Forsaken [2]
Title: Forsaken
Pairing: YunJae
Rating: R
Length: Chaptered
Genre: AU, supernatural
Prompt: Adopted the prompt by kpopbee and written with her permission.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything apart from the story. I wish I had YunJae and if I had my way, they'd move to New Zealand so they can be civil-unionised here :P
Summary: There is a war brewing for control of Hell and the result hangs on the slim, pale shoulders of a young human. As pure and white as snow, yet the mark of the devil is on him, Jaejoong is destined to be the forsaken one. The bride of the Lucifer himself, his destiny was written from the day he was born on the 6th day of the 6th month of the 6th year of the new millennium. He may be the pawn of Destiny, his future supposedly damned, but a demonic prophecy throws chaos into the mix and nothing is certain anymore.
AN: Please don’t kill me… *hides* And I’m talking to my TWIN in particular… o__O
Jaejoong struggles to open his locker, the metal door constantly stuck. He’s mentioned it to the janitor several times but the man just fobs him off. He tries to get a grip on it, tugging hard and finally, with an agonizing screech that echoes in the hallway, quiet in the early morning before school, it gives way. There is a price to pay for access to his schoolbooks though.
Blood.
The pale young man slips his sliced open index finger into his mouth, wincing at the sting, sucking hard while his other hand digs for his books. He’d forgotten to take his English homework home and that’s his third period. Thank goodness for his free period first thing that morning as well as study hall in his second. He can get his homework done then. The coppery taste is heavy on his tongue, and as he swallows, he feels a flare of heat on his neck. Moving the finger in his mouth into his cheek, he stretches his middle finger down past his jaw, to the pink spot under his chin, rubbing at it absentmindedly while still picking through his locker. The spot had appeared overnight on his sixteenth birthday, and no matter how hard he’s scrubbed at it, it hasn’t gone away. It’s not really noticeable, and now when anyone asks him about it, he just tells them it’s a birthmark.
A few weeks after the pink spot appeared, he’d started experiencing strange heat flares against it. Multiple appointments at various doctors and hospitals have yielded nothing, and Jaejoong has learned to keep his mouth shut about the occasionally heat-infused mark on his neck. In fact, it happens often enough now that he thinks nothing of it. The instances are always random and inexplicable. The first time it happened, he was on his way home when a passing skateboarder accidentally knocks into him. The boy was rather rude about it, accusing Jaejoong of stepping into his path. In the instance he meets the sidewalk, his neck suddenly feels like it’s been lit aflame. It is a strange feeling because it doesn’t hurt him at all. He just knows it’s hot. He’s too preoccupied by the weird feeling dancing on his skin that he ignores the skateboarder who’d knocked him over in the first place, deaf to the abuse being laid on him. Apart from the quick flare of heat, he only suffered from a badly bruised wrist as a result of breaking his fall, but nothing else. Two days later, a boy is hit by a bus on the same corner, but Jaejoong thinks nothing of it.
That boy was the skateboarder.
Jaejoong is a happy young man, full of life and friends who adore him, but yet he prefers to be alone. There is a child-like innocence about him that endears him almost instantly to anyone. He has a way of seeing the beauty in everything, even a withered rose or a charred piece of paper, or even twisted metal in a junkyard. Somehow, you can always depend on him to find something positive in the doom and gloom of anything. Looking at the world through his eyes is to marvel at everything. He sees it all as a gift that he is privileged to touch, and despite his comfortable life, he never takes anything for granted. He also has this strange ability to block out negativity. Some people may call it selective hearing, but for him, it is almost as natural as breathing. He has never once thought ill of anyone, and if put in a situation where others are speaking ill of another, he simply switches off. If asked about the conversation later, he will only remember the positive aspects of it. Even with the stupid locker that has managed to injure him, his only thought is that it is better him than someone else.
He shuts his locker carefully, gaining everything he needs for the first half of his day from it, and heads for the library to get started on his homework. He walks to the south entrance just as a freshman enters, carrying some mice in a cage, and he smiles at the girl, causing a deep blush to bloom on her cheeks. However her shyness is forgotten when her pet mice start to go absolutely crazy in the cage, and she stops to peer at them. They are running around frantically in circles, constantly crashing into the metal sides and even each other, scrabbling frantically at their cage, as if wanting to get out. Jaejoong’s smile falters and he hurries past the girl, and up the stairs to the library, his thoughts in a jumble.
Animals hate him.
It’s been over a year now and Jaejoong is still at a total loss. It really seems as if every single animal on the face of the planet hates him. His beloved pet cat, one that he’d raised from a kitten when he was 10, hisses at him whenever he walks past. In fact, his formerly indoor house cat turned itself into an outdoor cat practically overnight, refusing to come into the house if Jaejoong is in it, and always entering the minute he leaves it. His five older sisters tease him about it, saying that he must smell, and Jaejoong takes it to heart. He was a walking perfumery in the month after his sixteenth birthday but nothing helps. Once, he even tries to walk around with dog food and meat in his backpack, through one of the pockets greenery around the city where people walk their dogs, and he’s never seen a park emptied so quickly. Tiny little toy poodles straining on their leashes to drag their bewildered owners away from him is a sight he isn’t going to forget anytime soon.
And then there was that one occasion just last month with his friend’s older brother who’d come to pick them up after school. They had their Great Pyrenees in the back and the giant dog had practically plastered itself to the opposite side of the car, clawing desperately at the door when Jaejoong had opened the passenger door to get in. Its whining was so loud that Jaejoong had ended up riding shotgun, his friend sitting in the back with his dog. It was a ridiculously warm day and the air-conditioning wasn’t working and so his friend’s brother thinks nothing of winding down the windows in the car. They were on the highway when it happened. Their beautiful white dog leaps out of the car window the first chance it gets, and into the path of an oncoming car and is killed instantly.
That shatters any illusions Jaejoong ever has about animals. They hate him. Plain and simple. He doesn’t say anything to his friend about his ongoing misfortune with non-human living things, but he cries for over an hour when he gets home that day, absolutely bereft. And yet, despite that, his inherently bright nature still shines, out of the blight that seems to have descended upon him.
Jaejoong sighs as he pulls out his laptop and starts it up. He glances at his wristwatch and is shocked to find that over half an hour has passed. He quickly flips through his notebook for the homework that they were set last night: Pick a theme from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and illustrate it using contemporary examples personal to you.
He stares at the question as he runs through the themes in his head. Love? He knows nothing about love. Not the romantic sort anyway. Opposites? That is a possibility. He can write about opposites, though he will struggle to find ugliness in anything. He files that away as a backup. A play within a play? That bit still confuses him a little. Pass. Magic? Is that even real? Definite pass.
Dreams?
Jaejoong feels his face heat up as the thought crosses his mind. No, he cannot write about dreams because they are far too real, far too intimate. He’s been having the same dream every night with only slight variations for over a year now. But it always ends the same way, and he always wakes up covered in his own cum. He doesn’t know or understand how or why, even looking it up on medical forums. Wet dreams are not this constant, this realistic, this prolonged. He’s toyed with the idea that maybe it’s because he is a virgin, but anyone he’s interested in or tries to get close to always seem to move away inexplicably. He reckons he just has bad luck in love.
But it doesn’t explain why he looks forward to going to bed, that he is probably the only teenager on the planet who is in bed by 10pm each night. He doesn’t want to think about it too much. In his dreams it is always a man. A man with a low voice, smooth like velvet, whispering wicked things in his ears. Things he really shouldn’t know about. A man with skilful fingers that dance all over his body, setting it aflame, till he feels like he might actually be set alight. The warmth and heat is not unlike the burn he feels against the mark on his throat. In fact, the feeling is almost comforting. A man whom he parts his thighs for willingly and yet he cannot summon an ounce of shame for it. It is only a dream, isn’t it?
His thoughts are disrupted by the wail of a siren close by and he turns towards the bank of windows, but doesn’t move, because he is sporting a full erection and it will be far too embarrassing if anyone sees him like this. As he contemplates puppies and rainbows to try and will his boner away, several female students enter the library, chattering noisily. He catches snippets of their conversation, and his heart is filled with sadness for the man they are talking about.
Did you see the ambulance?
He fell off the roof.
They say he may not survive.
What was he doing on the roof anyway?
He’s the janitor. Who knows what they do?
He sighs, sending up a brief healing thought for the man’s health. He decides against looking out the window, although his schoolmates have no such restraint as they press themselves against the glass. He turns back to his homework, completely oblivious to the several pairs of eyes that are currently on him. They are torn between staring at the chaos outside the full length window and at the beautiful boy sitting in a cubby who is currently staring earnestly at his dog-eared Shakespeare textbook.
“Do you think he’s a virgin?”
“With a face like that? I highly doubt it.”
“Everyone thinks he’s such an angel but I’m sure looks are deceiving.”
“Yeah, I agree. He’s probably a huge slut.”
“He doesn’t slut around here though.”
“He’s probably got some college boyfriend somewhere.”
The other three girls make disgusted sounds at their friend who simply smirks at them.
“What? Come on, do you really think he’d be fucking a girl?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind him fucking me that’s for sure.”
“Ooooh such a cradle snatcher.”
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s a junior.”
“We’re seniors. Do you think he’d date one of us?”
“I don’t want to date someone prettier than me.”
“Ugh, I’m sure he’s had plastic surgery. His family is loaded and none of his sisters are even half as pretty as he is. It must be plastic surgery.”
“How pathetic. So he sluts around and pretends to be an angel and is basically 90% plastic.”
“Everyone seems to like him in this school. It’s strange.”
“Yeah, I think we’re the only ones who see him for who he really is.”
There is a pregnant pause before all four girls say the same words in one breath.
“A slut.”
They are loud enough for Jaejoong to look up in their direction. He sends a smile their way, not actually hearing their words. One of them sends her own smile back, completely fake of course, as they move away from the window and leave the library just as the first bell rings, signalling that they have three minutes to get to class.
Jaejoong stares at his book, his nose scrunched cutely as he ponders his options. English is not his strongest subject and he wonders why he’s even doing it. He doesn’t notice the dark clouds gathering over the school, nor does he notice the young man standing by a bookshelf, watching him intently even as he whispers under his breath, as if talking to someone, but there’s no one near him.
M’lord, I’ll take care of it.
I understand.
Yes, he has to remain innocent. I’ll make sure of it.
Is it time for that?
The figure stops talking, straightening his tie that’s part of the school uniform. He’s not used to walking the earth, more comfortable in one of his other forms. Being a trickster while in human form is difficult, and his chances have been few and far between. However, he’s had only one task for the last year, set on him by the Prince of Lies, the Ultimate Deceiver; to watch this human, and to ensure no one touches him. He’d been a little derelict in his duty in the first couple of weeks, unsure as to exactly what Lucifer wants of him. He’s a demon not a babysitter. The world however, cannot stand the weight of the Devil walking amongst them for very long, and his nightly visits to his bride is about all it can stand for the moment. If he walked during the day time as well, it will be eternal night for all. It is in the third week that he learns a thing or two about the connection between the Devil and his bride.
Nothing that touches Jaejoong ever lives long enough to regret it.
A freak lightning storm hits the school later that morning, multiple strikes on the outdoor tennis court. There are four casualties. No fatalities, but those girls won’t be returning to school anytime soon.
AN: Lol I was listening to the wrong damn song (Destiny) while writing this and so this failed because that song was more appropriate for Chapter 11 of Sleeping Beauty lol… So my muse ran away helter skelter and I was bereft.
Pairing: YunJae
Rating: R
Length: Chaptered
Genre: AU, supernatural
Prompt: Adopted the prompt by kpopbee and written with her permission.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything apart from the story. I wish I had YunJae and if I had my way, they'd move to New Zealand so they can be civil-unionised here :P
Summary: There is a war brewing for control of Hell and the result hangs on the slim, pale shoulders of a young human. As pure and white as snow, yet the mark of the devil is on him, Jaejoong is destined to be the forsaken one. The bride of the Lucifer himself, his destiny was written from the day he was born on the 6th day of the 6th month of the 6th year of the new millennium. He may be the pawn of Destiny, his future supposedly damned, but a demonic prophecy throws chaos into the mix and nothing is certain anymore.
AN: Please don’t kill me… *hides* And I’m talking to my TWIN in particular… o__O
Jaejoong struggles to open his locker, the metal door constantly stuck. He’s mentioned it to the janitor several times but the man just fobs him off. He tries to get a grip on it, tugging hard and finally, with an agonizing screech that echoes in the hallway, quiet in the early morning before school, it gives way. There is a price to pay for access to his schoolbooks though.
Blood.
The pale young man slips his sliced open index finger into his mouth, wincing at the sting, sucking hard while his other hand digs for his books. He’d forgotten to take his English homework home and that’s his third period. Thank goodness for his free period first thing that morning as well as study hall in his second. He can get his homework done then. The coppery taste is heavy on his tongue, and as he swallows, he feels a flare of heat on his neck. Moving the finger in his mouth into his cheek, he stretches his middle finger down past his jaw, to the pink spot under his chin, rubbing at it absentmindedly while still picking through his locker. The spot had appeared overnight on his sixteenth birthday, and no matter how hard he’s scrubbed at it, it hasn’t gone away. It’s not really noticeable, and now when anyone asks him about it, he just tells them it’s a birthmark.
A few weeks after the pink spot appeared, he’d started experiencing strange heat flares against it. Multiple appointments at various doctors and hospitals have yielded nothing, and Jaejoong has learned to keep his mouth shut about the occasionally heat-infused mark on his neck. In fact, it happens often enough now that he thinks nothing of it. The instances are always random and inexplicable. The first time it happened, he was on his way home when a passing skateboarder accidentally knocks into him. The boy was rather rude about it, accusing Jaejoong of stepping into his path. In the instance he meets the sidewalk, his neck suddenly feels like it’s been lit aflame. It is a strange feeling because it doesn’t hurt him at all. He just knows it’s hot. He’s too preoccupied by the weird feeling dancing on his skin that he ignores the skateboarder who’d knocked him over in the first place, deaf to the abuse being laid on him. Apart from the quick flare of heat, he only suffered from a badly bruised wrist as a result of breaking his fall, but nothing else. Two days later, a boy is hit by a bus on the same corner, but Jaejoong thinks nothing of it.
That boy was the skateboarder.
Jaejoong is a happy young man, full of life and friends who adore him, but yet he prefers to be alone. There is a child-like innocence about him that endears him almost instantly to anyone. He has a way of seeing the beauty in everything, even a withered rose or a charred piece of paper, or even twisted metal in a junkyard. Somehow, you can always depend on him to find something positive in the doom and gloom of anything. Looking at the world through his eyes is to marvel at everything. He sees it all as a gift that he is privileged to touch, and despite his comfortable life, he never takes anything for granted. He also has this strange ability to block out negativity. Some people may call it selective hearing, but for him, it is almost as natural as breathing. He has never once thought ill of anyone, and if put in a situation where others are speaking ill of another, he simply switches off. If asked about the conversation later, he will only remember the positive aspects of it. Even with the stupid locker that has managed to injure him, his only thought is that it is better him than someone else.
He shuts his locker carefully, gaining everything he needs for the first half of his day from it, and heads for the library to get started on his homework. He walks to the south entrance just as a freshman enters, carrying some mice in a cage, and he smiles at the girl, causing a deep blush to bloom on her cheeks. However her shyness is forgotten when her pet mice start to go absolutely crazy in the cage, and she stops to peer at them. They are running around frantically in circles, constantly crashing into the metal sides and even each other, scrabbling frantically at their cage, as if wanting to get out. Jaejoong’s smile falters and he hurries past the girl, and up the stairs to the library, his thoughts in a jumble.
Animals hate him.
It’s been over a year now and Jaejoong is still at a total loss. It really seems as if every single animal on the face of the planet hates him. His beloved pet cat, one that he’d raised from a kitten when he was 10, hisses at him whenever he walks past. In fact, his formerly indoor house cat turned itself into an outdoor cat practically overnight, refusing to come into the house if Jaejoong is in it, and always entering the minute he leaves it. His five older sisters tease him about it, saying that he must smell, and Jaejoong takes it to heart. He was a walking perfumery in the month after his sixteenth birthday but nothing helps. Once, he even tries to walk around with dog food and meat in his backpack, through one of the pockets greenery around the city where people walk their dogs, and he’s never seen a park emptied so quickly. Tiny little toy poodles straining on their leashes to drag their bewildered owners away from him is a sight he isn’t going to forget anytime soon.
And then there was that one occasion just last month with his friend’s older brother who’d come to pick them up after school. They had their Great Pyrenees in the back and the giant dog had practically plastered itself to the opposite side of the car, clawing desperately at the door when Jaejoong had opened the passenger door to get in. Its whining was so loud that Jaejoong had ended up riding shotgun, his friend sitting in the back with his dog. It was a ridiculously warm day and the air-conditioning wasn’t working and so his friend’s brother thinks nothing of winding down the windows in the car. They were on the highway when it happened. Their beautiful white dog leaps out of the car window the first chance it gets, and into the path of an oncoming car and is killed instantly.
That shatters any illusions Jaejoong ever has about animals. They hate him. Plain and simple. He doesn’t say anything to his friend about his ongoing misfortune with non-human living things, but he cries for over an hour when he gets home that day, absolutely bereft. And yet, despite that, his inherently bright nature still shines, out of the blight that seems to have descended upon him.
Jaejoong sighs as he pulls out his laptop and starts it up. He glances at his wristwatch and is shocked to find that over half an hour has passed. He quickly flips through his notebook for the homework that they were set last night: Pick a theme from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and illustrate it using contemporary examples personal to you.
He stares at the question as he runs through the themes in his head. Love? He knows nothing about love. Not the romantic sort anyway. Opposites? That is a possibility. He can write about opposites, though he will struggle to find ugliness in anything. He files that away as a backup. A play within a play? That bit still confuses him a little. Pass. Magic? Is that even real? Definite pass.
Dreams?
Jaejoong feels his face heat up as the thought crosses his mind. No, he cannot write about dreams because they are far too real, far too intimate. He’s been having the same dream every night with only slight variations for over a year now. But it always ends the same way, and he always wakes up covered in his own cum. He doesn’t know or understand how or why, even looking it up on medical forums. Wet dreams are not this constant, this realistic, this prolonged. He’s toyed with the idea that maybe it’s because he is a virgin, but anyone he’s interested in or tries to get close to always seem to move away inexplicably. He reckons he just has bad luck in love.
But it doesn’t explain why he looks forward to going to bed, that he is probably the only teenager on the planet who is in bed by 10pm each night. He doesn’t want to think about it too much. In his dreams it is always a man. A man with a low voice, smooth like velvet, whispering wicked things in his ears. Things he really shouldn’t know about. A man with skilful fingers that dance all over his body, setting it aflame, till he feels like he might actually be set alight. The warmth and heat is not unlike the burn he feels against the mark on his throat. In fact, the feeling is almost comforting. A man whom he parts his thighs for willingly and yet he cannot summon an ounce of shame for it. It is only a dream, isn’t it?
His thoughts are disrupted by the wail of a siren close by and he turns towards the bank of windows, but doesn’t move, because he is sporting a full erection and it will be far too embarrassing if anyone sees him like this. As he contemplates puppies and rainbows to try and will his boner away, several female students enter the library, chattering noisily. He catches snippets of their conversation, and his heart is filled with sadness for the man they are talking about.
Did you see the ambulance?
He fell off the roof.
They say he may not survive.
What was he doing on the roof anyway?
He’s the janitor. Who knows what they do?
He sighs, sending up a brief healing thought for the man’s health. He decides against looking out the window, although his schoolmates have no such restraint as they press themselves against the glass. He turns back to his homework, completely oblivious to the several pairs of eyes that are currently on him. They are torn between staring at the chaos outside the full length window and at the beautiful boy sitting in a cubby who is currently staring earnestly at his dog-eared Shakespeare textbook.
“Do you think he’s a virgin?”
“With a face like that? I highly doubt it.”
“Everyone thinks he’s such an angel but I’m sure looks are deceiving.”
“Yeah, I agree. He’s probably a huge slut.”
“He doesn’t slut around here though.”
“He’s probably got some college boyfriend somewhere.”
The other three girls make disgusted sounds at their friend who simply smirks at them.
“What? Come on, do you really think he’d be fucking a girl?”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind him fucking me that’s for sure.”
“Ooooh such a cradle snatcher.”
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s a junior.”
“We’re seniors. Do you think he’d date one of us?”
“I don’t want to date someone prettier than me.”
“Ugh, I’m sure he’s had plastic surgery. His family is loaded and none of his sisters are even half as pretty as he is. It must be plastic surgery.”
“How pathetic. So he sluts around and pretends to be an angel and is basically 90% plastic.”
“Everyone seems to like him in this school. It’s strange.”
“Yeah, I think we’re the only ones who see him for who he really is.”
There is a pregnant pause before all four girls say the same words in one breath.
“A slut.”
They are loud enough for Jaejoong to look up in their direction. He sends a smile their way, not actually hearing their words. One of them sends her own smile back, completely fake of course, as they move away from the window and leave the library just as the first bell rings, signalling that they have three minutes to get to class.
Jaejoong stares at his book, his nose scrunched cutely as he ponders his options. English is not his strongest subject and he wonders why he’s even doing it. He doesn’t notice the dark clouds gathering over the school, nor does he notice the young man standing by a bookshelf, watching him intently even as he whispers under his breath, as if talking to someone, but there’s no one near him.
M’lord, I’ll take care of it.
I understand.
Yes, he has to remain innocent. I’ll make sure of it.
Is it time for that?
The figure stops talking, straightening his tie that’s part of the school uniform. He’s not used to walking the earth, more comfortable in one of his other forms. Being a trickster while in human form is difficult, and his chances have been few and far between. However, he’s had only one task for the last year, set on him by the Prince of Lies, the Ultimate Deceiver; to watch this human, and to ensure no one touches him. He’d been a little derelict in his duty in the first couple of weeks, unsure as to exactly what Lucifer wants of him. He’s a demon not a babysitter. The world however, cannot stand the weight of the Devil walking amongst them for very long, and his nightly visits to his bride is about all it can stand for the moment. If he walked during the day time as well, it will be eternal night for all. It is in the third week that he learns a thing or two about the connection between the Devil and his bride.
Nothing that touches Jaejoong ever lives long enough to regret it.
A freak lightning storm hits the school later that morning, multiple strikes on the outdoor tennis court. There are four casualties. No fatalities, but those girls won’t be returning to school anytime soon.
AN: Lol I was listening to the wrong damn song (Destiny) while writing this and so this failed because that song was more appropriate for Chapter 11 of Sleeping Beauty lol… So my muse ran away helter skelter and I was bereft.