#kai cocoa

[findflower96]

甲斐心愛

[salparadiselost]

Christmas, Kansas

“Yello” said Jason, elbows deep into the Batmobile because while the Bats away the Robins will play and all of that shit. Really, it was Bruce’s fault for giving Jason a pair of keys back into the Manor. What was the man expecting? For Jason to not take advantage of Bruce’s corporate trip to LA and pass up the opportunity to give the Batmobile a few “upgrades”?

“Jason? Oh, thank god, you have to come get me.”

Jason hummed. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jason remembered some vague discussion about Bruce being gone and Dick starting to get concerned about it. 

“And why would I do that?”

“I’m trapped,” Bruce’s voice was starting to get a bit frantic. “Look I don’t know how much time I have left on this pay phone, but you need to get your siblings and come get me. I’m in a town called Christmas, Kansas. It’s at approximately 39 degrees north by 101–”

“Wait, the town is called Christmas?”

“Yes,” Bruce growled this word out with so much disdain that Jason was reminded about how the man talked about the Joker. “The town is trapped in Christmas. It’s trying to get me to feel the Christmas Spirit.”

Jason’s eyebrows crinkled together. “But you're Jewish?”

“That’s what I said! But no, apparently, anyone can feel the Christmas spirit, and I’m trapped here until I feel it, too. But I don’t feel shit except for the cold, because did I tell you, but it snows all the time here. It’s May! Jason, it’s May! And we have had three winter storms that have trapped us inside to force us to bake cookies and decorate trees and I’m going insane, Jason. I’m going insane! This might be what breaks me! I’m not singing Fa La La La La in fucking May, Jason!”

Jason had frozen, eyes widening as Bruce’s tirade ended, and all he could hear was his dad heavily panting into the phone. 

“Holy shit,” Jason whispered. He had heard Bruce at some of his worst and it was rare to hear Bruce sound so miserably exhausted. He was more used to Bruce sounding like he had a fair amount of control on things, but this man… this sounded like a man breaking. 

“Please come get me,” Bruce was practically pleading now. “I called Clark, but he’s been taken by this town’s delusion and apparently enjoys being here.”

Jason huffed a ragged laugh. “Of course he would, that man bleeds small-town Americana. He’s probably trying to get you to do all the Christmas traditions with him.”

“Yes,” Bruce said so miserably that it actually made Jason feel a bit bad for the guy. 

“Give me a few hours,” said Jason, sighing internally as he signed himself up for getting into more of this family’s bullshit. “I’ll have Tim trace the call, and we will come find you. In the meantime, go enjoy a cup of cheer.”

“I think if I drink another hot cocoa I’m going to have a sugar induced heart attack.”

“Cocoa? Who the fuck was talking about cocoa? I mean whiskey, Bruce. Or vodka. Or anything else strong and alcoholic that will tide you over until we get there.”

Bruce gave a grumbly, stilted laugh into the phone that definitely didn’t mess with Jason’s heart a bit and made him feel like he was twelve again. 

“Alright, Jay, I’ll see you soon.”

[amf-studios]

Holidays be upon you

It is officially Christmas season for reals, meaning it is no longer heresy to begin celebrating the winter vibes! So, I drew Natsuki dressed up as Hot cocoa cookie!

(Ignore that I reused my natty drawing from a couple days ago for this before and after, I'm lazy. XP)

I hope you enjoy, and remember! Commissions are open! Maybe you can get a fan of mine a special Christmas gift!

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Little Things

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

requested here by @bradleybeachbabe!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: You and Deacon drive around the neighborhood to look at all of the Christmas lights. 0.7k+ words of fluff!

A/N: Hondo isn't in this, Deac just looks good in this gif.

The smells of cinnamon, clove, and warming hot chocolate surround you as you sit beside the Christmas tree. You took advantage of your day off and went Christmas shopping, and as you prepare to wrap the perfect gift for Deacon, you can’t help but smile. Deacon makes every day special. You try to do the same for him, but Christmas is the perfect excuse to buy him things he wouldn’t get and go out of the way to make him feel loved and appreciated. Your Christmas playlist moves to the next song, and you hum along while you tape the wrapping paper closed around the gift. Sliding it forward to rest on the skirt surrounding the tree's base, you look up when you hear the front door unlock. Deacon smiles as he steps inside, and you push the small bag of stocking stuffers behind you.

“How was your day?” you ask.

“It’s better now,” Deacon replies. He usually sets his stuff down when he comes in, and his smile grows when he notices your eyes drop to his keys. “Are you busy?”

“I think that depends on why you’re asking.”

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, offering his hand.

You place your palm on his and laugh as he pulls you up and against him.

“Where are we going?” you inquire.

“For a drive.”

You nod, then ask for a moment and fill two travel mugs with hot chocolate for the drive. You’d go anywhere and do anything with Deacon, which makes him smile as you move around your Christmas-y home. In his car, you buckle your seatbelt and sit back, content to look at Deacon’s profile.

“I noticed something on my way in,” Deacon explains as he begins driving. “Nearly every house in the neighborhood has Christmas lights up.”

You turn away from Deacon and watch the houses on your side of the street. There are different colors, different shapes of lights, different lawn ornaments, and inflatables. Still, they all seem to go together because they’re shining bright and making nights merry together.

Deacon takes your hand over the console after he turns the radio on. Low Christmas music fills the car, and your heart feels full.

You see an inflatable looming tall above the others at the end of a cul-de-sac, and Deacon turns toward it before you can even ask. The red and gray lights are different, but you laugh in delight when you see the array of wooden cutouts, laser-style lights, and inflatables on the lawn.

“That is amazing!” you cheer, looking over your shoulder to see Deacon.

He stops the car and agrees, but his eyes are on you.

“Where did they get that?” you wonder. “I need one. No, five! One for each member of your team.”

Deacon leans closer to you to look at the twenty-foot-tall Santa. He knows its size isn’t why you want one – or five – but its outfit. The gray uniform with red accents and jingle bells hanging from the scenes isn’t tactically safe. SWAT Santa is undoubtedly the best decoration in the neighborhood. Standing below him, Darth Vader wears an elf hat as he wages an intense snowball war with Charlie Brown and his friends.

Deacon begins driving again, going slowly and stopping as you point out more houses with interesting lights and décor. You consider asking him to keep going when you reach the other side of the neighborhood. You know he would without complaint, but you don’t get a chance to ask before he says, “I have one more thing to show you.”

“Do you want this hot chocolate?” you ask, pointing to his mug.

“I’ve got my love to keep me warm,” he replies as Sinatra sings over the radio.

“Thank you, Deac, for all of this.”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“Are you kidding? I’d do anything to spend time with you. I’d test every individual light bulb in this neighborhood.”

“Maybe we could just find a different neighborhood to enjoy tomorrow,” Deacon suggests.

You smile as he parks and then hold his hand as he leads you inside. With the lights turned off, only the Christmas lights in your house and across the street lighting the room, you lie beside Deacon and envision year after year of looking at lights together. It might not seem like much, but being by Deacon’s side, slowing down for Christmas, and knowing that Deacon is as in love with you in the middle of July as in windy December nights makes the little things that much brighter.

[abushelandablog]

This is Daniel LaRusso to me

[timmurleyart]

Dojo breakfast. 🥣🥋

[justablah56]

the best dndads npc poll is open for submissions and I'm just sitting here waiting for my mutuals who are obsessed with one obscure guy to pull up with Risky Click and Erin and Hero and etc etc

[mezimraky]

apparently the most effective way to combat myself doing bad things to myself when i'm feeling bad is to just think of what i would do for someone else if they told me they were feeling bad. i made myself a lovely cocoa and went for a walk. i still feel horrible but there's this coziness hovering over me, so there's that.

[haymarketvtubestuff]

I WILL PROTECC COCOA-SAN WITH ALL MY MIGHT 😭💔💖

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

this is a very specific pull but one of my quieter special interests is the dyatlov pass incident and two years agoish, i read 1079 by igor pavlov and teodora hadjiyska.

not only is it probably the most informative book on it (seriously, if youre interested in the case, you have to read it) but its also the book that most humanised the hikers and sometimes that hit me like a train.

i leant my physical copy to my brother and he lost it so enjoy the instances of it i can remember of the top of my head and find in the kindle version:

this is probably one of the more well known bits of information, but the night before whatever happened happened (it wasnt an avalanche and i will write you an essay debunking the avalanche theory), the group made a parody newspaper.

its likely to be the last thing they ever wrote. they joke about yetis and sportable stove assembly because while they were all experienced hikers, they were still all aged 20-24 years old, excluding semyon zolotaryov who was 38.

i think most people know of yuri yudin and how he had to leave the hike and go home because of his sciatica, but when i read this, it was so hard not to start sobbing.

i read most of this on a national express coach so you know. but fuck, that teddy bear is so heartbreaking.

this one is a letter 22-year-old zina kolmogorova sent back to her family and just another one that just suckerpunches you with the reminder that these were ordinary people.

she nags her sister galya about her grades, asks her mom about her work, inquires about their health, and even asks after their family cow.

this final one is another letter zina wrote, this time to her friend valentina baldova.

theres this beautiful paragraph about how we should focus on the good things in life and actively try to bring more happiness into your life....and then she starts talking about her ex-boyfriend yuri doroshenko who was also in this group.

because while zinaida kolmogorova may have been an experienced hiker who had led expeditions and refused to not carry her fare share of gear after she had been bitten by a viper on one hike, she was also a 22-year-old woman.

I have a folder called Time is a Flat Circle in which I collect evidence of humanity. Here is most of them.

[itswrenly]

New comic when??

[4suke]

hopeless.

kuroo tetsurou x reader oneshot, fluff, friends to lovers. crossposted on ao3 as higashikatas.

You’ve always said Kuroo Tetsurou has the look of a man who’d be hopeless in the kitchen and it’s always been a hit when you say so. 

The first time, sandwiched between Akaashi and Kenma in the booth of the new okonomiyaki restaurant, as you watched Yaku yell at Tetsurou over having burnt the savory pancake again. Akaashi had burst into silent, shaking laughter, and Kenma had snorted loudly into the back of his hand. Bokuto, after noticing the amusement on the other side of the table, had demanded to be let in on the fun; you’d repeated yourself, and he had agreed as well, loudly hooting with amusement. Tetsurou had sighed and rolled his eyes, before telling you you’d eat those words one day. You remember raising an eyebrow at that and dissolving into laughter after Kenma murmured that words might still be the only Kuroo could ever make someone eat. 

The next time you say so is when you see the homemade chocolate-covered strawberries Tetsurou brings you the first time he asks you out. 

They’re objectively the ugliest-looking ones you’ve ever seen. The chocolate is lumpy, and there are bald patches all over where it apparently did not stick to the fruit. In addition, they’ve also somehow frozen unevenly; half the fruit is mushy to the touch and the other half is rock solid. Your heart still fills with warmth at the sight and you throw your arms around his neck, giddy with joy that your first love feels the same way as you. And as off-putting as the strawberries do look, they taste perfect. You eat every single one (despite your little brothers’ best efforts to swipe a couple) and you swear no fruit has ever tasted better.

Two years later, you and Tetsurou are baking a cake to celebrate your favorite teacher’s retirement. He’s excited, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, all dressed up in one of your mother’s pink aprons. You’re wearing a matching green one and carefully line up the wet and dry ingredients in two neat rows. Sift the flour and cocoa powder, you instruct, and devote your concentration to breaking the eggs and beating in the melted butter and vanilla essence. 

A clang. The empty metal mixing bowl rolls doleful circles on the kitchen floor and your boyfriend gives you a sheepish smile. 

You almost lose your balance with laughter, before giving him a damp rag to wipe the cocoa-powder-flour-mixture off his face and arms. Hopeless in the kitchen indeed, you tease, and he throws the rag at you. 

Fast-forward a year and a half later, to after high school graduation. You, Kuroo, Yaku and Kai are back in your usual booth at the same okonomiyaki restaurant, which had quickly risen to the Nekoma team’s top three after-practice dinner spot. Four diplomas are piled haphazardly on Yaku and Kai’s side of the booth and everyone agrees not to let Tetsurou touch the hot plate. None of you want to spring for another, even with all the money you’ve each gotten for graduation presents. Tetsurou pretends to sulk for a few minutes, but gives in after you laugh and force the corners of his mouth upward to form a smile with your fingers. He even laughs when Yaku asks if there was any flame other than a Bunsen burner Kuroo had ever not caused chaos over. 

Two years later, you and Tetsurou are poring over the tiny newspaper print, looking for affordable studio apartments. He’s halfway through his dual-major course of study (sports science and marketing) and you are about to begin the specialized half of your medical degree. He complains that everything with a kitchen is ten times more expensive than everything without, and you remind your boyfriend that humans require food to survive. You’re both too busy to be cooking all three meals, Tetsurou argues back. You’re both too broke to do anything otherwise, you rebut, and he caves. He does crack a joke about how he might blow the building up if he spends too long around the stove, though, when you two finally sign a lease. 

The fifth year of medical school marks the beginning of a string of long, unpaid intern hours. You stagger into the apartment every night too tired to even think about spending another extra hour standing in the kitchen. Tetsurou spends each night massaging your feet as you chew through lunch leftovers. The both of you daydream of the comforts of home-cooked food and vow to never take your mother and grandmother respectively for granted again. 

Tetsurou lands his job at the Japan Volleyball Association almost immediately after his graduation. You’re so proud of him you could burst, you tell him as you pepper kisses all over his face, and scream as he grins and tells you that his hiring bonus is just large enough to pay for three months’ worth of rent at a two-bedroom apartment in a significantly prettier part of Tokyo.

You’ll miss your little studio and the memories crammed into every inch as tightly as the furniture, but your heart swells against your ribs as Tetsurou pulls you through the new apartment. The new apartment is everything you could’ve dreamed of sharing with him, you say, and he kisses the top of your head. 

Now that Tetsurou is a self-declared corporate man, his hours end before yours every night- not that that means he isn’t being run ragged as well, but just that he can report unfair work conditions and you cannot. The two of you begin new traditions; he greets you with a warm bath every night and washes your back while you close your eyes and mumble the ways you wish you could make your supervisor suffer. He dutifully helps you plot revenge, wraps you in a fuzzy bathrobe, and feeds you dinner on the couch, while hushing your apologies about not having contributed anything to the household that day. You do your best to swallow the feeling of guilt and let yourself be taken care of. 

The first time Tetsurou greets you with a fresh non-takeout-meal is after a particularly horrid practical exam. You barely make it home, vision blurred with unshed tears and your supervisor’s shouted criticism still ringing in your ears five hours later. You sit quietly through the bath and if Tetsurou senses that something is wrong, he says nothing and kisses your shoulder extra tenderly. When you are finally propped up on the couch in all your fluffy glory, he tells you that he’s done something slightly different for dinner today. It’s something he’s never done before, he says nervously, and asks you not to hold back any criticism. 

You sit up a little straighter after the first spoon of soup hits your tongue. Tetsurou swallows, asking if it seems alright. You nod slowly, asking him where he bought it from. It’s some of the best soup you’ve had in years; flavors unfamiliar but still achingly comforting. When he shyly tells you that he’d actually made the soup himself, the tears finally spill. 

Unlike five hours ago, they are happy ones. 

Emboldened from the soup success, Tetsurou’s homemade dinners slowly become a new tradition in the apartment. Attempting to guess what the experiment of the day will be purely from the smell greeting you turns into your new favorite game. On free weekends, you meal prep for the rest of the week with him, settling into a blissful kitchen harmony. Sometimes, he even has a thing or two to teach you.

You graduate with your medical degree a year and a half later. Tetsurou cries as you step into your white coat on the stage and shake hands with your dean, and firmly denies it later. One of your brothers has it on camera, though, and you secretly text him to send it to you later. 

After the noisy celebratory dinner with the rest of your family, the apartment is just the perfect level of peaceful. You perch on a kitchen stool, chattering lightly about how relieved you feel about finally being out from under your supervisor’s traumatizing thumb, while Tetsurou plates two small slices of chocolate cake. This, he explains while pushing a fork to you, is the closest he’s ever come to an original recipe. 

As with all of Tetsurou’s cooking, the flavors are simple and strong. They remind you much of the man himself, you think, and tell him that it really is the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had. He beams at you, having already inhaled his own portion. 

Then your fork strikes against something buried in the slice. 

Your heart swells against your ribs again when you manage to carefully dig up the ring. It’s beautiful, you tell Tetsurou, who is already knelt in position. You see the tears from the graduation ceremony reappearing at the corners of his eyes, and you feel like you might reciprocate that in a few minutes.

Your high school self was still half correct about Tetsurou all those years ago. Hopeless in the kitchen? More like a hopeless romantic. 

[inoreuct]

punkflower where hobie likes to crochet in his spare time bcs it keeps his hands busy; he does it while he’s daydreaming and it’s great! it’s fun! it’s relaxing!

the problem is that he can’t stop making things related to miles.

he picks up his hook and when he looks down again he’s made a little crochet spider in red and black. he doesn’t even remember reaching for the colours.

he tries again a few days later and by the time he realises he’s daydreaming about miles’s face and miles’s hair and miles’s smile, he’s already nearly done with a loose-knit navy cardigan. he ties it off temporarily and tries it even though he already has a feeling it won’t fit properly, and he’s right.

it’s too short on him.

because he’d subconsciously made it to miles’s measurements that he’d eyeballed.

fuck.

he finishes it anyway, passes it to miles all nonchalant just to get it off his hands and off his mind but the next time they hang out miles is wearing it and hobie has to stand in the corner with his mouth shut before he puts his foot in it, because the cardigan fits perfectly and if he talks he’s absolutely going to embarrass himself. miles is laughing with his head thrown back and hobie desperately wants to kiss him.

but obviously he can’t, so he crochets more instead and it gets even worse. he’s burning through his red and blue yarn like paper; he’s made headphone accessories, keychains, beanies, a whole collection of loose-knit tops bcs he can’t get the image of miles wearing the first one out of his head.

it’s ridiculous and he drives himself up the wall with it, but he gives them to miles anyway and says they’re just practice pieces until gwen and pav ambush him in his flat and yell at him to finally fucking confess or they’ll do it for him, bcs miles is decked out in swag knitwear and they keep getting stopped on the street by strangers asking where he gets his clothes and you know what he says?

he says they’re just his friend’s test pieces. with a sad little smile.

and hobie can’t stand it anymore, because he practically CUSTOM-MADE everything, test pieces his ass. he opens a portal right to miles’s room and his heart squeezes when he sees that miles is in one of the sweaters he made, cream-coloured with a maroon star on the front, a little green knitted sprout tied to his headphones on top of his head.

miles slams his sketchbook shut, blushing like he’s been caught, and hobie walks right up to him and says, “they weren’t practice pieces.”

miles blinks at him, still clearly flustered. “o…kay?”

he soldiers on. “i made them for ya. with you in mind. by accident.” see? he opens his mouth and puts his bloody foot in it IMMEDIATELY. he fumbles to do some damage control but miles is smiling crookedly, pulling his headphones off.

“you handmade me enough things to fill half my closet… by accident.”

“yeah.”

hobie has to force himself to breathe because miles is standing up and then they’re kissing and every damn thought gets wiped clean out of his brain.

“was that by accident too?” miles asks, close enough that hobie can smell the cocoa butter he uses on his skin, something warm tucked beneath his wry smirk and hobie wants to kiss it off his damn mouth, so he does.

(afterwards, they tumble down to dinner grinning like fools. miles’s parents don’t question, and they miss gwen and pav fist-bumping just outside the window.)

[shilohsylvanian]

I am screammiinnngggg New Deer release for Japan 2024 Feb. 10 Three sets:

~Parents Marius & Primrose with sister Sophia and newborn baby Kai (pink) in a sling shaped like a lily of the valley. ~Standing baby Aster, newborn babies Nova (yellow) and Rose (blue) on a vine & flower swing over the water. ~ Twin babies Nils (crawling) and Lida (sitting) with a pushcar train.

They're keeping with the secret forest theme it seems, which makes me incredibly happy. Still missing a brother though... Color wise, some have a more caramel color while others have a more cocoa coloring. The cocoa coloring ones have a heart/petal shape in their ears while the others dont, similar to the Buckley deer except it seems the "boys" might have the hearts, instead. Gender was ambiguous on the swing set but I love the idea of Aster being a boy in a dress OR being the only girl with heart ears and cocoa coloring. Also everyone has heart noses and flower themes.

[gyorouis]

── ✦ not just on christmas.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⋆ synopsis⸝⸝ i adore you, not just on christmas

꒰ genre⸝⸝ fluff, holiday romance pairing⸝⸝ stranger!kai x afab!reader wc⸝⸝ 1.5k warning⸝⸝ burnt marshmallow lol, could be cringe fluff or not, idk tune in⸝⸝ ariana grande — not just on christmas ୨ৎ ꒱

the christmas market was alive with the kind of energy that could only come from the holidays—twinkling fairy lights draped across every stall, the scent of cinnamon and pine hanging heavy in the air, and the distant hum of carolers’ voices weaving through the crowd. you stood behind your stall, rearranging the handmade wreaths for the sixth time that evening. not because they needed it, but because your hands needed something to do in the biting cold.

“you know, if you move those around any more, they’re going to revolt,” a familiar voice called out.

you looked up to see huening kai, his breath visible in the frosty air as he held two steaming cups of cocoa. his scarf was slightly crooked, and his cheeks were flushed, probably from the cold, though you couldn’t help but notice how the pink suited him.

“and here i thought you were busy charming your customers,” you teased, taking the cup he offered.

“oh, i’ve got time to spare,” he said with a grin, leaning casually against your counter. “besides, someone has to keep an eye on you. you’re scaring away business with that serious face.”

“my face isn’t scaring anyone,” you replied, feigning offense. “if anything, it’s your burnt marshmallows doing the damage.”

kai gasped, clutching his chest like you’d just wounded him. “i’ll have you know my marshmallows are artisanal.”

“artisanal marshmallows? is that what we’re calling over-toasted now?”

he chuckled, the sound warm and easy, like everything about him. “keep talking, and i’ll start charging you for this cocoa.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “fine. your marshmallows are perfect. happy?”

“very,” he said, raising his cup in a mock toast. “to perfectly toasted marshmallows and grumpy neighbors.”

the banter became a regular thing, kai popping over between waves of customers, always with a quip or a question that made you forget the cold for a while.

“so, what’s the story?” he asked one evening, propping his elbows on your counter.

“what story?”

“you. this stall. these wreaths. you’re not here just for the money. what’s the real reason?”

you hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “i like the market,” you said finally. “it’s... comforting. people are kinder during the holidays, and it feels good to be part of that.”

“huh,” he said, studying you with a thoughtful look that made you squirm. “that’s nice.”

“what about you?” you asked, deflecting. “why cocoa?”

“because i’m excellent at it,” he said with a dramatic flip of his hair.

“seriously.”

he shrugged, his grin softening. “my mom used to bring me to this market when i was a kid. the cocoa stand was my favorite. when the old owner retired, i thought... why not keep it going?”

you nodded, a small smile forming. “that’s... kind of sweet.”

“kind of?” he asked, mock-offended. “i’ll take it.”

the days blurred together, the market’s festive energy becoming your new normal. kai, of course, made himself indispensable.

“your decorations are sad,” he announced one afternoon, appearing with a string of multicolored lights.

“excuse me?” you asked, hands on your hips.

“sad,” he repeated, plugging in the lights and draping them over your stall. “see? now it looks like christmas.”

you had to admit, the lights did make a difference. “fine. but don’t think this means you’re in charge.”

“oh, i’m definitely in charge now,” he said, winking as he stepped back to admire his work.

one particularly frigid evening, kai arrived with a paper bag in hand. “cookies,” he declared, placing it on your counter. “for you.”

“what did you do?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“nothing! can’t a guy just be nice?”

“you? nice? suspicious.”

he rolled his eyes. “just eat the cookie.”

you took a cautious bite and immediately regretted your teasing. “okay, these are amazing.”

“i know,” he said smugly. “you’re welcome.”

as the market’s final week approached, you found yourself dreading the end. it wasn’t just the lights or the carolers or even the steady stream of customers—it was kai. his easy laughter, his ridiculous banter, the way he always seemed to know when you needed a warm drink or a kind word.

“what happens when it’s over?” you asked one night, as you both sat on a bench near the center of the square, sharing a blanket he’d brought from his stand.

“when what’s over?” he asked, turning to look at you.

“this. the market. the... magic.”

kai was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights strung across the trees. “it doesn’t have to be over,” he said finally.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean, the magic isn’t just about the market. it’s about the people. the connections. and those don’t disappear just because the stalls close.”

his words lingered in your mind long after the market had emptied for the night.

“let’s go somewhere,” kai said suddenly.

“we’re still at the market,” you pointed out.

“later,” he said, smiling ever so sweetly before walking back to his stall, leaving you thinking about what he had just said.

the evening wore on, and as the crowd began to thin, kai returned with a bag slung over his shoulder. “come on,” he said, extending a hand.

“where are we going?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“you’ll see,” he said, his grin as mysterious as it was charming.

despite your protests, you let him lead you through the market. he guided you past the now-familiar stalls, past the carolers who waved at him like old friends, and toward the edge of the square where a small ice rink had been set up.

“no way,” you said, shaking your head. “i can’t skate.”

“neither can i,” he admitted, laughing. “but that’s not the point.”

before you could argue, he was pulling you toward the rink, renting skates for both of you. the next thing you knew, you were clinging to the edge of the rink, your legs wobbling precariously beneath you.

“this was a terrible idea,” you said, glaring at him as he skated—somewhat gracefully—a few feet ahead of you.

“you’re doing great!” he called, clearly lying.

“i’m going to kill you,” you muttered, but you couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped as you nearly toppled over.

kai skated back to you, offering his hands. “here. trust me.”

“i trusted you, and now i’m here,” you pointed out.

“fair, but come on. it’s fun, right?” he said, his eyes sparkling.

reluctantly, you took his hands, letting him guide you away from the edge. the world seemed to blur around you as you focused on his face, his laughter echoing in your ears every time you stumbled. by the time you made it around the rink once, you were both breathless from laughing.

“see?” he said as you finally stepped off the ice. “not so bad.”

“speak for yourself,” you said, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you, even in the cold night air.

as the market began to close, kai walked you back to your stall. the twinkling lights he’d added earlier seemed to glow even brighter, casting a golden hue over the now-empty square.

“so,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “this is it, huh?”

“yeah,” you said softly, glancing around. “it’s weird, isn’t it? how something can feel so alive and then just... end.”

“it doesn’t have to end,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

you looked at him, your breath catching in your throat. “what do you mean?”

“i mean...” he hesitated, his cheeks tinged pink. “maybe we don’t have to wait until next christmas to see each other.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his voice. “you mean that?”

“yeah,” he said, his usual confidence replaced by something softer. “i like spending time with you. even if you think my marshmallows are burned.”

you laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “well, i guess i could put up with you. as long as you bring cookies.”

“deal,” he said, his grin returning.

before you could say anything else, he pulled something from his bag—a small, carefully wrapped gift. “here,” he said, handing it to you.

“what’s this?” you asked, taking it from him.

“open it,” he said, shuffling his feet like he was nervous.

inside was an ornament shaped like a cocoa mug, complete with tiny marshmallows.

“a reminder,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “that love doesn’t have to be just for christmas.”

you stared at him, the weight of his words settling over you. “kai—”

“you don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his cheeks turning pink. “just... keep it. and maybe, you know, think about me when you see it.”

you smiled, clutching the ornament close. “i don’t think i’ll need a reminder for that.”

his grin returned, brighter than any of the market lights. “good. because i’m not letting you forget.”

and as you stood there, the sounds of the market fading into the night, you realized he wouldn’t.

gyo's note: to officially wrap up the holiday tales, here‘s the hyuka one for you guys! personally, this is my favorite one!! i HONESTLY love writing for hyuka, he makes me blush everytime (ot5 DOES!) anyway, how did you celebrate your christmas! i was so knocked out last night because i had drinks with my cousins, so i literally just woke up i fear,,, if you made it to this part, thank you so much! you will be loved. xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[lovebugism]

for fictober could I request from the 50 autumnal prompts ‘when he wears THAT flannel’ with Eddie please?

we were so robbed of Eddie all boyfriend in soft cosy clothes. R wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of him and he’d love it come autumn when it’s all he wears.

ugh imagine him in like thick baggy sweaters and when he reaches up it just exposes a bit of tummy 😍 I’m like a Victorian seeing ankles

love you xoxo

hi angel! idk how i managed to make this angsty, but alas! hope you like it :D

summary: you and eddie try to get used to life post-vecna but it's not nearly as easy as you thought it'd be (post st4, established relationship, wee bit of angst tw for mentions of death and scars, 1.2k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie’s pretty much recovered by mid-fall.

Not totally. But mostly.

You think getting away from Hawkins helped the most — moving out of the city and settling further in the green. Even though everyone back home eventually understood that Eddie wasn’t the psycho-killing freak they made him out to be, things had changed far too much to ever go back to normal again.

Something’s break beyond repair. Something’s just can’t be fixed.

Not your Eddie, though. Eddie’s perfect. Damn near it, anyway, considering the circumstances.

He’s still got the nightmares and the phantom pains — even though he tells you he doesn’t. But he’s graduated now and helping Wayne at the car shop whenever he can. He’s taking the newfound normalcy in stride, spending early autumn with you and making you hot chocolate like nothing ever happened.

“You like marshmallows in your cocoa, right?” he calls from the kitchen, though he sounds like he’s talking mostly to himself.

You hear him, but you forget to answer. Your brain all but short circuits at how pretty he looks. 

You eye him from the couch while he bustles in the kitchen, and gutwrenching existentialism knocks the wind from your lungs like a fist to the stomach. 

You weren’t supposed to have Eddie again. You weren’t supposed to share a home like you always dreamed about, and he wasn’t supposed to make you hot cocoa or keep you warm when autumn got too bitter. 

A season or more ago, you were saying your goodbyes while he bled out in an alternate dimension. 

You haven’t yet forgotten how pale his skin had gotten or how glassy his chocolate eyes grew as the life spilled from the weeping bites on his stomach. The feeling of his blood, slimy on your hands and drenching your clothes, hasn’t yet left you. The red-hot blood in the unnatural navy blue cold still lives in your head.

But it’s only there. In your head.

And Eddie’s right in front of you — wild hair, baggy pajama pants, and all. You can smell the musk of his cologne and the floral of his shampoo. He’s real enough to touch. 

He’s real.

The realization hits you every day, all the time. It wells from your chest up into your throat and makes you feel like crying. Most people don’t get to say goodbye to their soulmate and eat Wednesday morning breakfast with them months later. 

You’ve got so much gratitude inside you, bursting like golden rays of sunshine, that you don’t know what to do with it all.

“Babe?” he calls again when you don’t answer. “Did you hear me?”

He pokes his head in the doorway, and your eyes go wide. “Huh? What?” you stammer, shaking your head to jerk yourself out of your stupor.

Eddie laughs, high and boyish. It sounds like heaven, and it pierces your heart. Six months ago, you never thought you’d hear it again. “I asked if you wanted marshmallows, weirdo.”

You nod rapidly and ramble an answer. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Thank you.”

“O-kay,” Eddie lilts, though his voice wavers with confusion. His grin widens and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t ask why you’re acting so suddenly strange. 

You wonder if he’s used to it by now. You wonder if he knows when you go quiet that you’re remembering that a part of you nearly died.

He returns to the kitchen and reaches for the upper cupboard. A sliver of his milky white tummy peeks from beneath his flannel. You can see the bites from here. They’re scarred over now, dark red and light pink and thunder-strike purple. It almost jars you how healed they look. The wounds are still fresh and weeping whenever you close your eyes.

Eddie comes in from the living room, balancing two mugs in his hands rather carefully because he’s filled them to the brim. He’s got his usual ceramic Campbell’s Tomato Soup cup in one hand and your sleeping Snoopy in the other. The innate domesticity makes your stomach whirl.

“You okay?” the boy wonders with pinched brows when he hands you your cocoa.

You nod with glittering eyes, mustering a faint smile up at him. The mug warms your chilled, trembling hands. 

“Mm-hmm… Why?” you question, though you’re more than aware of why. 

Eddie’s got a knack for knowing how you’re feeling before you’ve even hinted at it. You think he might’ve got mind-reading powers when you were in the Upside Down.

“I don’t know. You just looked a little… far away, I guess.”

��Just missed you,” you confess with a bright, innocent gaze.

Eddie snorts as he rounds the couch to sit next to you. “While I was in the kitchen ten feet away?”

“Yeah. ’S way too far.”

“Well, remind me to carry you with me wherever I go, then.”

You know he’s joking, but you beam anyway. You don’t want to be anywhere that he isn’t. You don’t want him to go where you can’t follow. 

Eddie takes a sip and smiles at your smiling. His grin is crooked and rosy and lined with whipped cream. He leans in to kiss you with it. 

You pull back from him, just far enough to wipe the melted sugar off with the pad of your thumb. You give him a smacking peck a second later.

With a kissed grin, the boy leans back against the couch with his arm sprawled along the back of it. You curl into his side like his own personal puzzle piece, nestling your mug between your bodies with one hand and settling your free one on his stomach.

Your fingers seem to gravitate beneath his fuzzy flannel without you having to think twice about it. 

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, either. His attention is consumed by the television — a Scooby Doo re-run he’s probably seen a thousand times. His chuckle rumbles against your cheek. You laugh along with him, made content by the sound of his boyish delight.

Your fingers dance through the fuzz of his happy trail, then settle on something softer. 

The marred skin of his warm tummy feels like silk. Before you realize what you’re touching, the boy beneath you jolts.

You nearly spill your cooling cocoa when you freeze alongside him. You part from Eddie with a gaping gaze, wide eyes darting over every inch of his face. You’re frightened that you’ve hurt him, but his pink grin only widens.

“Oh, shit. Are you okay?” you blurt. “I wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Eddie turns to you, then. His features are blurry with sleep, and they twist with confusion at your misplaced concern. 

“No,” he answers with the shake of his head. The softened ends of his chocolate curls brush your cheek. A laugh sputters from his mouth. “It just tickled, babe. It’s fine.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It wavers on the way out, but you manage a trembling smile anyway. “Oh. Okay,” you hum, breathless. 

“Yeah. ’S okay,” Eddie murmurs softly back, wrapping his pale arm around your shoulder to pull you closer. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and lingers there. “I’m okay,” he whispers into your hair.