beeswaxing (beeswaxing) wrote,

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Forsaken [1]

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.

AN1: I realise I have a million WIPs… How did I become this author? I have every intention of completing all of them though so don’t worry! \O/ Also, I’m really writing this for myself. I haven’t really written this genre before (although Slept So Long is close) and I’m quite excited to explore it ;-)

AN2: I’m 2/3 through my paper and will not have much to do next week since I plan on leaving the rest of my paper for the final week before it’s due so I’m kinda hoping to be able to update Jejuko and Sleeping Beauty then with the next chapter of this as my priority after that. Second part of Dazed and Confused is 3/4 written but I got stuck on something. That should be posted by this weekend if nothing calamitous happens!

And thank you sooooooo much to Felicity and Catherine who are consistently supportive no matter what I write. I love you both!

“He is stirring.”

“I know.”

“My sources say he’s still recovering from the losses of the last war but he is gaining in strength.”

The only response is a non-committal hum from the being drumming his fingers on a pure black table, almost an altar. The gleaming black surface reflects the red in his eyes as he stares at his companion who seems to pay no mind to the sheer malevolence rolling off him in waves.

“He’s heard of the prophecy.”

A fist clenches, but again, no response.

“He knows. You need to get on with it.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” The voice is soft, silky, deceptively quiet and almost seductive, but it carries with it a note of cruel amusement at the audacity of his companion.

“I would never, m’lord. But I worry for you.”

“Do you think I’m not capable of defending my dominion?”

“But the prophecy…”

“The prophecy bedamned. He is banished. Exiled to earth. He cannot step foot here.”

“Unless he finds his mate first.”

A stream of fire erupts from the hand of the being upon hearing his companion’s words, obliterating a passing creature in an instant. The silence in the great room is profound, not a single occupant daring to move as he directs his baleful eyes onto the demon seated in front of him.

“That would’ve been you.”

The being swallows hard, even though he has no need to breathe, the action is purely a reflection of his nervousness. Grouchy might be the understatement of the millennia, and he himself is a mere trickster at heart and not accustomed to dealing with the Ruler of Hell when he is pissed off. And pissed off he is ever since news trickles in about the movements of the banished demon who dared to defy him. However despite his fear, he feels a certain amount of care for Lucifer, as much as any demon can show care towards the Devil himself, and him more than most as he owes his life to the Dark Lord. And it is this care that prompts him to throw caution in the wind and continue on his original line of conversation.

“You will not seek your mate then?”

The silence is long and the tension in the room increases with every second that passes, before he responds.

“I have found him.”


He watches the raven-haired boy hurrying up the front steps of his home. It is almost midnight and he is late, but time is of no consequence to him as he listens to the boy’s mother berate the teenager for his tardiness. He stays in the darkness, quiet and watchful. The silence is unnatural; the vicinity of the house seemingly dipped in gloom as no animal nor insect nor even light dare to approach. The malignant presence of the man standing in the shadows is a blight on the landscape and it snakes out from him, his very nature corrupting the surroundings, keeping everything that can sense his presence away, for fear of being consumed. Plants bow away from him, seemingly trying to disappear into the ground from whence they came, dogs are whimpering in their kennels on the outer reach of his touch, no animal can be found within the perimeter of his influence. Any local djinn, demons or other supernatural beings have long fled the scene, not keen on crossing paths with the Master of the Underworld. The man’s form is an inky silhouette, blending in perfectly with the dark, and as time passes, the figure starts to gain a more discernible shape as he materialises into something somewhat solid. He can control the aura he presents but he does not want to be disturbed this night and therefore makes no attempt to curb the baleful atmosphere that enfolds him.

The grandfather clock in the middle of the stately home strikes midnight, the resounding gongs echoing through the large house. All the occupants pay no mind though, completely used to it by now. However if they’d bothered to look outside, they’ll find that with each stroke, the darkness becomes even more profound. It is not so much that lights actually go off, but rather, the feeling of oppressiveness that descends onto the surrounding streets is so heavy it practically manifests itself as actual blackness. And as the clock strikes twelve, the full moon disappears behind a heavy bank of cloud, never to be seen again that night, and the teenager staring at himself in the reflection of his bathroom mirror shivers inexplicably, the hair on his body standing on end and his teeth almost chatter from the sudden chill, his confused doe eyes staring back at himself in the mirror.

He waits.

Time inches forward, the slow ticking of the clock, seconds lost as humans move inexorably closer to death. Don’t they know how short their time is here? Time is the most valuable thing a human owns, yet no one values it anymore. Each second that is lost can never be regained. Time is priceless but humans don’t care for it as they continue on their hedonistic path, only seeking pleasure for themselves, never sparing a thought for what might come after their hearts stop, and their bodies rot. The world is full of decay and he will have it no other way. The passage of time has ceased to mean anything to him and it appears to have ceased to mean anything to these simple creatures that dwell on this plane. His dominion is subtly spreading and his supremacy must be established. He flexes his now solid hand, staring at the long slim fingers in the darkness. A quiet hiss and a tiny flame erupts from a fingertip, illuminating his face in the deep blackness; a face almost painfully handsome, and all-consuming. Anyone who stares will be drawn in whether they want to or not. It cannot be helped. This is who he is. This is his human form. He flexes his jaw, as the house quietens down and the occupants drowse into slumber.

It is time.

The boy lies sound asleep in the middle of a large queen sized bed, no worries upon his slim frame. His family is wealthier than most and he is the beloved only son in a family of girls. Born on the sixth hour of the sixth day of the sixth month in the sixth year of the new millennium, his birth was unique. He was birthed while still protected within the amniotic sac and thus untainted by his mother. His skin was smooth and pure white with a head of jet black hair and lips so red they looked rouged. The doctors told his parents that he is a beautiful child, the perfect baby, the purest infant they’d ever seen, but these are Western doctors. Doctors who know nothing about the ways of the old. No one could have known that across the world, witch-doctors, soothsayers, mediums, and all manner of like people, regardless of where they resided, were temporarily struck blind at his birth as a demonic prophecy is fulfilled. The wails of horror of these people echo across the globe but no one understands, no one knows, no one can comprehend the magnitude. Practitioners are too few and far between now as the world eats into itself, heedless and thoughtless to everything but the Self. And this will be their undoing. If they had not been so caught up in their own meaningless lives, more would have felt the shift in the balance of the world as his birth stirs yet another creature, a creature more powerful than anything that walks the earth. A creature banished from the depths of hell.

The child should have been killed.

As the human-like creature gazes down with soulless red eyes at the sleeping boy, he thinks about another demonic prophecy that interests him. His expression never changes as he watches the young man sleep, the human’s movements are restless as if trying to wake but unable to as he tosses and turns in his bed for hours in the dark night. This is a prophecy that he believes is tied in with the one that everyone seems to fear. That this boy is destined to bring about destruction. But whose destruction, it is never clear. The demons and humans believe it is theirs alike and he believes it is both. But on the boy’s sixth birthday, a second prophecy comes to light. It is an obscure prophecy that no one pays any mind to except for him because he cannot afford to overlook anything. Not after the last great war.

When the pure is tainted by the cloven one, so shall he split into two and balance will be restored.


This concerns and intrigues him, and it’s been several millennia since anything has intrigued him. And so here he is, gazing down at the innocent features of the one portended to bring about the destruction of his kind. His mouth curls into a sneer as the boy lets out a distressed sound in his sleep, his dreams filled with the very thing that has not touched him for sixteen years.


The boy’s sleep is fitful, his subconscious recognising the presence in his room as it fights to wake him up, the purity of his soul screaming to be set loose, absolutely terrified of the mark that is about to be stained upon it. To get as far away as possible from the malevolent being. But there is no respite as it recognises his intention. It is the sixth day of the sixth month and the boy has just turned sixteen, the clock striking six just then.

His soul screams.

The man pulls the covers from the boy. He is sleeping naked, on his belly, a hand gripping the edge of the pillow under his head as he moves restlessly. Goosebumps cover his skin, from the cold and from the tendrils of the essence of the being standing over him. The wisps of darkness leach from the standing figure to curl around the prone body, saturating him slowly with dreams of lust and desire, awakening the carnal instinct and nature that is in every human being but almost completely repressed in him.

Till now.

The clothes on the being’s body melt away into nothing, his form still corporeal as he takes the bed, stretching out to lie behind the naked human, so frail and tiny next to him.


He runs a hand over his body and the boy lets out a moan from deep within his chest and he smiles in the darkness, white teeth flashing as his eyes glow red. He strokes his hand again up the back of the human, his touch light, yet overflowing with carnal thoughts as he palms his ass, spreading his cheeks even as a drop of black liquid materialises from the tip of his index finger. He leans over the boy, his voice smooth in cadence, the underlying darkness in it palpable, giving the seduction a terrifying edge, whispering even as he breaches the untouched body beneath him with his finger.

“You belong to me.”

The response is instantaneous as the boy turns his head, eyes still clenched shut but his mouth is parted as he gasps as if in acknowledgment to that voice. A voice that continues to speak to him, muttering a name that he needs the human to know. The voice is seductive and the boy shifts to spread his legs further, pointing his ass up higher, as if welcoming the intrusion even as the man slips a second and then not a minute later, a third finger in.

He stares dispassionately at the sleeping yet writhing young man, still a child if you take into account his innocence of mind, body and soul. This coupling is necessary to stake his claim and as a creature that epitomises temptation and everything that is base about the human nature, he will enjoy it. But he is displeased. Displeased about the fact that he has to keep himself hidden for two years till the boy turns eighteen. Displeased that even though he is Lord of Hell, his actions are governed by prophecy. Caution does not come naturally to him but the stakes are too high in this instance to dismiss it. His name is feared by all and yet here he is, three fingers deep in a human’s ass, to make their coupling pain free because his mate cannot know him.

He almost feels human.

His mouth twists into a cruel smirk as his eyes take in the pure white flesh of the body fucking itself onto his fingers, instinctively knowing what to do, recognising what needs to be done. The boy is mewling softly, and the being moves up to flip him over on his back, his fingers never leaving that formerly virgin hole that is clenching at his digits like a whore hanging onto her money. The pink opening glistens with a dark liquid, a red so deep it is almost black. He leans over the human, sticking out his forked tongue, dancing it over that perfect face, luminous if not for the darkness that is encroaching upon him. Each touch of his tongue brings forth a low moan, as the boy’s soul cringes away from the touch, yet his body yearns for more. The fight between body and soul is not visible to the human eye but he can see it and it amuses him greatly.

That white expanse of skin is just begging to be marked, to be tainted, and he is more than willing to thoroughly corrupt that pristine flesh. However a marking tonight carries with it a meaning that will stand till the end of time. This young man is his mate, and he will be marked as such.

The bride of Lucifer.

The forked tongue folds onto itself, melding to become singular, to resemble the human muscle. He ghosts his nose along that diamond-like jawline, from his chin right up to his nose, his fingers never ceasing in their despoiling of the boy’s responsive body as he whispers a name into the delicately curved ear before pressing his mouth against the soft plush lips of his Destiny.


The boy groans against his mouth even as he parts his lips to allow the probing tongue entry. He plunders his mouth, his tongue imitating the dance his fingers are doing as they repeatedly plunge into his body. Both orifices are filled now, but the coupling is not complete. He is not yet marked. He leaves that wet, welcoming mouth, smirking as the boy whines at the loss, mouth parted in soft gasps as his body nears its climax. The proud evidence of the human’s manhood is heavy on his belly, wetness already pooling from the tip to an indent in his belly, the slick liquid standing as evidence to his shaming this night.

The power of the being in that room cannot be underestimated as even the sun has shied away from showing itself. The thick black clouds obscuring the coming daylight so thoroughly it is as if it is still night. Nothing stirs in the area, the malevolence keeping everyone locked in their nightmares. If the neighbours were to speak to each other later that day, they will wonder at the coincidence of every single one of them suffering from bad dreams. Not just simple bad dreams, but hideous ones that will haunt them for weeks, months and even years to come. When Lucifer visits his bride, so shall it be, the world will weep in despair at his very presence upon the earth.

He moves up to cover the boy’s shaking body, fingers finally leaving that convulsing opening. His mate’s head is thrown back, body arched slightly and that long pure white neck is just begging to be marked. And so he obliges, bending down to lick sensually up that pale column of flesh till he reaches the top, just under his jaw, next to his bobbing adam’s apple and then he bites.

The boy’s eyes fly open, beautiful doe eyes filled with tears as he stares unseeing at the ceiling, mouth parted in a silent scream as his soul wails within him in complete despair as blackness seeps into it. The Devil, because that is who he is, takes in that pureness and replaces it with his darkness. Mouth latched onto that perfect skin, they are connected more profoundly than anything else in this realm or his. He fills the boy’s soul with his heavy ink, lips sealed onto his throat for long, long minutes. To the tortured soul within the boy though, it seems like eons are passing by even as his pureness is sucked away.

He finally pulls away, licking at the red mark he has left behind as the boy’s eyes flutter shut. It will fade when he leaves, only a pink stain upon that white flesh will remain but it is done. He is forever marked as his and it is an automatic death sentence for anyone or anything to lay a hand on him. Ironically, it is a protection of sorts but the boy is cursed. Cursed to be the bride of Lucifer, his soul damned forever. Who would willingly choose this path?

No one.

He lines their bodies up, and once again fuses their mouths together as he surges into that tight passage, slick with demonic fluid and this time the boy screams. He screams and he screams and he screams but no one can hear him as he is raped by the Devil who swallows his screams. There is no pain though. He is screaming from the evil entering him, his body recognising the ultimate loss of his innocence, the burn upon his soul, his mind is filled with dark visions.

And so he screams.

And as abruptly as the screaming starts, it stops the second the being wraps his long fingers around the human’s still hard length. The screaming ends because the light and darkness within him have reached an accord, and his body instinctively knows what his soul has to accept.

He is Lucifer’s bride.

Two hard pumps and the boy spills his seed over his belly, face contorted as his orgasm washes over him. His mouth forms a word that he will not remember when he wakes, even as the dark presence in his room vanishes in a blink of an eye, the clouds finally parting for the sun to come through.


AN: So… Do let me know what you think :3

Tags: fic:forsaken, pairing:yunjae, r

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