big bang, 2pm & shinee drabbles

Apr 19, 2010 17:55

 a bunch of drabbles that i will probably never post anywhere. written during various iterations of kpopficwank. pictures are just the prompts used.

gotta catch 'em all
big bang pokeverse. crack.
rated g
214 words.



So there’s this Pokemon. He was originally called Seunghyun, but his trainer renamed him “Seungri” for “Victory,” because he figured he’d use him against the fire-based ones, like Ponyta or Charmander once he’s evolved. The thing is, Seungri dies a lot, even for a Magikarp.

Seungri the Magikarp lives in the fourth Pokeball slung onto his trainer’s belt. Sometimes he tries to peek through the crack in the middle to see where they are or what’s around them, but mostly he sloshes around, wiggling his tail and thinking about the badassery he’ll unleash once he finally evolves.

One day Minji the Pichu is traded and they get a new addition to their party. At the Pokecenter Jiyong raps his bone against his head and says, “check it out,” and he sees him.

“Oh my god,” Seungri breathes. “You...” he splashes in the newcomer’s direction, thoroughly wetting everything around them. “You’re a Gyarados.”

“Yup. I’m Seunghyun.”

“Wait, wait,” Seungri says. Jiyong wipes water from his skull and scowls. “How did you... how did you evolve?”

The Gyarados frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Was it a stone? Did someone trade you?”

“No,” Seunghyun says. He rears away from him, eyes skeptical as he curls back into his Pokeball. “I was Gyarados like... in the womb.”

author's note: gd is cubone, according to lovelyable  and her friend. :3 in my head daesung is brock, not an actual pokemon, and youngbae is ash ketchum.

word vomit
top/youngbae
rated pg
615 words





“so what i wanted to say but i wasn’t going to say but now i’m drunk and i won’t remember anyway, so what i’m going to say is...”

youngbae presses the phone closer to his ear and hears static, that little hum seunghyun makes when he’s thinking. only this hum lasts almost too long; there’s an exhale and then another inhale and youngbae guesses that’s his cue. “what?”

“i don’t, um...” seunghyun coughs into the receiver. there are voices in the background. “uh...”

“do you... need help?”

“no,” he amends quickly, “no, i just wanted...”

youngbae opens his mouth to speak but is met with a click and the dialtone.

---

what wakes him up at four that morning isn’t boss clawing at his sheets or jiyong crawling into them complaining of the draft in his new room, but the chime of a text message, the bright blue light of his cell phone as it beeps and vibrates against his pillow. youngbae squints and flips it open.

i’m drunk, it says, and i love you.

youngbae blinks. then he stands, turns the lights on, and blinks again.

the message is still there.

then there’s another, and another, the notifications spewing over the screen. he clicks keys until he can open the first one.

i like how you never laugh when i do something stupid, even though i do a lot of stupid stuff like what i’m doing right now, and i never talk this much to you in person because you might realize i’m actually an idiot and too lazy for you and i don’t like jogging even though you do and--

youngbae scrolls onto the next text.

i wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning when you have breakfast even though you’d probably leave me some and how do you get up that early?

the next message reads ignore that, sorry, and youngbae has to laugh, then, thumbing the keys to read the next.

i like the way you dance even though i’m kind of jealous and you sing better than gummy-noona don’t tell her i told you that and i’m probably just biased and this is just one sentence i know, don’t get mad at me but i just wanted to say that none of this is really liking, it’s--

youngbae pauses, hand over the button. something in his chest flops over and he closes the phone before he opens it again, sitting down on the mattress.

it’s just i kinda love you, yeah, in the gay way, but i’m kinda drunk so if you could just not mention this again and you can’t mention it to me because i won’t talk about it and i’m dropping this phone into my beer so yeah please don’t.

when seunghyun trudges in the next morning, youngbae has coffee in the pot and a box on the table.

“what’s this?” seunghyun grumbles, laying his head on the tabletop before he straightens up again, pulling the box towards him.

“open it, dummy.”

inside is a new cellular phone. seunghyun squints and turns a violent shade of red. he doesn’t meet youngbae’s eyes as he pulls the device from its packaging, flipping the screen open.

“you know i don’t forget things,” youngbae says, biting down the smile on his lips. he pulls out his own phone and hits send. the new phone begins to jingle with messages.

substitution
g-dragon/top
rated nc-17
619 words





He has his legs over his shoulders, knees against the tops of collarbones and he’s splayed open wanting, fingers locked around Seunghyun’s wrists as he thrusts, pushing him into and against the couch cushions until the couch begins to move and they scoot across the floor a little. Then Jiyong rears up and Seunghyun bears down, hand tightening around him, letting Jiyong fuck into the wet circle of his fist and then-- shit. There’s a jingle of keys at the door and Seungri saying something to Chaerin and it’s Chaerin’s voice, maybe, that gets Seunghyun flinching. He holds onto his hip, ignoring the sharp protest Jiyong makes as he slides out of him. “Hurry up,” he says, pulling the waistband of his pajama pants up over himself. “Shit, I’m leaving.”

Jiyong swears and rubs his eyes and slaps him on the arm. He can’t do up his jeans because, yeah, and the pillows on the couch were ones he bought himself, and they were kind of expensive, so. “Cover me,” he spits, and stands, tugging his pants up under his ass. He shuffles behind Seunghyun, but he’s going too slow, panic making him clumsy, and just as they get to Jiyong’s door Seungri bursts in.

“Guys?” he asks. “Hey, where’d they go?”

“It smells like sex in here,” Daesung comments, and immediately there’s a chorus of did you really have to say that and oh, it really does and but I thought you were a virgin, how would you know that?

Luckily, the last statement is enough to instigate an argument, and Jiyong shoves the both of them into his bedroom before he slams the door shut, twisting the lock. “Finish what you started,” he says, but Seunghyun is laughing, so hard he’s doubled over. He holds up a hand.

“Hold on,” he says, “hold on, your face...”

Jiyong scowls. He does up his pants.

“You looked like you were going to piss yourself,” Seunghyun continues, “and how did you still have a fucking hard-on with Seungri right there?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, and the anger keeps him hard, even though Seunghyun is wiping tears from his face and moving towards him. “No, I don’t need you. Get out.”

Seunghyun tilts his head and opens his mouth to speak, at least until Jiyong moves to throw one of his (very expensive) sneakers at his head. Then he leaves.

---

Jiyong stares at the banana.

The banana stares at Jiyong.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like, him still half-hard, Seunghyun in his room, away from him. He can hear him on the phone through the open window and maybe it’s how giddily he’s recounting the whole thing that makes him reach for the fruit. He tilts it this way and that, considering how potentially stupid this might be and if he can get to the shower in time instead, but then Seunghyun’s voice dies out and his door opens and he’s standing there, slack-jawed.

“Uh...”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Jiyong says quickly. The banana falls to the floor.

“Your pants are around your ankles and you had...” Seunghyun snickers. “You could’ve just came over again--”

“Well, I didn’t want to.”

“So you wanted the banana?”

“I was hungry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Seunghyun says, and even though there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes his voice is lower, a little smoother, not nearly as annoying. The bed dips as he sits and kicks the fruit back towards the wall. “That won’t work,” he says. “Try it again?”

“Lock the door first,” Jiyong warns.

He does.

it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine)
taecyeon/jaebum
rated pg
978 words





When the world ends, some people poke holes into the clouds as they ping through the sky. Some panic. Some vandalize houses, throw rocks into store windows, run naked along the streets. Some just vanish, pop in and out of the atmosphere in front of loved ones or co-workers or helpless policemen.

Taecyeon starts in one place and ends up in the other, split-second. He blinks, shakes his head twice, but the cold moisture clinging to his skin already tells him this is Washington.

He figures it must be the whole ‘the-world-is-over-and-we’re-all-going-to-die’ thing that tells him where to go, legs going in long, steady strides, the opposite of the mist clouding his mind. When he gets where he is supposed to be there are shoes lined up at the doorstep: a pair of slippers, cracked old loafers, ballet flats, and a pair of Nike high-tops so familiar his heart goes untied and his tongue tangles up.

“Jay,” he croaks, and he knocks on the screen door, even though Jay could be gone, up there somewhere, at a friend’s house or the mall or trapped in a car or anything, ten million things. Then someone shadows the doorway and he blinks.

“Hey.” Jay smoothes fingers against his hair. He’s wearing a ratty Stussy t-shirt, basketball shorts and white socks: he could’ve been at the hostel still, curled up in his tiny bed. “How did you get here?”

“I don’t know,” Taecyeon replies.

“I thought you knew everything.”

“I don’t know this,” he says, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to handle the squeezed-tight muscles of his throat or the way his chest cords in on itself, how Jay cocks his head to the side and looks at him, assessing. He’s never done that before.

Jay licks at chapped lips. “Take your shoes off,” he mutters, and then he opens the screen door and Taecyeon is toeing off his sneakers, hunched over for the laces but the netting bounces against his head, sends him stumbling backwards.

Jay steps over the threshold, hand shooting out for Taecyeon’s arm.

“Careful,” he says. “I got you.”

---

That night there is a block party, a big one. Friends lay out makeshift cardboard mats and Jay pretzels himself into positions in time with the music. Taecyeon imitates, or tries to, and Jay just laughs again, eyes curving into half-moon crescents as he cuffs him behind the head.

“This is Taec,” he says to his friends, and Taecyeon says hello with a tongue too thick for unaccented English now. Jay’s friends glance at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, but the world is ending and Jay has an arm around his shoulder, knuckles bumping against his collarbone as they walk, so instead of passing judgment they pass him beers and teach him how to pop and lock.

Then someone breaks into the liquor store and it’s not just beer, it’s vodka and brandy and even dusty bottles of soju that Jay claims for him, and Taecyeon gets kind of woozy, he can’t think clearly enough or maybe everything’s too clear because he pulls Jay aside and says: “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jay says.

He sputters. “But I--”

“I go to church on Sundays,” he continues. “And then we go home and my mom cooks lunch. And I went to school for a while, and you know, I breakdance and all that stuff.” He grins. “I got a Youtube award, that’s something.”

“But--”

“It’s nice, you know?” Jay looks out towards the sky, which is dark with smoke. “And hey, I can pronounce ‘railroad’ again.”

“Funny.”

“I’m pretty hilarious, huh.” Jay is quiet and Taecyeon is quiet and then someone pops up screaming about contraband, big bright tubes in his hands. He sets them up toward the end of the street, near an abandoned field. They turn out to be fireworks: gold, blue and green ones that spangle into the sky in bursts.

Taecyeon watches colors reflect on the washed out Washington houses until Jay says, “Taec.”

“What?”

Jay turns back towards him, pink lighting up his face as he leans in, close enough that Taecyeon can count the flecks of brown in his eyes. He wonders if he should shut his, if it’s okay to just be standing, if he should say something, and then Jay blinks. He hiccups and then Taecyeon burps and it smells like stale beer and Jay shoves him away and they both laugh, punching at each other like they used to, until Taecyeon feels himself getting light and Jay goes kind of fuzzy and the man with the fireworks disappears, just winks into nothingness.

“I can’t feel my hands,” Jay grins. “What about you?”

“I hope I don’t go back.”

Jay flickers like he’s on television and the picture’s gone bad, all snow and static. He pulls Taec forward by the hand, shoulder to shoulder and claps him on the back, hard. “I better see you over there,” he says.

“What if I can’t find you?” he asks, and when he blinks the dirty Seoul street of this morning is stamped into his eyelids.

“You did once.” His voice is strong even as it goes hollow, like he’s already somewhere far. “You can do it again.”

---

Everything is bright, blurry light, not Seoul sunshine but the burn of cars on fire and bombs in the sky. The air is acrid with smoke and it makes it hard for Taecyeon to see, but he doesn’t need to anyway. He makes his way back to the dorms, where everyone is huddling together, families that made their way there clinging onto them, and hunkers down.

There’s a peace inside of him, all the bullshit and the guilt winked out. He curls up and waits.

author's note: i've been working on this one for a long time but i've just given up, fml. i just feel awkward and scared writing 2pm ;;

paper hearts
onew/key
rated g
327 words


they had tags with their names on them, apples and pears and stars made of construction paper with white spaces in the middle, letters spelled out in neat black across the front. after the television taping minho had peeled his from his shirt and folded it into his front shirt pocket. taemin and jonghyun left theirs on in the van, too tired to notice the colorful shapes, and kibum had stuck his star onto the inside window, the yellow curling at the corners. then jinki had stumbled in, shoulder knocking the tinted glass so the paper folded in on itself and the tape came apart.

“sorry,” he mumbles, but kibum just shakes his head and retrieves his star and smoothes the crumpled cardboard flat against his knee, turns away to watch the freeway breeze by.

when they get to the hostel they all troop in, excited chatter filling the spaces as they drop into couches and kitchen chairs. kibum pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. as he drinks he feels the prickle of eyes at his nape, which he ignores.

“hey,” jinki says anyway. he sidles up beside him, elbow balanced on the rim of the sink. he says something, makes a joke about stars and knees and the condensation sweating from kibum’s bottle, but the blank stare he gets in return has him wandering away again, a glint of something else in his eye.

the next week kibum is doing laundry when he turns his sweatshirt inside out. a piece of paper flutters to the floor when he shakes the hood, and he bends over to retrieve it. “onew,” it says, black and white on a red paper heart. “sorry about your star” is pencilled in underneath, squeezed half onto the white and half onto the color.

he turns it over in his hands, the paper faded and the pencil almost indecipherable, before he puts it in his pajama pocket. it stays there.

pairing: top/youngbae, fandom: 2pm, type: gen, fandom: shinee, length: drabble, fandom: big bang, pairing: gdragon/top, !fanfiction, pairing: taecyeon/jaebum, pairing: onew/key

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