho sighs, sits next to him on the sofa.

“Jaejoong,” Yunho hesitates when Jaejoong turns to look at him, expecting more of the cold dismissal they have all been subjected to recently. He opens his mouth, a concerned tirade of admonishments bubbling up his throat. The words die on his lips.

Jaejoong’s eyes are shallower than Yunho remembers. Hollow. Haunted in a way that sends shivers of fear up Yunho’s spine. He reaches out to touch Jaejoong, a slow and reassuring brush of fingers on skin, but Jaejoong backs away, mumbling words under his breath, unseeing eyes staring straight through Yunho like rice paper.

Yunho remains where he is when Jaejoong leaves the room, dumbfounded, a dark cloud of apprehension and distrust settling over his senses.

Jaejoong crouches silently in the bathroom, back to the door, palms pressed weakly against his temples. He isn’t sure how much longer he can take it, the sharp stabbing of voices invading his unconscious. Devouring him from the inside out.

Yoochun starts as he rolls over, eyes widening almost comically when he spots Jaejoong, silent and barefoot, crouched by the side of his bed.

His eyes are wide and dark, and Yoochun does nothing, says nothing. Just watches and waits quietly for Jaejoong to make the first move.

“They’re talking to me, Chunnie.” Jaejoong’s voice is soft, barely above a whisper, and Yoochun has to strain his ears to catch it. Moonlight seeps into the room through the open window and washes over Jaejoong’s skin, pale and sickly and scared.

Jaejoong casts a nervous glance around the room as he speaks, paranoid, almost as if… Yoochun frowns. Almost as if he’s afraid they’ll hear him.

speaking with the enemy. he doesn’t care, doesn’t understand. not like we do. not like we do.

And then,
he sees them.

One night before bed, curtains billowing in the wind. Yoochun is out for the night; club hopping he’d told Jaejoong with a soft, almost mournful, smile. Jaejoong had nodded, distracted, allowed Yoochun to pull him in for a brief hug.

The room is empty and Jaejoong slides his shirt down slowly off his shoulders, fabric pooling onto the ground by his feet. He shivers, pads slowly across the room, and pulls the covers back from the bed.

Then something touches him from behind, cold fingers running over the smooth skin of his chest, curling into his hair before gripping his shoulders roughly and spinning him around.

Jaejoong freezes, eyes wide with fear as the shadow smirks, draws him closer and pushes his head back.

Silent tears cloud Jaejoong’s eyes as the shadow forces him backwards onto the bed, icy hand clamped over his mouth. He tries to struggle, get away, but the shadow pushes down harder, faster, draws white teeth down Jaejoong’s neck.

we’re all you, princess.

Jaejoong flounders helplessly, hips bucking weakly, sliding through darkness, meeting nothing.

there’s nobody here but you,

And he tries to run, get away, escape, but the shadow leans over him, whispers pressing like weights against his ears, chest heaving as he falls to the floor. He doesn’t dare to look over his shoulder, just curls into a ball, bare shoulder wedged firmly against the door frame.

nobody to hear you scream.

six | seven fragmented ficbits | various

Tue, 29 Jul 2008 16:06:03 GMT

i think my writing muses have abandoned me recently, so i just opened up word and wrote whatever came to mind. sorry for the weird and the lack of caps and i haven't read over any of these so they're probably full of mistakes and things that don't make sense.

but i hope you enjoy? ♥?

you get angry sometimes. so so angry, until you’re blinded by the lights and the sounds and the hopes that flash like stars before your eyes. it’s too much and not enough; all at once and not at all and you know it’s tearing you apart inside.

you can almost feel yourself starting to crack, fractures and shards and fragments of something great. but you battle on, draw strength from the quirk of a smile or a palm against your fingertips, warm and familiar and understanding above all else.

you battle on, because that’s just what you do.

-

‘youngwoong jaejoong, youngwoong jaejoong, youngwoong jaejoong,’

is all you hear, sometimes, echoing against the deepest recesses of your soul until you’re not sure where youngwoong stops and jaejoong begins. youngwoong is fast and furious, soaring high notes and pounding footsteps that drive jaejoong to the point of exhaustion.

and you wish you could leave him on stage, abandon him before the cameras, cast him away, to the lions and tigers and wolves and bears. but you can’t, you can’t you can’t you can’t, because jaejoong is nothing without youngwoong.

-

‘yunho-yah,’ jaejoong is wide eyed and fragile, soft lips and smooth skin, voice seeping into your soul with a twist and a flick and a scratch. he’s cold and closed and open as you push away from the doorframe, pull his body into yours with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’re enough.

enough to shield him from the stares and the whispers and the flashes of hate and fear and disgust. because jaejoong is beautiful and warm and tender, strong and hard and brave in all the right places.

and you promised, you promised to yourself and to him and to the others, that you wouldn’t let him get hurt again.

-

you slip his shirt up over his head, jeans pushed down to his thighs with rough fingers and rougher words. you don’t have long, and you know you shouldn’t be doing this here, but jaejoong is staring up at you with fire in his eyes and a smirk on his lips and you find that will power just isn’t enough to hold you together.

-

‘yoochun-ah,’ jaejoong beckons you over, voice bright with mirth and laughter and an undertone of marvel.

you creep through the darkness towards him, cursing when you crash into the coffee table, scraping shreds of skin from your shin. you slide in beside him, accept the cigarette that’s hanging limply between his fingers and take a drag.

tokyo (or is it osaka, fukuoka, sapporo – japan, even?) glitters below you, iron railings and jaejoong’s fingers on your arm all that’s stopping you from taking a step forward, plunging falling flying to your death doom solace.

he guides your gaze downwards and there, there you can see, your tired and jaded eyes can see, the lines and lines of fans, twisting and twirling and winding their way in an organised mish-mash through the streets.

you’re tempted to snort, dismiss the image as overly devoted fans with cold fingers and toes, cigarette smoke burning your tongue, but jaejoong is laughing by your side, loud and unrestrained, arms wide and open as he blows kisses to the girls below.

shimmering red catches your eye and your mouth curves into a smile, heart lighter than it has been in years. because there, twinkling below you with a purity you didn’t know still existed, are your fans, light-sticks clasped tightly in frost bitten fingers, TVfXQ FLY glowing brightly in the snow.

-

junsu is alone when you find him, back straight and jaw tense, eyes dark and lonely. you approach him quietly, sand shifting beneath trainers that are a size too big (changmin’s, pulled on hastily in the dark), a wry smile gracing your face when he turns around.

‘hyung!’ his voice is loud in the near silence of the night, surprise marring his features. you sit yourself down beside him, pull your hands from your pockets and fold them across your lap.

‘yoochun was going to come,’ you say softly, eyes fixed on the horizon. he nods in agreement, shifting uncomfortably and watching you from the corner of his eye. there’s no animosity in the gaze, you know that, just surprise and curiosity and barely concealed hurt.

he doesn’t cry, not like yoochun does, angry tears dampening your shirt as you hold him close, and you don’t expect him to. it’s awkward and strange and a little bit surreal, and neither of you are quite sure what to say. but sometimes, sometimes it’s better to say nothing at all.

he shifts closer, snuggling against your side and stealing your body heat, and you let him, actions speaking louder than words or thoughts or the tears pooling in junsu’s eyes as you watch the sunrise together, waves pooling around your feet.

-

you’re in too deep, too deep too far too fast and you don’t know where you are, who you are or what you’re doing here. lost, you’re lost you’re sure of it, darkness covering your eyes in an unforgiving shroud that you just can’t shed.

raindrops drip drip drip from the sky, running down your cheeks and sliding into your heart. it hurts, it hurts and you just want to run and cry and break away from the weakness that’s smothering your mind.

but ev ery t im e they tou ch yo u,
y ou br ea
k

um, i'm sorry? :x
~~you can tell i was starting to run out of steam~~

five | lack of space for the light hearted | yunho/jaejoong

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 02:00:32 GMT

lack of space for the light hearted
jaeho
r
angst
363 words

i don't even know >:| kind of a peace offering for kacy (miss_skitchiez), because angsty changmin is harder than i thought, and kind of blatant evidence that i'm a crazy, crazy person and should stop listening to such emo music in the dead of the night.

and i know i make you cry
i know sometimes you wanna die
but do you really feel alive without me?

Each and every night the two of you run through the same, meticulous, routine, until the hard curves of Yunho’s body become as integral to your survival as the breaths that catch in your throat.

Your toothbrush clatters into the sink, mundane and forgotten when Yunho’s arms wind their way around your waist, pull you away from your own pale reflection and into the quiet of his bedroom, white foam still lingering helplessly on your top lip.

He holds you like a lover, almost, the ghosts dancing in his eyes masked only by the butterfly kisses he skims over your exposed collarbone. And you know you should stop this, push him away, but he’s pulling your shirt up over your head and running his fingers down your spine and oh.

You can almost hear the whispers; feel the shame and disappointment and betrayal pressing down on your shoulders. Because you know, no matter how much you try to delude yourself, you know that’s what you’d be faced with if this got out.

That’s why you don’t hold it against him, not when you wake up alone in the morning, sheets scented with sex and sweat and tears you didn’t know you’d shed. And each time he presses against you, each time he holds your hand and whispers into your ear, you smile and draw him closer, as if you can convince yourself that this is all you need.

Because you know you can’t live without it. Can’t live without the touch of his skin against yours, teeth leaving dark welts on your back that even the sliest of cameras can’t catch. And you know you’ll never push him away, no matter how much you know this is going to hurt you all in the long run.

You’ve always lived for the present, and at least when he does finally leave you, the pressures and expectations of life too great to allow what you have to continue, you’ll have plenty of time to patch the broken shards of your heart back together again.

four | 'till the light comes pouring through | yoochun/junsu

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 22:35:34 GMT

'till the light comes pouring through
yoosu
r
angst
460 words

well! the wonderful mani (r_hr_maniac) asked me to write her a yoosu, and this was the result. i've never written yoosu before, so i'm a little bit worried about how this might have turned out, and i'm not sure if this is quite what she wanted, but i hope you enjoy it nevertheless! ♥

‘cause you are not alone, i’m always there with you
and we’ll get lost together, ‘till the light comes pouring through

It is a cold, dark, December evening, jaded moonlight leaking over the horizon and washing over Yoochun’s skin, illuminating the lines and the bags and the tears that he tries so hard to hide. His crumpled frame shudders when the door bangs open, reverberating against the silence of the apartment and cutting into the papier-mâché mask that Yoochun weaves around himself.

He can feel the stench of others on Junsu’s skin, bright lights and thumping bass lines so thick that Yoochun can hardly recognise the younger man beyond the sheen of lust in his eyes. He doesn’t protest when Junsu drags him into their shared bedroom, lips and tongues and hot breaths sliding up against each other until Yoochun feels as though his heart is about to burst.

A short gasp wrenches free of Yoochun’s throat, a broken shard of his soul that flees from the warmth of his open mouth, the only hint towards the anguish shining so brightly in his eyes.

Seoul glitters brightly through a crack in the curtains, twinkling like a forbidden star that dances beyond Yoochun’s grasp, flirting away until the feel of Junsu under his finger tips, shirt sliding down his back and off the bed, is the only thing that tells Yoochun he’s still breathing.

He wants to stay here forever, Junsu’s body moving against his, blunt fingernails roaming over his hips until he cries out in pleasure, unaware of the hustle and bustle of life as it crashes down around him ‘til the last breath leaves his body.

But for now the days drag by, bits and pieces and fragments that are frayed at the edges, overtaken by the darkness forced upon them. Each day that passes leaves Yoochun a little weaker, pushes him closer to giving in, until his only lifeline is the hope that Junsu will never leave him, that what they have between them will never end.

And for now, as Junsu crawls over his body, movements lethargic and a sated smile on his face, Yoochun will struggle on. If not for himself then for the boy curled up in his arms, eyes shining with a silent courage that tugs at Yoochun’s heartstrings and adds to the fire crackling weakly in his chest.

For even at his lowest moments, when the pressure and the torments and the pain of love becomes too much to handle, when the fire in his heart goes out, and he feels as though the darkness has won, Yoochun looks to Junsu, looks to Junsu and knows that, even if their story will never have a happy ending, at least they’ll get lost together.

three | the back allies of itaewon | yunho/jaejoong

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 22:30:28 GMT

the back allies of itaewon
jaeho
g
183 words

well, i've finally finished all of my exams and i've gotten sick of looking at the same post for months. i haven't actually finished anything substantial recently (school got in the way), but i wrote this a while ago and i like it enough to put it here as a bit of a filler (even though it only took me like five minutes. orz.)

Jaejoong sighs as he leans against the wall, bricks grubby against his back, dark and grimy like the tar that stains his lungs as he lights up a cigarette, inhales the smoke, gulping it in as though it’s his only lifeline. Perhaps it is, you muse.

Somebody collides with his shoulder, their heavy set frame and grumbled watch it sending Jaejoong southwards, and you watch as he falls, make no move to help him, only watch as his elbows scrape the ground, fingers desperate to catch the cigarette before the light goes out.

If this were anywhere else, anyone else, you’d think that was a metaphor of some kind, of Jaejoong scrambling to capture the tattered shards of his life as they float away from his grasp. But this is real life, and you’re huddled in one of the back allies behind your tiny, Itaewon apartment, the scent of tobacco and left over takeout heavy on your senses as you crouch down by Jaejoong’s side, run your fingers through his hair, and smile bitterly.

This is real life, and it’s anything but pretend.

two | paint it black | yunho/jaejoong

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 22:25:05 GMT

paint it black
jaeho
r
au
332 words
devil!jae. i wrote this over the course of two maths lessons, after i got the idea that devil jae would be really hot. idk, i'm still not very sure about the quality of my dong bang fics :\

He smiles when he watches you, slender body lurking in the shadows dancing beyond the doorframe. Flashes of pale skin, untouched like porcelain and crawling with eternities of damnation, are all that allow you to see where his body ends and the darkness begins.

He’s got you trapped, curled up and helpless in his grasp. You both know this, and you’re stunned to find that you don’t care; would rather be enslaved to his corrupt will than risk being flung from his sight.

Your body trembles as he prowls across the bed, anticipation coursing through your veins, burning like the fires of the hell from which your forbidden siren crept.

‘Jaejoong.’ He whispers quietly against your neck, mirth clear in his voice as he pulls at your skin; banishing the wits that you had battled so valiantly to regain.

You cry out softly as he pushes you down into the soft mess of feathers. You moan when he moves against you, a low and keening noise that’s foreign even to your own ears. He’s all black silk and leather, dark eyes and sharp teeth that tear your apart from the inside.

Your soul lies in tatters, shredded into bloodied tendrils as he licks the remnants from his fingers, eyes fixed to yours, all the evidence of an eternity spent in the shadow of an overbearing whip toller clear in the slick movements of his plush tongue.

It’s been like this for a long time, now, and yet you’re still no closer to understanding the sultry demon that crawls in through the darkness, grasping your heart with steely talons.

You’re resigned to the fact that, perhaps you never will. And oddly, you find that you don’t mind, not when Jaejoong is climbing from the bed, hovering by the doorframe, lips curled upwards in a mocking caricature of a kiss when you lift your head weakly, eyes clouded with pleasure.

And then he’s gone, vanished, melting back into the shadows from which he came.

one | make this go on forever | yunho/jaejoong

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:34:45 GMT

make this go on forever
jaeho; yoochun pov
g
fluff
454 words

oh my god, i have never written dbsk!fic in life and i am so nervous at the minute. this is a gift fic for the wonderful ladydusk_raku for her fic murphy's law. as such, the characters/plot are not mine and i'm sorry if i took any liberties with the characters or made them sound retarded. i hope you like and if you'd rather i didn't post this then let me know and i'll take it down right away ♥

Micky smiled fondly as he lifted the wooden photo frame from it’s place on the mantelpiece.

His parents stood on the cobbled streets of Paris; Yunho’s arms wrapped loosely around Jaejoong from behind, circling the other man and clasping their fingers tightly together; newly purchased wedding bands flashing in the light of the sun. Jaejoong’s hair, blond then, like honey – a far cry from the dark raven Micky is used to – blown haphazardly over his face, soft strands falling across his dark eyes. His lips are curling upwards into an exasperated smile, cameraman capturing a snapshot of the couple before Yunho scoops his husband into the air, spinning wildly, teasing out that carefree laughter that has become such a large part of Micky’s life.

Yoochun has always adored this picture, remembers back in the days when he was knee high, hair mussed and skin covered in grazes that act as trophies from his many, inevitable, scuffles with Ricky. He remembers being lifted into the air by Yunho in much the same manner, flying madly until the ground and the sky and the sound of his own breathless laughter melt into something so much more precious than anything he has ever known.

The picture almost acts as a looking glass for Yoochun, allows him to peek into a world that he’s never known, helps him to place that glint in Yunho’s eyes as he holds Jaejoong late at night, Seungwoong nestled between them, his skin pink and breath soft, soothed to sleep by the gentle lullabies that Yoochun remembers from his own childhood.

He looks at his parents, older now, eyes creased with the laughter of times gone by, and still sees the same people, not a shadow of their former selves but stronger; stronger and wiser and still full of the same love for each other that is so clearly evident in the sepia toned photograph that has been clutched in the grasp of each and every one of their children.

He leans against the doorframe and smiles, lips curling and lighting up his face in much the same way as Jaejoong’s as he brushes a finger over Yoochun’s cheek, still full of the same tenderness and unmitigated devotion that has pulled Yoochun through some of the most difficult times in his life.

Yoochun smiles, leans over and gently places the photograph back on the mantelpiece with a clunk, eyes raking over the laughing young men once more before he turns to leave, sunlight streaking into the room through slats in the wooden blinds and dousing the couple in a golden glow that is no rival for the beauty shining so brightly in their eyes.

Maybe, Yoochun thinks, maybe he isn't so unlucky after all.