#Compact Camera Bag
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Save Your Tired Spine From Really Big Bags: Lowepro Trekker Lite SLX 120 review
The 90s are back -- and fanny packs will really save your spine.
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#camera bag#Compact Camera Bag#fanny pack#lowepro#Lowepro Trekker Lite SLX 120#mirrorless cameras#Sling Bag#waist bag
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I've decided to get back into photography!! I dug out my Nana's old digital camera, charged up the battery, and it's good to go :3 I have a 4GB storage card for it right now, but I can always get another one if this one runs out too fast.
I've been wanting to get back into photography for a couple years now, and I never had a reason not to. I was talking with my partner earlier and I decided right then that I was gonna go find the camera and try again :3
I might start posting my photos here!! It depends on how I feel about them. I don't want to post anything that might share my location, so I will have to be careful with what I post.
#i also found a ziplock bag full of tiny vodka bottles#and i also found 3 other old cameras!! one is the old film camera and one is a slightly more recent digital camera#i have no idea what the last one is. i didnt look too closely. i was trying to find a battery charge port.#but my nanas old camera still works and its so small and compact :3#it would also free up my phone storage since i use my phone camera so much#batty blogging#text
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DJI Mini 3 Review: The Ultimate Drone Camera for Beginners
The DJI Mini 3 is the latest iteration of DJI's popular line of compact drones, designed with beginners in mind. It builds upon the success of its predecessors, the Mini and Mini 2, offering an even more impressive package for those looking to dip their toes into the world of aerial photography and videography.
Read Article: The DJI Mini 3 Review: Best Drone Camera For Beginner
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Design and Portability:
One of the standout features of the DJI Mini 3 is its compact and lightweight design. Weighing in at just 249 grams, it falls below the regulatory weight threshold in many countries, which means you often won't need a license or registration to fly it. The foldable arms make it incredibly portable, fitting comfortably into a small bag or even a pocket. This makes it a fantastic travel companion for capturing breathtaking footage on the go.
Camera Performance:
The camera on the Mini 3 is a notable improvement over its predecessors. It boasts a 1/2.3-inch sensor, capable of shooting 12MP photos and 4K video at 30fps. The image quality is impressive for its size, delivering vibrant colors and sharp details. While it may not compete with DJI's more advanced models like the Mavic Air 2 in terms of camera capabilities, it certainly exceeds expectations for a beginner-focused drone.
Flight Performance:
DJI's Mini drones have always been known for their user-friendly flight experience, and the Mini 3 is no exception. It comes equipped with GPS and downward-facing sensors for stable and precise hovering, even in less-than-ideal conditions. The addition of obstacle avoidance technology helps prevent collisions, further enhancing its safety and ease of use for beginners.
Battery Life:
The Mini 3 comes with an upgraded battery that offers a respectable flight time of up to 31 minutes on a single charge. This extended flight time provides more opportunities to capture stunning aerial footage without constantly worrying about returning to the base for a recharge.
Read Article: The DJI Mini 3 Review: Best Drone Camera For Beginner
Buy On Amazon: Check Price
Intelligent Flight Modes:
DJI has included several intelligent flight modes that make capturing professional-looking shots a breeze, even for newcomers. QuickShot modes, such as Dronie and Circle, automate complex maneuvers, allowing users to focus on framing their shots. ActiveTrack 4.0 lets the drone autonomously follow a subject, while Smart Return to Home ensures a safe and accurate return even in challenging environments.
Controller and App:
The Mini 3 is compatible with the DJI Fly app, which provides an intuitive interface for controlling the drone and accessing various features. The included remote controller offers precise and responsive control, and it can hold most smartphones for a live view of the camera feed.
Price:
One of the most appealing aspects of the DJI Mini 3 is its affordability. It provides access to DJI's renowned technology and features at a price point that won't break the bank, making it an excellent choice for beginners or those on a budget.
Conclusion:
In summary, the DJI Mini 3 is a fantastic drone for beginners and amateur aerial photographers and videographers. It combines portability, ease of use, and impressive camera capabilities at an affordable price. While it may not match the advanced features of DJI's higher-end models, it more than satisfies the needs of those looking to capture stunning aerial content without a steep learning curve. If you're in the market for a beginner-friendly drone that delivers on both performance and value, the DJI Mini 3 should be at the top of your list.
Read Article: The DJI Mini 3 Review: Best Drone Camera For Beginner
Buy On Amazon: Check Price
#The DJI Mini 3 is the latest iteration of DJI's popular line of compact drones#designed with beginners in mind. It builds upon the success of its predecessors#the Mini and Mini 2#offering an even more impressive package for those looking to dip their toes into the world of aerial photography and videography.#Design and Portability:#One of the standout features of the DJI Mini 3 is its compact and lightweight design. Weighing in at just 249 grams#it falls below the regulatory weight threshold in many countries#which means you often won't need a license or registration to fly it. The foldable arms make it incredibly portable#fitting comfortably into a small bag or even a pocket. This makes it a fantastic travel companion for capturing breathtaking footage on the#Camera Performance:#The camera on the Mini 3 is a notable improvement over its predecessors. It boasts a 1/2.3-inch sensor#capable of shooting 12MP photos and 4K video at 30fps. The image quality is impressive for its size#delivering vibrant colors and sharp details. While it may not compete with DJI's more advanced models like the Mavic Air 2 in terms of came#it certainly exceeds expectations for a beginner-focused drone.#Flight Performance:#DJI's Mini drones have always been known for their user-friendly flight experience#and the Mini 3 is no exception. It comes equipped with GPS and downward-facing sensors for stable and precise hovering#even in less-than-ideal conditions. The addition of obstacle avoidance technology helps prevent collisions#further enhancing its safety and ease of use for beginners.#Battery Life:#The Mini 3 comes with an upgraded battery that offers a respectable flight time of up to 31 minutes on a single charge. This extended fligh#Intelligent Flight Modes:#DJI has included several intelligent flight modes that make capturing professional-looking shots a breeze#even for newcomers. QuickShot modes#such as Dronie and Circle#automate complex maneuvers#allowing users to focus on framing their shots. ActiveTrack 4.0 lets the drone autonomously follow a subject#while Smart Return to Home ensures a safe and accurate return even in challenging environments.#Controller and App:#The Mini 3 is compatible with the DJI Fly app
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Johnny Martyr's Camera Bag Essentials
By Johnny Martyr
We tend to take them for granted but camera bags and what we put in them, besides our actual cameras, can make or break a shoot. Regardless of if you’re a hobbyist or a professional photographer, film or digital, or both, you never know when some small item might just save your ass!
Below I want to share some specific product recommendations that have gotten me through…
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#1/3n battery#120 film case#357 battery#35mm film case#a76 battery#air tag holder#Amazon#apple air tag#belkin air tag holder#brass luggage tag#camera air tag#camera bag essentials#camera bag recommendations#compact flash card case#domke f-1x#film cases#film storage#Fuji film case#international travel#jch film case#johnny martyr camera bag#kodak film case#media storage#memory card storage#ONA#ONA Prince Street#pelican memory card case#pelican sd card case#professional camera bag
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Gothic mushroom shaped candles. Danny picked one up, grinning. Sam would have love these on her alters. Very Sam, very Gotham.
It a bit bittersweet, now that he could think of her without being paralyzed by crushing grief. Her and Tucker both. Danny turned, keeping an eye on Tim as he glared into the case of used cameras.
Danny walked over and tried not to feel guilty about practically mooching off of a child. Even if the money he was using was actually the Drakes’.
“Like anything you see?”
Tim shook his head. Danny pondered over what little he knew of photography- all of which he learned from documentaries that were more focused on nature.
“I think there might be a camera store a couple of blocks down. We could get the ones that takes photos of animals, like the really big ones that takes photos of wildlife?”
“I guess. I mean, I don’t need it since we can…” Tim glanced around suspiciously. Danny willed his mouth to not smile at Tim’s antics. “Fly close,” the kid finished in a whisper.
“Okay, but what about when I’m not there?”
Tim hunched up on himself and Danny despaired inwardly. Uh oh, what did he say now?”
“Are you going somewhere?” Tim quietly asked, sounding hurt and upset.
“No,” Danny soothed, patting Tim on the head. I mean, what if I’m busy with stuff but you want to go take pictures without me?”
“You said to go get you whenever I wanna go out to take pictures.”
“Okay, yeah, I- well, we might as well get you a quality camera, right? To take really really good pictures of the… local wildlife. Like… the birds and the bats, and all that.” Danny winked exaggeratedly.
Tim blinked and giggled when he got the joke. “Okay, as long as you’re staying!”
Danny grinned, fangs and all. “Of course.”
——
At the end of their shopping spree, generously provided and sponsored by the Drake family and their heavy black card, Danny got a phone and Tim got a wild life camera that was a whopping $4,000 but was compact enough to not look absolutely ridiculous.
“It’s heavy!” Tim whined, as he grinned like a loon.
“It’s quality,” Danny plopped the shopping bags on the island in one of the giant kitchens Drake manor had. “I’ll make dinner. You figure out those settings and you can tell me about it when we eat.”
“Okay!” Tim hummed excited, quick fingers and laser focus already aimed at his new device.
Danny picked up his new phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. As it rung, Danny held it up to his ear and began prepping the ingredients. At least
“Hello?” His sister’s cautious voice came through the phone. Danny’s shoulders relaxed.
“Heya, Jazz.” He could see Tim’s ears all but perk up in order to eavesdrop. His mouth quirked up in amusement and Danny turned away. He probably shouldn’t be encouraging that kind of behavior… but it was funny.
“Danny! Are you okay? I- I heard that they chased after you and I was worried sick! Are you safe? Any injuries? Do I need to pick you up?”
“I’m good. Promise. Not bleeding out or dying. It’s actually pretty nice right now,” Danny paused before turning back a little more so he could watch Tim’s reaction peripherally. “Hey, listen, can I adopt a little brother?”
He watched Tim sit up straighter eyed flickering up to him and back down again, a secretly pleased look on his face as he figured out that Danny was in fact talking about him.
“Danny, what the hell?” Jazz huffed, audibly relieved to know that Danny wasn’t on his merry way to becoming a full on ghost. “Who, why, and what kind of trouble did you get into now?”
“Hey, this was me getting out of trouble. Those people don’t even know where I escaped to. Tim helped me out a lot,” Danny said in the tone that meant ‘and there’s more to it but I can’t tell you right now.’
“His name’s Tim?”
“Yeah, you wanna say hi?”
Tim looked terrified as he heard Danny’s side of the conversation. Danny could relate.
“Alright. But you’re explaining everything later, got it?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Danny turned to Tim, abandoning the peas he was shelling and rinsing off his hand to hold the phone.
“Tim, my sister, Jazz, wants to say hi. Are you cool with that?”
“Uhm! Yeah! Yeah, sure.” Tim, honest to ancients, squeaked. Danny’s enhanced hearing could pick up Jazz’s already melting heart. He taped a button.
“Jazz, you’re on speaker.”
“Hey, Tim. I’m Jazz. Thanks for taking care of my little brother!”
“Uh, hi, Jazz! I’m Timothy Drake! And, uh, you’re welcome! Anytime!”
Tim glanced at Danny for reassurance, relaxing a bit when the halfa threw him a double thumbs up.
Jazz went quiet.
“Jazz, you good?” Danny asked.
“We’re adopting him. Danny, you better make sure knows about everyone. Hi, Tim, I’m Jazz, your new big sister.”
“Uh- I have parents.”
“That can be fixed,” Jazz casually brushed off. Tim looked like a deer in headlights, so Danny took his sister off speaker and went back to cooking. He made sure to smile at Tim.
“Don’t worry, we won’t adopt you if you don’t want to. But it wasn’t a joke, we’re very serious.”
“I’ll think about it?”
Danny shrugged. “Good enough for me.”
“So, where are you?” Jazz asked him, rustling coming through on the phone.
“Gotham.”
“You are so fucking lucky I love you, dumbass. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon.”
“Playing hooky, are you?”
“Fuck off, little brother, before I show Tim your toddler pictures.”
“Thanks, Jazz.”
“Bye, Danny. Don’t get killed again when I’m not there, got it?”
“Sure, sure.”
Danny smiled and returned to his agenda of stuffing as many vegetables into one meal as he can. At least the food isn’t trying to tear out his face.
——
Robin hasn’t heard the eerie giggles around lately, but he’s been practicing his own. It’s weird though, because there’s always a glint of something in the corner of his eyes.
“Robin, muggers.”
“On it, B. Shall we, Batgirl?”
“Let’s go, Boy Wonder.”
#Jazz Fenton#jazz fenton casually suggesting murder#danny phantom#batman#tim drake#dc x dp#dcxdp#bamf danny phantom#Danny phantom and the weird experience of being the youngest and the oldest sibling#squatter! Danny Fenton#danny: well I don’t wanna go home so I’ll just stay here#this was in my drafts for so long lmfao#inspired by that one post where Tim had to have those expensive and giant wildlife cameras#but I think they’d get the compact one#dick Grayson#barbara gordon#Robin#batgirl
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'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will)
Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact)
Words: 3.7k
Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting
Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is.
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ao3
You’ve always been smart. You don’t know if you’ve always been pretty, but you try not to be too harsh on your younger self. You also have bills to pay. You’re fortunate enough to be doing what you love, working a job you’re passionate about, and getting paid shit all for it. Luckily you’re not the one paying your bills. You have sugar daddies for that.
Like you said, pretty, and smart enough not to rely on one stream of cash. You have a couple men you sugar for, all old enough to make sure they know you’re not looking for love, and with enough experience to get you off at the end of the night. It’s a good situation, everyone gets what they want, and you don’t worry about your job paying you barely above minimum wage. When one man drops you, you hit up your favorite sites for another. Which is how you got here, staring at Hesh with a cup of coffee held tight between your hands and a hangover that throbs like a lobotomy.
What you don’t know is how he got in, but you’re more focused on his offer than anything else. Drop the other men you sugar for to be his exclusively, and he’ll double every dollar they pay you monthly. You’re not greedy by any stretch of the word, but your mouth waters at the proposal. That’s a lot of money he’s laying on the table.
“And what about sex?” You ask him. It’s been months of dating him, and Hesh still hasn’t touched you. In fact the smoldering tension between you has made all your other relationships feel cold. Forcing you to rely on your toys after sex these days when your other daddies fail to perform. That doesn’t mean you want to cut it off cold turkey. You can’t, not when he still makes you throb eagerly even with the hangover migraine. If he doesn’t want you, there’s no deal.
There’s something steely in Hesh’s eyes when he leans forward, his elbows settling on his knees. His smile is wicked, predatory, it makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. Your blood runs hot, and follows his eyes as they drop to stare between your legs.
“Baby,” He purrs, “I’ll fuck you over this table right now, all you gotta do is say yes to me.”
(six months ago)
You check your makeup in your compact mirror. Not your favorite, but you find the men you date appreciate the femininity of it. There’s something terribly alluring about swiping your pinky over the corners of your lips with a compact mirror in hand, and you don’t get that sort of sex-out-of-the-bag flavor with your phone camera. You really need all the cards you can get tonight too. You’ve got a date with a new man, a new sugar daddy. You don’t usually go for them when they’re this close in age to you, but he seemed nice, and paid in advance(no strings attached), so you’re taking the chance on him. He offered to pick you up, but… you’re not about to get trapped in a car with a man you don’t know. It’s better having a quick escape route if the date goes south.
You snap your compact shut and tuck it neatly back into your purse when you spot your date. He hands his keys to the restaurant’s valet, and offers you a smile. He’s wearing a suit, you expected as much with the caliber of restaurant he suggested, but it’s nice being dressed up for. You hold your hand out in greeting as his long strides carry him close. You’re pleasantly surprised when his fingers grip yours and raise your hand to his lips. He just grazes your knuckles, his eyes heavy on yours as he kisses your hand. They’re green, you note. Not just his eyes either, his suit too. It’s so dark you’d mistaken it as black, but it’s green, and it makes his eyes positively electric looking.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” He smiles, dropping his hold on your hand and slipping his around your back as you turn to walk into the restaurant.
“I just got here,” A white lie, you got here with ten minutes to spare, never early or late for the men you date. Your date hums, his thumb rubbing against the small of your back, right where the zipper of your dress ends. His hand splays wide, his pinky grazing the swell of your ass. It sends a little shiver through you, the touch quickly removed as your date gives his name to the host.
“Walker.” He voice, sure and even, louder than the intimate softness of his voice when he’d greeted you, makes something warm slither down your spine.
“David Walker,” you feel the name over your tongue, adding the last name to the one he’d had on his profile. You feel the way his attention slips back to you heavily, it may as well be another hand with the warmth that it draws over you.
“My friends call me Hesh,” He sounds proud, but not like he’s puffing out his chest. There’s no bragging to the nickname, just the simple exchange of information.
He settles his hand on your back again when the host leads you to your table. The firm pressure not pushing you, not hurrying you, but steadying you. You wonder if he doubts your ability to walk in the heels you picked, or if he’s simply the touchy sort. You suppose you’ll figure it out soon enough. He pulls your chair out like a gentleman, helps you scoot in to the table, and takes his seat across from you without a wasted movement. You’ve never met a man that seemed so immediately comfortable in his own skin.
You suppose that comes with the territory. The men that pay you, pay you for a reason. You’re arm candy, or a kink, or an easy lay that’s a step better than a prostitute for men too important to “date down”. You know all sorts of men, but Hesh… Hesh seems like he could find a partner easily. Maybe it’s a time issue. You’ve only dealt with some of those. The type of man that doesn’t have the time in his life for dating. You slot the possibility into your mental file for Hesh, and settle your elbows on the table, leaning against them with a smile.
“So,” You draw the word out, give him time to eye the way your breasts push together against the low cut of your dress, “how was your day?”
It’s a simple question, one that never feels out of place, but busy men will always talk about their work. Hesh’s eyes drag over you, flicking to meet yours from their brief rest on your chest. He smiles, taking the menu set in front of him to look over as he speaks.
“I’m in the military if that’s what you’re askin’.” You feel yourself falter a little, regaining your composure, your smile, when he glances up at you.
“You must be busy,” You try, keeping your tone interested but light. You dislike intelligent men, the ones that can see through you, see through your questions, it makes it harder to play the game when both sides know the rules. But a date is a date.
“Hard to date with deployment looming,” He admits, or perhaps supplies, helping you build your mental catalog for him. You nod, you can see that. It would certainly make it hard to keep someone around without an incentive, hence the use of a sugar baby. Ah, got it. You file him neatly into the correct box and reach for your water glass.
“I can imagine,” You raise a brow, taking a sip, busy men like talking. Busy men tell you about themselves, what they can do for you, what you should do for them, how busy they are and how little time they have for you, as if you’re meant to be grateful for every second they allow you.
Hesh waits. He sits patiently, watching you with interest as you swipe your thumb over the lipstick stain you’ve left on the rim of the glass. He’s quiet, observant. Unnerving. Busy men talk, and Hesh isn’t talking. He’s watching, taking you in like he has all the time in the world. He sets his menu down and laces his fingers together on the table. You wish you couldn’t feel the hesitance in your fingers as you take another sip of your water, delaying the inevitable.
“Do I make you nervous,” He asks after your third sip. There’s a keen evenness to his tone, low and deep enough to shiver goosebumps over your skin. You set your water down and plaster on a smile that feels as fake as you’re sure it must look.
“Of course not.”
“You done this before sweetheart?”
“Sugar?” You can feel Hesh’s hum, the warmth of it spreads through your chest, his eyes soft and his smile inquisitive. “Once or twice.” You lie.
“Once or twice,” He turns the words back to you. An interrogation technique you often employ during these sorts of things. It works though. You bite down the need to correct him, to tell him maybe it’s more than just once or twice.
“It’s hard to pay the bills with just my work.” You explain, though you’re not sure why. Something in your stomach flutters to explain yourself to this man, the desire shakes itself through your bones. He reaches for his own water glass, draws the moment out as you watch his Adam's apple bob with the motion of swallowing. You've done this a good dozen times, but no one has put you on your toes as quickly as Hesh has. You take the moment to give him a once over. There's a slight shadow over his jaw, we'll groomed stubble that feeds its way into close cropped brown hair. Young-ish, with an age to his eyes that makes you wonder what he's been through, what he's seen. He's just at what you would call “acceptably older” if you were actually dating him, but he still wears his youth in the gleam of his smile. He watches you like a hawk, and you in turn watch him like a rabbit.
“Non-profit, right?” Hesh confirms, and you nod, before quickly giving a verbal affirmative. Verbal answers are more confident, and you've done this too many times to be losing your confidence now. Hesh is outside of your normal routine, but a sugar daddy is a sugar daddy, and at the end of the day they all want one thing. A pretty thing on their arm. They don't care about what you do or who you are, as long as you go home with them at the end of the night. “Do you enjoy it?”
The question takes you off guard. Or, not the question itself, you've heard that a hundred times at least, it's the genuine interest disguised behind an impassive smile. You blink at him.
“I-” you don't give details about your work, they don't want details, you give the necessary ‘yes’ and move on to talking about him or playing footsie under the table, “I do it’s-”
Your waiter stops beside the table, and you feel Hesh's attention leave you like a weight falling off your chest. He speaks with conviction, orders wine for the both of you, and where you usually feel as though that sort of move is right out of a “how to show women you’re the boss 101” handbook, on him it feels natural. He’s used to commanding attention, to giving orders. No wasted breath, no wasted words. Hesh orders and you wonder if he’ll do the same for your meal.
“What did you say you did in the military?” You ask when the waiter leaves, and Hesh’s eyes feel all the heavier on you for your interest.
“We were talking about you,” He corrects. The way he sits and looks at you show a man that holds not just himself to high standards, but everyone else as well. The weight of his full attention is crushing now that you’ve felt it leave you, and yet it sparks something in you. A desire to please. A desire to live up to those expectations.
He’s here for you, you don’t want to disappoint him.
You’ve never had a conversation with a man who makes you feel so aware of yourself. You can feel the brush of fabric against your skin like a touch, and each breath you take seems to tease you as your dress pulls over your chest. And his eyes… He touches every inch of exposed skin he can with them, drawing warmth over you until you’re positively alight with want. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom. He stands with you, old school manners you’ve only seen in movies, and offers a hand to help you around the table. You think you feel the brush of his fingers over your hip, his touch burning through you even when you must have imagined it.
You fix your makeup in the bathroom mirror, attempt to clean up some of the mess you’re making in your panties. God. It’s been so long since you had a date that stoked the fire low in your stomach, a man that looked at you like something to be desired not just a sure thing. When’s the last time your date seemed so interested in you, asked questions to further your answers, brought up topics that related to something you’d mentioned and not just something he could brag about? When’s the last time you had a good date with a hot guy and weren’t worried about whether it would be worth your time?
God have you really not thought about the money this whole time? You’d been so swept up in the way Hesh spoke to you, the way he looked at you, that you couldn’t think of anything else. Even now you can’t help thinking of the way he’d purred, “Anythin’ you want,” when you’d asked what to order. The memory of his voice makes you press your thighs together. You want to know what he’d say to you without the filter of public decency. You want to know how he’d touch you behind closed doors.
He stands again when you make your way back to the table, waits for you to sit before taking his seat. You notice he’s barely touched his food since you left, only picking up his knife and fork when you do. You slot “slow eater” into your folder on him. It doesn’t matter you suppose, he sips his wine, always pours another swallow for you when you run low, and yet he seems to finish with you. His food is gone just a bite after yours is, and he leans against the table as the waiter whisks your plates away. Like he’s waiting for something.
It’s easy to slide your foot against his calf, easy to see the heat that burns in his eyes. You’re careful of your heel, but you’re well practiced in this game. He wants you, you know he wants you. That’s how these things work, pick a pretty girl off the site and take her home at the end. You get first right of refusal and some extra cash in your pocket, he gets to boast about the pretty thing he’s screwing.
“You hopin’ for something sweetheart?” Hesh catches your ankle under the table, firm fingers stopping you from trailing past his knee. His tone is casual, playful, his grip is not. “Gotta use your words like a big girl.”
“I’m hoping we can get the check,” You purr. Your dates usually rush for it, signal the waiter as quickly as they can to shuffle you into the back seat of their car, or the nearby hotel. You don’t think you’ve had a date ever end at dinner, the same way you’re sure you’ve never had a dinner last quite as long as this.
“We?” Hesh smiles, his thumb rubs your ankle, the friction making you shiver, “You offerin’ to split the bill little one?”
“Of course not Daddy,” the title falls from your lips with an invitation to touch further. You try not to stretch too obviously into his grip, feel the slip of your skirt as his fingers push up over your calf like a curtain drawing the evening to an end, “Just thought you might like to have dessert elsewhere.”
Hesh’s hand is warm and appreciative as it strokes your leg. You feel the drag of calluses, rough palms skating over your soft skin, and wonder how those thick fingers will feel once they’re inside you. Men like him… they like when you’re a little bold, they like knowing that you’re not too shy to avoid falling into bed on the first date. You’ve honed your edge against the predictability of the men you date, and you know you’re right by the way he catches the waiter’s eye and taps his fingers against the table.
You settle into the warm feeling of victory, and the knowledge that you’ve snagged another source of income. Not to mention the added benefit of sex. Hesh touches you with an idle sort of intimacy that makes heat throb between your legs, he touches you like it’s his right to, like he holds command over the how and when of it. You don’t think he’s the sort of man people often say ‘no’ to.
He drags his fingers over your shin, settling your foot against his knee as he takes his hand from under the table to take the check. It’s a bit of a stretch, the burn in your hamstring of keeping yourself looking presentably seated while still abiding by his placement is a wonderful precursor for the night ahead. You keep your eyes on him as he pays with barely a glance at the bill as he hands the waiter his card. The whisper of wealth. No, you don’t think people say ‘no’ to Hesh often. If ever.
Hesh slips his card back into his wallet as he stands, and moves around the table to offer you his hand. You don’t need it, but you like the way his fingers curl around yours, the firm grip he holds you with as you stand. You brush your hands over your skirt, letting the hem fall back into place. You don’t miss the way Hesh’s eyes follow the sway of your chest as you lean forward. Men are all alike, perfectly predictable.
You press close to his side, letting him feel the soft curves of your body as he leads you out of the restaurant. He hands the valet his ticket and you make a mental note to call one of your friends to come grab your car. Although you suppose you don’t have to spend the night, you can uber back here in an hour or so and grab it. The restaurant staff know you well enough they can let you park here for a bit.
“Are we going back to yours or finding a hotel?” You can’t say you aren’t interested in seeing where he lives, but a hotel is closer, and you’re ready to go.
“Neither,” Hesh hums, “you’re going home.”
He’s not- he’s not interested? Your confusion must read too clearly on your face because Hesh’s hand finds your waist and drags you close. You tip your head to avoid bumping your nose against him and he takes the motion as permission to kiss you. His lips searing yours as his hand squeezes the meat of your hip. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his shoulders, quick to press against the length of him, your chest to his, your hips to his. You can feel the thick twitch of his cock where you push yourself against it. (Fuck is that all him?) He’s like a furnace, radiating warm want that soaks into your skin. The night air feels freezing on your exposed skin
Hesh’s lips part, his breath a sigh as his head tips. The soft push of his lips against yours is exceedingly gentle for the hunger you can taste behind it. It shivers down your spine, aches in the creek of Hesh’s grip on your hips, a want that you can’t quantify. Your lips slide over his, his stubble tickling you a little as you part and kiss, part and kiss, again and again.
He presses, forces you to lean back, arching into him. You’re reliant on him to keep you standing, trusting your balance to a man you barely know. It makes your skin prickle, makes you want. You wiggle your hips, try to entice him to give you what you know he’s looking for, even slip your tongue in the part of his lips. His fingers tighten until you squeak with pain and pull away from the kiss.
He pulls you up, lets you go to take his keys from the valet. You can still feel his spit slicking your top lip, the tingle of his stubble against your bottom. You balk, the dark fabric of his suit does enough to hide the outline of his cock in the low light but you know what you felt. How can he just leave you like this?
“You’re serious.” You realize, and Hesh pauses with his hand on the top of his car.
“I am,” No wasted words. You hesitate, worry your lip between your teeth before you can stop yourself. Hesh waits you out, patient as a saint.
“But I thought-” You try to blink through your confusion, “I thought this went well.”
“It did,” Hesh smiles and it isn’t patronizing or pitying, but there’s something in it that doesn’t feel entirely friendly, “I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all sweetheart.”
You frown. The first genuine expression you’ve given him all night and it’s a furrowed brow. You fix your face before you lose the next date to your pouting. Hesh’s brows are heavy, his eyes lidding as he watches you. There is something dark and unreadable in the way he looks at you, something heady that makes you dumb. The chill rushes to you when he looks away, climbs into his car, and leaves.
#cod x reader#x reader#david walker#david hesh walker#david hesh walker x reader#hesh walker#hesh walker x reader#hesh cod#cod hesh#hesh x reader#sugar daddy!Hesh#f!reader
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☆ CAN WE GO HOME ? ☆
Honestly you barely understood that you were in this position. What did you do ? Well it wasn’t what you did, it was what others did. Or maybe , according to Gojo it was your fault for being so damn hot.
Bully!Satosugu x poc!reader. Double penetration. Dirty talk. Degradation. Overstim. Humiliation (?). Recording.
You’d gotten used to these two tagging along with you anywhere. Just to make sure you weren’t acknowledging anyone other than them. You went to the mall today, your favorite place on earth maybe. At Least they played some purpose, holding your abundance of bags. You knew how they rolled, terrorizing anyone to even look your way, belittling your feelings towards anyone other than them. You knew how they rolled… and they definitely knew how you did.
A fucking attention whore, that’s what you were. I mean why would you wear pink miniskirts that barely covered anything. Or low cut tops ,and over cropped crop tops. Why would you wear anything that showed off that gorgeous body of yours to anyone other than them. It pissed them off , the way you shamelessly flirted with the store clerks as though they weren’t there. The way you bent over in front of everyone to check the price tag on some shoes. How much more of a slut could you be?
You plopped down in the back of the car after checking your makeup in your compact mirror. Geto and Gojo packing your things in the truck before getting in the front seats. “ so you wanna fucking explain yourself? “ geto cursed , scowling at you through the rear view mirror. You popped your lips together , spreading your coating of pink gloss. “ Whatever do you mean ?” You exaggerated faux innocence. You saw the two tense up at your words. You were used to pissing them off, you loved to do so to get back at them fir how they tormented you in daily life. All it would amount to would be getting fucked when you got home… yeah not this time.
“ C-cmon, m’ sorry , just let me go home~' ' you pleaded. Your cheek rested against the leather of the seat. Geto’s nose runs along your pink folds. Face buried in your cunt from behind. His tongue overstimulating you beyond belief. Gojo sat in front of you. Dick slapping against your cheeks as a way to get your eyes to look into his phone camera. “Cmon~ smile“ he said, motioning his fingers to push his cheeks up. This fucking bastard. “ You wanna look pretty for the guys I show this to right ?“. Tears fell from your stinging eyes, “ n-no please ~ don’t… show anyone~” you managed to choke out between moans as Geto’s tongue explored every grove of your pussy. Your eyes rolled at the camera , tongue lolling out of your mouth releasing strings if drool. “ aww why not baby ? We might have to show it to the next loser you flirt with” Gojo teased, hands grabbing a fistful of your hair.
Your ass stained red from Satoru’s relentless thrusts. Your eyes puffy , tears falling as they fell onto Geto’s cock. Maybe you did go too far today , he’d usually wipe them as you cried but not this time. He looked down on you with a smile as he pushed your head down, making your nose touch his v-line. “ awww~ too much baby?” he coed at you. You heard a low laugh from Satoru, “You think the store clerk coulda fucked tears outta ya?” He asked, slapping your ass , watching the fat if it ripple. Your whines resounded through the car as well as small sobs when Satoru rubbed his finger along your clit. You cried, shaking your head no on Geto’s cock. “oh no but you must have thought he was better! , wouldn’t have acted like we don’t fuck your brains out every night infront if him then , slut” Satoru sassed as he watched you writhe around as he placed frequent harsh slaps to your clit .
Just when you thought it was too much. It got worse. Your body was flipped around. Back flush against Geto. His hands around your wrist, holding your arms back. “ Are we not enough, baby ? We can give you more you know” he feigned concern. You let out a strained moan as you felt his cock ease into your cunt. But then you relaxed why he was holding you back. Your eyes widened as Satoru spread your legs, rough hands gripping your thighs apart. “ Wait,wait no~ no ~ Toru , Sugu-!'' your plea was cut by a shrill moan as your cunt was stretched to the brim. Two cocks filling up the small pink hole. Your tears ran from your eyes like droplets of rain on windows. “Fuckkkkk~ that's enough for ya baby~” Gojo hissed out as he bottomed out. Your mouth hung open , strained moans spilling from your mouth. Your face burned in embarrassment as people walked by the windows. You knew the windows were tinted but Gosh did it make your face sting to know that a thin sheet of tint was stopping people from seeing how absolutely fucked you were. Two cocks showing in you at once. Geto kissing your cervix as Gojo pulled back for another harsh thrust. They work so fucking well together.
“ Fucking slut~ you thought we’d wait till we got home to put you in your place? ” Geto spat at you. His breath heavy as he thrusted up into you. You did think they’d wait, maybe that’s why you weren’t prepared. Or maybe it was the fact that your cunt was painfully full. Stretched out to fit both of their lengths. Tears fell from your eyes as you came. Squirting everywhere. Almost disgusted as some of the liquid landed on your face. Even more embarrassed as Gojo licked some of the fluid off of his face. “F-fuc, you guys, cmon can we go home~?” you whimpered out, you’d been insisting this the whole time. Suddenly becoming aware that people could hear your pathetic moans and the sound of them smashing into you. Your arms strained against Geto’s grip. reaching to turn on the stereo to drown out your cries , however you couldn’t pull away from him.” Nah let em’ hear you baby ~!” he teased, chuckling as your body began to convulse. Your tummy caving in as your legs shook violently. Feet arching in the air. A scream ripped from your glossed lips that pierced the sound of their pounding.
Your body went limp, chest heaving up and down. A small whine left you as Satoru’s dick pushed deeper against your cervix as he put his weight on you. Arms wrapping around you and Geto. The car filled with the sounds of your collective pants. “Fuckk..” you huffed out, “ .. can we go home now?” You sighed. They chuckled as they kissed you. “ Yeah , maybe the store clerk will take you home,” Geto sassed. Somehow you felt a lil guilty now.“ M’ sorrryyyy, I don’t like him ,only want you guys~' ' You pouted. “ yeah we know '' they yawned , pulling away to cleft themselves before driving off.
#jjk smut#jjk#jjk gojo#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk geto#gojo saturo#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu satoru#jjk satoru#gojo jjk#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x black reader smut#geto smut#suguru x y/n#suguru geto#suguru x reader#suguru smut#suguru x you#gojo#geto#geto suguru#satoru gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x reader#satoru smut
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And It Was All Yellow
pairing: wonwoo (svt) + reader (fem.)
genre: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, photographer!wonwoo, artist!reader (+ journalist!mingyu)
word count: ~5.7k
synopsis: wonwoo doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he finds himself falling for you a lot sooner than he thought possible
inspired by: the text post pictured above ^^ & the song “yellow” by coldplay 💛
posted: august 21, 2023
The weather in Seoul was dull—gray clouds and scattered, drizzling rain suspended over the city since dawn had broken. Most people hated such weather, but Jeon Wonwoo was not one of those people. In fact, he found comfort in the gloominess. He enjoyed the idea of having an excuse to stay in. And if he did need to go outside, he liked that there was a lack of the usual crowd of people that would be around if the weather was more ideal. Traffic was less compacted. Lines of any kind were short (or non-existent). The city was quiet, just as he liked it.
On days like today, he preferred to spend his time inside with a book or playing video games. But work had been scarce for him these past few weeks, so when his best friend, Mingyu, had informed him of a job offer he had no choice but to accept it. That’s how he ended up at a local art museum downtown at 9:45 a.m. on a Thursday morning. Despite the doors not opening for another fifteen minutes, a worker had let him in through the front door when he got her attention and pointed to his camera bag. She realized he didn’t have an umbrella with him, and so she quickly let him in. Luckily he had a raincoat over his outfit and a hat to protect his hair, so the most he had to deal with was a little rain on the back of his neck. He thanked the worker, staying close to the door to get any glimpse of Mingyu arriving.
In the meantime, he watched the cars pass by outside, each one splashing water out of the puddle and onto the sidewalk just in front of the entrance to the museum. He noticed it had lightened up a bit outside, the sky turning from a darker gray to a lighter gray with wispy, white clouds. He wondered if anyone would even show up to this exhibit opening in such weather conditions.
About five minutes after he arrived, Mingyu came knocking on the door, covering his head with a magazine. The worker came back and opened the door for him, deciding to leave it unlocked. Wonwoo’s younger friend came in, complaining under his breath about forgetting his umbrella and getting wet. He shook the sopping magazine, droplets of water falling onto the concrete floor. His gray button-up was a darker gray on the shoulders and sleeves from the rain that seeped into it. Wonwoo noticed the worker glaring at his friend for dripping on the floor and tried not to let his amusement show.
“Forgot your umbrella too?” he questioned Mingyu, “Hopefully your notebook didn’t get ruined.”
His friend looked to the bag he had hanging from his shoulder. The bag didn’t have a zipper, but it did have a flap that fell over the opening to keep it “closed” in a sense. He quickly shoved his hand inside, feeling around for his notebook. When he felt the edges of the paper and confirmed they were dry, he smiled, “All good. And why so early? That’s unusual.”
“I’m never late,” Wonwoo defended.
“Yeah, but if I tell you to be somewhere at ten a.m. you usually don’t walk in until nine fifty-eight.”
The older of the two shrugged, “Got an early start today.”
The two men began their work day, Wonwoo fine-tuning the settings on his camera to his liking while Mingyu made some preliminary notes in his notebook. They set up together in the lobby, but once the artist had arrived, Mingyu excused himself to greet her. Wonwoo stayed in the lobby, taking a couple of test pictures to see if anything else needed to be adjusted. Around him several museum workers, journalists, and other photographers were gathering with the artist. Wonwoo wasn’t the biggest fan of interacting with strangers, so he kept to himself. Luckily, he busied himself with his camera which was enough to keep people from disrupting him.
Once Mingyu returned to his friend, the two joined the growing crowd waiting by the entrance to the new exhibit where a ceremonial ribbon cutting was about to take place. Wonwoo found the ribbon to be a bit superfluous. Nonetheless, he stood towards the back of the small crowd, arms crossed and camera slung around his neck by its strap. He was hired to take some pictures of the event and the art pieces for Mingyu’s article, and that was it. It was somewhat easy money for him, but it did take more time and social interaction than he liked. Truthfully, he couldn’t wait for this to be over and go home to edit.
He watched you, the artist, get behind the ribbon and make your speech thanking everyone for showing up. He snapped a couple pictures as you thanked the museum for giving your art a home temporarily. After a few minutes, you ended your speech by giving a small spiel about how art was therapeutic to you and it should be for everyone else. He found himself subconsciously nodding in agreement, because photography was a form of therapy for him as well.
The ribbon was cut after your speech, and the congregation of guests entered the exhibit for the first time. Mingyu and Wonwoo brought up the rear, but they were just as astonished as every single person ahead of them when they saw the art on display. Several paintings of various mediums hung on the walls, varying in size. The large columns in the middle of the room also held paintings on them, each piece of art accompanied by a small plaque with information about it—like the title and date. Mingyu, just like the other journalists, was already jotting down notes in his book, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his pressed lips in concentration. Wonwoo peered around the room, simply taking everything in. His hands held his camera which was still hanging from his neck.
The two friends walked around together, patiently waiting for the other guests to continue on before taking their time in front of a piece to write or take pictures. As they got to the last few paintings, Mingyu made a comment about finding the bathroom, and that he would be back shortly. Wonwoo nodded and continued to snap a few pictures of the paintings before him. He came to a stop in front of a simple painting of sunflowers; the acrylic paint forming a kind of 3D effect on the canvas. He stared at that one for a moment longer than the rest of them, not for any particular reason, he supposed. It didn’t stand out from the others or anything, but he liked it for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Do you like sunflowers?”
Your voice startled him, though he didn’t show it. He merely turned to you, giving you a small nod of acknowledgement as well as a small, polite smile, “They’re fine I guess.”
“This was one of my first pieces I made in art school,” you explained, and it was then he noticed it did indeed have the earliest date posted among all of the canvases in the room.
“It’s nice,” he said, “Congratulations, by the way. You’re very talented.”
Your face broke into a sweet smile despite that being the nth compliment of this morning. Each one felt like a gold star being rewarded to you, and it filled you with happiness. You gestured to his camera, “Do you work for a magazine?”
“Um, sort of,” he shrugged, “My friend does, he just has me shoot pictures for his articles.”
“Oh, I do remember seeing you with someone,” you remembered, “Um, the tall one with the gray shirt, right?”
“Yes.”
“I see. I haven’t gotten to speak with him in depth yet, do you know if he’ll be back soon?”
“He should be returning from the bathroom soon,” he replied. Usually Wonwoo was terrible at making conversation with strangers. He dreaded it. But you gave off such a comforting, welcoming energy. He found himself wanting to talk to you about, well, anything, “This weather isn’t too ideal for this occasion, isn’t it?”
“The rain?” you asked, “Yeah, it’s a bummer, but the turn out was great still. I didn’t think so many people would come.”
“Why’s that?” his brow raised slightly in curiosity.
“I didn’t think my art was special enough to warrant such an exhibit. One of my mentors from art school is friends with the head of the museum, and he asked him for a favor. He’s put a lot of time and faith in me, but I don’t think my art is worth such a grandiose gesture,” you spoke so casually, as if it was fact. Wonwoo found your confession to be a little disheartening. Sure, the art might not have the prestige to qualify for the MoMA or the Louvre, but to someone like him who casually enjoyed art, your work was impressive.
“Well, I’m glad he did. Your work is amazing,” Wonwoo was a man of few words, but he hoped the few he could give would bring you some reassurance. And for the moment it did. You smiled warmly, perking up further when Mingyu returned to the both of you.
“Hello again, would you be able to spare a few minutes with me?” he asked you, already getting his notebook and pen from his bag. You agreed, and the two of you began a conversation while Wonwoo continued to snap some photos of the last paintings. When he was done, he waited patiently for you and Mingyu to finish your conversation. Around ten minutes passed, and the crowd was fluctuating as some people left and some newcomers joined. Wonwoo watched the guests observe the art, getting some inspiration to take photos of them as well. He figured some candid pictures would look nice too. He even got one of you and Mingyu discussing the sunflower piece before he approached the two of you again.
The three of you talked for what felt like hours but in reality was only twenty minutes. At some point the conversation had veered from art to your social lives. Mingyu was a very sociable, outgoing person, so it didn’t take long for him to strike a casual conversation with you. He had learned that the three of you frequented the same coffee shop a few streets away.
“We’ll have to get coffee together some time,” you said, “Should we swap numbers?”
Mingyu happily did so, and the two of you swapped phones to add each others contacts. You made a comment about getting with some other journalists, but you promised to stay in touch before leaving the two men with a “thank you for coming!”.
The rain had cleared up by the time the two friends left the museum. They walked together to the bus stop across the street, waiting for the bus that would be passing shortly. While they waited, they talked about the notes Mingyu got and the shots Wonwoo took.
“She was really sweet,” Mingyu said with a smile, “She told me she didn’t have many friends in the city. We’ll have to take her out with our friends some time soon.”
“Sure,” was all Wonwoo responded absentmindedly, replying to a text from his brother.
“She was pretty, too,” Mingyu added in a suggestive tone.
That made Wonwoo look up from his phone with a pointed look, “What are you implying?”
“Nothing,” his friend shrugged, but his expression was telling before his mouth was, “It’s just been a while since you’ve dated is all. You two seemed to be getting along well.”
The older man rolled his eyes, returning them to his phone as he opened Instagram and proceeded to scroll through his explore page, “I spoke to her for five minutes while you were in the bathroom. I’m not going to fall in love with her in five minutes.”
His friend sighed, “You’ll never fall in love if you’re not open to a potential relationship.”
Wonwoo got quiet then, and the conversation didn’t pick up again until shortly before the bus arrived. On the ride he thought about what Mingyu said. It was true, he hadn’t dated in a very long time, since college actually. Now that he was twenty-seven, it was getting harder and harder for him to find himself in a situation to meet someone. He rarely left his house. He spent his free time doing things alone, and when he did go out with his friends he stuck to them pretty closely. On top of all of that, he wasn’t the most approachable person. He wasn’t a cold person, or at least he didn’t consider himself one. But his looks gave the impression that he was, his sharp eyes and straight-drawn lips making him seem standoffish.
And unlike his friends, he didn’t believe in “love at first sight”. The idea of meeting someone for the first time and instantly being head over heels for them just didn’t connect with him. He didn’t understand how others felt that. When he dated in the past, it took weeks, even months to fall for the person he had a crush on. And he wasn’t necessarily upset with the way he lived; he didn’t mind being alone. Since he was a kid, he always felt more comfortable doing things by himself. But lately he realized his day-to-day did feel a little lonely, especially since most of his friends were settling down with their partners or moving away to pursue careers. Maybe Mingyu was right. Maybe he did need some kind of change.
The first time you hung out with the two men after meeting them at the museum, Mingyu had invited you to join them for lunch. The three of you ate Korean barbecue, learning a bit about each other over a few bottles of soju. Wonwoo didn’t do much talking that time, mostly speaking only when spoken to. You and Mingyu carried the conversations, not that either of you minded. You felt like Wonwoo would need time to open up to you, so you gave him that. Luckily, the two agreed to hang out with you again later in the week. Mingyu had to get some editing done, so he invited you and Wonwoo to keep him company at his apartment.
You were shocked when Wonwoo was the one to engage in conversation with you first, greeting you at the door and welcoming you in. He and Mingyu were preparing a simple dinner, so you sat at the kitchen island watching them cook. You noticed Wonwoo seemed more comfortable talking this time around. Maybe it was because you had hung out already, or maybe it was because he was in a familiar environment. Either way you liked seeing a little crack in the shell that kept his true personality shielded away from you.
Over a couple months the three of you became really close, and you had even met some of their other friends. Mingyu’s office wasn’t far from the art supply store you visited every week, so you made it a habit to visit him every Thursday on your supply runs. The two of you would get lunch or just sit in his office and talk during his break before you returned to your art studio. You really liked the friendship blossoming between you and the two men, but then one day something changed.
Wonwoo texted you out of the blue one Saturday mid-morning asking if you wanted to get some coffee with him. You found it odd that he texted you because he had never done that before. It was usually Mingyu who texted you, or they texted you in a group chat that you had together. Nonetheless, you responded with “of course!” and got dressed.
When you showed up to the café you were confused to see Wonwoo sitting at a two-seater table by himself. You noticed he looked like he put more effort into his appearance today. Normally when you hung out he was in lounging clothes—a simple shirt with sweatpants or maybe loose jeans. The only time you remembered seeing him dressed this nicely was the day you met, and he was working then. But he didn’t mention working today? So what could be the occasion for him to wear off-white pants, a mustard yellow sweater, and what looked like new shoes?
He was reading something on his phone when you approached him, the light from the screen reflecting on his thin-rimmed glasses. When you set your purse down, he looked up at you and gave you a small smile, “Hey.”
“Hi, is Mingyu not joining?” you asked curiously as you sat across from him. You didn’t notice when the corners of his mouth wavered for a second.
“No, he’s working. You’re stuck with just me today,” he joked.
You chuckled softly, “Don’t make it sound so bad. Was there a reason you wanted to hang out today though? I have to say I was a little shocked when you texted me.”
It was Mingyu’s idea, but Wonwoo didn’t want to admit that. His friend had pointed it out that the two of you had never hung out alone. He figured it might help Wonwoo warm up to you more if you spent some time together one-on-one. And even though he didn’t say it out loud, Wonwoo knew Mingyu secretly wanted the two of you to work out romantically—for whatever reason, he wasn’t sure. Wonwoo wasn’t completely closed off to the idea; you were gorgeous and friendly. But he knew it wasn’t going to be an overnight thing. It took weeks for him to feel comfortable with you as a friend, he could only imagine the time it would take to start a romantic relationship.
“I, um, just realized we never got a chance to hang out alone. We don’t really know much about each other outside of our hang outs with Mingyu,” he said. In that moment he also realized how tense he felt. His legs were stiff and knees were drawn in close together under the table. His fingers toyed with the wrapper of his straw from his iced americano. His shoulders were drawn in the slightest bit, and he could feel his posture was kind of terrible. He tried to relax without making it look obvious that he was tense in the first place.
“Yeah, I guess I figured you just didn’t like to socialize as much as Mingyu did.”
“I don’t, but I’m trying to be better about that,” he admitted, and you felt like you might actually be getting somewhere with him, “He teases me a lot about being a hermit.”
You laughed softly, and he smiled with you, “Well, it’s nice to see you coming out of your shell.”
After an appreciative look from him, you excused yourself to order a drink. Wonwoo immediately opened his phone and texted Mingyu.
wonu 🐈⬛: ok i’m here, now what do we talk about?
gyu 🐶: well first, don’t be on your phone smh. second, just ask her questions about herself. seem interested. try not to look bored like you always do
Wonwoo sighed in annoyance, ignoring the last part of his message as he turned his phone over on the table. You returned shortly after, also with an iced americano. He decided to give his friend’s advice a try, “Do you always order iced americanos?”
“Only sometimes. My go-to is usually a hot latte, but it’s a bit warm for that today,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. He nodded in understanding, but he was unsure of what else to say. It was so much easier to converse with people you’ve been friends with for several years.
Luckily you had no issue with it, and you broke the awkward silence up for him, “How long have you been doing photography?”
“I’ve done it as a hobby since I was in high school, but after I graduated I started doing freelance work. So, almost ten years.”
“I’d love to see your work some time,” you spoke fondly, remembering the first time you met, “Your shots of my exhibit were amazing, so I can imagine the rest of your work is too.“
“My stuff doesn’t compare to the art you make,” he said it without even thinking. You weren’t sure if you should take it as a self-deprecating remark or flattery.
Your lips quipped into a thoughtful line before you derailed, “Okay, your turn. Ask me a question.”
“Oh, are we playing twenty questions?” Wonwoo joked, sitting back in his chair and sipping on his drink. The sunlight beamed directly across his right eye and onto his cheek. His eye was a deep chocolate brown color as opposed to the dark, cold, almost-black color it usually was. You wondered if his eyes were always that soft.
“Yeah, I’ve just decided. Your turn,” you repeated. You crossed your arms on top of the table, subtly leaning in as a sign of giving him all your attention. He fought the smile wanting to live on his lips, opting to look deep in thought. The two of you went back and forth for nearly half an hour, just asking each other questions. Some answers warranted tangents and story times before you went back to the questions, but you enjoyed it to the fullest. And truthfully, Wonwoo was too. He didn’t think he could get so much enjoyment from a game he used to play with his friends in grade school, yet here he was. On the verge of laughter as you told an embarrassing story from high school in which you were running late to school and didn’t realize until your second class that your underwear was stuck to the back of your shirt.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Wonwoo laughed softly, a crinkle appearing on the bridge of his nose, “I would’ve dropped out of school.”
“I thought about it,” you joked, a bashful smile on your lips as you remembered the story like it happened yesterday, “But yeah, if you’re going to get your clothes from the dryer, double check that your under garments aren’t stuck to them first.”
“Noted,” Wonwoo looked over and noticed that a new couple was sitting at the table behind you. That was the second time new people sat right there. He wondered how long you two had been sitting, but he didn’t want to check his phone in case you got the impression that he was in a rush to leave. Which he definitely wasn’t, “Okay, I think it’s your turn again.”
“Okay, um . . . “ your eyes searched the room for a question prompt, but you were grasping for straws- Wait, that’s it. Straws. The cups of plastic-covered straws on the counter were organized by color, one cup for each color they offered—pink, blue, and yellow, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Hm, why don’t you guess?” Wonwoo replied.
If he was honest, he didn’t really have a favorite color. He supposed if he considered it more he would settle for blue or purple, but he didn’t care enough either way. A good ninety-five percent of his wardrobe was black and five percent color, but he just liked black as a good neutral color to wear. He figured he would just let you guess until you decided to give up.
You thought about it for a moment, but no specific color came to mind immediately. His clothes were mostly black, but lots of people wore black clothing and had a favorite color that wasn’t black. His shirt was yellow as well as the straw for his americano, but there was no other indication that it would be his favorite color from what you could remember. Still, you figured it might be your best guess, “Yellow!”
Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile at your prideful declaration. You said it as if you knew it for a fact.
“Yeah.”
“Wait, really?” your eyes got wide and the grin on your face grew wide. Did you really guess it correctly in one try?
Even Wonwoo was shocked by his answer. Yellow wasn’t his favorite color. He didn’t have one. But you seemed so excited and hopeful and sure of yourself that he didn’t even think twice about his answer.
“Yeah, good job,” he praised you, and he had to admit to himself you looked really cute when you clapped your hands together in a small celebration for yourself, “What’s yours?”
“Pink,” you seemed visibly brighter when you answered. It made sense to Wonwoo. Pink was such a cute, bright, outgoing color. It signified friendliness and sweetness, and all of that just screamed you. Maybe he liked pink too. “It’s been my favorite since I was a kid. Everything I had was pink.”
“Pink suits you.”
You felt yourself flushing at the compliment, your smile turning sheepish, “I think yellow suits you, too. I’m picturing a nice pastel yellow for you. Very spring.”
He tried to picture it: him in a pastel yellow shirt. The mental image seemed foreign, since the mustard sweater he was currently wearing was the brightest color he had ever worn besides white. But he wouldn’t be opposed to it.
“Alright, your turn.”
A few more questions were exchanged between you two, long after your cups were emptied. The patrons of the café that had been present when you showed up were long gone, and new faces took their places. After a while you felt a little guilty for hogging the table for so long, even though it had only been a little under two hours. Wonwoo made a comment about heading out, so you both got up and threw your trash. He walked with you to the bus station, even though he had driven to the café in his own car. You thanked him for inviting you to hang out and told him that you enjoyed it.
“We’ll have to do this again some time, but maybe not tell Mingyu. He might get jealous,” you teased your non-present friend, making Wonwoo laugh softly. He knew for a fact that Mingyu would have no problem with it; he would probably encourage it, if anything.
“I don’t think he’d mind. He’s not usually the jealous type,” Wonwoo replied, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. He tried to think of something you two could do together, and he recalled that during the twenty—more like fifty plus—questions you had said you liked video games too, “If you want, we could hang out at my apartment, play some video games. And order pizza or something?”
“That sounds like fun!” your eyes lit up at the idea. You had never actually been to his apartment before. Every time you hung out was at Mingyu’s place, your place, or somewhere in the city. You wondered what his apartment looked like. He seemed like the type to keep everything tidy and minimal, “I’ll be pretty busy this week, but maybe we can work something out for next weekend.”
“Cool,” he nodded and kept small talk until the bus arrived to pick you and a handful of other people up. He waved you off politely, and when you were out of sight, he let out a hefty sigh. It felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders, but not in a bad way. He liked you, so there was this small, subconscious pressure that he felt to be more outgoing. He wanted you to like him too.
Over the next few weeks, there was a shift in the dynamic between the three of you, and it seemed to be obvious to everyone except Wonwoo. You and him had grown a lot closer as you started to hang out alone outside of your usual outings with Mingyu and their other friends. And it showed when the group was together. You always took the seat closest to Wonwoo. He laughed more at your jokes. You complimented his outfits—which were slowly but progressively becoming more colorful. He offered to walk you to your car or the bus or home whenever he could. Yet, still, when asked if anything was going on between you two, he seemed confused.
“It’s not like that,” he told Mingyu when the two were walking to a job they had booked one afternoon—a restaurant opening, “________ and I have gotten close, but not that close.”
“Hey, I know you wear glasses, but you can’t be this blind,” his friend retorted, “You two like each other.”
Wonwoo faltered a bit as he walked, but tried to play it off, “Did she say she liked me?”
“No, but she doesn’t need to. Neither do you, but as your best friend it would be nice if you told me these things.”
Wonwoo rolled his eyes, annoyed that Mingyu had made him think you had finally admitted having feelings for him.
“You two act like you’re in your own world all the time. The guys notice it, too, not just me,” Mingyu continued, “And since when do you like yellow so much?”
The question took Wonwoo so off guard that he laughed incredulously, “What?”
“She’s always giving you stuff that’s yellow. And you started wearing yellow clothes,” Mingyu pointed out. And it was true.
The first thing you had gifted him was a simple pen; it was a sunflower yellow color with black lettering etched on the side that said ‘hello, sunshine!’. He was confused when you had handed it to him that second time you hung out together to play video games. You showed up on his doorstep, telling him to close his eyes and put out his hands. When he had opened them again the pen was sat in his palms.
“What’s this for?”
“Nothing, I guess. I was at the supply store and noticed it by the check out, and I thought about you. So I got it for you. It’s cute, isn’t it?”
Wonwoo honestly had no reason to use such a pen since his day-to-day work required little writing. And most of his notes were made in his phone, but the sentiment behind your gift made his heart flutter, “It is. Thank you, _______.”
And nearly every time after then you had gifted him things similar. While at the park with him and Mingyu, you bought him a banana flavored popsicle, solely for the fact that it was yellow—and you were relieved to find out he liked the banana flavor. When you went bowling with their friends, you gave him the yellow ball and left yourself with the last one which was brown. When you went to Mingyu’s to see the two of them, you had brought them each a keychain from a new pop-up shop that was near your art studio. You gave Mingyu a red one that had a soccer ball on it while Wonwoo’s was yellow and had a sunflower on it. You had initially got it because of its color, but the flower reminded you of the day you met him, so it held even more sentiment.
And recently, Wonwoo’s favorite water bottle had broken, so while you were out shopping you had found one that was similar to it. The cap was a little different, but it had the same shape and size, and it was a golden yellow hue.
When you gave it to him, the two of you were about to leave his apartment to get some dinner at the fried chicken place down the street. You had mentioned that you had a surprise for him, then you fished the bottle out of your tote bag to show him. His heart skipped a beat and a smile crept onto his lips when he saw it.
“I know you probably won’t love it as much as your other bottle, but hopefully you still like it,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. He took it from your offering grasp and shook his head.
“I do love it,” he said.
“You can leave it here while we go eat,” you turned towards the door, pulling your bag more securely onto your shoulder. But just before you could reach for the doorknob, Wonwoo’s voice called your name, making you turn back to face him, “Hm?”
Your eyes widened when you realized he was a lot closer than you thought, just a foot or so away from you. His tall frame seemed to tower over you, causing you to have to look up at him. You could see a struggle happening behind his eyes, as if he was going back and forth in his mind trying to decide on something. You were about to question him when suddenly he leaned forward and placed a quick kiss to your cheek. The skin that he touched felt hot in his wake, the warmth spread across your face and ultimately your whole body felt heated under his gaze.
“Thank you, ________. For everything,” he spoke softly, his anxiety apparent in his tone. He averted his gaze, looking down at his hands. A bracelet that you had bought him last week was wrapped around his wrist—white beads and yellow smiley face charms decorating it. For some reason seeing the jewelry gave him the little boost of confidence he needed to ask, “Would you like to make this a date?”
Your eyes widened even further, but you couldn’t ignore the flurry of butterflies going wild inside your chest, their fluttering wings tickling your heart. Your crush on Wonwoo had started long before his crush on you had formed, but that didn’t bother you. Because you knew that he liked you now, and you couldn’t pass the opportunity to say, “Yes.”
A charming smile grew wide on his face, prompting you to grin too. Happiness bloomed inside you, and the two of you walked out of the apartment suddenly feeling shy after wordlessly admitting your feelings for each other. Despite his nerves, though, Wonwoo found the courage to take your hand in his as you walked down the sidewalk to the fried chicken place.
Along the way you pointed out some yellow canola flowers planted outside of an office building, and Wonwoo decided in that moment that he would never get tired of the color yellow. The way your face lit up when you saw it or gave him yellow-themed gifts, he would always find it cute. As far as he was concerned, the entire world could be covered in the color yellow, and he would be content just knowing it made you happy. He no longer would appreciate rain; instead, he would look forward to sunny days when the bright, yellow sunlight would remind him of you and your kind heart. Maybe yellow wasn’t his favorite color at first but, over time, it would be.
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cold nights // part eight
summary: may the odds be ever in your favour.
pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader
wc: 2.8k
masterlists / nav / requests
tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.
a/n: let the games begin!! i'm so excited (and also,, so scared)
series masterlist // playlist
The light streams through Coriolanus's window in the morning, waking him with the sun. He only has a moment of peace, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before the dread sets in; settling under his skin like a sliver.
He hurries to get dressed, letting Tigris help him with his blazer due to his shoulder injury making it necessarily difficult before he kisses his grandma'am goodbye, and they wish him (and you) good luck. They would be watching, of course, and that only served to build his anxiety as he hurried to the school.
You hardly slept for a moment the whole night. When you finally did, the sun was beginning to rise and you were woken up not long after by peacekeepers urging you back into the truck. No one had anything to say on the drive. You all knew what was coming, and the tension in the air was palpable. You felt safer with the scarf wrapped firmly around yourself and the compact in your pocket, which you run your thumb over repeatedly to try and memorize the ornate carvings on the outside. It was Coryo's, and he was with you. You couldn't forget.
As the truck slows to a stop, you take a deep breath. "The third day comes a frost, a killing frost." You mutter to yourself, turning the heads of the tributes next to you as you force yourself to your feet. "The elements be kind to thee, and make thy spirits all of comfort: fair thee well."
Your slightly louder statement is met with hateful glares by a few, ignored by others. "I can't wait to hear your last words. Freak." Coral spits at you, shoving past you as the doors of the now stopped truck are opened. You swallow thickly, catching the eyes of the little one, Wovey. You give her a smile, allowing her to walk out ahead of you. She's scared, and you can tell as you place your hands on her shoulders, soothingly rubbing them while you walk out and see the arena again.
As you're led inside, separated from Jessup, and you quickly understand what Coryo meant. Everything was different. The debris had been cleared but stacked in the center of the floor, and as you got closer, you began to see weapons littered all over the pile of rubble. The thought of what you were about to see made you sick, more so as you pushed through the familiar turnstile.
"Enjoy the show!"
Coryo is already watching as you walk out. He has been watching for you since the moment the screen shifted from the Games logo to a camera view of the entrance. And there you were. He swallowed, seeing the worsening bags under your eyes and the cut on your arm with healing black stitches. You have that much younger girl under your arms, walking her in front of you as you hold her close. You whisper something in her ear that the microphones don't pick up, which makes her smile, even just a little before you're quickly forced apart by peacekeepers.
"Stand on your marks or you will be shot!" A peacekeepers voice calls out as you feel the weapon jabbed into your back, making you wince. You find your place, looking around frantically now to try and spot the hole in the ground Coryo told you about, or maybe you should try and get up in the stands. But if you get in the tunnel quickly, even if you're being chased that will buy you a few moments where you wouldn't be seen. Maybe you could hide and not be found.
What about Jessup? Or Wovey? Your mind wanders, despite you trying to adhere to Coryo's advice. You decide that wherever you run when the bell goes off, if you saw either of them on the way you would pull them with you. If not, you would just have to keep going. You had no desire in getting close to the mess that was about to happen in the centre as soon as people got their hands on those weapons.
You thought you knew you would die in these games, but as your adrenaline starts to spike, you knew you would at least try to stay alive. Your body wouldn't let you wait for your fate to come. Originally, that had been your plan. When your name was called at the reaping, even though you had planned to run by what you wore, you intended on dropping to your knees at the sound of the buzzer and awaiting whatever fate would take you. What had changed?
Coriolanus. That's what had changed. You just regretted that you wouldn't live to know if he won his prize, and see never see him again. You had to see him again.
That's when your eyes landed on Marcus, hanging by his wrists from a beam across the room from you. "Oh..." You sigh sadly, shaking your head as you look at his state. He had tried to save you along with himself, but he hadn't succeeded and that just breaks your heart. You hear crying as tears of fear well up in your own eyes but you force them down as you hear Lucretius's voice over the loudspeakers counting down.
Only ten seconds, and you had to decide. The vent behind you was looking awfully tempting, but you weren't sure what Coryo wanted. It sounded like he preferred the tunnels, and you had to listen to him. But then, seeing the hole in the floor, you would have to make it past all the chaos and the weapons and the other tributes.
"Three... two... one..."
Then it was the buzzer, and as your heart pounded in your chest and seemingly everyone else sprinted for the middle, you were frozen. You had to move fast.
"Run." Coryo mumbles to himself, silently begging you to remember what he told you.
But you stayed still. "What are you doing, run." He says again under his breath, and it's almost like you can hear him when you start running out of nowhere.
You're already surrounded by screams and grunts as you make your way to the wall behind you, flashes of orange hardly visible under the arm holes of your dress. The vent. Apparently, you decided on the vent. As you begin to climb the debris leading up to the stands you look back to make sure you're not being followed, but among the fighting and the lifeless bodies you see Jessup. He's stumbling, then crawling, and you curse yourself for what you're about to do, but your conscience has given you no choice.
"Don't. Don't go back for him." Coryo hisses, unable to look away.
You can practically hear Coryo telling you not to in your mind, but you're already sliding back down the broken cement and looking for your safest path to the boy from your District.
His mental state had declined rapidly in the last few days, you were sure it was from infection. When you walked into the arena, he didn't even know where he was. In a sad way, that was good. At least he didn't know what was coming for him.
"Jessup!" You call out, making your run for it along the wall, sliding to a stop when something metal clangs against the cement just in front of you that someone had thrown. You don't have time to see who the source was before you keep running, determined to at least get Jessup somewhere hidden.
Coryo is on the edge of his seat as he watches the close call, unable to relax even when their next couple of attempts miss as well. You were far from safe- you were making a mistake and all he could do was watch it happen. You couldn't run alongside the wall forever, so as you departed from it in a beeline for your friend, he holds his breath.
"Jessup!" You call again, trying to attract his attention but it doesn't work. You quickly duck when you hear a scream just to your right, seeing someone's form winding up to swing at you.
You yelp and stumble back as their weapon just catches the top of your hair, pulling it slightly as your dodge just out of their reach. The dirty ground was near impossible to run on, forcing them to slide past you over the dust under their feet. You keep moving even as another flying weapon in your shared direction distracts them.
You have to keep going. You reach Jessup as quickly as you can, trying to lift him up to his feet with a grip under his arms. "Jessup, come on, we have to go. We have to run, get up!" He stumbles to his feet and with an arm over your shoulder, you're running for the tunnels. You're being chased, you can hear it- Coral and her alliance that you had tried to join at Coryo's request but never got the chance, not that they would have approved anyway. You jump feet first into the opening in the ground, not worried about what's at the bottom as you roll down the debris that previously made up the floor above.
"Come on, come on!" You urge your friend again, once again helping him up and dragging him down the hall. There had to be a place to hide here somewhere; Coryo said there would be.
"They've gone underground very quickly, but we're prepared for this." Lucky says, but Coryo isn't paying any attention to anything other than you.
"Go, go, go..." He mutters, nodding as he watches the cameras switch to keep up with you.
Just as you finally find a door, you see others running toward you from down the hall. You pull helplessly at it, hoping it will open. It doesn't. With nowhere to go you look back, knowing you can't go that way either. "Open! Please!" You cry out, shaking the handle of the heavy metal door and kicking it in frustration.
Except, you miss. Your foot seemingly goes through the door, smacking your shin against it and you hiss. There's a hole in the door, just big enough for you to fit through. "Jessup, we've gotta go through. Come on! Hurry!" You urge him, already halfway through yourself.
Thankfully, he's right behind you. You quickly turn to help pull him through when his ankle gets grabbed.
You scream in a moment of panic, desperately pulling on his arms to try and help him up. Hy is who you quickly identify as the tribute holding him back, but luckily they aren't holding any kind of weapon. "Stop! Stop!" You cry out, pulling on your friend as you look around the room for somewhere else to run.
Their grip only loosens when they scream, lifelessly dropping their grip from the boy as he gets up and their body is dragged back through the hole in the door. You don't have time to process how gruesome that was, quickly hiding behind a wall across the room.
"Hey, Lumberjack." You hear Coral whispering from the other side. "Get in there and get her out."
"I'm not sticking my head in there." Treech replies, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. "She could be waiting with a brick."
"That softy? She's not gonna hurt you! Let's just get them out of the way!"
"Then you do it."
A moment of silence follows before she replies. "Whatever. They have to come out eventually."
Coryo swallows as he watches them walk away. For now, you were safe.
"Okay, Jessup, take a seat..." You whisper to him after a good few moments, sure the other tributes had left by now. He nods, and you help him down, leaning back against the cold wall as you crouch in front of him. "I have to go, okay?"
He looks confused. "Where are you going? The mines..."
"We're not in the mines, Hun..." You remind him, gently pulling his coat tighter around him in some effort to keep him warm. "I just have to go, but you'll be safe down here. You just have to wait it out."
He nods, but he clearly doesn't understand. "Wait... wait for what?"
"A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for the king..." You hum, smiling sadly at him. "I'll see you soon, okay?"
Jessup just nods as you stand, heading back for the door. You have to make it to those vents. Coryo would want you alone, and with Jessup safe enough down here, you had to move on. You look back at him, only briefly, trying to remember the last time you would ever see the boy from your home when your eyes catch on a hatch in the ceiling. The vents.
You walk back over, looking up and squinting to see how you could get in. There's a steady-looking pipe that runs underneath it, but you can't quite reach it.
You're reaching into your top without looking away, pulling out the tucked-in knot of the scarf and untying it. Coryo's handiwork.
"Has she... Has she been wearing that this whole time? Is that allowed?" Lucky asks, looking around but no one has any answers. Except Coriolanus, who would not be responding anyway. You pull it out from under your dress as he watches the screen, smiling to himself as you throw the fabric up over the pipe and use it to hoist yourself up and disappear into the vent. He couldn't see you anymore, but he hoped no one else would find you in there either.
It would be hours before he saw you again. Everyone's attention is drawn at first by Lamina climbing out from inside the debris, heading toward Marcus as he hung from the fallen beam. Then, to Coryo's surprise, the camera flits over to you as the vent is pushed open and you poke your head out. How you had made it up into the stands was beyond him, but the vents must have led you there.
You wince at the loud creaking sound it makes, making Lamina turn quickly toward you. You hold your hands out defensively as you step out, nodding at her in a silent promise before you climb down the wall. "I won't hurt you." You verbally reassure her as you slowly get closer, hands still held out in front of you to prove to her that you don't have any weapons. She did, but you weren't scared.
The scarf is tied around your waist, the long fabric draping down and brushing the side of your bare leg with every step. You were covered in dust and dirt, Coryo notices, as you stop next to her. "Are you going to help him down?" You ask her, and she just nods, both of you looking up at him.
"Let me help." You offer, making your way over to the side of the beam where you think you could climb up. "Marcus, Honey, we're going to help you down, okay? Just try and relax. It'll just be another minute." You call out, but you're met with no response. Your brow furrows, unsure if he's even alive as you climb the rest of the way up.
"Marcus?" You ask, crawling across the beam and leaning over him as you hear Lamina climbing up behind you. You reach down to check his pulse, and you're met with one that's very faint. "Marcus, you'll be okay. We're gonna help." You tell him again and he opens his eyes, turning his head just slightly to look up at you.
"Please..." He mutters, voice raspy and pained.
"I know, I know... Just give us a minute."
"No... Don't..." He coughs out, shaking his head with tears in his eyes. "Please..."
And then you know what he means. You look back at Lamina as she sits behind you, shaking your head as tears well up in your eyes. You can't kill him, you just can't- but if that is his wish...
She looks between the two of you, giving you a slight nod. You can't even look at the axe you know is still in her hand.
You move over to his other side, reaching out to hold his hand in your shaking one.
Coryo wants to look away from the screen but he can't. His eyes are glued to you as tears fall, and you lean down to speak to the dying boy. "Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality." You tell him quietly, a sad smile on your face. "Know that you are loved. And know that I am sorry."
He chokes out a sob as Lamina moves his shirt away from his neck, looking to you as she lifts her axe. You squeeze his hand and nod at her. "You are loved. I love you. I am sorry. I love you." You remind him over and over, wanting the last thing he hears to be a reminder of the truth, but by the end, by the time Lamina brings her axe down against his skin, you're just praying he could hear your words through your cries.
As Coryo watches your donations tick up even further, you and the girl you are meant to kill are crying into each other's arms, Marcus's body limp on the ground beneath you.
#tbosas#tbosas fic#tbosas x reader#hunger games#thg series#thg fanfiction#thg#the hunger games#thg movies#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus x you#coryo x reader#coryo snow#snow x reader#snow lands on top
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Small But Surprisingly Sturdy: Vanguard Veo Adapter 24M Review
Looking to pack light? Try this compact bag.
The Vanguard Veo Adapter 24M is a camera bag for minimalists. The 4.1-liter bag can snugly house a compact mirrorless and one to three lenses, or a small drone like DJI’s Mini series. But, there’s more than meets the eye with this compact bag, starting with an $89 price tag.
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your beauty never ever scared me - eddie munson x reader
part ii of i'm not in love
🎧.˳⁺⁎ summary: unfortunately, you and eddie haven't been talking for months since the incident, but lately fate has other plans when he went missing the morning after you saw him.
⋆ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
⋆ warning: 18+ mdni, exes to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, angst, slight swearing, slow burn, a lot of yearning, make-up sex, p in v, grinding, half-assed dialogue, miss author loves to describe her surroundings a little too much
⋆ wc: 7005
⋆ a/n: thank you sm for reading my first eddie fic! i truly appreciate the support from the previous one, and as promised, here's part 2 ♡ my writing may got a little rusty since i got busy, but i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i had fun writing it :> (taglist still a work in progress)
“We’re in the Forest Hills trailer park in east Roane County. We don’t have a lot of details as of now, but we can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning. Police have not released the name although we are told they’re currently in the process of notifying the family.”
With a mustard-yellow envelope in hand, your local school’s name blared from the compact tv, which surprises you from the latest. The flickering lights of the old printing shop made the place seem like a sullen hospital hallway, other than the presence of sunlight creeping in through the screen entrance doors. The news was always on from the small television set, stationed far high up against the gray striped walls. You've become a frequent visitor to the shop—befriending other photographers and travelers who needed physical prints from their out-of-the-country expeditions. It’s a welcoming shop despite other unpleasant aspects, but once the news is on, everyone gathers to listen in.
“We also don’t know yet if foul play was involved. But whatever has occurred here is sure to touch a nerve across Hawkins.”
“Must’ve been Munson's kid for sure." You snap your head back at the owner, who's busy stamping piles of business papers behind the counter. You plop your coin purse down on the wooden surface, separating silver coins from the bronzes. “How much?” The disgruntled tone in your voice receives a snark, which slows him down from important paperwork to check the number of coins you brought out so far.
“Hey, aren’t you a senior from that school? Then you might've seen Eddie from Forest Hills. Y’know, the one on the news.” Your ears flare up in heat at the careless assumption. Warmth boils into the hearth of your stomach when you slam your camera bag on the counter, making other customers perk up at the sudden aggression. “How much of your bickering do I have to take before you let me pay for my photos, Mr. Owens? If you need my opinion about Munson’s kid, then so be it. I’ll tell you one thing.”
Oh, where to start? At the top of your head, you could only remember the little things. The small intricate details of his chaotic, yet wildly interesting canvas; all splashed in his favorable paints of red and black. Eddie used to draw on you under oak trees. Instead of carving his initials onto the barks of a tree, he would rather write his name messily on your forearm.
The tingling sensation was vividly unforgettable from the marker’s tips, to his gentle fingers guiding your skin to mark you his special spot. You have the keys to his sacred collection of metal-rock records, which he doesn't mind; sometimes, he'd stick pink post-it notes onto your favorite Ozzy albums to play the tunes extensively before you bother to knock on his bedroom door.
The same Munson kid who'd read you lore books in his bed, all cuddled up beside you with his curls tangled up around your shoulders. His showcased dimples, his hoarse morning voice, and the soft kisses between your laughs. You applied for the first four shifts on Scoops to secretly buy him a camera for his new club poster, which you've quit after you saved up enough money to purchase a standard model at Starcourt. You kept the package stashed inside your closet, waiting for the day to witness the gleeness on Eddie’s face when it’s finally his.
From the ground up, the soles of your feet weigh heavier on your legs as the shop’s customers wait for an outburst, yet guilt turns down the anguish too quickly.
Before Mr. Owens opens his mouth, you set down a random assortment of coins then storm out past the door’s angelic chimes, getting lighter on your feet as you lead yourself far away from the shop. As you unclasp the parking chains of your bike, the photographs fall out of the half-open envelope, letting most of the photos scatter clumsily on the rough gravel. You curse under your breath when you tie the stack around an elastic band, but paused when Eddie’s photograph faced you on top of the others; the monochromes perfectly forming a certain clarity to his Hellfire shirt and the curls on top of his hair. As much as you want to study his face, you instinctively press the picture down the side pockets of your jeans, then carefully place the envelope inside the bike basket before you take off on the long winding road.
The pedals of your metallic bike screech on the rocky pavements, the pitch hurting your ears as you set your foot down on the road to halt the tires. The quietness of the streets doesn’t feel right to you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you want to stop by the movie store to listen to Steve bicker for hours rather than the news at home. Before Starcourt mall was destroyed out-of-the-blue, you used to work shifts with them at Scoops, fondly reminiscing the times when you ate left-over ice cream with Erica between breaks, witnessing Steve’s flirtatious customer services with Robin, and the ridiculous navy blue sailor uniforms you have to wear for work. You stop in your tracks when you catch sight of the familiar colored bikes parked in front of the family video store. You perk your head up towards the glass-paneled windows to see your previous co-workers, alongside Dustin and Max busily typing on a computer.
“I never said that!”
“Seriously, you guys, maybe on a Monday you can play around, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day. Oh hey, Y/N.” The bells of the entrance door jingle behind you as you lean on the counter, helping Robin arrange a variety of sci-fi VHS tapes. “Robin, I empathize but this cannot wait.” Max nods towards you while Dustin mindlessly scribbles on his cork board. “Aren't you supposed to be at school right now?” A teasing smirk forms at the corners of your lips as Steve frowns disappointedly at the intrusion.
From the counter's bottom shelves, Robin places a laminated sign on the registrar beside you, muttering a small thank you when you finish setting up the tapes. “Calling Eddie’s friends is an emergency?”
Unease seeps into the air you breathe, taking whatever little strength you have from the printing shop into nothing. Every fragment of the case reminds you of the life you used to know—the shot of his trailer park on the tv, the association of the Munson name, and now what seems like an Eddie investigation case instigated by Dustin. Was it all just a coincidence? A really, really bad one?
“Can you fill them in while I do this?” Now it was Dustin’s turn to peak frustration, facing Max as she shifted her gaze to the three of you, waiting for a thorough explanation. “Fill us in on what?” Out of instinct, the knuckles of your fist pop with your clenches; your heart palpitates aggressively inside your chest. “Please, Max.” You whisper worryingly, completely frozen in your spot.
Keyboards clackle through the overbearing silence as Max recounted yellow police tapes, Chrissy Cunningham, and Eddie Munson himself, who fled from the scene this morning. Dustin asks the four of you to look into his close contacts and call every name on the list. A few minutes later, you manage to write their names on the back of crumpled receipt scraps, then dial their numbers on one of their work telephones—most of them unavailable.
Hesitancy hinders you from saying his name on the first phone call. Hearing yourself say it for the first time curls the tiny hairs on your skin. But one phone call after another, your internal fears creep away from your genuine words; the callers asked in some instances if you’re a close friend of his rather than a sick prank call, which is a definite plus. “Hey, guys, I might have a lead.” Everyone turns back on their seats, lending their ears to hear what Max has to say. “Apparently, Eddie gets drugs from some guy named Reefer Rick, and sometimes Eddie crashes there.”
After an interesting argument between the two friendly gentlemen, Robin was able to find Reefer's account when she checked the computer systems to track down the infamous drug dealer. “That’s out by Lover’s Lake.” The satisfaction on everyone’s faces was a feat in itself; a drizzle of hope. The tightness inside your chest eases momentously, yet bits of dread pinch you still as a board. “It’s a perfect place to hide.” Robin stood from her seat and went to look for her keys, while Dustin and Max walked around the counter to grab their bags. When the last customer exited the store, Steve and Robin made some last-minute shelving checks before each and every one of you took off to Reefer Rick’s house accompanied in Steve’s car.
The mast of darkness enveloped your line of sight except for their flashlights, slashing the dusty particles in the air. Frayed leaves crunch under the soles of your sneakers, while you tower behind Robin, who was busy checking behind the foggy windows of the house. You left them to examine the rustling sounds behind the bushes, until your eyes caught sight of the shack near the lake, seemingly abandoned in its rusty state.
“Hey, guys?” Max’s light blinded your eyes as you turned around, the other three walking towards you. The shy winds cradled your skin, seeping through the thin fabrics of your flannel when your figures neared the shack.
Everything about this place felt like it was pulled out of a camp horror movie, or maybe you were just too scared of the dark. “Hello? Is anyone home?” Her voice permeated the large empty space as she walked in, mostly filled with boat equipment and carpentry tools. You observed with great caution, careful not to touch anything in the oily containers. “What are you doing?” Dustin reprimanded when Steve stabbed a random tarp with his oar, the sound of scratched plastic almost caught you off-guard. “He might be in here.” Steve kept on jostling the rowing stick onto the blue tarp, and you swear you could've taken that thing from his hands right now.
“Don’t worry. Steve will get him with his oar.”
“I know you think you’re being funny, Henderson. But considering almost everyone has nearly died a hundred times, personally, I don’t find it funny in the slightest–” In a flash, metal chains clanged the ceiling’s grasp as you stood back, accidentally tripping on a bucket of half-lidded paints, staining your clothes in the process. Quick, heavy footsteps thumped loudly on the wood while Robin wrapped her arms around you, helping you get up from the red puddle beneath you.
You sway unsteadily in her arms; utter shock loomed over your bare features as familiar patches caught your line of sight. A terrible sound reverberated through the steels of the shack when Steve's back was slammed hard against the wall, his chin cornered with a shard. “Woah, woah, woah, Eddie! Eddie! Stop!” Dustin’s shouts hindered the attack. Steve was squirming under his hold, ready to defend himself at any given moment. “It’s me. It’s Dustin. This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you, right, Steve?” Eddie casted Steve a murderous look while he nodded. “Steve, why don’t you drop the oar?” Steve groaned when Eddie clenched his fists on the shirt material, the oar clattering loudly to the ground.
“What are you doing here?” The tremble on his final word heightened your drawing sadness, the firmness in his voice faltering slowly. “We’re here to help.” Robin spoke up beside you, which made Eddie turn around. Despite the growing panic that crossed the room, his brown eyes managed to find yours in a magnetic instant, his gaze troubled and confused. “Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin from band.” Robin awkwardly imitated her trumpet-playing just to get the picture of what she does on the bench. “This is my friend Max. The one who never wants to play D&D.” Max quickly waved with her flashlight in hand; worrying looks streaked her face as she watched Steve struggle under Eddie’s grasp. The short introductions seemed to fly past him, his unreadable stares lingered on your skin like a cord. “And Y/N, our school’s photographer. She was with us the other night."
"Eddie, we’re on your side. I swear on my mother! Right, guys?” All heads nodded in unison, including Steve’s, who was still held at a critical point. The suspenseful seconds washed away when Eddie finally let go of Steve, then slowly walked towards the other side of the room to lean against the wall, shaken and terrified. The messy tangles of his hair, the unkemptness of his clothes, and traces of his fear weakened you to the bone. Such grief binded you to him, an unspoken mutuality that you cannot explain for the simplest of causes. The same laid-out causes you’re afraid to face; the same old half-spoken truths that wreaked havoc on your miserable fates. Unfortunately, the deepest cuts are still there, distantly shared in all its glory, bleeding for all the times you’ve spent apart.
“We just want to know what happened.”
“You won’t believe me.” Eddie’s sniffles broke down while everyone gathered around him, careful not to get inside his personal bubble. Your shoes screeched on the pattern of paints you left behind as you stood closely, sharing this newfound silence.
“Try us.”
The winds howled at the heavy curtains flinging past the white edges of the shack’s small windows. Everything you knew about the town, the world, changed at a shocking note. The horrors of the recounted scene paralyzed him; Chrissy’s death now a daunting reminder of his cowardice. All you could do was nod and listen, clinging onto every word.
You both shared a look while he described the grotesque encounter, hoping that he’d get the comforting message through the lenses of your eyes. “I…I didn’t know what to do, so I…I ran away. I left her there.” You shifted your gaze, not knowing what to make of this. There was a certain willingness in you, a plea to switch places with him, take his pain as your own. The sight of his aching guilt unfurled your inner clenches, fist deep into the ugly remainders of the past. You kept to yourself for the whole evening while Dustin explained the ultimatum of their situation, which surprisingly wasn’t the first time it has ever happened to them. You and Eddie were the only ones who didn’t know much of it, unaware of the interdimensional beings that roamed somewhere in their world.
“Someone should stay with Eddie. Guard the place till morning.” Robin groaned at the suggestion, who abruptly stopped before the exit way. Arms crossed and a few meters away, Steve sent you a knowing look, a signal you've familiarized yourself with since you knew him.
You and Steve have very similar childhoods: neglected, half-spoilt, parents on business trips and a home mostly occupied for rowdy parties and formal gatherings. That’s a look of a guy who wanted you to stay; a friend who used to be so jealous of your precious freedom, now taking it as his perfect advantage. “I have plans for tonight, Henderson. And Robin has curfew, which leaves…” This was not the first time you wanted to punch him. Steve is an achiever with his wrong timings. But they didn’t know. Still, it’s a bad idea. You couldn’t imagine yourself staying the night with Eddie in Reefer Rick’s house, after everything he’s been through. He loathes you, and he definitely should. You want him to hate you, so you could stop—
“Fine, I’ll stay. You guys better be careful, okay?” All your personal deflections sinked down miraculously, reminding yourself that not everything revolves around your own thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, this could be a decent step forward. To what, you don’t know yet. After a few pats on the back and a couple of goodnights’, you walked back to the quiet shack with your head hung low, so low that someone could mistake you for a Christmas candy cane. The door creaked scarily as you pushed it open, your careful eyes darting to Eddie’s figure, who was tucked under the uncomfortable tarp, lying down sideways on the boat. His eyes were puffy red, his cheeks clearly dried up from the tears. You cautiously placed your duffel bag on the nearest makeshift table, putting aside the crumpled-up cans and sneaker bars on its tethering edges.
“Did you forget something?” You turned around to see Eddie sitting on the edge of the boat, slurping his new can of beer. His fixated stare had a clutch on you, your guarded front crumbling to cements. “No. I’m staying over.” You swear you could hear him gulp loudly, then to make matters worse, choked and coughed on his drink. The colors of his face turned beet-red when he placed his can on another indescribable pile. He clapped his knees when he stood up from the edge, and slowly made his way towards you, eyeing the red stains on your shirt. “It gets really cold past windy hours. We should head back to the house.”
You’ve never been inside Reefer Rick’s home before, but it seems like Eddie knew the place so well as much as his own. As soon as you walked inside, the constriction of your arms mellowed with the homely warmth, despite the history of the house. A loud thumping sound from the other room pulled you out of your thoughts, making you run towards the source. “Shit, shit, shit.” Eddie hopped on one foot while he placed the right amount of pressure on the other one to numb the pain, whispering more curses under his breath once he felt your presence kneeling close to him.
"This is a nightmare." Eddie winced at the searing pain from his foot, closing his eyes as you untangled his shoelaces to loosen the tightness of their rubber straps. He's terribly overwhelmed—intoxicated from the number of beers he had drank; adding to that Dustin's greatest revelation ever known to mankind. Your fingers slightly brushed his freezing knuckles once you took his shoe off, wiggling it easily off to the side.
"Why are you helping me?" His voice sighed through his curtain of dark curls, the air from his direct lips punctuating all your senses at once. You glanced up at him with your mouth slightly apart, taking in his daring brown eyes, the faded rashes from his cheeks and every delicate crease lining his rough features.
"Because you're hurt." You bit your tongue before you could say any more. Eddie slouched in his position; his shoulders stooped smaller than an inch as he reached for his toes. “I’m fine now. Thanks.” It took him a few seconds to stand, struggling to bend his heel. “Wait, let me just.” Your hand managed to wrap itself around his leather sleeves to firmly guide his balance. With no other choice, he accepted your offer and was finally able to hold his ground. In a fleeting moment, you noticed Eddie glancing at your fingers for a bit longer than usual, until he willfully pulled it back to his side.
“I…you should…there are clothes upstairs. You better change.” Before you could answer him, he swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the house, leaving with multiple questions running through your mind all at once. You don’t know how to feel. In some parts, you feel angry for deceiving him with your cut-off reasons. Other times, his closeness has washed you anew, despite how miniscule or scarce it's been shown.
The stairs creaked under your feet as you stomped on the steps, tiptoeing around unlaundered socks clinging on the corners of the stairwell. You made sure to close the windows and shut the drapes before you change in one of the unsettled rooms. The chilly air tickled your skin, the coolness rubbing onto you like smooth fragrant soap.
You took off your shirt and noticed that the paint solidified itself onto the fabric; the dampness no longer felt. As you rubbed off the flakes with your thumb, your bare arms tingle and flush at a certain presence in the room, making you look.
Your bra tightly wrapped itself around your plumper regions, flustering on his watchful gaze. You never thought it possible that the swelling heat would graze itself with the coldness of your shoulders; an arson of confliction and raging want. Your body screams for his length, his space, his missing piece; an incomplete puzzle you gracefully memorized by heart.
He couldn’t move in his place, paralyzed in a Medusa-like trance, carefully taking in the laces of your bra straps, the wisps of hair tickling the nape of your neck, and the slow heaving motions of your chest. Your numb fingers accidentally dropped the shirt on the floor, which made you pick it up; the denims of your waist tightened around the archness of your back. Unbeknownst to you, Eddie can’t stop looking at the pads of your bra, perfectly cupping your breasts like a housewarming basket. You coughed once you finally retrieved the fallen fabric from the floor, then hurriedly put on the blue button down from the bed as Eddie returned normally.
The silver rims of his watch glistened as he placed a stack of folded blankets on the edge of the mattress, whiffing the strands of hair out of his face. The doe outlines of his eyes waited for you to finish buttoning up, before he could start hearing himself. “I’ll be sleeping in the room next to yours. If you need anything, just…” You felt the creases of your cuffs bend as his gaze traveled down the plumpness of your lips to the shining flecks in your eyes. “Knock."
His adam's apple bobbed through the skin of his throat while he played with one of his rings, then glanced at you for a slither of a moment, before he turned his back on you to leave. The door was slightly ajar when he left, spiking your fallible tendency to take it as a secret hint; a hidden letter on a scrabble. You sighed as you pulled the blankets over your head, concealing whatever door your delusions barged into.
Even when you’re covered in the most comforting of quilts that any man in the cold could have asked for, it can’t shield you from the fact that you don’t want him to be alone. Your sides longed for its match, an exerting piece, willing to complete you like a sacred locket. It pains you to see him that way, to see him try to be so strong for everyone and seamlessly make sure that you feel comfortable around the house.
As his walls are crumbling down, all you could do was just sit there and watch like a knight who can’t do anything to fight off his dragons. Since the moment you saw him, defeated and ashamed, you want to take him in his arms and hold him until the entanglements of his suffering looped off its clots. It’s not enough that you’re just here. You have to do something, anything to be there for him.
The worthless feeling tossed and turned inside you, churning your organs like whipped dough. Before you know it, your legs brushed the sides of the bed, then you paced out of the room with your blanket in hand. Every step gets heavier and heavier as you near the room, but your insistence didn’t stop you from trying. Your knuckles knocked on the door’s timbres while you tiptoed, your feet getting sweaty from the nerves.
In less than a second, Eddie opens the door, and you rush inside without a word. The moonlight cascaded the lines of your shadows as you stood there, your shoulders raised and your breaths quickened. The feelings you tried to conceal broke from its cages when you turned around to face him, his beautiful brown eyes widening at the tears streaming down your cheeks.
His brows furrowed in contemplation as he watched you curiously, checking the door’s metal knobs then onto you in passive strides.
"I can't sleep."
"What are you doing?"
No one hears the other with the simultaneous blurt-outs, which later proceed through the tunnels of silence. Your voices echoed the room even without the possibility of its reach to do so, with the walls not being high as it is. "I can sleep in the other room if you want."
"That's not what I want." The lump on your throat hinders you from speaking in a normal manner. Mentally, you're holding onto a steady rail with the height of your emotions, but unfortunately it's too difficult for you to even look at him; to be near his presence; to be seen by him. "I'll sleep downstairs, then."
"No, stay." Eddie stops twisting the door knob in his hand, frozen in his spot. His stare was still avoidant, yet the sides of his body were awaiting more of an answer. "You can sleep here. Pretend I'm not even in this room, or any place at all in the house." The flash of hurt in Eddie's eyes made you want to roll your words back at the tip of your tongue and swallow it in the depths of your throat. You hate to admit it—and you swear you'd rather go back in time to change it—but you've implied another thing to what you said.
"Well I'm not sleepy either, so." After a quick glance from his watch, he locks the door and waits for you to go to bed, but you don't. All you can hear is the ticking of the clock, the brushing trees surrounding the lake house, and the tiny cracks beneath your toes. Whatever strength you mustered outside inflated in an instant, melting like the icicles under the summer sun. You don't know how to act around him anymore, or imagine yourself in the same room as him. Eddie knows you so well—too well in fact—that you won't come here uninvited without an important reason. The fate of this unfinished business is up to you now, and how he's going to handle it will be etched into your dreams forever.
“I’m not here to ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.” The lids of his eyes flutter down to his feet when you speak; your voice raspy yet firm in truth. “But I want you to listen to me. I need you to listen, before…you try to run away from me again.” Memories from last summer rolled into the screens of your mind like an old camera reel; every scene heart-wrenching and scarred like a broken mirrorball.
“Please, don’t start.” Eddie tears his eyes away from the floor to look at you, his hurtful expression displayed massively.
"When can you let me? Everyday, I visit your trailer and you're not there. I go to school, I see you and you brush me off like a stranger. Is this really how it's going to be from now on between us? Merely strangers?"
You can feel your crumpled heart curl to see him so stoic; unreachable and tall with his spiky walls of avoidance.
"Okay, fine. Now's your chance. Look, my day hasn't been going well for me lately. And I appreciate your sincerest participation to stay with me today, but please, please, please do not bring that up."
"You barely let me finish five sentences."
"Well I don't want to hear it, okay! I don't need to hear any more, because I know." Eddie clenches his fists, then lets it go shakily to calm himself. What could he have known? He's no mind reader, yet you're finding it hard to shake away the fraying nerves engulfing your entire body. "You don't know. It's not all that simple. No matter how hard I try, it still sounds so stupid." Stupid is just an above-the-surface term to the careless path of thought candy you left behind. You'd rather throw yourself to some pack of hungry wolves than be in the dumbest situation you unknowingly put yourself in.
"No, no, you're right. It's stupid. But you know what's even crazier? I used to believe that there's…more to this. I don't know about your intentions about the whole thing, but I bet it's never similar to mine." His staggering words struck you like arrows in a battlefield, and you can barely dodge every single one of them without a breather. The realization of his hidden insecurities flowed out of his tiny box and into the clutch of your hand; not having an ounce of an idea on whether or not to keep it in your palms or stash it somewhere else.
"Then tell me." You take a step forward as your curious gaze pinned itself onto the brown streaks of his irises. Your footsteps wake his tired features and his shoulders straighten in a jagged line when you stand a few feet away from him. Your shadows mingle with his as the dotted lights of the moonlit sky brighten in all its celestial beauty, wishing that the night will end in much better terms.
"I see the way everyone looks at me, and I know all my precious nicknames to heart. The freak who repeated high school twice, the Kirk Hammett wannabe, that one scary dude who heavily worships the devil. My friends would tease me about you, and it has always been 'poor you dating ugly old me'. And deep inside, I know you're ashamed to be with a guy like me. To be smothered with my ugliness, to be with a loner who plays guitar in the middle of the woods, to be with a guy who couldn't tie his shoelaces properly.” You kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say. Your quiet reaction kept him going.
“Deep in my bones, I hoped for more than just a summer thing. We agreed for an expiration date, but I didn't…I don't want summer to end for us. Never at all." Time seemed to stop with every pouring word, coated with the ultimate belief that only says one thing: he wants this as much as you do.
“All this time, you've been avoiding me because of what the town thinks of us? Well, to hell with them.” His eyes flickered into yours, carefully releasing his tightened fist to center his attention on you. Focused yet bewildered, he examines the shine of your hair, your slightly quivering lips, and the folds of the blue button-down loosely hugging your waist. Breath against breath, you inhaled through the compacts of your chest, letting your anger flow down into a peaceful stream.
"Look, I was also scared. I'm just…used to being treated invisibly by people I know. I barely see my family for the holidays, my friends don't care about me, and my past relationships weren't entirely the best on the scales of 'healthy'. But with you, everything just tipped over for me." You exhale through your lungs when you finish, but the discontinuity urges you to speak more. Let it all out.
"You see me like no other. You spoil me with your special post-it notes, the small private concerts in your room and your sheets of handwritten lyrics that reminded you of me. The little things..you just..you're perfect. There was never a time when I felt scared of you. You never ever scared me, Eddie. You're too beautiful to even fit the category.”
You’ve never called him beautiful before; never through a spoken word nor from a small written paragraph. The sound ringed and reverberated in the most natural of notions; not from the voices in your head, nor from any intrusive thought, rather from the farthest extent of your feelings. The quiet distance pulled you into him, a vacuum of bodies questioning the unreadable space you immersefully share.
A small tear trickled from the wetness of your lids when you blinked in his touch. His calloused palms cup the wetness of your cheeks, occupying your vision with his blurry thumb. Your fingertips travel the construction of his shirt, caressing the warmth of his linen folds.
In a flicker of a moment, you tilt your head slightly as he gently grazes his fingers to the nape of your neck, his features softened. “You think I'm beautiful?” He whispers thoughtfully, completely enamored with the crinkle of your eyes when you conjure up a pleasing smile. The shadows of his hair envelop your line of sight as you examine his collarbones closely, tugging the fabrics of his shirt bashfully towards you. Your daring eyes locks into his, almost like a secret confirmation, drawing him near you in a ready invitation.
Nothing in the world could ever prepare you beforehand when you feel his lips crash into yours, his plumpness blending your chapness. His dark curls tickle your face when he sinks deeper into your ravenous kiss, gently nibbling on your bottom lip. The momentum was extraordinary, and you missed every rhythm with so much longing. You grin against his toothy smile when he steadily pushes you to the bed, covering your whole waist with his large palms.
“God, I miss this.” He mutters in between kisses as your hands sneak under the hems of his Hellfire shirt, making him shudder blissfully under his breath. He bites onto the side of your neck as a subtle punishment, then licks on the same spot to lessen the ting. Eddie pulls back to marvel at his handiwork designating the base of your neck, showcasing his wonderful set of cheek dimples you love so much. You gently press your thumb around the lobes of his ear, brushing the tangles away from the sides of his face. Your knees graze the hardened fabric between his pant legs, carefully playing with your movements while he grunts against your ups and downs.
He stares at you disappointedly when you stop, but as soon as you straddle on top of him, he grins widely like a child in Charlie's chocolate factory. Your fingers grasp his shoulders as he unzips your jeans in a flourish, then slowly slides his light fingers between the hip of your panties. His hungry lips left your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses down to your gasping collarbones and the line of buttons covering your eagerness. Your nipples tingle as he unbuttons your top then pecks the warm skin underneath your breasts, softly caressing the other with his rough palms.
His teases throw you in a whirlwind of pleasure and havoc, completely ruining your well-moderate facade for the whole evening. Careful not to break his legs, you pull your denims down to your ankles, which he tossed in the corner of the room. With a starving look in his eyes, his hands squeezes your bare thighs, then slowly sneaks his ringed fingers under your panties to clench your ass cheeks. You groan against his ear, thrilling you to bounce on top of him, his length throbbing under your wetness. “Give it to me, Eddie.” Your breath fan warmly against his upper lip while you unbuckle his belt, the coldness of the metal channeling your inner impatient wants. He leans his forehead against yours as he lays you down on the sheets, kissing you passionately on the lips before he hurriedly takes off his garments, the sight intensifying the indescribable heat going through your body.
A flock of butterflies dances inside you when you catch sight of the tattoos stationed on his chest, the light hairs on his forearm and the feel of his rough happy trails against your flabs. The warmth of his cock strokes your half-open folds, his pinkish tip slithering under your sensitive clit. Faded stars cascaded your vision once he finally slid his hardness inside of you, your nails pinning his upper back.
Your legs wrap itself around his waist as he slowly shoves his cock in your tightened grasp, your mind going hazy from the largeness. The pain of the surprise all went away when his fingers intertwined yours, leaving sloven kisses on the crook of your neck down to your shoulder. His head of hair nuzzles the pillow close to your ear as his delicious pattern of slams continues to rise above its peak.
It’s incredible how every push tears you apart in a good way. A shameful gasp left your lips as his thumb flicks your clit in circular motions, while his cock monstrously devours your insides. Beads of sweat trickle down your forehead when your inner thighs stretch at his extensive motions, getting bigger than the next. He raises his head to look at you, grinning from ear to ear, happily taking in the pleasurable strokes on your face.
“Cum with me, okay?” In between breaths, he gently places his calloused palm on your cheek, his hips quickening against the crinkled sheets. You stare back at him and nod, feeling the pressure of his cock harden stickily around your walls. His tangled curls tumble down the space between your fingertips while you reach out for him, setting in the downcast flutter in his eyes. He deeply groans at how his cock effortlessly glides and withdraws from your pussy; a slippery slope that’s impossible to contain himself with.
Like a force of lightning, he leans his chest forward, pouring himself on your lower abdomen and splaying his cum on your stomach. Quickly, he bounces out of bed and retrieves some tissues from the bathroom to clean you up. You sat up limply from the bed to take the tissues, but instead he wipes the fresh cum off your chest with great concentration. You’ve never seen him behave so nervously before. He was patting you dry like he spilled coffee all over your most favorite shirt.
“I don’t know what went over me.” He chuckles softly as he crumples the last tissue in his hand, throwing it in a bin closer to the door. You let your hip rest on his bended knee, calming the nerves coursing through his trembling figure. “You don’t have to know.” A small, reassuring smile creep the corners of your lips, resting your palm on top of his knee.
A gust of wind sweeps the flailing orange curtains, silkily brushing your skin like smooth ribbon. “All I know is,” He whispers softly in the small space between the two of you, your bent wrist kept in close contact with his fingertips.
“You find me beautiful.” The teasing hint in his voice liquifies your insides, his restlessness fading with your inability to look at him straight. His coffee brown eyes follow the direction of your fingers on his curly ends, then the plumpness of your thighs. “The prettiest.” He lunges forward with his arms wrapped around you, crushing you in a passionate kiss. Carefully, he pulls his arms away from the pressure of your back, then rests his elbows on the disorganized sheets, caging your vision with his heavy fixture.
Every little thing he does transfixes you to a thrilling paralysis. Nature fades at the sight of him, surpassing your high observant tolerances for your surroundings. He’s like a blinding light, the afternoon sun, and a white flashlight in a darkened room.
Most of your days started to revolve around him the moment he shone on that stage with his band in middle school—battling his heart out to the music and the good impression of the judges. The admiration has always been about him, and he doesn’t know that you did for a very long time. The gods of fate swept at your feet when you encountered him on the second week of freshman year, pinning Hellfire recruitment posters on the school’s cork board.
It used to be a silly little crush, ridiculous with no strings attached, but through the passage of time, you realized that it was more than what you believed it to be. You cradled into his chest, taking in his familiar scent and the steady, heaving motions of his stomach. All night, you’ve been thinking about what would've happened if you never joined Dustin and the others at the video store, or raise your tone at Mr. Owens for ridiculing Eddie at the printing shop.
What would happen if you declined Nancy’s request for the photos, and never went to the campaign at all? What would happen if you never encountered Eddie in the middle of the forest that day, or chased him outside the night you decided to end things with him?
These kinds of thoughts sink in like quick sand—with no capability to heap it into a bag and throw it away into the ocean of other nightmares.
For the first time in a while, you observe his state of rest—the shadowed lashes of his eyes pointing down to his hollow cheeks; his brows fixed in a calmer line and his pink swollen lips, exhaling peacefully. You wished—somewhere in the deeper crevices of your mind—that you get to spend many of your quiet evenings with him someday. Your imaginations start as you invite him to your empty house, where you both cuddle up on the couch and count the stars from the ceilings of your bedroom, until you pass out after the forty-sixth star.
You swear you'll never let him out of your sight again, no matter the cost of that promise, even after everything the town says about him. Or what they'll do to him. You don't care if you have to hide him in that damn tarp and ship him to California alongside yourself. There won't be any more expiration dates, no more judgement, and no more hiding.
No matter the cost. No matter the price.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x y/n#eddie munson fanfiction#joseph quinn#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things smut#eddie fanfic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson imagine
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Shutterbug: Point and Shoot
[Dew and Aeon go to the lake to take pictures of the sunrise. Angst comes and goes in a blink. Baphomet persists.] Below the cut.
"Why do we have to get up so early for this?" Aeon whines, dragging his feet through the tall grass, slumped forward dramatically with an almost comical pout on his face as he follows Dew towards the lake.
"If you want to photograph the sunrise, you need to get up before the sun rises." the older man says, unbothered by the younger's antics, "Simple as that."
Aeon gives a little huff before a yawn slips from his lips, causing Dew to yawn as well, "It's so early though... There's a whole hour before the sun rises, and it only takes ten minutes to walk here from the dorms!"
Dew rolls his eyes and sets down the large backpack slung over his shoulder, gesturing for Aeon to do the same.
"If I let you sleep in any longer, you wouldn't be awake enough to help me set up, let alone take the pictures. You said you wanted to learn how to use an actual camera, and here we are."
The quintessence ghoul hums, "Here we are..."
With a sigh, Aeon casts his gaze over the lake, still lit by the stars that are only now starting to fade from view.
The ground is cool under his feet, and the toes of his sneakers are lightly soaked by the morning dew.
He inhales slow and deep and feels himself slowly beginning to wake.
"At least it's nice out here..." he says, turning towards Dew, who is rummaging through his bag, taking out a tripod and another, compact bag from within that looks worn in a well loved kind of way, "So... I never got to ask, since the others recommended that I go to you to learn about this stuff, but, uh, how long have you been into photography?"
"Aw, geez, it's been a long time..." Dew picks up a flat rock from the dirt, sliding it under one of the legs of the tripod, making it more level, "Couple decades now, I guess?"
"A couple... A couple what?? A couple decades??" Aeon balks, "But you've only been on the surface since..."
He counts on his fingers, but gets stuck.
"H-How is that even possible??"
Dew stands up, bracing against his knees as he does so, "Huh, guess that story slipped through the cracks... I mean, yeah, I..."
He places a hand on his chest.
"I don't mean me." he says, "I mean this guy."
He sweeps his hand up to his face and then downwards.
"My vessel."
Aeon blinks.
"Your vessel...?"
"Ough... they really don't tell you new summons anything..." Dew stretches and then grabs one of the folding chairs he made Aeon carry with them, "Pop a squat, Sparkles, we have some time to kill anyway."
Aeon tilts his head sideways, but does as he's told. Once he's settled, Dew sits down, looking out over the horizon.
"It's all kind of complicated, but the long and short of it is; My body, this face you're looking at, this isn't a glamour. It's not an approximation of what I would look like if I were human... it is human."
"I... Okay." Aeon looks at Dew sideways, "So... You're human then?"
"Was." Dew says, stretching his legs out, "I was, but I also wasn't. Sometimes... Sometimes, when the church needs a ghoul... No, that's... Let's just go with that, yeah?"
Aeon nods.
"The best way I can put it, is that this body belonged to someone else, and then another person -a demon- laid claim to it, but instead of forcing the other soul out... they kind of, I dunno, melded together?" Dew emphasizes his point by making a squishing motion with his hands, "So I'm, like, some kind of weird soul baby of those two people."
"Hehe... Soul baby..."
"Shut up, I said it was complicated."
"Sorry."
"...You are forgiven, for now." Dew snorts, "Anyway."
Dew taps the side of his head.
"Basically means I have memories from two different lives mushed together in the old brain box, and to get to the point already, the first guy was a photographer."
"Ohhh... So you retained all of his memories of how to do this then?" Aeon asks, looking at the bags again, "That's pretty-"
Aeon pauses, brow furrowing.
"...What happened?"
Dew raises a brow, turning his head towards him, "Mn?"
"What happened to the photographer guy? Like, if you're..." he bites the inside of his cheek, "Am I not supposed to ask-"
"I never said you couldn't, and do I look bothered?" Dew questions, his posture too casual, too relaxed for him to be annoyed, "Do you really wanna know?"
Another pause.
"...Yes, please."
Dew closes his eyes for a moment and sits up slightly.
"Here, I'll show you how to set up the camera first so we don't forget why we're out here..."
And they do.
Dew makes Aeon do most of the set-up and adjustments to the equipment himself, "So you can get a feel for it."
When all is said and done, Dew lets him tweak camera's settings a bit more before motioning for him to sit back down.
"I've been into photography since I was a kid, couldn't tell you how old I was when I first held a camera, but I do know what my first clear picture was of." he says, leaning back in his chair, "We had this little terrier, Wilma, when I was little, and the thing couldn't sit still for the life of her, but I somehow managed to get her to stay put for a photo... Probably bribed her with an entire bag of biscuits, but I was really proud of how it came out."
"I don't really remember many of my early, early memories, especially not the ones from this guy, but I remember that." he utters softly, a hint of warmth blossoming on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, subtle embarrassment, "Being proud..."
"I can also remember being fucking miserable."
A cool breeze rolls across the grass, and Aeon uses it to hide the shiver that runs up his spine at Dew's words.
"...Before I go any further, do you still want to hear about this?"
Aeon swallows, then thinks.
"Do you really want to talk about it?" he counters, and Dew gives a little puff through his nose, "Really, though."
He shrugs.
"It was a long time ago, Sparkles."
"Doesn't mean it can't still hurt." Aeon whispers a bit too knowingly for Dew's liking, if the little noise in the back of his throat is any indication of that.
"...I died." he says after a moment of silence, "I died, Aeon."
"You... You died?"
"I don't know the full details, and I don't want to know, but yeah." he nods, "Yeah."
Aeon watches the cattails wave in the wind, processing what his packmate just said.
"I guess I got lost out in the woods nearby, and some siblings found me and brought my body back here." Dew continues, "There's a lot of... little details that flicker around in my head from time to time, fragments of memories, or maybe dreams I'm misremembering, but I mostly just remember, ya know, stuff like this."
He points at the camera.
"I didn't forget how to do things like read or write, and I knew things I liked and didn't like, but I forgot most of what made me this guy."
"Did he have a name?" Aeon asks, taking in Dew's features anew, from the sharpness of his nose, to the gentleness of his brow.
"Probably." Dew laughs, "Actually, yes, but that's also something I've decided I don't want to know. The files are all there, if I decide to deep dive into my past, but I already promised myself I wouldn't do that."
"...But you died."
"You're wondering how I'm here now, right?"
Aeon nods.
"Well, there was this goat-"
.
.
.
"Well, hello, Moonlight, how'd your little photography lesson with Dew go?" Swiss asks, legs kicked up over the armrest the couch in the common room as he half watches the morning news, eyeing a harrowed looking Aeon.
The ghoul stares blankly at the wall for a solid minute before he replies.
"...Have you hear the Bapho-tits story before or is Dew full-on fucking with me?"
Swiss almost pulls a muscle from the involuntary sit-up he does from wheezing too hard.
#lamp writes#shitghosting#nameless ghouls#dewdrop ghoul#aeon ghoul#phantom ghoul#swiss ghoul#ghost band#the band ghost#ghost bc#ghost band fanfic
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March
The month is coming to an end. I'm yearning for warm days. My month in photography has been... interesting.
This month I picked up two new pieces of gear & rented one more:
Fujifilm 70-300mm f/4-5.6
My first super telephoto lens. It's been wild. I've always enjoyed telephoto photography, but the lenses are... large. This is a nice compromise lens. It's a bit slow, but it's long as hell & fits in my smallest camera bag. Love it. Here's some photos from it.
Kolari Vision IR Chrome Lite Filter
I've had a fairly busted full spectrum converted X-E1 for a while. I dunno why it took me so long to pick up an IR Chrome filter for it. IR Chrome is the whole reason I want an full spectrum camera.
My X-E1's electronic contacts don't work, so I can't use it with most of my lenses. I've landed on using a 7Artisans 35mm f/1.4 lens (only $60!) on it. The image quality isn't great, but it's been good to learn on.
IR photography gets better in the summer thanks to all the foliage. It's a bit blah right now. So, expect more of this soon.
Sony RX100 VII rental
I haven't rented much camera gear. I wanted to try something low stakes first. This month I headed to Pittsburgh for a PWHL hockey game. I couldn't bring my usual cameras into the arena. So, I decided a small RX100 would be a good pick. I rented it for the weekend and got some great pics. I don't really like the camera that much, so I wouldn't get it again. I definitely am gonna look into other compact cameras though.
Continuing to learn the X-T5
I picked up a Fuji X-T5 after using an X-T2 (and X-H1) for a long time. I've been loving the image quality of the camera and the IBIS. The photos look phenomenal. There's a learning curve to every camera & I knew the X-T2 like the back of my hand. With the X-T5 as my main camera, I'm sure it won't take long to be second nature.
Film
I'm currently trying to shoot through a box of Portra 400. 5 rolls in my Nikon F3. I've gotten through 2 1/2 rolls. Only one has been developed, but I still need to scan them. I haven't ever tried hard to learn a specific film before. Now that I have a solid film camera, though, it seems like the right time to do it.
And that's what I've been up to this month in the world of photography
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there are clowning materials/potential candies that i wanna look into and talk about no matter how improbable they are. then there are those where i’m just — do i even want to do this? lol. only because there is not much to go on and fueled solely by speculation. anyway, this is about the alleged camera gifted to xz ( by wang yibis babie ) and how he took it to milan with him.
i’m making this so i can refer to it if anything comes up in the future. the thing is, if you look at the vlogs/photos — ZZ is using his phone to take pictures and videos. there is nothing wrong that, most people use their phones and he has his team that will take the “content” who brought the equipment. but i just find it hard to believe that GG, a photographer, will not bring a camera? this is a dude who brings it for drama shoots ( for example ace troops ) and that’s at home. so what more for a trip like this. in milan. there are a couple of fan-photos/videos of him roaming around and we don’t see him holding a proper camera. surely there will be other content from that trip and let’s see if we find the cam but right now it seems like it’s non- existent.
this talk started with a made-up 🍉…
i’m saying made-up because all melons that read like this are. especially those that say “xx and xx have a good relationship” or “xx exercise alot”. if this was from a fake rumor house, i would be more inclined to have a positive take on it but it’s not. as i also said before, i don’t endorse this particular account cause they clearly post reliable work-related melons, anti posts and random stuff to get attention. point is, melon accounts are not friends.
anyway, this made some turtles think about last october when some where noticing the appearance of cameras in their promo pics/ videos. and comments came up of maybe it’s a clue that they are giving us. remember XZ didn’t do his usual birthday post last year, same with Bobo.
so now we’re like, why not look into it?
XZS posted very few photos of GG ( 2021-2022 ) with a camera and i can’t really tell what he’s using for p1 and p2. but i think this is the same one he takes with him @ drama shoots.
for the vlogs i found this, but they covered the brand. lol. and well the occasional polaroid cameras are also spotted in his vlogs.
i don’t see any concrete timeline of what cameras he has, i only remember his pd101 guesting and how fans were saying the camera he used is his own. it just never really came up, how many cameras do you have? hahahahahahaha!
In terms of MFW,
the main camera his team was using for photos and vlogs was Canon EOS body and of course the important thing are the lenses which they switch out. I think this was not the “gifted” one and more of something his assistant/photographer owns. 📷
my eye is on the camera he used for the tod’s photoset when he landed in Milan. It was still posted under XZS and they tagged Tod’s, but it’s not exactly a “business photoshoot” that will be released as a proper Ad. It is still work-related, but given the freedom to add his personal touch. popular guess is it’s a sony zv-1, which is a known compact vlogging camera that is good quality. it is a thoughtful gift for someone you know who loves to shoot his day-to-day life. it’s not too heavy or so expensive that you will be afraid to use it casually.
some are saying it might be provided by tod’s for him to shoot but i find that unlikely. they know he has his team. if they need to capture photos/videos of him, they will send their own. knowing how cared for he was by the tod’s team during his trip. and the important thing for a tod’s “ad post” is really the product. the clothes, bags and shoes. so why was this camera featured twice? is he showing it off? for what?
i checked the review and it sounds promising that i almost wanna buy one for myself 😂😂😂
it could be his own and he bought it himself. it is possible too ( by turtle logic ) that it’s “gifted” by wyb. who knows. as with all other candies, we can’t say for sure or confirm things. but for this one, i think we need more evidence and time. 💕
reference sources: one & two
#bjyx#yizhan#there is no science here folks im just clowning like i always do#and now im gonna go back to editing HB lol
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Let us end on cats!
First off, high five to everyone who participated in NaClYoHo, regardless of how much you got done or how quickly. Everything you did made your life better! (At least I hope. If it didn’t, you should spend December investigating whether or not you are cursed.) Thanks for playing along with me like always -- and let’s raise a silent toast to the inventer of Barkeeper’s Friend.
Normally I would spend the last day of NaClYoHo trimming the Christmas tree and decorating, but I’m going to be gone for a couple of days beginning tomorrow afternoon and I don’t want to leave the cats alone for days on end with a brand new Shiny Thing To Explore. So I’ll get out the holiday decoration boxes when I get home on Sunday, and instead today I did the traditional Cleaning For The Catsitter. Which was in its own way a good way to end the month, because it was a general tidying-up and taking-stock.
The place looks good! There’s a new electric blanket on the sofa and a new end-table at the end of it. All of my baking supplies now have their own home in the kitchen, which has been reorganized (somewhat) and scrubbed down (already filthy again but that’s kitchens for you). The craft supplies are all organized and stored. The bathroom is clean and has shiny new rugs and mats on the floor, the bedroom closet has been Kondo’d, and all the storage bins in the bedroom have been sorted through. All of the stuff to donate is in boxes in stacks next to the printer so that I can print labels and mail them off, one by one. The front hallway is almost completely clear of junk that’s been there for a year, and the hall closet has new storage bags in it to hold seasonal clothes, so they aren’t inaccessibly shoved under the bed anymore. There’s still a corner of the condo that’s just full of stuff to sort through but the corner is out of the way, and the stuff is not time-sensitive, I’ll get to it soon. Everything the moths got into has either been thrown out or washed thoroughly, and the moths have not been in evidence for at least two weeks.
I have run the dishwasher every single day this month. If I don’t have food to last through the winter at this point it’s not my fault.
And my fancy Christmas present from my folks, a new. compact, not-smelly and very quiet dehydrator, arrived today and has been cleaned and put away. Next farm share box arrives next Wednesday and I am gonna dehydrate the fuck out of at least some of what’s in it, whatever that may be.
[ID: A photograph of my cats, Polk the tabby and Dearborn the tortie, lying on my duvet; for once they do not look super purple. Polk is stretched out in a sphinx-like position, front paws out in front of her, gazing suspiciously at the camera. Next to her, Dearborn is curled up in a ball, back to the camera, but her legs are also stretched out in front of her as if she just flopped down into a curl.]
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a look into kihyun’s bag(s) ☆
whatever bag kihyun has chosen to sport for whatever he’s doing—whether that be a casual backpack hanging off of his back or well-worn shoulder bag bouncing around him as he runs from one place the next with his usual endless energy—there’s always two things that’ll be completely certain: one, that said bag will be filled to the brim, occasionally spilling over with everything he’s attempted to cram in there, and two, it’ll be absolutely covered in decorations. stickers, keychains—his favourite is a candy era mark keychain, and he has about 3 of them—pins, you name it, and he’s probably stuck it on there in some capacity. even when he’s in his low-effort outfits and feeling a little lazy in his dress, the one thing that’ll always be colourful is his bag. it’s loud, too, and while he might be able to creep up on his members and give them a fright without the addition of one of the countless bags and backpacks he’s acquired over the years, when he has them on you can hear him coming from a mile away (which he finds mildly annoying when he wants to scare jisung but the maknae has already turned around and levelled him with an unimpressed stare by the time he gets there, alerted by all the jangling the singer is doing).
inside his chosen bag for the occasion, as previously mentioned, you’ll probably find enough knick-knacks for a lifetime. of course there’s the essentials: his phone, laptop, wallet, keys, charger cables, headphones, his passport if it’s for the airport, and his shitty & nearly-broken 3DS (which he uses mostly when he's bored, and only for a few select games he’s found he can tolerate more than any of the battleground games jeno is always trying to get him into. his go-to’s are tomodachi life, mario kart, luigi’s mansion, and, on occasion, mortal kombat). but there’s also quite a few things he usually has on him as well. the compact digital camera he’s began to take places more often, occasionally a manga volume or two, sunglasses, jewellery, packs of playing cards, odd photocards in their various holders from his extensive collection, stickers, lighters, both half-empty & brand-new flavour cartridges, extra laces for his shoes, random lego figurines from one place or another, at least one pair of extra headphones, and of course general items he's just never gotten around to getting rid of: things like receipts, or train tickets, or beads or gems that have fallen off one thing or another—the list only goes on.
safe to say, it’s never a boring experience going through kihyun’s bag. he wouldn’t be much help in a crisis (unless renjun has reminded him to stuff his various vitamins and painkillers in there, along with a few plasters for good measure), but he would be a great source of entertainment if anybody was in need of a little lift-me-up. he really doesn’t mean for it to get to such a mess, but over time it just piles up and he can never quite bring himself to sit down and properly empty it all out again. renjun and mark have definitely tried to help him when he comes to them with a determined look in his eyes and says that that day is the day, but about twenty minutes in he usually ends up either getting bored and playing on his 3DS for the rest of the time or making excuses for every single little item inside by providing the older members with some sort of anecdote to let them convince him to keep it (even if it’s completely ridiculous—because with mark especially, if kihyun looks up at him with wobbly eyes and begs him not to throw away an old & empty pack of gum, he’s not going to do a thing).
overall, while it’s a complete mess, to kihyun his bag makes perfect sense. it’s almost like a magic hat, with the way he can dive a hand into it and come up with just the thing he was searching for. he acts overly devastated when he loses so much as a button from any of them, and uses every one he gets until it’s on the very brink of falling to pieces in the middle of the street. a few people have referred to him here and there as the ‘korean jane birkin’ with how well-loved all of his bags clearly are.
#⠀견니 ₊˚⠀⠀THINKING TOO MUCH⠀⠀——⠀⠀misc.#nct dream added member#nct oc addition#nct dream 8th member#nct addition#nct oc#kpop idol oc#kpop addition#kpop male oc#fictional idol community#KH: can i pleaseee keep this old crumbling falling-apart receipt its from when we got lunch that time 3 yrs ago :(#MK: Of course. You don't even have to ask. I would burn the world down to make you smile.
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