#i never upload traditional stuff on here but

[alphabetboyluvr]

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

pairing: drugrunner!jungkook x sugarbaby!reader, college au

synopsis:

jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

warnings: jungkook and o/c are polar opposites, but y���know what they say, opposites attract and all that jazz, jk is a college student but also a drug runner, mentions of gang dynamics and hierarchy, oc is a sugar baby, mentions of consensual but uncomfortable sexual encounters as a result of this (proceed with caution), drugs, violence, blood, motorbikes, hurt/comfort, all the good stuff, smut – fingering, tittie sucking (wow pretend to be shocked!), unprotected sex, jk has the hugest cawk in the whole entire world, jk is a lil aggressive but in a sexy way, he accidentally says something mean during sex (not sexy mean, actually mean (he makes up for it tho!)), jk on top, oc on top, mentions of his pubes (yummy), tummy pressing, kissy kissy kissy koo, creampie, post-coitus nap, they’re literally in love idk what to tell you, ambiguous ending!!

wordcount: 26K

note from holly: originally published to wattpad in 2021 and also briefly uploaded to tumblr, too. It’s just hit 100k reads over on wattpad so I thought I’d put it here too!! There are two additional chapters on wattpad, connecting the story another fic of mine and also showing us jk + oc four years on from the events of NC!! If you’re interested, you can find it here (x).

i write in british english!! both in spelling and dialect!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

IT'S BEEN SAID that with great notoriety, comes great responsibility to uphold the expectations of those who presume the worst about you.

Okay, so that's a lie. No one's ever said that - but Jeon Jungkook has never been one for sticking to traditions, and so he likes to live his life as if that's his motto.

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

Which is ironic, because it's only the heteropatriarchal bores - the ones from upper-class families, who want a white picket fence and 2.4 kids - that actually think he's lame.

And he doesn't particularly give a shit about their opinions.

Everyone else thinks he's actually pretty fuckin' cool.

Black nails, black cargo pants, black hair that waves loosely over his sharp features. An air of command as he walks, a swagger in his step that lingers in stranger's heads like the silage of his aftershave.

Yeah, Jungkook is cool, and he fucking knows it.

A rucksack is perpetually slung over his shoulder, the top concaved slightly to indicate there's very little in there, not much more than a tatty notepad and a few loose pens - or so you assume.

You've never actually spoken to him. Why would you?

Daddy's little princess, glossy lips, manicured nails. The kind of girl who gives him a second look, but only to sneer. He doesn't think of you often, but when he does, it's never nice.

Jungkook doesn't have time for you, and you don't have time for him. Your paths rarely cross.

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

Now that you're taking a few of the same classes as him, he sees you a lot more than he likes. Hair always up in that stupid fucking ponytail that he can't see past, perpetually on your phone. Attention seeking little bitch.

He'd ranted a little to Jimin about it, told him that you really must have been a dumb bitch to swap from an economics major to a film studies major with only a single semester left.

Jimin hadn't said much in return. Unlike Jungkook and his insatiable hate-boner for you, Jimin really doesn't give a shit about you. Barely knows your name, let alone the fact that you studied economics before switching over. Was kind of curious as to how Jungkook knew that. Not enough to bother with asking, though.

Jungkook thinks it's normal to scope out the competition. A little Facebook look-up, Naver search, Instagram scroll. Surely it's rational to do that? Check out their LinkedIn, cross-reference their Twitter history to see what they've said about the course.

It absolutely isn't normal, but then again, nor is Jungkook.

He's exactly as he appears to be; the rogue look isn't a front.

But beneath the exterior, there are a few more traditions he's subverting. 

He's the first in his family to attend college, and he needs to ace this class to keep his scholarship.

It's all just projection, the way he despises you.

You've got everything he wants. A well-to-do family, money, prosperity, financial security. He's never known that. And while he shits on you for having parents that have provided for you, all he wants in life is to be able to do the same for his own children one day.

"I've matched you all with students of a similar grade level, so no one is at an unfair advantage," your professor calls out, tearing Jungkook from his thoughts. "Not a single one of you will experience the city in the same way. From shortcuts to your favourite coffee spots, your lives here will have been different to those of your peers."

Jungkook smirks, leaning back on his chair. He knows this city better than most; its dark corners, where the monsters lurk... how to hide and where to run.

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

But he also knows how to work a camera better than anyone in that room, how to time his shots, how to frame them, too. Top of the class, though modestly quiet about it (he's got a reputation to uphold, after all), he's curious to see who would be considered an even match for him.

"That being said, your experiences are also shared with those around you. For this assignment, with your partner, I want you to create a unique piece of film that captures what the city means to you. Think outside the box. Create something that excites, that invokes. You've got eight weeks. The partner list is on the noticeboard at the back of the hall. Dismissed."

Footsteps echo around the lecture hall as everyone trundles out of the room. You wait back, having already seen the list before you entered the class.

Instead, you pull out a pen - one of the ones that Jungkook hates, with a ridiculous fluffy pink pom-pom on top - and jot down your number. You aren't aware of his insatiable hatred, and either way, you don't really care.

He ignores you as you approach his desk, eyes only drifting upwards when you slide the torn-out piece of paper towards him.

"Mhmm?"

He's rude, you notice. Brows raised, expression flat, he's fed up with you before you've even said a word. Kinda hot, admittedly, but rude.

"We're partners," you say with an ambivalent shrug. Jungkook's jaw seems to tense, head tilting as he breathes out a short smirk.

Partners?

"You haven't even gone out to check the board."

"So what?" You scoff a little. He doesn't like your tone. The feeling is mutual. "I just made it up?"

It's his turn to shrug, now. "Dunno. You tell me."

His hair waves around his features, and you wonder how long it takes him to make it look so natural. The girls around campus swoon over his hair, like he's some kind of God. Other boys try to emulate it, but they can never quite pull it off like he does.

Another thing that all the girls giggle about are his doe-like eyes, but they're hard, now. Narrow, almost. Less of a doe, more like a dragon. Maybe if you get his nostrils flaring, he'll breathe fire, too.

Yeah, he's hot, you want to laugh to yourself, but not that hot.

"I checked before I came in. Didn't take a genius to work out what it was for."

He takes a moment before he nods. "Right. Well, you should probably know that I work better alone. Just let me handle the assignment, a'right? You can put your name on it, whatever, I don't care. Just let me handle it."

A control freak, you note. Nice.

You didn't transfer majors in your last semester, and face all the hardships that came with such a decision, just to sit back and let someone else do the hard work for you.

"With all due respect, it's a joint assignment. I'm not putting my name on work I didn't actually do."

A stickler for the rules, he assesses. Fucking fastastic.

"Look," he sighs, adjusting his body so that he's practically leaning halfway over his desk. As much as it sounds like he doesn't want to be a part of this conversation, his body language is oddly engaged. "I need to ace this class. You've been here, what? All of three minutes? Film what you wanna film, send it over to me for editing."

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

"And if you could do me a favour and keep the nail salon footage to a minimum, that would be much appreciated. Everyone's seen that shit. It's not interesting. Gangnam underground shopping centre B-roll, too."

It's a thinly veiled insult. Assumptions he's making about you based on the clothes you wear and the company you keep. He doesn't explicitly say it, but you know what he means: you're not interesting.

Jungkook doesn't mean to be an asshole. Not really. He's just got a lot riding on this course, and doesn't want to risk it all for the sake of keeping the peace with someone he doesn't particularly like in the first place.

"Like our Professor said, we all experience the city differently," you plaster a smile on your face, the plastic kind that Jungkook hates. "You might just be surprised at what I can offer."

Private tennis clubs and shopping sprees worth more than a second-hand car? Yeah, no. He'll pass, thanks.

"Whatever," he reclines back, giving your number the once over before tearing a strip of empty paper from the bottom of the note. His hand moves quickly, scrawling his own number onto it. He doesn't hand it to you, but instead tosses it down onto the desk as he stands. "As I said, I work best alone. Don't bombard me with messages about the project. I'll have it under control."

He vacates his desk with an air of arrogance that you don't think he's yet earnt. Sure, he's hot, and from what you've seen of his work, he's pretty talented, too. But no one likes working with assholes, and the whole point of being at college was to make yourself a desirable candidate for jobs.

Or at least that's what your parents had always said.

When they were still talking to you, that was.

Before they decided that you're a disgrace to the family name, all for the simple desire of not wanting to spend your life slaving over finances and spreadsheets.

Like inheritance and a slightly crooked nose (straightened out for your high school graduation gift), econ majors ran in your family - and just like you'd cut off your parents' dream of watching you become an economist, they'd cut you off. Full stop.

So as far as you were concerned, Jungkook could take his arrogant whining about your financial situation, and the hobbies you might have enjoyed as a result of your upbringing, and shove it up his ass.

You really wish he would. Shove it up his ass, that is. Might relieve him of the pent up tension he seems to have going on.

Swiping up his number, you tuck it into your back pocket, ruing the day you'll actually have to text it.

It comes as a surprise to both of you when, a week later, Jungkook is the first to type a message into your fledgeling chat window.

I'm filming tonight. Could use a Grip, if you're free. Dongdaemun Design Plaza, 7pm.

You wonder how much pride he must have had to swallow in order to send you that. 

On occasion, during the past week, you've caught him looking at you in that slightly menacing way he always likes to do.

Part of you thinks he's unaware that he's doing it, just zoning out in your direction, but then you see him shake sense into himself - quite literally, a bunny with an itch behind its ear kind of shake - before he averts his gaze. 

He does a similar shake of his head when your response pings through to his phone.

Can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays. Sorry. Maybe another time.

He doesn't reply.

REJECTION HAS NEVER been something Jungkook has taken well. It's why he works so hard, fearful of being told that he isn't good enough.

He'd only sent that text because he genuinely did need a Grip.

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

He needed a muse; a subject of his shots, a pair of eyes to catch the confetti of night market lights in. Someone's hand to film as they exchanged money with a hotteok stand server, another human to get lost and found all within the same shot.

But that felt awkward to ask, especially after his insistence that he could do it all alone, so he'd settled for pretending he'd needed a grip. Just someone to hold his gear while he took tricky shots. That's all.

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

"Familiar," Yoongi nods over lunch the next day, following Jungkook's gaze. "Yeah, I've definitely seen her around. Dunno where, though."

"Campus, maybe?" Jimin rolls his eyes, confused at the fixation Jungkook seems to have on you.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nah... She looks like-" he glances over to Jungkook conscious of Jimin's listening ears.

"Like?"

"Just like a girl I see occasionally," Yoongi pauses again, making sure Jungkook's focus on him. "At work."

Jimin laughs. "So yeah, on campus. You work in the campus cafe, Yoongs."

It was the only legitimate place that would hire him. Dumb choices as a kid - and a questionable nickname that's now etched into his knuckles - prevents most places from seeing him as a viable candidate.

Yoongi laughs along with Jimin, but Jungkook knows Yoongi isn't talking about the once a week shift that he picked up as a form of extra credit.

Jungkook knows, because on paper, he doesn't have a job either.

On paper, he manages to survive on his scholarship bursary, The Holangi Honour, awarded to gifted students from underprivileged backgrounds.

On paper, Jungkook is the Korean dream of hard work and perseverance.

His reality isn't so pristine, but it never has been. He comes from a long line of high school dropouts with dubious morals and criminally reckless career choices. It was naive to have thought attending university would help him escape it.

Scholarship funds dried up pretty quickly, rent and t-money cards eating away at it, until Jungkook had no choice but to revisit old haunts.

Yoongi had told Jungkook that he didn't need to worry, that he could help him out if he needed money, but Jungkook was no leech, much to his older friend's despair. He didn't want the kid getting into the same trouble that he was in.

One meeting with Yoongi's old school friend, Hoseok and Jungkook was in the rat race again, delivering people's come ups for when the sun went down. 

He'd always been good at running. Track, field, red lights, out of luck. Drugs, now, too.

Jungkook had managed a good year and a half on the straight and narrow. For that, he was proud. And sad.

But he's also determined. 

Top grades mean top jobs in the future, which means never having to traipse around Daerim at ass o'clock in the morning.

He hates this part of town, but it's where business is currently booming.

Hobi texts him a drop-off list each morning, ensuring his nights are almost exclusively spent in Daerim.

This is how Jungkook sees the city: grotty back allies, groups of men huddled around a pack of cards and dice on the floor, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, phlegm spat onto the foor. He sees the women of the night in the early hours of the morning, and the sadness in the smiles they give to the men who approach them on street corners.

There's only one club of any worthwhile note in the area, and between jobs, Jungkook likes to sit up on the fire exit that rests above the back entrance.

It's where Hobi works, assisting some other reprobate that Jungkook doesn't care to learn the name of. Nasty piece of work, or so he's heard. The son of some powerful motherfucker that Jungkook knows to stay away from. He isn't interested in joining any stupid fucking gang. He just wants to get his money, get through university, and forget about this place.

That's the big dream at least.

His current wish, which feels much more immediate, is to outrun the fucker who has been on his tail for the past half a mile. Jungkook's pretty fast on his feet, and he gives a mean left-hook, but the guy chasing him has a pocket knife and that doesn't really feel like a fair fight.

It's his fault, and he knows it.

As per usual, Hobi had texted Jungkook his drop off list. Six of them, all in Daerim. He had no business being down by Jungang Market, especially not on a Thursday evening.

He couldn't even explain why he was; he was just curious about what life could be like if he ended up flunking out of college. He wanted to see where the monsters liked to lurk, or if they hid in the shadows like boogeymen.

But reprobate recognises reprobate, and drug runner recognises drug runner.

So now Jungkook really is running, out of territory that he shouldn't have infringed upon.

He's not out of breath yet, but he is conscious that his heartbeat feels like it's in his throat. A few streets over, his motorbike is parked behind an industrial-sized trash can, and he prays that no thieving cunt has tried to make a get away with it. They wouldn't have managed it - it's his prized possession and he never leaves it unprotected.

When he spots it a few minutes later, he laughs, relieved. "You beauty," he praises the engine, pulling his key from the pocket of his leather jacket.

The fucker chasing him is nowhere to be seen, probably nursing a stitch or panting down a different back alley. Jungkook doesn't want to risk it, eyes darting all over the place as he unbuckles the chain on his bike wheel with muscle memory alone. The metal clangs through the iron bars that protect the banjihas down the alley from break-ins. He always feels a little bit of guilt for chaining his bike up to the only source of natural light for the half-basement dwellings, but it's quarter past two in the morning. Not exactly sunshine hours.

And yet his eye is drawn to the light pouring down from a street lamp at the entrance of the narrow lane.

Usually, you ignore the noises you hear on your walk home - but, as strange as it sounded for Jungkook's voice to issue a compliment, you're almost positive that it is his voice.

Dark hair, dark eyes, he doesn't recognise you at first. You're wearing black, and your hair is down, but your lips still have that stupid fucking pink lipstick on, the one he'd seen you blot away onto a tissue in the middle of a lecture a few days prior.

His eyes linger, the lights flickering in his glossy dark irises as if there are fireworks inside that pretty little skull of his. For a moment, he thinks you must have been filming for the assignment. 

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

"Get on the bike," he yells over to you, tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling it down. Cognitive thoughts aren't something Jungkook's really working with, the adrenaline speaking for him.

That, and the fact that he's acutely aware of what men like the motherfucker who was chasing him down did to girls like you. Might not like you, but he doesn't want that on his conscience.

Plus, he needs your signature on the coursework documents, too. You're no use to him if you end up chopped into little squares and scattered in the river.

"Damnit, just get on the fucking bike!" He continues, noticing that you haven't moved a muscle. His jacket is off now, held out for you to take. He's impatient, eyes darting down the alleyway, as if he's scared of the rain that's pouring down around you. "Look, I ain't asking again. Just get on the bike, or I'll fuckin' leave you here. Some nasty fuckers about tonight."

And while you may not trust Jungkook, you don't trust the alleyways of downtown Seoul even more. You've seen the horrors. You know the dangers. Your mother didn’t raise a fool.

She also didn't raise you to bow to the commands of assholes like him either.

You ignore his jacket, hiking up your skirt, revealing far more of your thigh than most get to see. He doesn't make a comment, but you know he sees a flash of your underwear as you do so. 

For once, sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.

Rain pools in the gutter by the drainpipes, trickling down, collecting in the ducts. A puddle sits on top, a tell-tale sign that the street is going to flood soon, but Jungkook also doesn't give a shit about that. Not right now - but he does make a mental note to check that the drains are unblocked by his place when he gets home.

He's a fellow basement dweller, dependent on the cheap rent. A banjiha boy with big dreams of getting out.

You hoist your leg over, ignoring the droplets of water on the leather seat, as your hand wraps around his waist. The front of his white shirt is damp from the rain, elevating the scent of his laundry detergent. You don't hate it. Quite like it, actually.

"Wet conditions," he rasps, voice still hurrying out of his mouth. "So take the jacket. If I slide, the tarmac will rip your skin off." He turns, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. "I'm not your father. Dress yourself."

"I'd be a bit concerned if my father was trying to dress me at the ripe old age of 21," you bite back, as if the fabric of his jacket doesn't feel like it's melting into your skin on account of how bloody warm he is. You push your arms through the material, shaking it ever so slightly as Jungkook begins to rev the engine.

"Thanks would have sufficed," he bites back a scoff, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Try not to fall off, a'right?" He gruffs. 

Some would have considered his concern endearing. You know it's just because he doesn't want to spend his evening scraping your flesh off the sidewalk. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about you. 

"Hold on."

He doesn't wait for longer than a second, just enough time for you to wrap your arms around his waist, before he pulls down on the accelerator. His exhaust chortles, spitting out petrol as he goes, water from the ground splashing up against your bare leg. You can feel goosebumps forming, and yet your arms are completely warm.

Of course they are. Jungkook's chest is a fucking furnace, heart pumping blood through him faster than the speed of light. Forward, forward, forward, he pushes his bike on, away from the downtown area he found you in, and away from the demons who were hunting him.

The vibration of the bike is a welcome disguise. Beneath the motor's veil, you're shaking. Partly terrified, partly the victim of an adrenaline surge. 

Hardly a surprise. You've never been on a bike like his before.

There weren't many men on motorbikes around your neighbourhood as a child, only Old Jinyeon, who had a Harley that he only rode on the weekends, or when his wife was away at that spa retreat that everyone knew was really code for 'rehab'. Prescription medication was her poison, mostly. There were whispers that alcohol was a bit of a problem, too. 

It was a shame, really. She was a nice lady - she'd just married into a lifestyle that didn't suit hers.

Old Jinyeon's father had also been called Old Jinyeon, and his father before that, regardless of their age. The name wasn't the only thing inherited, but a fortune too. Old by name, old by money. 

He'd met his wife at a gentleman's bar; gambled all of his chips away just so that he could keep talking to her as she worked.

But the good is rarely easy, and the easy never good. Women like her weren't supposed to be with men like him.

And girls like you aren't supposed to be on the back of boys like Jungkook's motorcycle.

But here you are, hurtling through the city at a speed you're pretty sure isn't legal, clinging onto him for dear life. Your eyes are shut, streaming with tears from the wind, mascara blotting onto his back.

"Left turn," he calls over his shoulder to brace you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, stomach losing all stability as he rounds the corner. You've never suffered from travel sickness before, but now seems like the prime time to develop it.

The lights of the city all bleed into one kaleidoscope of colour. Your sense of direction has been rendered useless, only opening your eyes once every few seconds to make sure that this is real. And every single time, you're surprised to find that it is.

You expect it to be like a dream where you fall, only to wake up at the last second - but you've never had one of those dreams. You've only seen them in movies. You're not even sure they actually exist in real life. Perhaps this would be the closest you'd get to one. A main character moment - though this felt more like a crime-thriller than the rom-com you would have liked.

The feeling of damp wind in your hair like this is new, and exciting, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pretty sure one of your fake lashes just flew off. You pull your hand back to stroke at your lashes, just to check, but it's caught by Jungkook grabbing for it.

"I told you to hold on," he shouts, though he doesn't need to. The vibrations of his vibrato can be felt through his back. "So hold the fuck on, a'right?! I don't say shit like that for fun."

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

But he's right. You do need to hold on. He proves it by not warning you the next time he turns, the bike leaning so close to the tarmac that you're convinced you can feel rubber burn. He eases as soon as he hears you shriek, the grip you have on his chest so hard he swears you might puncture his skin. Reaching back, he cups your knee with his palm, checking for any sign of blood or broken skin. Negative. And yet his hand lingers before he retracts it. He's just making sure. Double-checking. Over-indulging.

"The fuck was that, asshole?" You all but scream.

"I told you to hold on, didn't I?!"

He did. And if you weren't doing so now, tighter than before, you'd have hit him so hard in the balls that he'd have no choice but to adopt in later life.

"You could have fucking killed me!"

"Oh, boo-hoo," he sneers, catching his tongue before he says something he'll grow to regret.

Jungkook would never have killed you. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, and how to ride his bike almost as well as he knows how to get himself off. It's second nature. Innate. A gift.

But before you can argue back, he draws to a stop, his exhaust rattling, the motor purring. As much as he'd like to tell you to get the fuck off his bike, he can feel you trembling now. A part of him - a very slim, deeply hidden part - feels guilty for being so hard on you.

He's grown up with bikes. Trusts them. Lives, breathes gasoline.

He doesn't imagine you know how to change a bicycle tyre, let alone anything with a motor.

The hand that had checked you for damage earlier returns, his fingertips warm against your goosebumps skin. He strokes lightly, once, twice, quickly. "You're fine," he tells you, and you want to believe him.

"Never said I wasn't."

He snorts a small laugh, then taps your knee, encouraging you off of the bike. His hand remains close as you do so, conscious of the fact that you'll most likely be unsteady on your feet - feet that he now notices are clad in the strappiest pair of heels he's ever seen in his life. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about your stability at all. If you can walk in those, then you can surely handle a pair of wobbly knees.

Without much thought, you take his offer of assistance, his jacket dwarfing you as you stand, hand clasped in his.

"Where are we?"

The alleyway you're down is unlike the previous one he stole* you from (*rescued). It's cobbled and damp, yes, but the doors down here lead to dwellings, garages too. Not an industrial-sized trash cart in sight. And it doesn't smell like fermented piss either, which is a surprise. You thought that was just the standard for side-streets around these parts.

"Doesn't matter," Jungkook shrugs ambivalently as he unhooks his leg over the bike.

He wants to ask why you're wearing such stupid shoes.

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

He actually quite likes them. You've nice ankles. They look good.

What he really wants to ask is why you're wearing them on a school night. The pair of you might be in college, but it wasn't student night at the clubs, and he hadn't picked you up from a particularly nice part of town.

There are only three types of women he ever sees in Daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. You aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get Percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. He's sure of it.

So it then further begs the question: why the fuck were you there?

Sliding off his jacket, you offer him a small smile. It's the least you can do, you suppose.

It's funny, because you only ever see three kinds of men in Daerim: drunks, gamblers, and dealers. Jungkook isn't any of those. You might not know that much about him, but you know he's a scholarship kid, and that he won the winter film festival on campus for his documentary on back-alley gambling.

"We're not too far from campus," he eventually states. Few blocks over. He assumes you live on campus. Got the money for it.

"Cool," you nod, sure that you'll be able to find your bearings from here. You don't live on campus. Not anymore. No money for it. "Thanks for the lift, I guess."

The atmosphere is awkward, dewy mist in the air dampening both of you. He nods back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

He knows he should invite you in, offer you somewhere to wait while you call a cab or something, but he's embarrassed. Of himself. His living situation. The fact that he doubts you've ever even been in a basement that isn't a wine cellar.

"Look I-"

"So-"

Jungkooks nose scrunches, cringing at the awkwardness. You glance down, self-conscious.

"What were you doing over in Daerim?" he asks rather out of the blue. He doesn't even process that he's asked until it's too late.

You clear your throat a little. "Just had some errands to run."

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

"Right," he doesn't believe you, but can't think of a better explanation.

"Well, what were you doing there?" You ask, albeit a little more confrontational than intended. You were on the defensive.

His mouth is flat as he speaks, a narrowness to his eyes that makes your lips purse to suppress a smirk. "Running errands."

So you're both dirty little liars. Who'd've thought?

"Fairplay," you say with a smile. "Look, I still appreciate the ride. I'd have been fine," you add."But yeah, appreciate it nonetheless."

"Was nothing. I was headed in this direction anyway. If you take a left at the end of the street and follow the road down, there's usually a bunch of taxis waiting for the university cleaners to finish their night shifts. I'm sure you'll be able to get one."

"Take a left," you hum. "Cool. Will do." Bracing yourself to leave, Jungkook wonders if he should offer you a lift to your place too. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Class? That thing we attend during daylight hours?"

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Bizarrely enough, if this is how awkward Jungkook is when he's being nice, you think you prefer him being an asshole. At least he has a little spark in him then.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook feels overloaded with fucking sparks, like someone's holding an axe grinder against the metal of his earrings, deafening him. The reality of his evening is kicking in, and the knowledge that he came a few metres from having a hole in his abdomen becomes overwhelming. He doesn't let it show, though.

"Thanks, again."

You make a promise to punch yourself in the face if you say thank you one more fucking time.

"It's fine, again," he smiles, with a small laugh, before focusing those eyes of his on the floor.

And so you leave, walking straight past the taxi rank and taking a shortcut to your apartment, which is a lot closer than you had realised.

Seven steps below street level, you jog down to your front door, petting the neighbourhood calico stray on your way down. The door closes with a slam, but you don't give a shit because the people in the apartment above never seem to give a shit when they stumble home at four in the morning.

Before he sleeps that evening, Jungkook wonders how much of the skyline you get to indulge in. Your dad works in the accounting side of one of the largest law firms in the city, he knows that much from his research. Knows that your immediate family has more money than probably all of his relatives combined. Alive and dead.

He just isn't aware that you're not seeing a single dime of it. Not since you dropped out of the economics and business side of school to focus on the creative arts. All that money your parents had 'wasted' on your education? Well, they weren't wasting any more.

Because you're a commodity, to be bought and sold, apparently. Not their daughter, who they should have just wanted to be happy.

So now you spend your Tuesday and Thursday evenings down in Daerim.

Because you are a commodity; and if anyone's gonna be selling you, then it may as well be your fucking self. 

A stack of yellow 50,000 won bills sit on your desk. Twelve of them. 600,000 won. Not bad for a week's work. 6 hours.

Might have been cut off from your Dad's money, but your replacement 'daddy' wasn't a bad substitute.

The bluntness of such a statement usually makes you laugh, but not today.

If Jungkook knows the Daerim area like you think he does, then he'll be able to work it out soon enough. A bitterness fills your chest, like coffee dripping through a filter, forgotten about and left to go cold. You've been so good at playing pretend.

Secrets are so much easier to keep when they're not shared.

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

After all, that was your unique view of the city; the side you saw that you were pretty sure no-one else did.

At least, no one else except Jungkook. Go figure.

"SEVEN WEEKS LEFT!" Your professor reminds the class as they dismiss you from your lecture. There's a little chatter, partners sharing ideas and friends discussing what to have for lunch - and then there's you and Jungkook.

He waits by the end of his row for you to walk to meet him, an inconspicuous look on his face.

The girl who he's watching neatly put a fluffy pen into her handbag looks a lot like you, but a hell of a lot different from the girl he gave a lift to last night.

Who the fuck are you?

Jungkook has always liked a little mystery. Seen the romanticism in the unknown. Still doesn't like you - but you've gotten him curious.

"You haven't sent anything over yet," he notes, keeping a slight distance from you as you walk together up the stairs.

"You told me not to bombard you," you remind him.

"Sending me video files once in a blue moon is fine."

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

It's Friday, so he knows it's not one of your pre-determined days of having prior engagements.

It's only now that he realises that must have been why you were in Daerim last night; that your 'errands' are actually scheduled into your routine. It doesn't bode well for his 'not a hooker, an addict or a sugar-baby' theory.

"I was thinking of heading over to Dongdaemun this evening, seeing as you weren't free on Tuesday," he starts a little awkwardly, but the more he speaks, the easier it becomes. Being nice, that is. "I could still use a hand, if you're free? If you're serious about helping out, I mean. It would be good to make a start on things."

Relief washes over you. You've been fearing a conversation about the night before, but Jungkook doesn't want to talk about it just as much as you don't.

You meet him at seven o'clock that evening at Dongdaemun Design Plaza. You've always loved the green roof, how organic the landscaping looks above such a futuristic building. He listens as you explain this, eyes wide and in awe of the sloping pathways and curved walls, showing him your favourite of all the trees in the park.

Jungkook looks at you for a second, observes your hands, how they delicately move a few leaves to frame the shot you're taking. You've a Midas touch, and Jungkook wonders if your fingers would turn him to gold, too.

It's a silly, fleeting thought, but it doesn't stop him from focusing the camera on you as you roam Dongdaemun night market later that evening, lights cascading over you like glitter.

He thinks you're pretty in this light. Pretty when it's just him and you. No distractions.

Except there's hustle and bustle everywhere, a vendor chasing a thief, groups of high schoolers laughing on their way home from Hagwons, food sizzling, vapours making his stomach rumble. Perhaps you're the distraction, instead.

The pair of you spend the next week traipsing the city together.

Somehow, you only ever come together when the sun goes down, but it's fitting. You're a pair of nightcrawlers, swarming through the city when traffic sounds like a melody and destinations are unknown.

He learns that you drink your coffee black, no sugar, lukewarm. You learn that he'd rather rub coffee granules into his eyes than drink it.

And despite your preference for no sugar, he always tosses a little white sachet towards you whenever you order a coffee. He finds it funny. Insists that you have to be a sugar baby. It's the only way he can explain that night he saw you Daerim.

He's just joking. And you pretend not to, but you find it hysterical.

Mainly because he doesn't realise how bang on the money he is.

But also because you can't help but laugh whenever he does.

There's a comfort that grows between the pair of you, a familiarity. A casual ease that doesn't feel dangerous, not even when he's pulsing through the city on his bike, you holding onto him, his leather jacket wrapped around your body. You begin to like the way that the wind feels in your hair, and you stop wearing fake lashes. Jungkook doesn't tell you, but he likes you better with a few freckles showing, dewy highlighter and a little mascara being the only makeup you wear for the midnight city roams.

It's only because you can't be wasting resources reserved for clients on a boy from your film studies class. Times are tough, money is tight. No point in pouring funds into a boy you won't make revenue from. It's a bad business decision.

A few months ago, you did your makeup multiple times a day just for fun. Now you have to ration it. Life... life isn't what it used to be.

But Jungkook is ignorant to that, and you quite like it. Escaping from your reality. Becoming the version of yourself that he thinks you are.

He isn't sure which version of you he wants to spend time with the most; the too-good for him daddy's girl who dresses in Celine and comes with a pout, the enigma who lurks in the shadows that he thought he had a monopoly over, or the master director who seems to rival his talents for capturing moments of life in 4K.

As he watches your brows furrow while you turn your phone upside down, trying to understand a map, he decides that he doesn't care which version he gets.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

There's an impulsion to his desires and subsequent actions that he takes to obtain them. He's driven by gratification, and little else.

On the days he wants to feel wanted, he'll go to a bar. He never whispers false promises or pretends like he's after anything more than what can be achieved in a single night. The girls he goes for tend to see that as a challenge. They think they can convince him otherwise. It's not his fault when they can't. It's not his fault that they end up falling for him regardless. It's not his fault that he never has any intention of loving them back.

He tells them this. They ignore him. It isn't his fault.

On the days he wants to feel accomplished, he'll stay on campus until the cleaners usher him out of the room so that they can prepare it for the next day. Their insistence is lost on him - no amount of Cif can polish the dirt out of the walls. Once a shithole, always a shithole. He'll offer his apologies for getting in their way, and they'll coo over him like he's their own grandson. It's all very sweet.

They tell him not to overwork himself. He lies and says he won't.

On the days he wants to eat more than a single cup of ramyeon - which is most days, given his absolutely mammoth appetite - he'll send Hobi a text and request more drop-offs for that evening. Yoongi will give Jungkook a subtle look whenever a message from Hobi pings through, knowing it mustn't be good news. It never is.

Jungkook tells Yoongi to mind his business - but with a grin and a glint in his eye that eases his friends worry ever so slightly.

Disapproval never stops Jungkook from doing what he wants, regardless.

Not from his friends, from the cleaning ajummas, and especially not from you.

So he ignores the look in your eye, as he encourages you to follow him through a gap in the chainlink fence, which surrounds a disused water tower on the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

And right now, he wants to get a shot of the midnight city from his favourite vantage point.

"You said you've taken thousands of shots here," You hiss as a twig snaps beneath your foot. He smirks as you utter out a curse. "Surely you can just reuse one of those?!"

He guides you round, ignoring the ground level rubble, until you get to a ladder that definitely isn't safe for use. It's rusting by the bolts, and has a few vines trailing up it, undisturbed for months. Remnants of paint are flaking from the structure, collecting like ashes on the ground below.

"I have," he shrugs, unhooking your camera bag from your shoulder, popping it into his rucksack for safe keeping. He crouches, putting his palms upwards to offer you a leg up. "You haven't, though. You see the city differently to me, remember?"

He's taunting you. Reusing the phrase from your Professor that you had quoted to him on the first day of the project. Asshole.

Asshole with a smirk that suggests he's only teasing. Suggests that he's fond. Words that suggest he remembers the things you say to him. Memorises them, even.

Curious.

"Can't we just pretend like we see it the same way?"

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

You're thankful for the midnight sky and the way it disguises your blush.

As if throwing packets of the white stuff at your face in coffee shops isn't enough, he's taken to calling you 'sugar', too.

"Give me a reason not to," he says as he tilts his head, encouraging you to accept his leg up. You check your feet for mud, then put your trust in his grip.

"I've already told you, I was just running errands," you defend yourself for the thousandth time. A short yelp escapes your lips as he boosts you up, your hands gripping onto the flaking bars beside the ladder.

He doesn't believe you for a second. He also doesn't believe that you're actually a sugar baby. It's just fun to fuck with you a little.

Once you're up, he waits for you to safely sit on the ledge, and then he makes the climb too. He's up a lot quicker than you, coming to sit beside you with his legs dangling over the ledge of the railings.

"Tell me it isn't worth it," Jungkook says a little airily, enamoured with the view.

And he's right. It is worth it.

A maze of city lights twinkle like the Carina nebula, interstellar, yet entirely of this earth. Bright whites, reds and greens speckle the horizon, and for a moment, it's easy to forget that you're looking at Seoul. There's a magic that can only be appreciated from a distance, far away from the scent of alleyways and the void nothingness of grey brick buildings. Skyscrapers tower above the skyline, but still look small from where you and Jungkook sit, silently, in awe.

"Look over there," he points across the vast expanse. You follow his trajectory, but you have no idea if you're picking out the right spot. "Daerim. Can always tell. Know the street layout too well."

"You're gonna get me thinking you're a sugar baby," you nudge your shoulder into his, and he laughs.

Reaching into his rucksack, you expect him to pull out your camera. Instead, his hand comes back into vision holding a pair of chopsticks and a tub of instant ramyeon. Uncooked.

He pulls the seal back, stabs at it with the chopsticks and offers you the small chunk he's broken off.

"It's good," he promises.

You know what dried ramyeon tastes like. You know it's good. You just can't understand what the fuck is wrong with him.

"Are you broken?"

He grins as he tosses the chunk of dried noodles into his own mouth. "Absolutely - but ramyeon is ramyeon."

You tell him he's weird, and he continues to smile, not resisting as you take the tub from him and break off a chunk with your fingers.

It's one of his favourite snacks. He's impatient and impulsive at the best of times. Waiting for it to cook? Too much effort. Cooking it at the convenience store and carrying it up the tower with him? Disaster waiting to happen. It's just easier this way.

And so the pair of you sit, not really saying much, watching the city roll by. Every now and again, he offers you a chunk from his chopsticks.

By the end of the night, neither of you have gotten any footage of the city.

And neither of you really care.

AS YOU SPRINT home after yet another spree around the city with Jungkook, running late for your Thursday evening appointment, you curse your inability to send his calls to voicemail. 

You should really be working more. You need to be working more - but for the past four weeks now, you've answered every single one of his calls.

His messages? Yeah, you ignore those. He's learnt this, though. He messages you regardless, because... well, because he wants to, quite frankly. He doesn't give a shit if you respond.

He knows you read them.

He knows you saw that picture he sent of a flyer detailing a live art event last week. He knows that you noticed the veins on his arms.

You don't know that he'd spent a couple of minutes tensing his arm before he took the picture. Deliberately.

It's been said before that Jungkook wants what he wants - and what he wants more than anything, frustratingly, is your attention.

The way you study his arms the next time you see him proves that he's gotten it.

If anything, the delayed gratification makes it so much more worthwhile. 

You have been thinking about him.

So as far as Jungkook is concerned, you can ignore his messages all you like, because you still always answer his calls with an airy 'hi,' as if talking to him takes your breath away.

The only time you don't answer is between the hours of eleven and two on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

Chances are, if he just so happens to be in the area - which he always is - he'll catch you down on the wrong side of the tracks at just gone quarter past two.

He still calls you 'sugar', teasing you for the reputation of the area. You just roll your eyes and grin, then banter with him about how even if you were a sugar baby, he wouldn't be able to afford your prices.

He argues that he'd pay in ways that didn't include monetary value.

You don't ask him to expand.

But as you wipe your watery lash line in the bathroom of a shitty rental apartment in Daerim, you think about what he could have meant. If he actually meant it. 

The TV blares from the living room, faint vapours of a mango e-cigarette wafting through the gap beneath the door. You've always thought mango smells like cat piss. Rancid.

Whatever Jungkook could have meant didn't matter. His flirty tone and angel eyes didn't pay the bills. The cash tossed down on the bathroom counter did - or more specifically, the widower, who occasionally wanted company from a pretty young girl, did.

A hundred thousand won for an hour, three hundred thousand total. It takes you just a week, two appointments, to make up the month's rent - but you still need to eat, to study, survive. 

And so you return, every week.

It's not his actual apartment. He lives over in Gangnam, close to his kids' schools. More money than sense. He doesn't tell you much about his personal life. You think a lot of his small claims are lies, anyway - but you smile and flutter your lashes as if he's reciting bible verses.

Some nights are better than others. Sometimes, he genuinely makes you laugh. Occasionally, he'll ask you what you want to do. Takes you to museums. Fancy dinners. Theatre shows.

But he has a nasty streak, and in those three hours, you're his. He owns you. There's no sex, that's not the arrangement, but his hands have been known to roam, and the disparity of equality within your working relationship becomes apparent. You brush it off, tell yourself that it's natural for a man engaging with you in a romantic capacity to forget the rules. You tell yourself that it's okay.

The churning in your stomach and dis-ease of such a situation tells you that no, it isn't okay. But if you laugh at his painfully unfunny jokes loud enough, you're able to drown out the noise in your head.

The worst nights are the ones where he pays you extra.

There's no discussion anymore. The stack of notes is just thicker than usual upon arrival, and you know that at some point during the night, you'll have to sit in silence and watch as he sinks his hand down into his pants.

It's easy to forget the way it looks. Your eyes glaze over, and the discomfort, the slight disgust, indicated in your features gets him hard. He thinks it's taboo. Thinks you enjoy it too. That your panties look a lot like his hand by the time he's finished.

The snort-like grunts are what you find hard to forget. The wail of a moan that comes when he does. You hear that shit in your nightmares.

But it earns you an extra two hundred thousand, so you endure it because you don't have much of an option at this point.

Come 2 AM, cash stuffed down your bra, you don't have to think about it anymore. The fresh air of the city, a little smoggy and polluted, hits you like a freight train. You thank it.

When Jungkook enters Daerim that evening, he expects to find you. He normally does. You never look particularly happy - in fact, he often tells you that you've got a face like a slapped arse - but it's more so today.

He whistles from across the street, clad in black, a thick hoodie keeping him warm beneath his leather jacket. "Oi, Sugar," he calls, that boyish grin on his lips. Teeth so pretty you wonder how much novocaine it would take for you to be numb to the way it makes your stomach flip.

Eyes dancing up and down your body, he likes what you're wearing. Black tights, black dress that cuts off at your mid-thigh, a sweetheart neckline and chiffon sleeves that puff around your slender arms. He decides your boots are far more sensible than the heels you're usually in.

"That'll be twenty thousand, Jeon," you call back, arms folded over your chest as you change direction to walk towards him.

"Per hour?"

"Per every time you call me that stupid fucking name."

"What would you rather?" he goads, leaning against a window ledge on the back of a restaurant building. There's nothing down the alleyway, just trashbags and the distinct scent of fermenting piss. "Shugs? SB? Baby?"

You smirk, walking to the wall opposite him, mirroring his position, hands resting beside you on the ledge. There's a safe distance between the pair of you. A look, but don't touch type of vibe - but this time, unlike earlier on in your evening, you actually enjoy it.

"You really gotta make your mind up," your eyes roll, lips rising into a crescent. "One minute I'm a trust-fund princess with Daddy's money on tap, the next I'm a sugar baby with a different type of Daddy altogether."

Jungkook shrugs. "Just don't see why you waste your evenings roaming fucking Daerim of all places."

"Best dandanmian in the city," you say, referencing the abundance of traditional Chinese restaurants in the area. "Can't get the authentic stuff in Itaewon."

"Can't get hookers in Itaewon like you can in Daerim, either," he taunts you.

He doesn't really think you're a hooker, but he likes the way you grin whenever your eyes roll.

"Ah, so that's why you're here."

He holds his hands up to playfully admit defeat. "Guilty."

You laugh, knowing that there's no way in hell Jungkook will ever have to resort to hookers. Not when he looks like that. All doe-eyed and charming, floppy hair just begging for a pair of hands to run through it.

The pair of you let the moment simmer, droplets of water dripping from the drainpipe and into the sewer. He's lit by the neon light of a restaurant sign, red and yellow painting him like an impressionist masterpiece.

"You look cold," he acknowledges, but you shake your head and insist you're fine. Your hair is a little damp from the small shower you'd been caught in a little while previously, mascara smudged around your eyes. You looked like that before the rain, mind you. He shakes his jacket off and tosses it across to you, snorting quietly as it hits your face and crumples over your feet. "C'mon. I'm now about to ride home. I'll give you a lift."

He asks for your address, and you tell him that you'll just get a taxi from his place like you normally do. There's no need for him to go out of his way.

"The princess doesn't want the pauper to see her castle, huh?" he teases, always talking in bloody riddles.

"See!" you protest. "Always changing your mind! A minute ago I was a sugar baby, and now I'm a rich bitch again. Which is it, Jeon?"

"I dunno," he reaches behind himself, adjusting your legs and pulling you a little closer into his back, tapping your side to make sure you've got the jacket on. "You tell me, sugar."

He doesn't see you roll your eyes, but he knows you do it. You always do. Even when your pretty pink nails are clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pretend like you don't enjoy his company.

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

His engine begins to purr, and Jungkook kicks up the stand, setting off into the night.

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

And it is, because you're not just holding onto him; you're hugging him. Comfort in an old routine. You adjust your arms, keeping tight against his back, and he pretends like he doesn't notice the shift in dynamic.

He pretends as if he didn't notice your sad eyes earlier, too, and as if he can't feel the stutter in your chest as if you're trying not to cry.

Jungkook isn't a knight on a white horse, and nor does he want to be - but he doesn't mind being your rogue bandit who steals you away from the things that make you sad.

He's just an arc in your fairytale, not your happy ending.

But you've always been a sucker for a bit of a plot twist.

When you arrive at his, he wants to ask you to stay. He doesn't want an orange taxi cab to appear at the end of his lane and act like your actual knight in shining armour. He doesn't want you to ride into the sunrise with anyone but him.

And as luck would have it, your phone shares his desires.

Well, no. It doesn't. It's a mobile phone. It doesn't have cognitive thoughts - but it is out of charge.

"Different charging ports," he grits his teeth as he holds up his Samsung after you ask if he's got an iPhone charger. "I'm pretty sure I have an apple cable lying about though. You can come in for a second, get a little bit of charge just so that you're not stranded in a taxi without a way to contact anyone."

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer, instead holding his door open and ushering you inside.

Jungkook cares in strange ways. He's practical, forward-thinking, trying to find solutions to problems that you'd normally shrug your shoulders at.

He's never told anyone that he loves them before, but he did once swap the hinges on his ex-girlfriend's bathroom door to the other side, so that it would stop hitting the sink basin every time she opened it. He shows his affections in meaningful ways, often without being asked or expecting anything in return.

Neither of you realise it yet, but this is one of those occasions.

It's not until you're perched on the worktop bench in his kitchen that he realises he let you in without hesitation. No longer embarrassed of where he lived, he kind of likes having you here.

You look out of place, silver pendant round your neck, expensive, and hair professionally coloured, nails done, toes, too. Not that he can see them. He just remembers a conversation you had once over chicken and a beer about the fact your toes always matched your nails.

Small details like that are what he thinks about when he's alone; like the way you blink a little faster when you're confused, and how you sprinkle Cheeto dust back into the bag off of your fingers instead of licking them like he does. He thinks about the way you laugh in his company, and how he's never heard you laugh like that with anyone else. And he tries to stop, but dammit, he thinks about how sexed up you look on those Daerim nights.

You're dressing like that for someone else, he knows that much.

But he gets to indulge in it too, when your body is pressed against his back as he takes you home.

He's stopped asking what you do in Daerim. He doesn't want to know.

For a few minutes a night, when he's alone, he likes to pretend what it would be like if he was the one you were dressed like that for. Only ever a minute or so. Gets him too hot. Finishes him off too quickly. Absolute sin.

"Kook?"

He doesn't even realise he's halted his movements until your voice breaks him from his thoughts. His jeans tonight are tight, and do a pretty good job of hiding the swelling between his legs. Fucking uncomfortable, though.

"Sorry," he doesn't turn to face you. "Was just trying to remember where I last had the cable."

"I was just saying that it's fine. It's really not that far. Don't wanna be a bother."

"Why'd you say shit like that?" he turns to face you, face twisted a little. He's annoyed.

"Like what?"

"Call yourself a bother. You do it a lot."

"I don't."

"You do," he insists, and you can't work out why he's so annoyed by it. You want to apologise all over again. "You just-" he takes a moment to find the right words. "I dunno who's conditioned you into thinking everything you do is bothersome, but it really isn't. If I didn't wanna help, then I wouldn't. It's not a bother. You're not a bother."

And you don't know why, but for some reason, you choke up a little. It's not like he said anything particularly groundbreaking, it's just for the last few months, your entire existence has felt like a drain on those around you.

The money you can live without, but you miss family dinners on Sundays, and face timing your little sister, more than you can even begin to explain.

And while no, you didn't want your parents' money, you didn't want to keep seeing a perverted old man just to be able to afford to eat, either. The flat rate was 500,000 now. Every single time. Without fail. You hadn't put the price up. He was just always paying extra. Always touching his prick. Always jerking himself off over your repulsion.

Earlier that evening, he had queried how much it would cost him to finish on your chest. You told him a million. He asked if you accepted bank transfers. You told him no. He offered 1.2 mil.

Part of you considered it. It's a lot of money. Not something to be taken lightly.

But when you ran into Jungkook, just like you knew you would, you were adamant you had made the right choice. He had scanned your body, getting a read on your mood, assessing what you needed, what you wanted, and then had offered up his jacket. All doe-eyed and sparkling. You finally got what all the girls swooned over, 'cause you were doing it too.

"Hey," he says softly, noticing the way your eyes are reddening. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry, sugar."

You laugh through the first couple of tears. Stupid fucking nickname.

"I meant it," you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands. He's standing closer now, hesitant to touch, hands hovering around you. "20 thousand won, Jeon. Pay up."

His fingers tenderly wrap around your wrists, keeping them from rubbing at your face again. He's smiling, eyes ever encompassing, cheeks so appled that you bet you could get drunk off the cider he'd produce.

"Can we do it on an I.O.U. basis?" he speaks quietly, playfully. "I get paid on Monday."

It's a lie. He gets his commission cut straight from his sales figures. There's 2 million won in his rucksack. He only gets ten percent. 200K. His job's not nearly half as lucrative as yours, but it's still nothing to be laughed at. He's making bank.

"Nuh-uh," you sniff again, letting out a little laugh. He laughs too. "Told you that you couldn't afford me."

And then it's silent. You can hear your heartbeat. He moves a little closer.

"Told you I'd just pay in other ways."

His voice is hoarse, as if he's scared. 

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

Your eyes drop to his lips. They're trembling slightly. Preparing.

The grip he has on your wrists loosens. He's giving you freedom. He's giving you the chance to back out, to run away.

But you don't.

"Pay up, then," you all-but whisper, lips closing on his.

Jungkook doesn't stall, no, but it takes him a second to respond. To realise.

And once he does, his brows furrow into the kiss, demanding that you know just how much he wants this. Wants you. Has done for weeks, now.

He pulls your body into his, needing you close. Your body curves, his arm hooked behind your back to keep you balanced.

A surge of intensity washes over you like crimson paint. It'll stain you, and everyone will know: That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

He kisses, and he kisses, and he kisses, and he doesn't stop, as if he knows his first with you will also be his last - and when he finally does stop, forehead on yours, the pair of you are breathing so heavily into each other's mouths that it's as if you're sharing oxygen. Keeping each other alive. Both capable of first-degree murder.

And so neither of you pull away. There's no way he's doing time for you. There's no way you're doing time for him. Looks like you'll just have to kiss forever. Shame. Such a hardship. However will you cope?

"I-" he begins, before cutting himself off, easing his grip on your waist. One of his hands lingers, while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes wincing. "Shit-" he finally lets you go. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."

You want to tell him that it's okay, that you didn't mind, that he could do it again - but it's clear he doesn't agree.

"Just adrenaline," you offer, sinking down to perch on the worktop bench. Your defeated posture is hidden well like this. "Don't sweat it."

He stays silent as he turns around to resume his rummaging, looking for a charger that will fit your phone. He knows there's one in there, he just can't for the life of him remember when he last had it.

Everything feels a little awkward. You half think that you should fill the void with something, that you should break the ice, but what was the point? You'll be out of his hair soon.

And you are, home twenty minutes later. You had only charged your phone for ten minutes at his, just enough to get you home. It's about to die again. Not before Jungkook pings you a message, though.

He doesn't expect a response, but he lies awake until he sees your read receipt confirm that you've seen it.

Sadness doesn't suit you, sugar. I'm not gonna pry, but if you ever need a ride earlier than normal out of Daerim, give me a call.

He spent a good six minutes debating whether or not to end his message with a kiss, eventually deciding against it. No need to make the message any softer than it already was.

To his surprise, a bubble pops up on your side of the chat thread.

His heart twinges, your response saying everything he wished he had with just one simple letter:

x

JUNGKOOK HAS A terrible habit of taking out his stress on the people around him; the ones that he holds closest.

"I just don't see why it's such a big issue," Jimin says through a mouthful of salad greens. His teeth chomp so loudly that Jungkook thinks they'll have to swing by the dentistry labs later that afternoon. Which Jimin'll probably like, considering he won't stop fucking rambling on about a dentistry student at the moment. "She's hot, she's got guys practically falling at her feet and she's interested in you. It's one party. Stop being so fucking boring."

Yoongi casts Jungkook a sympathetic look. He doesn't work so much at the moment, what with his chemistry finals coming up, and especially not in the Daerim area.

That's Jungkook's market now - but he did happen to have a drop-off for a last-minute order a couple of weeks back.  Territory isn't an issue between the friends, with Jungkook respecting Yoongi far too much to ever tell him to back off, or to not take deals in that area.

He had been about to approach Jungkook that night, when he noticed you crossing the street, a smile plastered on your face. He couldn't see Jungkook's face from the angle he was at, but he could see how raised his cheeks were. And so he left the pair of you to it, knowing better than to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

"Not boring," Jungkook retorts, tossing the wrapper his chopsticks came in at Jimin's face. "Got a bunch of assignments due in."

"Dude, you've been MIA for weeks. If we didn't have classes together, I'd have sent out a search party by now."

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

"Kids, settle down," Yoongi interjects, and wonders why he doesn't just find friends his own age. Logistics, he decides. The perils of having to save up for university before he could actually attend.

Jimin, being Jimin, then proceeds to bicker with Yoongi, leaving Jungkook free to find your face amongst the canteen crowd. You're sat with friends, none of whom he's ever met.

Your hair is up, like it always is during school, but you've let your grown out bangs frame your face. Pretty, he thinks. Prettiest girl here.

But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.

A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.

And you ignore it.

You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.

He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.

Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text. 

He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday. 

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.

That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.

"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."

Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.

"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."

"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."

When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.

There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.

It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.

No good ever comes from being nice.

He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.

By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.

At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.

You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.

You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.

It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that. 

All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.

He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.

And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.

You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.

In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.

Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.

But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.

"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.

Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.

You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.

You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."

He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.

In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.

You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.

"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."

You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.

Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.

But you are annoyed.

It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.

You barely know him. Not really.

After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.

At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.

It seems like you found your answer.

"I'm not the city," he eventually says.

And he's right.

He's not the city.

Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.

He's not the goddamn city.

But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.

All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.

"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.

"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?

He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.

"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."

Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."

And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.

"Really, Kook?"

It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.

He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.

When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?

In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home. 

He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.

His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?

Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.

He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.

You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.

It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.

But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."

Ah. You cringe.

"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."

"Hmm?"

"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."

You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.

"Good night?"

Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.

"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."

He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.

You don't know what to say either.

It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.

"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"

"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.

Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.

"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.

"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."

Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.

It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.

Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.

Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.

It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.

But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.

He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.

He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.

You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.

Except you do. 

It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.

"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked. 

You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.

"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."

"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."

"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."

Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.

"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.

"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.

It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.

"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.

You both feel it.

"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.

The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.

And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.

It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.

So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.

"You look warm," he husks.

Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.

His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.

You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.

He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself. 

And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.

One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.

He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.

And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."

Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.

In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.

Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.

Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.

And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.

His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.

"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"

The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.

Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.

His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.

"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."

He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.

"Do I?"

The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."

Yes.

"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."

"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."

Maybe you do. 

Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.

But even if he has, you won't tell him.

And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.

"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."

Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?

You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.

But he was right. You did like him looking at you.

More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.

From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.

"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook. 

"Hobi, can I-" 

He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands. 

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.

"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em." 

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?" 

You blush. 

"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."

He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?

A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?

He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.

Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.

Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."

You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.

"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"

The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.

That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.

You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.

Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."

Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.

You don't hang around for much longer.

You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.

But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?

The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. 

Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?

Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties. 

It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.

He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.

Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.

You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.

When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.

But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better. 

He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.

Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss. 

That had been the plan, at least.

He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.

Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.

He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.

"Wassup, kid?"

Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"

Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.

"Gone."

Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"

"No."

"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"

"Yoong-"

"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.

Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from. 

In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.

The girl who's now returning his call.

"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"

"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.

You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.

But he does.

He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.

Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.

"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."

You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.

"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."

"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.

You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."

And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.

"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.

"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.

"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"

You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."

Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.

Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.

This place is just temporary.

You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.

"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

[simplydnp]

WAD: Cover Art

dan is still working on selling the distribution rights for We're All Doomed! so i decided to make some DVD/Blu-ray disc jacket art!

this is my attempt at a traditional jacket design! none of the images used are mine, but i did create the concept and design:

as i was making the first one for myself, i was struck by the fact that 'well, it's for me, so it doesn't have to look like a stereotypical jacket cover' which led me to be more artsy in my approach for the next one:

i was really enjoying the creativity and space to explore, so i went looking for more inspiration for a third design. this led me to dan's favourite Muse album: Origin of Symmetry, which i paid homage to:

after the first Muse album, i looked at their catalogue to see if there was more inspiration there. i was just thankful dan's favourite was easy stylistically to mimic, unlike say, 2009's The Resistance...

thank you @danielhowell for the inspiration!

nerdy stuff & reference pics below the cut!

General notes

i don't know how to use photoshop! i entirely brute-forced my way through the whole project, and the only tutorial i looked up was for the gradient text in the 4th cover

this wasn't even the original project i was working on! you'll eventually get to see that though

and this one also inspired art for the disc itself so stay tuned 👀

i will do anything for authenticity so these are Full of intentional details

matching fonts is a nightmare

the traditional cover

took the longest, as it was the first.

the barcode numbers are the date of the first video he uploaded on dinof, and the last tour show date (in m/d/y)

i changed 'iceland' to 'poland' on the front cover, as he never actually went to iceland, and poland wasn't ever on the list even though he did go there

the orange may look a little off-center in the front, but these designs need to include space for a spine between the front and back cover, i promise it's right 😂

the black and white cover

inspired by the 'i want to believe' aliens poster

the cover art comes from his metal band merch shirt design

i had to manually shrink the text, line by line, and ensure it all lined up on the back!

i even made the logos on the back greyscale

the Muse: Origin of Symmetry cover

a shockingly perfect style for a WAD cover. i'm so glad i used the cubes, even if they couldn't be orange.

there's some versions of the art online where the sky is even more orange and it baffles me how i haven't seen any parallels like this before

the Muse: The Resistance cover

this cover was never supposed to see the light of day! i meant it when i said i was grateful i didn't have to try to adapt this complex design... and yet, i tried anyway.

i did all the grid lines by hand, including the jagged/broken edge parts, shading each section, and then drawing every star.

the hardest part was getting the gradient on the back text to cooperate. photoshop's gradient settings are surprisingly limited

gotta shout out @amazingphil for being the reason i knew what this cover looked like--it's the only muse album i knew the art of before embarking on this quest!

obligatory sob story:

i've been extremely and suddenly ill for 6 months. it is difficult to function moment to moment, but especially in doing little things just for me. this is the first and only art project i've been able to feel inspired to not only work on, but to finish, and despite the pain and long hours, i enjoyed every minute of it. thank you, dan, for creating this space for me to explore, and thank you, everyone here, for being wonderful support during this time 💞

[jet-teeth]

Specifically relating to my latest post, but in general also: I feel like my attention span has gotten so bad these days in terms of actually finishing anything, to the point that the deflection/procrastination-projects get as silly as "builds a whole-ass 3D model instead of finishing the goddamn drawing because that's somehow easier than dealing with the perfectionism demon hovering over my shoulder when I draw these days"

(I think this why I'm trying to chase looser styles/play around with traditional media here and there again, since anything too precise starts to activate the Overthink Demon. I guess what I post is "oops! All sketches" anyway, but a lot of things still get overworked. Probably should start using timers again or something idk) Rarely do I actually "finish" models as well, which is generally why I don't post any (they are almost always studies/character reference models) but let's see if I can get around to making some Printable Little Guys this year, since frankly I find 3D a more comfortable medium to work in than outright painting/doing rendered-out stuff

Ramble post, but I'm always interested in the topic of "process" when it comes to art, and how struggles & limitations might actually help an individual find what their strengths really are too (or, just reveal areas that need more work. I DO want to finish a couple of the paintings in my WIP folder, but I also have accepted that it's not gonna be the natural medium for me ever) (I always try to include art in long text posts like this so they aren't as boring. Have a Banana Cat drawing I never uploaded. Also yes the printer HAS been added to my enclosure and it's great fun :> )

[linkablewritingadvice]

How much should it cost to be a writer?

It depends what route you’re taking. If you are planning to go for traditional publishing, which looks like you finishing a manuscript and then querying agents who will then take your book to publishers, you should be paying for basically nothing. One exception would be if you decide to hire an editor to get a pass over your manuscript and/or query package before sending it off, but this is not required.

If you are in the process of trying to get your manuscript traditionally published, you may be approached by a “publisher” offering to publish your manuscript for a fee. THIS IS A SCAM! An author should never be paying for “publishing services.” Anyone asking you to pay for your own printing, marketing, etc. costs is taking advantage of you. These are called vanity publishers and they will not turn you a profit, help you attract readers, or provide you the prestige of being published. 

Always check on Writer Beware - search for the name of the person or company. You can also just google that name along with the word “scam” or “reviews.” In general, don’t let yourself be blinded by dreams, or let yourself be convinced that something is a good idea because you really want it to be true. Never, ever, ever pay a publisher.

If you are going the self-publishing route, you will be paying for certain things, but none of those should be payment to be published. You are the publisher. Uploading your manuscript to Amazon or other marketplaces is free. However, you will be paying for things that a publisher typically pays for. This could include:

-Cover art - you could do this yourself, though this isn't recommended. A good cover is key to a book's success, so budget to purchase a pre-made book cover, or hire a professional cover artist.

To find pre-made book covers, you can just Google "premade book covers," or check one of these sites: BookCoverZone RockingBookCovers Beetiful

And here's a list of places to buy both custom and pre-made cover designs that's a good start. You can also check Reedsy and Etsy for people listing cover design services. If there is a self-pubbed author whose covers you love, try asking them what artist they use.

-Formatting - you could do this yourself using a formatting program like Atticus, or you could hire someone who does professional e-book formatting.

Here's an article on the turbo-DIY route. Here's a list of formatting programs you can use. To hire someone, you can simply search for book formatting services or look at places where people list such services for hire, like Reedsy, Fiverr, or certain Reddit boards.

-Ad campaigns - you may want to pay for ad campaigns on platforms like Meta or Amazon. More niche, author-specific platforms like BookBub, Book Funnel, or Book Sirens also come with certain costs. 

-Author services - you may wish to hire an expert in things like marketing, blurb copy, social media metrics, newsletter management, etc. You can find information on that here.

Be aware that scam publishers might try to pitch themselves as "author services" - you should be paying someone to help you with specific aspects of your self publishing work, NOT paying to be published.

-Software and platforms - whether it's a subscription to Duotrope, a paid Scribophile account, access to pro Canva features, etc. you may decide to pay for tools that you will use to do your work well.

-Expert advice - some people offer courses, books, or other resources on how to do specific things like write a compelling blurb or run an effective ad campaign. You may notice that a lot of the links I shared here will include upsells from people doing exactly this!

Be very cautious about this, as most of these people claim that they make tons of money on their self published books, but really, they make their money selling this stuff to people like you. Always check out a person’s free resources first, and wait to invest in this sort of thing until you have a specific question you need answered or are trying to do a very particular thing that you need granular guidance on. 

One thing you should NOT pay for is a review, feature, or interview. Self-published authors will be approached by a lot of scammers who claim that, for a nominal fee, they will share information about your book to their huge audiences. These are completely useless and a waste of money. Never spend money on this.

Always keep track of what you are spending on all of this. You may be able to deduct it from taxes you pay on your income from writing, and you will want to really understand what your profit margins look like.

[snarky-art]

Perhaps the domino gowns of s5...they....they need a bit of love 😭

Couldn’t not upload my favorite pairs too while they’re in such nice attire, as a treat

Anyway, bestie these were WILD to look at

Redesigning these meant trying my best to keep certain shapes, and then saying fuck it for most of them and just lore dumping through dresswear instead

Musa, Flora, and Tecna are in nice formal wear with some traditional elements and general stuff representative of their respective homes as guardian fairies and members of the winx and Stella, Aisha, and Bloom are wearing formal wear that’s drenched in years of political context and a lot of it with handed down elements select to the leaders of the body of government

Stella’s is a hodgepodge of her own selection and custom tailoring and Aisha’s is a more modern take on traditional elements that she prefers her royal stylist to stick to as a way to stay on trend and match with what she likes

Lore stuff and some explanations for changed that I feel like justifying below the cut if you’re interested!:)

For Musa I went more Ming dynasty and tried a longer skirt but it just didn’t really look right to me, so pants it is. The only thing I ended up keeping from her og dress was a line down the middle on the upper part of the outfit.

Aisha has the green gem featured in her crown (the one for the heir of Androsia) and her parent’s headwear as I’ve featured in other pieces and has been shown in between the two diamond jewels in the same formal wear pieces and as is shown on her bracelets. I realized I never specified what those are symbolic of ahaaa

The two diamonds are for the land and the sea, each equal in size and color for the symbolism of equal emphasis and importance in the standing of the government, with the green circle being where they touch. The Diamond shape is to represent each form reaching for each other and outwards, encompassing all around it, and the dot where they drop into each other, making the surface of the sea. Aisha as heir is currently meant to represent this unity as she is the result of Land and Sea symbolically through her parents with the way Androsian government works, and she is meant to currently do what she can to represent all her subjects’ interests before she takes her final place as the representative for the Land Androsi (if she does take that position at all actually because there’s some political turmoil in my thing with how government works rn that I talk about some in this post but shhhh we’ll figure that out later)

Tecna’s is a purple girlie.

There are lots of natural ways to dye things purple on Zenith (they do a lot of it synthetically or magically now) so lots of traditional stuff is purple and lucky for Tecna, they, like anyone who loves purple, isn’t normal about the color and enjoys a lot of traditional Zenithian garb as a result since a lot of it has that.

Flora was much easier to do and less time consuming because she’s already a floral person and I could translate the shape easily into something close to traditional Lymphean garb from her area. The only shame here is I originally thought it would be nice to keep it more teal and green heavy since she so rarely gets the chance to wear those colors in canon when compared to her more pink heavy color palette, but I ended up caving to purplish petals instead.

Bloom is doing The Most here, and I wanted to intentionally make her kind of awkward in terms of hair size compared to her body and fit in particular. Bloom doesn’t do much with her hair usually outside of a half up half down, but she has her mom’s fiery red locks and she is doing her first Official Royal Outing and not only is she going to dress to the 9s in a way that is over the top by most modern government standings, wearing as many official emblematic bits, shapes, and references to the royal body as possible, she wants to channel some of what Marion has as an expert diplomat and make her proud and she thinks looking like her might help. I feel like Marion has the genuine confidence, zeal, and presence through decades of experience and proper study and general demeanor to pull off the big hair though whereas Bloom is basically doing the equivalent of trying on her parents big shoes when she’s a toddler. It looks more like dress up on her than it does an actual fitting look for her first attempt at politicking (and Diaspro does point this out to Bloom, and while it is meant to be snide, it’s also meant to be her way of trying to tell her she’s trying too hard and she shouldn’t. Her and Bloom have a decent acquaintanceship of sorts at this point. They’re never going to be best buds but they don’t hate each other or hold any ill will. Their personalities clash though and they know their limits with each other at this current point in their relationship. No Diaspro Sky Bloom bullshit here thanks) and she’s anxious and insecure and desperately wants to make her Dominion parents proud, especially because of her insecurities for the obvious (didn’t grow up royal, new to magic, still scene as the legacy child for Domino even though it’s been newly resurrected, also meaning this is it’s first big foray back into the Magical Realm’s political sphere and it HAS to show they’re still a capable powerhouse, which is also part of why the meeting is being held on Domino too, as a courtesy favor from the other governments involved in The Infinite Ocean stuff to help get its foot back in the door), but most importantly, because she’s not Daphne, and that’s a sore subject at this current time.

For Stella, I managed to keep some shapes from the og dress, but it’s very slight. Stella at this point is big on embracing her moon heritage as well and advocating more for causes beyond just Solarian government stuff, as in the government body that lumps Lunarian stuff in with it, and is working hard on raising Lunarian interests as separate things, reenforcing the idea that their culture and people are separate but equal despite the attempted assimilation under the planet of Solaria itself, an assimilation that still hasn’t been fully stopped or systematically eradicated. She has charisma and charm to spare and is taking the actual nitty gritty “not so fun” parts of politics (ie actual info on sociocultural and socioeconomic trends, trade info, statistics and projected trends, etc. basically all the stuff that isn’t “show up to parties and mingle”) much more seriously now and is wanting to make proper and viable change in multiple areas of her future government, and she’s working on properly finding her footing in the world of direct action and political savvy maneuvering through proper head on negotiations.

[spaghetticat3899]

I draw sometimes

I swear I do, I just don’t upload often. Here’s some Aggie doodles, and a full aggie canvas! Me and @robotcowboy6969 did this canvas awhile ago, but I never shared it. Lots of scugs, plus an animatronic segment because the two of us were discussing the nostalgia of being in elementary/middle school and listening to fan music for hours. I was also convinced to make a Warriors AU with my scugs (despite not being into the series, myself). I will point out that the three with names above them are traced from actual cat images, so I will not take credit for them. Other doodles include some canon Slugcat designs, me and RobotCowboy’s scugs as sluppies, a little joke doodle with Abomi-Arti, Pyro, and Empty Fuck, and baby Skullcandy being held in a deathgrip.

Did you know I made my main Splatoon Trio into Daybreak-styled grox? And my cats? And my friends and I? They’re quite fun to draw! The first three traditional drawings are from months ago, but the other stuff is more recent.

Misc doodles, mostly more scugs, but some creatures too. Slick and Mochi appeared again, woo!

[clever-fox-studios]

Art Lessons

I'm just dropping this here because the idea keeps floating in my head about revisiting something I did back in the SAMS server (yes, hi, I was there, some of you probably know me from art chat) that I really enjoyed and I've been considering trying again to provide accessible resources to young or under-skilled artists.

So, back in the day (early 2023) when I was there (SAMS), I held a couple of streams where I tried to explain anatomy and breaking down bodies into shapes and how those lessons overlapped into other subjects like non-humans. I felt there was a moderate success, as I am and always have been, self-taught and thus I don't have the formal knowledge that comes from university classes (though I would like some one day); having been online enough I've seen the biases in the art community with the agism and such where older people who "missed" the window of opportunity are often pushed aside because they're expected to "know" by now how to Do The Thing when they weren't given the same opportunities then.

I've also seen how most how-to books, videos and classes, in many countries, seem to lack general fundamentals as part of their criteria; the number of 'students' who professed that their teachers or the instructor seemed to assume they had a basic idea of how to draw already before starting class was... staggering to say the least.

"I didn't know what [this] meant, I was just told to do it."

"We were never taught how to break this down, we just had to copy [this]."

Etc.

Nevermind the style biases; I despise the "Anime isn't art" arguments and how they try to force a style onto the learners as if they're superior for being 'traditional' or 'realistic'. I'm a person who does push for the fundamentals because they can be applied to all styles in some way; learn the rules to then break the rules and all that. Technical skill is not the same as style, in my book.

So, that being said, I would really love to revisit those streams one day soon, if the interest is still there. I'm planning to open a discord server for it where I can host the small-scale streams until I get a platform open for larger audiences; I'm thinking Twitch, but my set up isn't really good for that, and I need a certain amount of watch time/followers on Tiktok and Youtube (for some stupid reason) so while I figure that out, discord is better than nothing. VODs could be made or uploaded to Youtube later for review until I make proper edited stuff, but that's much later.

I just really miss offering help because art should be accessible and no one should feel isolated in the "you should know by now" bubble simply because their living situation or environment didn't afford them the time or resources to sit and draw all day, every day and teach themselves where classes failed or assumed they knew what they were dong already. Also, that live feedback can help a lot and allow others to run at their own pace instead of getting steamrolled by the 'natural talent' as I can repeat or revisit something and answer questions in real-time (as much as I'm able).

So if that's something that seems fun or interesting, I'd leave it open to any age (behave yourselves) to come learn; if I get enough interest I'll start making the discord and think of a schedule plan, but for now it's an idea!

Thank you for dropping by!

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 11/02/2024

Unhealed

Season 4 Episode 1 Featured on: FINAL BOUT ~ SiIvaGunner: King for Another Day Tournament Original Soundtrack VOL. 3

Ripped by Netyasha Roozi

With my coverage of Season 4 Episode 1 in particular, I do sometimes worry if I feature a bit too much stuff from the King for Another Day Tournament. It is, after all, just one event, one that despite its massive scope still at BEST made up just one-fifth of the Season's ten-month runtime. Yet its scope isn't just a factor that exists in some bubble: The King for Another Day Tournament is as big as it is in part because its hype practically enveloped the entire Season, remaining the largest event the channel has yet produced, and the size was far more than just for show. When looking at just about every upload made for the event, each demo rip campaigning for each of these thirty-two beloved contestants, you get the feeling that the event instilled energy into every single ripper, within and outside of the team, to put their absolute BEST foot forward.

Unhealed is but one of many more examples I could, and have, featured on here that shows just how passion went into the tournament from every front. Sunday Morning was the arrangement of a lifetime for wolfman1405 and cazsu to show their jazzy skills, Lifelike Waterway allowed l4ureleye to truly stretch her wings as a master of the ambient soundscape, A New Threat shows a rarely-seen side to ripper Sarvéproductions' output as an incredible original composition that manages to still convey so much about the character - and the list simply goes on and on. With all these rippers on standby firing at all cylinders for the channel's biggest-ever event, there were few rippers I was more excited to see operating at full charge than Netyasha Roozi - and regular listeners and/or SiIvaGunner viewers ought to already know why.

As an annual Halloween tradition at this point, Netyasha Roozi has provided the channel with some of its spookiest arrangements of its entire lifetime, the history of which I covered back in Play In MissingNo's Station. How befitting, then, that the infamous Pokémon glitch said rip takes its name and influences from, would then become a contestant for the King for Another Day Tournament - and one of its heaviest hitters, to boot. And as Netyasha Roozi's contribution to the character's set list for the tournament, Unhealed certainly doesn't disappoint.

As per MissingNo.'s source list, the arrangement is based on the legendary creepypasta Ben Drowned and the associated Song of Unhealing - itself simply a recording of the Song of Healing from the game the creepypasta is based on, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, played in reverse. Wheras the original Song of Healing feels like a careful balance between hopefulness, sorrow, acceptance, and grief, the reversed form of the song - even taken outside of its creepypasta context - sounds infinitely more ominous, hopeless, as if taking the form of despair personified. The effect of playing notes in reverse almost gives them the sense of being pulled away from your reach at the last second, as if its constantly moving toward something that it's never able to reach. As if the mere prospect of happiness, of peace of mind, is a fleeting thought, gone as soon as its envisioned.

Unhealed, when contrasted to many of its hype-beyond-belief arrangements - including other MissingNo. arrangements like mines.ogg (unused) - could almost be seen as a bit strange in comparison. Yet in refusing to abandon the original atmosphere of Song of Unhealing, it becomes an absolutely stand-out arrangement. Unhealed captures and refines each of those feelings, of despair and hopelessness, as described above, yet now executes them with the intent of a full arrangement rather than as a side effect of reversing a song meant only to be played in one way. The arrangement adds so much texture to the track: a sort of muffled noise pertaining throughout it, small glitches prodding at the seams as if trying to break free from a neverending pit of sorrow, and once again retaining that sense that the song's notes are just...flying away from your fingertips, just as you're about to save whoever you see on the other side of your screen.

MissingNo.'s character was already given a ton of fans through its portrayal on the King for Another Day MOJO website, characterized as far more than a mere monster born from the minds of children of the world wide web. Yet even without those stories, I feel as if an arrangement like Unhealed is able to say so much about the character its attached to, able to convey so many feelings and thoughts, all on its lonesome. Althewhile, the track still has about as much bombastic flair than a schoolyard whisper. In an event with over 700 videos uploaded, each one of such incredible quality, and many continuing to champion the sheer spectacle and excitement that the Tournament was all about, I hope Netyasha Roozi still knows how much I adore her small-yet-perfect contribution to it all.

[leviathanlazarus]

Reaching for Stardust - Part XVI

Read Looking for Space here / Playlists / Read RFS on wattpad

Word Count: ~2800

Warnings: none:)

A/N: Thank you everyone for being patient with my posting! I'm normally very punctual but I also like to make sure I have enough future chapters written ahead of time. It's also just been a tough time lately. But I plan on getting back to more timely uploads. Hope you're enjoying <3

---

It really hit me just how big my family had become once Christmas came around, which came unbelievably quickly after Danny’s birthday passed. My own blood-family, the Kiszkas and the Wagners all blended together, crowding the Kiszkas house which was the biggest but still noticeably too small for three families bundled together. We weren’t little kids anymore–we were all adults with our own big, adult identities and voices to match, a big bunch of personality crammed into a childhood home that was beginning to feel further and further away.

I got drunk enough to not be bothered by the perpetual strangeness of my parents mingling with Josh’s–it’s not like that was an entirely novel experience, but each time the interactions began I felt the same trepidation and edginess, like my nervous system was preparing for something awful that, thankfully, never came. Everyone got one so well, so much so that I had to question if I was far drunker than I thought and seeing the world through rose colored glasses, a pair of which actually existed in Sam’s old bedroom. 

But the champagne and cocktails kept flowing, leaving me basking in a warm glow with my sweetheart. We’d all gone the silly sweater route this year, parents included, and when Josh had topped off his outfit with that adorable little penguin hat from that first Christmas we shared, my heart felt like it was going to burst and break with love. Beyond that, we were all coordinated in our itchy, glittery, ridiculous sweaters–Josh and Jake were matching in their midnight blue and silver bells, Sam and Danny in red and gold, Kirsti and I in white and green. Everyone was festive and everyone brought something to the table–literally–beginning with Jake spearheading the appetizers once again. Once I thought I couldn’t stuff myself with any more toasted bread and rich, buttery cheeses, the Kiszka parents brought out a succulent ham in tandem with my parent’s traditional roast turkey, both completed by a myriad of Wagner-made side dishes. So, by the time dessert rolled around, I felt like I really had, in Josh’s words, expanded too much to fit into my wedding dress.

But, keeping Josh’s eternal wisdom in mind, I didn’t worry. Christmas eve was easy and fun, all of us soaking in the new bonds we were forging and the old ones too. Us “kids” stole away time in the garage to smoke a bowl between meals and pound cheap beers Sam had found in the basement and I was laughing so much, enjoying myself so much, that I felt like I was in one of those cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies. Except maybe the most unorthodox one you could think of, where everyone was getting drunk and high, three of the main characters were in a band and the other two were getting married in a way that Hallmark would never capture. Our wedding would be even better than anything that had ever been on TV, I drunkenly concluded to myself. 

Still, the romance that was laden in those cheesy movies held true to my reality. Each time I passed the bowl around, lifted my drink or fork or moved in front of the fireplace made me look at my ring. Whenever I moved my hands as we sat at the table, the candlelight making the diamond and the tiny sapphires shimmer and gleam like the snow outside, and each time I looked at it, I looked at Josh next. He caught my eyes each time, face so serene and soft, and I couldn’t believe how lucky I’d gotten after all those years. Not that I was ever unlucky, but that life often felt monotonous. Never all that special. But when Josh had entered my life, it shifted entirely and suddenly “too blessed to be stressed” felt about right. My concerns about the wedding, even though it was right around the corner, were gone, at least during Christmas eve and Christmas day, when Josh and I hopped back to our blood family’s homes then back to our apartment for our own quiet time.

“For fucks’s sake,” Josh said with a laugh, gently nudging a gift bag away from the front door with his foot while we shrugged our coats off. “Our little home is just bursting with presents. What are we going to do with all of these?”

“Buy a house,” I said with a sigh, bending over to grab two more bags and move them into the living room. “Someday. Hopefully someday soon.”

“It’ll happen when it happens,” Josh assured me, helping to carry in another couple of bags. “The right one will appear before our very eyes when the time is right. Trust in the universe.”

“I always do,” I told him with a wink, then gave him a gentle jab of my elbow. “I trust you more though.” 

To be fair to all our family members, most of the gifts were totally practical and wouldn’t take up a whole lot of extra space–a new scarf for each of us, a new ugly Christmas sweater for Josh courtesy of his brothers, slippers, towels, a new set of sheets. Then there were smaller, more sentimental things, like the handwritten card Danny had given me that I immediately sat upright on top of our bedroom dresser and my favorite lighter that Sam had finally returned to me after he accidentally stole it, i.e, forgot he took it. But I knew the best gifts were being saved for last and upon returning to the living room in my comfiest pajamas, Josh was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, two mugs of hot chocolate sitting atop that.

I sat down beside him, immediately resting my head on his shoulder. “Don’t you wanna get into sweatpants or something?” 

“Good idea. I got distracted preparing the cocoa” Josh nudged a red envelope across the coffee table toward me as he stood up. “Open your present now, darling.”

“No, no,” I said, though I was already grabbing it and re-crossing my legs, excited–we’d agreed no “real” gifts, but anything Josh ever gave me was so real that I always felt it pierce my heart. “I’ll wait.��

“No, no, seriously,” he insisted, bending down to kiss the top of my head. “It’s sort of embarrassing to me but I know you’ll get a kick out of it.”

I watched his backside as he left. “Embarrassing? Really?” He half-turned his head to reaffirm my question and, curiosity and intrigue peaking, I decided to open the envelope. There was no card but there was one folded up piece of notebook paper, which I flattened on top of my knee and began to silently read:

Confirm ring size

Figure out proposal–where? SHE SAID YES! 

Engagement photos 

Confirm lodging

Suits

Call caterer

Cake flavor? FROSTING? what is a compote anyway...

Decide on cake design, find someone to bake the fucking thing

Work on vows–those words are just for her

Ring

Thank you cards

Reading each little line made me smile bigger and bigger. When Josh came back to the living room, I felt like my jaw was going to fall right out of my skull, I was so delirious. He looked just as happy when he met my excited gaze; he laughed and plopped down next to me, curling into my side. 

“What is this?” I asked, laughing, though it needed no explanation.

“It’s the undeniable proof of my own neuroses,” Josh told me, stealing the list back to review himself. “Tangible evidence that I worry about the same things you do.”

“You’ve never been a list man,” I noted. “This is surprising.”

“Yeah, well, I think we both know how many things go into a wedding now. It turned me into a list man.”

I held the piece of paper up into the blue and white glow of our Christmas tree lights–we never had enough space for a full tree, but we made do with a miniature one tucked into the corner of the living room. “I love it so much. I’m inclined to frame it,” I told him, and Josh laughed. I reached behind myself for the envelope I’d prepared, still waiting on the end table by the couch, and placed it in his lap. “Now yours. I gotta warn you though–it’s cheesy.”

“I like cheesy,” Josh assured me with an eager smile, tearing it open. It was the cheesiest yet one of the most important gifts I could think of, and the look on his face when he saw the picture affirmed that. “Wow. Yes! Our initials as the centerpiece in our wedding, inlaid in the same wood we fell in love around–of course!”

It was just that. Well, not a centerpiece–more like an entry piece, if there was such a term. Most of the wedding lingo still went in one ear and out the other. Whatever the proper word for the item, I’d custom ordered our initials–the exact way we’d carved them into the barn–to be engraved in a raw cut piece of wood and propped up just inside the lodge. It had ended up being just about the last wedding detail I needed to sign off on and it was the one I was most proud of. 

“The real thing is just for us,” I said, finally reaching for my hot chocolate. “You know, I’ve never told anyone else where our barn is. It really is our secret place.”

“Me either. It really is the place we fell in love too,” Josh said, tucking the photo back into the envelope. “It feels like just yesterday you texted me asking me to come look for constellations with you. I finally cracked you.”

I chuckled, licking foam from my upper lip. “The fact that you brought gummies helped.” 

“I know you sometimes, or rather, you often, worry that things won’t always be like this. You worry things won’t always be good,” Josh began, inching closer, his body warm and comforting. “And I know sometimes how I move so fast all the time makes you worry more. But things can always be like this, you know.”

There were so many ways that could be interpreted. “Like how?”

“Easy. Happy. Whole.”

“Goddamn,” I muttered, smiling just the same. “We really are in a Hallmark movie now.”

“I’m fucking serious, doll,” Josh insisted, quick hands assaulting my sides until I nearly toppled over with laughter. “We have everything we need! The last thing to make our lives complete is happening very soon.”

“I know. I’m excited. But isn’t that sort of daunting? If getting married is the final thing we need for our lives to be complete, won’t the rest of it be super boring?”

“There’s no such thing as ‘boring’ when it comes to you and me.”

I smiled again, bringing the hot chocolate back up to my lips. “Fair enough.” 

“It’s no secret that I worry too. You know why I meditate so frequently.”

I set my mug down and slid up to actually sit on the couch, reaching my hand down for Josh to follow. As he settled back next to me, leaning against my chest, I asked, “What are you most worried about now?”

“You know…” Josh said slowly, running his fingertips down my arm.

I nodded. “Yeah, same here. All of us being together throughout the holidays made me want it even more. Our family is supposed to stick together, but instead the boys are getting further and further away.” 

“They’ll always come back,” Josh mused. “That’s not the problem.”

“No. That’s reassuring. But where do we want to be, Josh? We still haven’t figured it out.”

“I’ve been waiting on the universe to guide me in that decision since I can’t decide.” He rubbed his cheek against my shoulder with a soft groan. “That’s okay, right? We’ve made so many decisions over these past few months–what’s wrong with putting aside this one for a while?”

“Nothing at all. I’m totally fine with that.”

Josh hummed and nuzzled my shoulder harder before he popped his head up and said, “24 more days.”

I blinked. “Seriously? It feels like it’s happening like, next week. January 18th sounds right around the corner from now.”

“Don’t wish all the time away. We need room to breathe.”

I laid my hand over Josh’s chest. “We really do. Speaking of–you’re still doing alright?” He’d recovered from his little bout of pneumonia nearly three weeks ago, but the worry of that, the memory of my own fear, still came back to bite at me every once in a while.

“Fit as a fiddle, my love,” Josh said, patting my hand over his heart. “Now should we watch one of those cheesy Hallmark movies that you think our lives are mirroring?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically, reaching for the remote. 

Twenty minutes into the movie, it was obvious that it didn’t quite mirror our lives–neither of us had some slightly obscure, ridiculously high-paying job that led us away from our hometown. We hadn’t had some random meet-cute in a snow-covered city square to bring us together. We certainly hadn’t said “I love you” after a week of knowing one another and we hadn’t gotten engaged that quickly either–not that those things already happened twenty minutes in, but I knew the play-by-play of these so-called films like the back of my hand.

“Another thing,” Josh chirped, stringing along the critique of the movie and the comparison of our lives to it. “We’re both better looking than these two leads. You know I don’t like to say anything negative about anyone, but they’re very average.” His head was in my lap and he looked pointedly up at me to add, “You’re a stunner.”

I tapped the tip of his nose. “You are, Joshua.”

“You are, mama.” He sat up and reached to the coffee table for the bowl of popcorn courtesy of both of our never-ending appetites. “I see why people like these movies so much despite all of their flaws. They’re whimsical. It’s the most cut and dry love story one can have, all nicely wrapped with a big bow.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” I agreed, stealing a handful of popcorn for myself. “You could make a really awesome love story into a film, Josh. I know you haven’t been working on anything like that lately but maybe someday–you know?”

“All of my films are love stories.”

“I know that. But like, you could do something like this but a thousand times better. A thousand times more real.”

Josh hummed softly, leaning against my shoulder. “I do want to create something big soon. I’ve been reading through all of our poetry for inspiration.”

“Really?” I asked brightly, flattered. 

“You know what I just thought of?” Josh asked, the words as bright as my own had been. “Our wedding vows are going to be like another collaborative poem. It’s like we’re going back to the beginning.” 

I smiled, chewing. “Oh my god,” I said after the mouthful of popcorn was gone. “You’re so right. I didn’t think of it that way but–yeah.” 

“Have you finished yours?”

“No,” I said shamelessly. I’d been keeping Josh fairly up to date on my vows, mostly about how nervous I was for them to be perfect and how scary it was to say them in front of other people, but the thought that it was just like another shared poem eased my mind. 

Josh chuckled, nuzzling his cheek against my shoulder. “Me either. But I’m so close. I wish I could have you proofread them for me but I think that would diminish the magic.”

“Have Jakey do it for you,” I encouraged, using my clean hand to fuss with Josh’s hair. “I bet he’d be happy to.”

“No. No one gets to see or hear it or see it before you do,” Josh said, so suddenly serious. That, too, was flattering. 

I stepped out onto the balcony for a brief look into the night sky before we went to bed. It was an exceptionally clear night despite the season and the lights of our complex and the town around us–above me was an endlessly deep ceiling of midnight blue, the color so rich and dark but not quite onyx yet. The moon was free of clouds, a startlingly bright white nearly full circle, the haze shimmering off its surface pink and blue, and the stars around it twinkled fiercely silver. It was perfect. 

Inspired, I had to look up what the moon phase would be on our wedding–a half-moon in Taurus. One side in shadow, the other in light, the whole celestial being radiating in Josh’s sun sign. That was even more perfect.

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @starbuggie @lightsofthe-living-gvf @sanguinebats @gvfrry @clairesjointshurt @bizzielisteningtogreta @jjwasneverhere @gvfrry

If you’d like to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me :)

[issie-https]

Devils night

Slash X Reader

A/n: Double upload? Yes, hunny xoxo! Once again, shit smut ahead😘

Word count: 1527

Warnings: smut, fingering, vaginal sex(p in v), swearing, groupies being annoying ig and a sprinkle of angst for a paragraph

My masterlist

༺✩༻

I didn't even want to be there. I walked up to the open door of the Halloween party Axl was having at his house. There was this tradition we started a few years ago where on Devils night, 30th October, we would have a party. Slash had convinced be to come this year, his bribe for me being alcohol and games. "You came," He said, walking over to me and engulfing me in a tight hug. "Mhm. Didn't want to but I bought this new dress, gotta debut it somehow. Like it?" I asked, giving him a little twirl. "Drop dead gorgeous," he smirked at the little joke he managed to slip in. I had worn a maroon and black corset dress with thigh high stockings and I put some fake blood here and there, I also teased my hair making it look like Axl's hair in the WTTJ music video. Yes, I didn't want to go but I still had to make an effort. "You're such a weirdo," I laughed, walking past him and through the crowd of people to get to the rest of the band, whom of which had all found some groupie, dressed in literally just lingerie, to bang for the night.

"Y/n! You look fucking amazing," Axl said, briefly leaving the girl who he was stood next to, to give me a hug. "So do you, Ax. You all did amazing with your costumes," I smiled at the band and also at the girls on their hips. "I thought it was supposed to be a Halloween party, who invited a child," the girl stood next to Duff whispered to the girl Axl was with. "Yeah, my fucking party that I have hosted for the past 6 years. The only reason I'm not doing it this year is because I'm fed up of girls like you banging my friends in my house, then eating my food and drinking my shit in the morning. In addition, it is a Halloween party, where's your costume? Get felt up by too many guys it fell off?" I yelled over the music and stormed off. The girls just laughed as I walked away, back to the front door so I could get in my car, and fuck off home. Before I could swing my car door open, Slash caught up to me and said, "Y/n! Wait! I thought you wanted to spend the night with me?" He said. "I did, but the sluts inside that house are judging me for having an actual costume and not putting myself on display. I'm sorry for leaving not even 5 minutes after arriving but I can't have that energy near me," I replied, my eyes tearing up. I'd normally never let some groupie get to me but somehow that comment did? "Let me come home with you, we can sit and watch horror movies and eat tomorrows trick or treaters candy," he smiled. I huffed and got in the drivers seat, "get in then or I'll drive off without you," I smiled.

The whole ride home, we listened to whatever was on the radio which happened to be Queen, thank fucking god!

We finally got back to my house and the second the door was open, Slash ran into the living room and dived onto the sofa. "DONT BREAK THE SOFA!" I screamed. "I DIDNT!" He yelled back. "What snack do you want?" I asked after kicking my heels off. "The snacks I would like are cookies, chips and salsa. Nothing more, nothing less," He stated, walking up behind me and following me through my kitchen. "I was thinking of doing some kids meal stuff because I haven't had dinner," I said, opening my freezer. "What stuff?" He replied. "Chicken nuggets, fries, other stuff that isn't good for us health wise but it's good for us emotionally wise," I replied. "You're so stupid," he laughed.

We cooked lots of shit, picky bits if you will, we put them on trays on my coffee table and put on 'A Nightmare On Elm Street'.

Almost halfway through the movie, Slash pulled me onto his lap, my back pressed against his chest. His hand went from my waist, to my hips, to my thighs. "Slash, please" I breathed. "What? What do you want?" He said against my neck.

He pressed a few kisses before moving his hand to the inside of my thighs. "I want you. Please," I begged. His hand moved under the skirt of my dress, pushing my panties to the side and pressing his finger against my clit. "Fuck," I moaned. He teased my clit more before moving to my entrance, slowly pushing two fingers in. "You're such a good girl for me," he moaned lowly in my ear. Lewd moans and whines left my mouth as his fingers kept grazing my g-spot. Not long after he started fingering me, I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening. "Slash, I-I'm so close," I whined. "I know, baby. I can feel you clenching around my fingers," he whispered lowly in my ear.

He pulled out his fingers just as I was about to cum, making tears well in my eyes and begs and pleads fall over my lips.

"Hands and knees, baby," he said lowly. I got down on the floor on all fours, wagging my ass like a puppy. He gave a harsh slap to my ass and then unbuckled his belt and pulled his leather trousers down to his knees. I look at him behind me, not surprised that he wasn't wearing underwear. He pushed his hard cock into me, eliciting loud moans from my mouth. He started off slow, letting me get used to his cock. But after a few seconds of him teasing me, he started pounding into me showing no signs of slowing down. "You feel so good around me," he said, slight breathless. The more he pounded into me, the closer I was getting to my release. "I can feel you squeezing me," he moaned, pulling my hair to press my back to his chest again. "F-fuck, I'm gonna-". "I know. Cum for me, princess," that was all I needed before I came on his dick, my cum mixing with his and spilling out of me, down our thighs.

We got cleaned up and resumed cuddling on the sofa. "I don't know how to say this without sounding weird, but your pussy is so good," he whispered in my ear. "That sounded a little weird but thank you. Right back at ya," I smiled, pecking his lips every other word. "You're such a nerd," he laughed. "You love me for it," I spoke. "Maybe you're right," He replied.

[moonlight-tmd]

So i’m still working on the fanfic, tryna figure out what goes where... for now enjoy this little fluffy ficlet my brain mustered up while trying to nap. Imma upload this on ao3 when the song fic is done. 

This is set some time after the initial confession in my world, Blitz just discovered what a kiss is. X3

Blitzwing was currently walking to the hideout. Falling snow piled up on him as he threaded thru the mounds of snow on the ground. The earth's weather was going crazy lately, snow constantly falling from the sky like it was now. 

He couldn't fly or else he'd crash, he couldn't drive cuz the ground was unstable. Slowly walking to the destination was his only choice.

 He finally reached the warehouse, he opened the door a quickly hid inside. Upon entering he was greeted with a loud crash and a curse.

 Blitzwing quickly shook off the majority of the snow off of him to see what has caused such ruckus.

When he finally looked up, he was greeted with a sight of colorful decor scattered around the big room. They looked just like the ones he's seen in the city; colorful lights, silvery stars and dark leaf bundles with white and red berries. It was so pretty...

 As he looked around he finally noticed the source of the noise, it looked like Bumblebee was doing something with the fairy lights, using one of the big old metal stands in the warehouse as a ladder to reach a spot and got spooked when Blitzwing entered, causing him to slip and fall. He was currently struggling on the floor, trying to untangle himself from the pure white strings.

Blitzwing chuckled at his little hummel, going over and rescuing him from the sparkly binds.

"You're here, finally." Bee greeted, he still was a bit bitter from the fall.

"Sorry i'm late, i didn't zhink it vould take zhis long to valk here." Blitzwing set the lights aside, "Vhat were jou doing while i was gone?"

"Oh, well- i wanted to set up Christmas decoration with you, but since you weren't showing up i decided to start on my own. I was about to hang these on the ceiling when you came in." Bee gestured to the string of snowflake shaped lights he was just untangled from.

"Zhat would explain zhe crash." Blitzwing said witly.

"Oh shush." Bumblebee got up from the floor, "Anyway, i still got some stuff to hang up, wanna help me?" He asked.

"Sure" Blitz replied. He followed Bee to a crate that was placed on their makeshift coffee table. Bumblebee dug inside and pulled out various rings and bundles made of dark leaves with red and white berries, all made of plastic so it'll last longer. He never understood why Bee was partaking in human holidays, they weren't in their culture. But if it brought him joy to do something different once a stellar cycle then might as well see what's its about. "Those still need a place to go." Bee said, placing the decor on the table. 

Blitzwing pulled from the pile a small bundle of leaves with white berries, prettily tied together with a red ribbon. He brought it up and zoomed in with his monocle optic to inspect it. "Vhat is zhis?" Blitz hummed, but before he could get an answer, Bumblebee leaned in and gingerly kissed Blitzwing's cheek, like in the movies.

It took a bit for him to wake up from the surprise, he looked at Bumblebee who was smiling bashfully. "Vhat was zhat?"

"Ah, it's called a 'kiss'. Humans do this to show affection- and you were holding a mistletoe, it's a tradition to kiss the person who's under it." Bee explained, he was a bit flustered. Geez, it was such a cheesy and corny thing to do.

Blitzwing's silence was broken by his inky face appearing. He took a wreath of red and white berries and dunked it around Bee's neck. "Hey-!" Before he could protest, Blitz grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him close- 

 The next thing Bumblebee knew was that he had a long, wet trail on his cheek.

 "Like zhis!?" Blitzwing asked happily, his long glossa hanging from his jagged intake. 

Bee blinked, "Ah- not really-" He noticed Blitz's grin flattening a little. "-But it's close enough." Blit'z grin immediately stretched audial to audial. It means he did good!

He pulled Bee in a tight hug and nuzzled his faceplate into the spot he just licked. 

Bee laughed gleefully. It might have not been the best first kiss but it was something.

[if-confessions]

I've been in the IF fandom for almost two years now, and I don't think I've ever found a fandom I've liked as much. I like the community here, the stories, creativity, how diverse the games are compared to other media I see.

I like reading IF, but more than that I'd really to create an IF game myself. I've been creating stories since childhood and I've always wanted to tell them to other people. However, I was never able to find a suitable medium for doing so. Creating video games is a passion that met reality and died too fast, writing traditional books makes me incredibly anxious, and comic and visual novels require way too much drawing when I'm a concept artist at best. And IF... IF seems to be exactly what I was always searching for. But here's a twist.

I'm not a writer. I'm really not. The amount of writing that I've done that wasn't for my studies is... not a lot. Which makes me extremely self-conscious of my writing, and I'm a very anxious person to start with (and English not being my native language doesn't help). I just don't know where to start, I've never even written fanfiction. And then if I end up actually writing something and posting it for people to see, I'm afraid of what they'll say, of me not being good enough, or of people being uninterested in anything I create. It's dreadful really. And I know that this feeling is possibly shared by so many other people, but I just don't know what to do about it.

I had wanted to post this earlier, but Tumblr ate my essay again...

Welcome, Anon, to the wonders of IF! Have a seat, and a cookie, and enjoy the ride! It's quite the experience, you'll see...

Totes understand your worries. With so many good projects out there, it's easy to not feel... adequate (in writing or proficiency); and with many in the community having opinions, to be unsure whether to publish said work.

But here's the thing: many of us in the IF community (especially as hobbyist) have not studied writing (for a while or at all)* or are writers either, and quite a few of us are ESL (hi, hello!)**. So you are in very good company!! *sidenote: some of us consider ourselves game dev/creators before writers too. **Dear... you wrote an essay of an ask with no mistake (that I could find) - I would not have guessed you were not a native speaker, if you hadn't said it before.

To relieve those anxious feelings, here are some advice, from one ball of anxiety to another one:

You don't have to publish anything you don't want to have public. If you prefer to write for yourself and yourself only, it's more than fine. Having fun is what matters.

There are ways to "hide" your project from searches (on itch or tumblr) to have a bit more privacy, as well as disabling replies/comments/ratings...

Setting boundaries from the beginning with people interacting with your projects (whether it is in asks, or doing beta/feedback rounds/etc...) can also be quite helpful (even if some people don't follow them...).

Join writing groups and share snippets/ask for feedback. It's helpful to get some boosts of confidence and get pointers on how to improve.

Have beta/playtest rounds for longer feedback needs (like when you are ready to upload/update a demo, to catch bugs or typos and stuff).

Joining game jams with small projects can help with testing ideas/stories/gameplay, and get comments/feedback from people.

Anyway, we all start somewhere, and very often (most always) that somewhere is not good at all. But that's ok :) There's always room and time for improvement and change (until you're finally happy with it). The beauty of online games is that you can always tweak it and fix it when something doesn't feel right. Nothing is ever set in stone!

Good luck :)

[a03-anxiousandafraid]

Fanfic Masterlist

Hi! I realized I never made one of these and that I really should cause it would be helpful if someone decided to click on my blog~ Here is a master list of my fanfictions up on A03 with links and descriptions. Also, to be extra safe, all M rated fics will be listed under “NSFW” regardless of if they contain sexual content or not! I will try to keep this updated as I continue to make stuff! :) 

Legend of Zelda

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

💕~SFW~💕

.::.

An Ode To Yesterday [complete] 

Rated T (suggestive themes), zelink oneshot, Hurt/Comfort, gift fic, Post Calamity

Zelda, enthralled at learning one of her favorite traditions is still alive after a hundred years, helps Link learn to accept the love and happiness he desperately yearns for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Advice for Aryll [complete]

Rated T, zelink oneshot, “make Fate cry competition” (2021), Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Post Calamity

Link struggles with recovering memories of his sister while living with Zelda in their Hateno home. Distraught that he forgot her and having to digest her subsequent fate disrupts their lives and leads Link to take drastic measures when something strange happens to Zelda’s slate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I Need You At Night [complete]

Rated T, zelink, oneshot, Post Calamity, Hurt/Comfort, very soft

Her smile rivaled the sun. Lying amongst the wheat she was one with the earth. With Hylia. She was the soil and the grain as much as she was the wind and the sky, happiness and hope, expectation and reality. She was all. All but one thing.

It tunneled its way through the garden. Followed the song of unbridled joy until it loomed above her like predator on prey.

"There's a flower hidden near. Might you find it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⚠🔞~NSFW~🔞⚠

.::.

Stress- Zelink Oneshot Collection [ongoing]

Rated (varies per entry but set to M just in case), zelink, oneshots

Oneshot collection (mostly Zelink) to help encourage myself to write more. Each entry is a different story, so feel free to skip around chapters since they do not have any bearing on what gets uploaded next. Themes and writing styles will vary from prompt to prompt. This could be rated T but I'd like to play it safe and keep it rated M based on more mature themes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Woman in Hateno [Complete]

Rated M (language, alcohol, graphic depiction), zelink, multi-chapter, MCD, alcoholism, post Botw, canon divergence, SAD

Zelda struggles to come to grips with her current reality despite having successfully vanquishing Calamity Ganon. Spending her days mostly in a drunken haze, it takes a lot of convincing from those who care about her to find her bearings to reach catharsis.

Rated M for language, alcohol use, and a graphic description (in Ch.5)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OnlyFandom [ongoing]

Rated E (suggestive themes, sexual content), zelink, long fic, slow-burn, modern au, college au

Not much thought had ever been put into thinking about the body in non-platonic circumstances. Between a heavily structured home life and strong personal aspirations, this whole format was completely out of her comfort zone. It wasn’t so much of an infatuation as much as it was a thirst for knowledge. More of a curiosity that had the scientist in her screaming to observe and to learn. But to learn WHAT? Urbosa probably had an answer for that… but messaging her was out of the question. Not after waking up to a conspicuous text containing nothing but a winky face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Control [complete]

Rated E (sexual content), zelink oneshot, zelinktines 2022 (prompt “smut”), modern au

When Zelda's friends can't take their eyes off of Link all morning, she makes it a point to prove just how valuable her companionship can be.

[maya-chirps]

Celebrating Christmas in the Philippines: The Christmas Capital of Asia (Part 2)

A parol shop selling other Christmas decorations posted by yeowatzup (2005) via Wikimedia

This is a second part of a longer post on Christmas in the Philippines. Part 1 can be found here.

(Also I know this is a little late, had some personal stuff this holiday season so sowwyy)

Practices in the Present Day

Christmas traditions today are a mixture of both traditionally Hispanic and American practices with some new and additional modern things added in from the past century. Most of these traditions are still done by a lot of Filipino families today and continue to be icons in Filipino culture.

The Longest Christmas

An image of a calendar posted by Benham Norouzi (2021) via Unsplash

It is well-known that the Philippines starts the Christmas traditions on the 1st of September, making it the earliest start of the any Christmas season in the world. This comes from a lot of factors, primarily because Filipinos love the idea of counting down the 100 days before then (which start at the 16th of September), and was later on used in other settings like when people would put up decorations in their own homes and in businesses encouraging the later commercialized holiday to also start early with sales and other deals (Handong, 2017). This later made it sort of official that Christmas would start on September, earning the season the colloquial name "The Ber Months" or "The Ber Season".

As I said in a previous post, however, actual celebrations often start after undas and more specifically after the start of Advent and more intensely during the start of Simbang Gabi or Misa de Gallo on the 16th of December and you would be hard-pressed to actually find people celebrating before then.

It doesn't stop people from having online count downs with Jose Mari Chan's infamous Christmas song "Christmas in our Hearts" in the background (that had been memed on in the Philippines on the scale of "All I want for Christmas is You" in America) on the 31st of August to midnight to greet the 1st of September though.

24th as the Day of Celebration

Other practices that Filipinos inherited from the Spanish from this time was the practice of mostly celebrating the holiday on the eve of instead of the actual day of the 25th. This comes from an older Roman Catholic tradition of having Christmas mass from night time to the next day based on the traditional belief that Jesus was born on exactly midnight on the 25th (The Pillar, 2021). Celebrations like Christmas Eve dinner (the Noche Buana) and gift giving happen during this time with gift opening happening during the stroke of midnight.

Personal side-note, since I'm not gonna add a final section detailing more personal stuff here because it's getting too long: as a kid, I was always confused at American TV shows that showed people sleeping at night before opening up presents in the morning. It never really registered and I always questioned why they had to wait 'til morning for them to open presents. because of this, the whole Santa Claus thing didn't make sense to me either.

Simbang Gabi

People attending Simbang Gabi captured in St. Anthony de Padua Parish Church, Iriga City, Camarines Sur uploaded by Patpat Nava (2015) via Wikimedia

Similar to most Christian countries from the 16th to the 18th Century, the Philippines celebrated Christmas as a religious holiday focused on prayer and masses, often seen in the form of Simbang Gabi or Misa de Gallo which I had discussed in full detail with its history and current practices here. The basics of it is that Filipinos would celebrate Christmas and the lead-up to the holiday by going to church every day for nine days until the 25th starting on the 16th. The practice was brought over by the Spaniards as it can be seen practiced or some form of it practiced in Spain and a few other Hispanic countries.

Other than just church-going, Simbang Gabi is also famous for its many foods that had come to be strongly tied to the event, mostly rice cakes that are sold outside of churches early in the morning and late at night like Puto Bumbong, Bibingka, Sapin-sapin, and many more.

The Parol or The Star Lantern

A photo of parols displayed on a store credited to Sagisag PH posted by Behold Philippines (2021).

One of the most recognizable symbols of the Filipino Christmas is the star lantern known as parols that often can be seen decorating the houses of Filipinos of all different backgrounds. According to Giselle Tong-Walters of the Association for the Advancement of Filipino American Arts and Culture or FilAm Arts, the parol predates Spanish colonization as precolonial Filipinos would often hang lanterns on their homes at night to tell any traveler that may have seen it that they are welcome to seek refuge there (Dormido, 2023).

Others note that the parol had taken inspiration from the Mexican piñata which had originally come from Spain that had come from Italy some time in the 1300s and was said to have been first used in the Philippines as a light-source to guide people early in the morning during Simbang Gabi which remains the popular origin for the parol today (MyParol, n.d.).

The modern parol is said to have been first created by Kapampangan artist Francisco Estanislao in 1908 by using the traditional five-point design by using Bamboo strips and Japanese paper which was later done with the use of the newly created material cellophane as well as the increased use of electric lights that made the star lanterns that Filipinos are familiar with today (Tapino, 2018).

Today many variants of the lantern exists including more and more complicated designs with even the use of sea shells being fairly common.

Seashell lanterns are also a fairly common sight during the holiday season. Image posted by Tapino via Spot.ph (2018).

The Nativity or Belen Display

Capas Municipality’s 13-meter tall Belen takes on Eiffel Tower as the backdrop for their winning Belen, made of bamboo, recycled materials and decorated with LED lights. Image posted by Christine Dayrit via PhilStar (2018).

Like a lot of religious Christian places or former religious Christian places, the nativity is a common sight during the Christmas season with some families owning their own personal display and communities typically having larger ones in their centers. Some people create more handcrafted versions if they don't have the money to buy their own set and some communities may even hold competitions to see who could make the most creative ones.

Noche Buena

An image of a Filipino Noche Buena spread posted on Lessandra.com (2020)

Just like the Spanish, Filipinos celebrate Christmas with a Christmas feast on noche buena (en. the good night) or Christmas Eve with itself as noche buena instead of referring to it as the dinner on noche buena. This particular naming quirk extends over for New Year's Eve Dinner being called medianoche despite the word simply referring to midnight.

The reason for this may come from the fact that Filipinos had gravitated more to using the literal terms with Bisperas ng Pasko and Bisperas ng Bagong Taon (en. The day/night before Christmas and The day/night before the New Year) which made noche buena and medianoche redundant, later tying them to specifically refer to the dinner, although that's more speculation on my part.

The practice, of course, had come from Spain some time during the 17th Century when it was first exported the empire's colonies through Roman Catholicism (Paz, 2022). The dinner was marked with lots of food and may include multiple families eating together.

Typical food found during Noche Buena include the hamon (glazed ham), lechon (roasted pig), lumpia (spring rolls), leche flan (milk flan), graham cake, and queso de bola (a special cheese ball), among many other foods. These food are also the same or similar food that are served during medianoche or New Year's Eve Dinner.

Gift-giving and the aguinaldo or the pamasko

Photo of people giving each other gifts posted in an article by Lumina Homes (2020)

Gift giving is often done on the 24th, typically after either Christmas Eve mass or Noche Buena. Most families would wait until midnight as the date goes to the 25th in order to open presents with the typical Christmas gift giving flair.

Besides the gifts themselves, it's tradition for godparents to give money to their godchildren in red packets we call ampao, with this being called the aguinaldo or the pamasko. The practice originated from Chinese-Filipino communities who would often do this for Chinese New Year's which later spread to non-Chinese communities who instead would give the red envelopes during Christmas (Ki, 2019). Although some may think that the money giving stops after adulthood, some godparents

Two Red Hang Bao or Ampao typically given during Chinese New Year posted by Mikhaila Archer via Cosmopolitan (2022).

Christmas Caroling

Video of children caroling posted by Rauselle Pascua (2023) via YouTube

Christmas Caroling in the Philippines typically start at the beginning of the Simbang Gabi and ends on the 24th, with some caroling much earlier, where children to full adult groups may go door to door to carol for candy, food, or money. Children often go in groups and sing the typical Filipino Christmas songs with makeshift instruments such as tambourines made out of cans and small metal bits to make sounds, while teenagers and adult groups may go around from house to house with guitars and other portable instruments in order to receive cash.

The songs that they sing may range from traditional Filipino songs or modern Christmas songs from both local and international places.

I don't have a source for this one since I do want to look more into the history of Christmas Caroling in the Philippines maybe next year so enjoy this other video of a group of guys dancing Jingle Bells posted by SG TV (2019).

Side Story: I used to spend Christmas with my, honestly, wealthier grandmother and it wasn't uncommon for carolers to go up our door and just sing for candy or money. It often started on the 16th because caroling wasn't allowed any time before that. We used to have a weird little rule that children would get candy, while teenagers and adults will get money. Teenage boys would come around as whole groups with guitars and sing for money, while kids didn't mind the candy. After a while, there would be times that different people in the house would give candy away so we weren't able to keep track of which kid had already gone to our house. It wasn't until one of the people who worked for my grandma recognized a couple of kids that we realized that they've just been going around the neighborhood before doing another round when people may had already forgotten them. Honestly, I'm a little impressed.

Panunuluyan

Photo of a Panunuluyan posted by Philippines Tourism (@/MorefunTourism) (2018) via Twitter/X

The Panunuluyan is a traditional play that reenacts the night of Jesus' birth where Mary and Joseph were trying to seek shelter (NCCA Official, 2015). The name comes from the Filipino word tuloy which although typically mean "to continue" is used in this context to mean "to allow in" or "to enter in" referring to guests or visitors entering someone's home. Schools and churches typically do this play as part of their Christmas festivities but it isn't as common as it was in the past (Tan, 2016).

Panunuluyan is also called by different names such as Panawagan (en. announcement) in Cavite and Batangas, Kagharong in the Bikol region, and daigon, pakaon, and patores in Visayan speaking regions (NCCA Official, 2015).

Side story: I had a queer classmate who played Mary in one of these plays against their will in a seminary house production because their mom just said so and the place didn't had any afab people (because seminary house obv), and they ended up falling in love with the guy who played Joseph, serving as the only male crush they have ever had. Hilariously, on a seminary boy meaning a dude who wants to be a priest. I feel bad for them...

The Feast of the Three Kings

A photo of the reenactment of the Epiphany story in Gasan, Marinduque showing the three magi meeting with King Herod. Photo posted by Eli J. Obligacion (2011) via the blog Marinduque Rising.

Observed every 6th of January, the Epiphany or the Feast of the Three Kings is a religious observation that marks the formal end of the Christmas season in the Philippines. In the current day, most communities simply go to church to celebrate the epiphany, it was once a common practice to have a large celebration during the day which involves three people dressed up as the three kings, riding horses to the local church, distributing gifts to the townspeople. This practice is still done in some communities in the country today (Primer, 2021).

From photos I've seen of some of the festivities, two members of the three may put on blackface and/or redface to symbolize all three magis who are typically shown as having different skin tones as seen in the previously linked article from Primer, although some places instead have children play the parts of the magi without any blackface or redface.

Closing

As a kid, Christmas has always been special to me and now that I'm older, it's gotten a lot less cheery as all young adults may feel with the season getting less about joy and presents and more about either work and expenses. That sorta happened here when I was initially rushing this even when I was not in the mental headspace for it so taking a break was almost mandatory. I definitely feel a little bummed that I wasn't able to finish this the day of, but I can't really change it as much.

To those finishing my late extremely long-ass infodump about Christmas in the Philippines, thank you so much for reading and have a Happy New Year!

(Part 1: Etymology and History)

(Reference List)

[ssspork]

Broken Wings Never Heal art X33

I’m prewriting every single chapter before uploading, usually I’m able to write about 1/3 (one pov) per day, currently, I’m writing chapter 27 (I don’t write on the weekends🤕), so a while ago, I made some art that u can only get the context from chapter 19 (I think) and it isn’t really a spoiler (as it’s maybe implied this happened in the past) sooooo, here, some recent art of the goobers :3

Pine’s about to vomit in this art so if u don’t wanna see that, scroll past (sea sickness 😢)

There’s actually a tiny bit of world building in this but u can’t tell unless I tell you 😭 sooooo

Marlins town has a fun little tradition of “fix and rebuild broken clothing to keep its luck”, but has dropped it to “rebuild the clothing if it’s important” and all of their (minus Wyverns because he isn’t wearing his) waterproof stuff was made by Marlins mom. And because they were made by Marlins mom, they’re important, and get fixed.

But also, Marlin got her “name” in that rain jacket (this gets explained in a story told to Finch, it isn’t as crazy wild as u think I promise😭) so it’s very old, that’s why its so broken. But Aspen got hers at 16 (when she met Marlins mom), she was terrified of water for MONTHS (she’s still scared of it) so she wore that rain jacket ALL THE TIME which is why hers is so worn despite the fact that it’s just barely older then Taurus, Wyverns and Pines.

[saspitite]

Empty

back with another writing piece (i mean, in a "non traditional" format but still)!! its for my flight rising clan lore.

it's about the topic of empathy vs compassion, something im very passionate(ha) about as an autistic person. i frankly hate how people are so commonly demonized for having/expressing low empathy and i felt like expressing my feelings on the matter here. enjoy :)

content warnings for: potentially disturbing themes and mentions of death/murder, mainly. also the beginning might induce paranoia for some, and i want to preface by saying that the statement at the beginning is completely fake and part of the fiction. please proceed with caution or scroll past if you're susceptible to that kind of stuff.

Monitor receivers picked up unusual activity yesterday at 17:38, unfinished_room A3. Unusual activity is to be archived and uploaded to the Security Monitor II designated audio file compartment.

These files are only to be accessed by authorized personnel. Any suspicion that information has been transferred to unauthorized third parties will be immediately followed by termination of all parties involved.

Do not bypass this warning screen.

I’m just trying to do my job.

> Can I talk to you?

> Go ahead.

> It’s about something that happened. Earlier. You're the only person I feel like I can trust with these kinds of things...

> How 'early' ago was it?

> Two hours and thirty-five minutes ago. Ugh, I hate that I can just… do that now.

> What happened? Was anyone hurt? Does anyone need medical attention?

> …Not anymore.

> Explain.

> …You have to promise you won’t hate me, Bloody.

> Hate?

> …

> I frankly have seen too much to be disturbed these days. I can’t imagine anything you do would make me hate you. I haven’t felt hatred for anyone else in a while, really.

> …

> I’m not convincing, I know. Really, you have nothing to lose but your job, and knowing this shithole, I have a feeling you’d see that as a bonus.

> Alright. Well. I watched someone die.

> …Did you, now?

> It couldn’t have been my fault. I just couldn’t do anything about it.

> And you’re aware they are capable of bringing the dead back to life?

> That’s the thing. They aren’t gonna do that.

> Ah.

> She’s gone forever.

> Are you alright?

> …

> Well. 

> To be honest, I’ve felt nothing.

> So that’s why you look worried.

> It can’t be normal.

> From what I’ve heard, no.

> It can’t be right.

> What is “right”?

> I should have cried. Everyone was.

> Not everyone does.

> I should have saved her.

> But could you?

> I can’t be a good person.

> Are you not listening to me, CF?

> …

> Sorry.

> So, you felt nothing but wanted to do something?

> I didn’t do anything.

> But you wanted to.

> I guess.

> So what do you think makes you a bad person?

> Well… I felt nothing. That’s horrible… isn’t it? I felt nothing when I should’ve felt something. I should’ve cried. I should’ve screamed. I should be shaken by the fact that I’ll never hear her voice again. I just feel nothing.

> Why didn’t you save her?

> I’m supposed to be a weapon. That’s my purpose. I can't save people. They might think I'm useless.

> Did you kill her?

> No. I could only watch.

> Did you want to?

> Of course not.

> Then let me ask again: why do you think you’re a bad person?

> I felt nothing.

> And yet you knew it was wrong. You wanted to do something.

> I was too much of a coward to do anything.

> Then your worst crime is simply being a coward.

> But it can’t be normal to feel nothing.

> Well, I guess it isn’t. But that doesn’t make it bad, does it?

> I don’t know. I still think it’s bad.

> Here. I have an example for you.

> Two men watch a dog get run over by a car. One man has empathy but no compassion. The other has compassion but no empathy.

> The first man feels overwhelming sadness and grief for the dog, but walks along and moves on with his day, deciding not to interact with the situation any further. The second man doesn’t feel much of anything personally, but knows that the right thing to do is to immediately identify and contact the owner of the dog, and then bring the dog to a medical professional if necessary. Who do you think did the “right thing”?

> …

> …Probably the second man.

> So you understand. The fact of the matter is that, no matter how sorry one may feel, their internal emotions will do nothing to help an outside situation compared to the actions they decide to take. You seem to have a lack of empathy, but your compassion for others exists despite that. I still think you’re a good person, CF.

> …But I didn’t do anything. I let her die. I was too much of a fucking coward to do anything.

> You wanted to do something. You didn’t because you were scared. You still had that desire to help, did you not? You aren’t a bad person. You’re just scared.

> …

> I get scared all the time, too. It makes me do some shit I seriously regret. But it’s inevitable, all living beings are just like that. We’re driven by fear.

> …I’m scared.

> Of…?

> I’m scared that I feel nothing. I’m scared that I’ll continue to feel nothing. I’m scared of being… empty.

> I understand.

> I just don’t know. What should I do if I continue to feel nothing? 

> …Live. If the world moves on, so will you.

Recording end. 8 minutes 26 seconds.