#kai cocoa

[findflower96]

甲斐心愛

[awakenedpassion]

[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.

[felrend]

I’ll keep you warm, Kai 🔥

[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.

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

₂ i swear, next time i see you i'll be funny

memphis, tennessee. the road sign just appeared out of schlatt's peripheral vision, though he wasn't paying much attention. his hands were gripped tight on the steering wheel as the radio blabbered on about how tomorrow, december fourteenth 2022, a lady named cheryl would be winning a lifetime supply of chuck-e cheese tickets.

"can you shut the fuck up?" schlatt barked, slamming his hand into the console. not a great idea, he knew that— but there wasn't much else he could do. he was going as fast as he could without going 100mph, but that wasn't fast enough.

schlatt was a man with vices. whiskey, mostly, and snacking before bed. but his biggest vice was you, anything you asked— everything was thrown out the window. it'd come to bite him in the ass more than once, but anything for you. and he meant it when he said it.

so when you called, frantic and sobbing, all he had to say was:

"i'll be right there."

even though he was in the middle of a chuckle sandwich shoot, he had to run. ted even let him borrow his toyota tocoma (an honor which he rarely bestowed on anyone), but he knew it was an emergency. and notably, a sixteen hour drive. he drove all throughout the night, not even taking a second to breathe or blink as he made his way to tennessee.

eventually, the old truck made its way past the border of tennessee and into memphis. after a few illegal right turns, he made his way to your apartment. it was small. and it didn't take a genius to see it was also in an awful neighborhood, hell— he could hear police sirens echoing in the background.

which was fucking weird, because you had just shown the chuckle crew a photo of your new high rise you were going to purchase. it had looked nice as hell, eliciting an "ooh" from charlie, ted and even himself. and he was a man rarely impressed.

the whole apartment shook when schlatt knocked on the door, frantic. his huge, strong hands helped him out for once— besides opening jars of peanut butter and jelly or opening locks that were jammed. "hey, open the door!" no response, but he could hear little sobs and whines inside. he took a step back, bracing himself before jamming his elbow into the door, busting it wide open.

you were curled up in a blanket, sniffling and crying as you stared off into space.

in seconds, you were in his arms. your tears soaked his shirt, but he had hundreds of the same one— it didn't matter to him. his voice was hesitant, trying to soothe you. "hey, hey, sugar. nono, don't cry— don't—"

hysterical, you choked on your sobs and hugged him tight. "i'm sorry you came all this way, i didn't mean to bother you, i just—"

"no, fuck, baby. you're not botherin' me. i wanted to come, so i did. ya didn't ruin nothin', alright? cross my heart. pinky swear, whatever or whoever ya want me to swear it on, i do."

heavy, shaky breaths again. "but the drive here takes forever, a—and weren't you filiming a chuckle episode? gosh, don't tell me you left that early, jay..." you took a sharp inhale, voice wobbling. "my heart's beating real, really fast." you stammer.

"'kay toots, you're gonna listen to me now, alright? deep breaths. you can do it, know you can."

your eyes met his, and it felt like someone ripped his heart in half. "you can't just throw everything away to take care of me. what if one day you can't come save me?" you ask, voice quiet as a mouse.

schlatt shook his head, not even giving him a second to think about it. "i always will be," he insists.

"but, i—i am afraid i'll spend entire years— trying..." you stammer, getting all choked up again. "...trying not to need you."

"you don't need to worry about that." he assured you, his voice low and baritone.

and schlatt held you the whole way through. the entire night, coaxing you to stop crying, to at least have some water and have a bite to eat. he brought you hot cocoa with marshmallows and sat next to you on the couch in silence, until you drifted off to sleep.

the austin chronicle on november nineteenth, 2025, had their horoscope section on the second page, tucked into the bottom right corner. today, your horoscope said that old memories would come to light. you laughed and threw out the newspaper before glancing in your doorway to see a random stranger standing there, boxers low on his hips.

resisting the urge to rub your temples, you politely made conversation with the man (a hookup you'd already forgotten the name of, add him to the list.)

the door slammed.

you sighed, groaning and rubbing your eyes. another fucking morning. idly, you made yourself eggs and glanced over at the television. some person was crying to the reporter about a car crash that had happened. unfortunate, you mused. those kinds of stories used to make you cry just as hard as the person it had actually happened to, but now, you seemed impartial to it. just another thing in the walk of life, you supposed.

scrolling through your instagram feed, you got a message from one of your friends about going out tonight. why not, right? it's not like you had better shit to do. (you didn't.)

and in what felt like a blink to you, there were loud, flashing lights that felt like they were pounding in your head. but you didn't want to be the party pooper loser of the night and go home, you needed this, so you downed a few shots with your friends until you eventually loosened up.

your friends burst into loud, shrill shrieks. "ohmygosh!" one of them tugged on your arm, pointing across the club to—

fuck.

schlatt was standing right there, tall and broad as ever, dressed in a black turtleneck with a brown jacket thrown over it. he looked distinguished, and eerily out of place. in the same city as you. and partying in an outfit that looked like it belonged to a stuffy college professor more than your old friend jay who you hadn't spoken to in... jeez, it must've been three years now since you'd ran off from memphis, moved thousands of miles away, went no contact, and started anew. schlatt called so often, frantically worrying about your absence, that you had to change your number.

he met your gaze, and he immediately moved. it made your face blanch as he weaved his way through the crowd easily, not caring if he'd pushed someone or interrupted a makeout session.

"you." he breathed heavily, eyes wide.

a man of few words. your friends, perplexed at the fact he knew you (they had just seen one of his youtube videos once),

"big man!" you put on a big, fake smile like you were thrilled to see him. well, it's not like you weren't. just taken aback, you supposed. "guess one of us had to look better than before, and we all know it's not me." your friends burst into giggles at your self-depricating joke, your smile faltering a little. "you grew a little. how's new york, huh?"

"uh... good." schlatt's eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth to say something, but bit his lip. "good."

[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. 

[theamarischapter]

He's Not My Boyfriend!

CHAPTER 01; funny story

pairing: beomgyu x f!reader

w/c: 1.7k

genre: strangers to frenemies to lovers, high school au, slow burn...ish (?), fake dating (for a day)

warnings: none!

summary: In which, both your and Beomgyu’s friends started shipping you together after you offhandedly told them a story you thought was funny. They seem to have taken it another way and now every time someone asks about it, you wish you could go back and never mention it at all. You barely know the guy, let alone like him! And it's not like he likes you, either...

fic below the cut! enjoy <3

JANUARY 7TH

It was a day like any other. A faint breeze whispered against the windows of your living room. Outside, specks of snow painted the landscape a bright white. Winter, your second favorite season, only because you still prefer the superior weather of spring. You had gathered with some friends to hang out, bundled up in blankets on the couch as snacks and cocoa filled the coffee table in front of you. To your left sat Hueningkai, your cousin–more like your brother–who saw you grow from diapers, to your awkward phase, to who you are now: An outgoing, confident, genius (in his opinion at least; his grades are lackluster compared to yours). 

Across from you two, on the floor and around the coffee table, sat the friends you made when you first ‘started your new life’, Chaewon and Yunjin. You met them at orientation (where Kai coldheartedly abandoned you) and things sorta went from there. Kai had heard lots about them through your late-night FaceTime calls and frequent hangouts, and he’d met them a couple of months into freshman year when he had no one besides you to hang out with at lunch. They all clicked, to your relief, and you’d formed your own little group together. Usually, you all love having movie nights or just chill, cozy hangouts, especially during winter. No one wants to be out in that cold for too long, realistically. Soobin, Kai’s friend, had decided to come this time around, too. He sat at the edge of the couch next to Kai, legs crossed and a blanket over his lap. Everything was going well. Airy giggles carried in the small space as the mugs of hot cocoa emptied and you all caught up on life while also reminiscing on embarrassing stories from your past. That was your first mistake. 

“I was actually talking to my mom the other day, and…she brought up this story. ” You said ambiguously. Your eyebrows lifted and a smile pulled at the corner of your lips. Of course, you had piqued everyone’s interest, and they all pressured you to continue. There was a hum of silence as you wondered where to start, and then finally, you spoke.

“So basically, Kai’s been best friends with Beomgyu–you know him right?–since like…birth.” You started, immediately capturing the attention of your two friends across from you. They’d heard of him, shared some classes even, but never really talked to the guy directly. As for Kai, he knew him obviously (like literally everything about him), and Soobin did too since they’re all friends. 

“But even though Kai’s my cousin, I don’t really talk to him. So, my mom was telling me about how this one time, Beomgyu stopped her at the grocery store and went, “hey, are you y/n’s mom?” my mom recognized him, obviously, because he and Kai are practically attached at the hip. Then apparently, he started talking about how I was a good student and I was always nice and stuff. And then after that, my mom never shut up about how he probably had a crush on me. Honestly, I doubt it. I remember she came home and asked me if I knew him and I was just like, he’s Kai’s friend? But like…why was he talking to my mom of all people?” You chuckled at the end of your rambling, finding Yunjin eyeing you with a sly smile, she was the first to speak. “My question is how he knew that was your mom if you two weren’t even friends?” She asked, her eyebrows lifting as she leaned towards you playfully. “I think your mom was onto something.” 

A crease was quick to form between your eyebrows, lips parting as you rolled your eyes with a scoff. No way. “Yeah, no. Okay, maybe talking to her in the middle of a grocery store was kinda weird, I’ll admit, but the only reason he knew it was my mom is ‘cause of Kai, probably. Plus, we look exactly alike. It doesn’t mean he liked me, though.” You argued, unsure why you felt so defensive all of a sudden.

“I dunno, I think you two would make a cute couple.” Soobin cut in. His large, deep brown eyes observed your increasingly frantic form. Around them were thick, black, square-framed glasses that slipped down his nose as he sat up straight. If you looked close enough, you could see a hint of amusement in his expression from the way dimples threatened to form on his cheeks as the corners of his mouth twitched. “What? I barely even know him!” You exclaimed. However, it did little to stop the seed planted in their minds from growing. How did none of them take your side? Fake friends, seriously!

“Barely know him? Y/n, he’s been my best friend since I was six.” Kai interjected, which shocked you to the point where your jaw practically reached the floor. Not because he totally called you out but because you assumed (or maybe hoped) that at least Kai would’ve been against it since Beomgyu was his best friend. But he wasn’t. “Besides, he’d be better than any man you’d be interested in.” 

“Hey! My taste isn’t that bad. I’m just unlucky.” You defended with a scoff and a forceful punch to Kai’s shoulder. Chaewon and Yunjin seemed to chuckle in disagreement, and your head whipped to them as your movements became more animated. “It’s really not! Besides, this isn’t what we were even talking about.”

“Right. So when’s your guys’ first date?” Chaewon asked as her lips quirked into a teasing smile. Her short hair bounced as her head turned to the side. Your cheeks were heating up, and you did not like it.

“I hate all of you.” You grumbled, still trying to fight. It was useless because the idea was already implanted in their minds and they’d already come up with the perfect ship name. Y/ngyu, or alternatively beomy/n. Well, this will be so much fun, you thought.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

10 DAYS LATER - JANUARY 17TH

It’s not fun. At all. Put simply, you want to crawl into a hole and die. Better yet, ceased to have existed at all. Okay, maybe that’s dramatic, but how else are you supposed to react? Your friends' big mouths mean that Beomgyu has found out about the ship name, yay. In fact, Kai seems proud as ever to admit that he asked Beomgyu about you–but you couldn’t be bothered to ask about the details. Even the mention of his name has irritation bubbling in your chest. It’s a pity since the guy himself hasn’t done anything.

Imagine your surprise when Yunjin is pulling you and Chaewon along to a new spot to eat lunch. Of course, you hadn’t thought much of it. Or, rather, you wanted to give your friend the benefit of the doubt. There was the annoying shipping stuff going on but most of the time that stuff just came down to dumb jokes and teasing. Plus, it’s cold out and she’s seemingly dragging you to a nice, warm, quiet classroom. As you trudge further and further from the cafeteria, loud conversation turns into faint murmurs that can be heard beneath the hum of the wind outside. You can’t help but feel your cheeks rise and your lips part as you smile. This is nice. Peacful.

Well, it would’ve been.

Your feet stop when you see the classroom, its door fully ajar and inviting. Kai, Beomgyu, and Soobin all sit at a cluster of desks moved together, three empty seats for you and your friends. Absolutely not. Immediately, you turn the other way. Curse Yunjin’s deathly grip on your wrist and Chaewon pushing you forward from behind because you don’t get far before they’re shoving you into the seat next to Beomgyu’s. Nothing comes out of your mouth, and nothing but an awkward glance is shared between you and the tall, pale-skinned, long-haired boy. He looks about the same as you remember from second-period math in eighth grade.

But maybe if you would’ve stared longer you would’ve noticed the way his eyes lingered for just a second too long.

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

Beomgyu was, admittedly, a little surprised when Soobin first brought you up in conversation—well, not really. You’re Kai’s cousin, after all, so it wasn’t necessarily weird just…a bit unusual. He’d been over at Soobin’s house, sitting in front of the TV as they mindlessly clicked away at gaming controllers and argued over who was better. Things settled for a while when they switched to a more chill, less competitive game: Minecraft. The faint glow of the TV illuminated their faces in the dark, the only sounds being the occasional clicks of the controller and hum of the gentle background music. That’s when Soobin spoke.

“You know y/n?” He asked quietly, sneaking a glance at the boy next to him, who’d gone stiff at the mention of your name. Beomgyu cleared his throat, feigning relaxation as he slouched slightly, hitting all the wrong buttons on his controller as he mustered a response.

“I, uh, yeah, ‘course—I mean, she’s my best friend’s cousin after all. Why wouldn’t I?” He fumbled through his words, seeming weirdly nervous. Soobin raised an eyebrow, a small smile pulling on his lips as he leaned toward his friend, nudging him gently.

“You’re so obvious, Beomgyu.” He teased, attempting to elicit a reaction. The reaction he got, however, was quite unexpected. Upon hearing the obvious implications of those words, a crease formed between Beomgyu’s brows and his hair bounced as he shook his head, scoffing.

“Obvious about what?” He asked, almost sounding offended. There was something lacking in his tone, Soobin noticed—the usual, easygoing, playfulness of his loud and obnoxious friend. Beomgyu, for once in his life, sounded serious. “I don’t like her.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Soobin replied, conceding with a small sigh. His gaze lingered on Beomgyu for a moment, attempting to decipher what was happening beneath the surface. He’d only meant to tease, but now he felt a little guilty. “Just joking around…but you’d be cute together.”

Well, he wasn’t guilty enough to quit teasing completely. This time, at least, Beomgyu let out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. Yeah right. As if you hadn’t ignored him the entirety of middle school.

“Shut up. No we wouldn’t.” Beomgyu grumbled, focusing back on the game and ignoring the familiar feelings threatening to bubble up. You’re on a whole other planet from him.

a/n: first fic! i hope this chapter isn't too boring, promise it'll get better vv soon if it seems people are interested (even if not i'll probably keep writing anyway lols). many more chapters to come! right now it's looking like 12, but it may get shorter/longer depending on what happens. also fun fact this is based on real events in my life...except it's less fun irl (this is my way of coping). comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xo

— °˖✧✿✧˖° —

next chapter

[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.)