#anyways I also apologize if this is incomprehensible finals season is turning my brain into soup

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

i would loveeee to hear ur kimnapping fic idea….

It's really not a super fleshed out idea— the most I have actually pinned down is 1) Kim (& maybe also Harry) gets kidnapped 2) some amount of whump occurs which involves 3) Kim Survivor's Guilt Kitsuragi being a self-sacrificial little shit and 4) mutual unrequited pining that the kidnapping situation forces them to resolve. Basically all of the details are up in the air— this makes great "think about at bedtime" material because I don't need to care about those. If I were to turn it into an actual fic I would need to actually iron those out.

Honestly the biggest plot hole is that I can't figure out who is kidnapping him and why— there's the old standby of Oh Shit It's the Moralintern, but that's also kind of already been done. It could be the Madre or one of the other besmerties— but I still need to figure out why. I like the idea of it being related to something in Harry's past— it plays nicely into the self-sacrificial themes I'd like to include if it's Kim getting caught in the crossfire of something, or the kidnappers using him as bait to get at Harry somehow... things I'd need to flesh out.

The only other little thing I want to make sure I include is somehow using Kim's notebook against him— I see that working well with the unrequited pining situation, especially if he's written stuff about having feelings for Harry in the notebook and the kidnapper reads it...

[the-currian]

Finally emptied my askbox!

Well, to be more accurate, I finished all my requests. The askbox ate the original ask, so shoutout to the anon who wanted Hisoka angst!

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Hisoka x Reader

It was insidious.

At first your curiosity was small. Harmless. When you heard the up-and-coming Mankai Company was having an act-off against the famed God Troupe, you knew that you had to catch both their performances. God Troupe’s performance was flashy and impactful as always, and while the leads of Mankai had a subtle flair of their own, it was one of their supporting cast members that truly caught your eye. You were captivated by his unique stage presence. He appeared confident and secure in his acting but underneath it all you could sense a hint of sadness that drew you in further.

To your shock and utter delight, he plays one of the leads in his sub-troupe’s next play.

“Hisoka…” you whisper to yourself as you trace the actor’s name on the flyer you received.

His gaze pierced straight through your heart, leading you to make an impulsive decision. Quickly scrounging up what leftover funds you had for the month, you resolve to attend all of their performances.

Watching Hisoka act night after night onstage makes your heart bleed for this man that you hadn’t even officially met. Again, you resonate with the melancholic aura that he gives off. It’s silly, really – the most interaction you’ve had with him was at the end of each play when the actors went to the lobby to personally thank and see their patrons off, yet there was just something so hauntingly beautiful about the man, and before you knew it you were drawn in deep.

You wanted to know more.

Days pass after the play’s closing night and you feel as if you’re in a drought – deprived of your favorite muse.

‘Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I should just keep this admiration as a fan, after all.’

Trying to lift up your spirits, you visit a newly opened cat café. As you walk through the doors, a paw-shaped bell gently chimes and a smile blooms on your face. Immediately, you are comforted by the mellow atmosphere that the establishment exudes. While you take your time to observe the café, a white Japanese bobtail cat walks up to you and gently nuzzles your leg, trying to grab your attention. You slowly squat down to pet the feline and it purrs at your touch.

“Welcome.” a familiar voice greets you sleepily.

Looking up, you yelp in surprise and fall onto your bum at the realization that the worker in front of you is Hisoka. Unperturbed, the fluffy cat you were petting moves over to plop down into your lap.

“Marshmallow.” Hisoka chides lightly, picking up the fur ball and cradling it in his arms. “You’re not supposed to play with the customers until they’ve gotten a table.”

The cat mewls lowly in response, and your heartbeat quickens at the affectionate smile that spreads on Hisoka’s face.

“I’m surprised that Marshmallow has taken a liking to you so easily.” He mumbles, shooting you a curious glance. “Anyway, please follow me to sign a waiver for playing with the cats.”

You quickly read through the document and sign the paper without fuss. Hisoka looks over it and nods before leading you to a table low enough for you to interact with the cats but still kneel comfortably.

Somehow, amidst your internal freak-out, you manage to address Hisoka, “Do you have any recommendations?”

His eyes immediately light up and you find his giddiness to be infectious as he lists several suggestions. “The hot chocolate with marshmallow crème is good. So is the s’mores cupcake – they put a giant toasted marshmallow on top. Oh, but the chocolate marshmallow mousse is also one of our best-sellers…”

You stifle a laugh and scratch the ears of the fluffy white cat in your lap. “I take it that you’re the one that named Marshmallow, then?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I get carried away again? The manager says I need to work on that. Something about how not all people would want to eat marshmallows when they’re here, which is ridiculous.” Hisoka mutters the last sentence under his breath, but you still manage to catch what he says and find it quite endearing paired with the pout on his face.

“It’s fine. Those all sound amazing, and I’m going to be here awhile, so I’ll have those three that you mentioned.” You say with what you hope is a reassuring smile.

“Okay. I’ll be back with your marshmallows soon.” He quirks a shy smile before heading back to the kitchen with your order.

Once he’s out of sight you let out a huge sigh, grabbing at your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow down. As if sensing your distress, Marshmallow meows loudly and rubs his head against your hand.

“Alright, alright.” You murmur in a placating tone and obligingly scratch behind Marshmallow’s ears. He makes a satisfied chirping noise in response. Minutes pass by as you absentmindedly pet the cat while you take in the café’s ambience.

Hisoka returns with a serving tray full of marshmallow treats as promised, and your mouth waters as he sets them on the table. You turn your gaze away from the table to thank Hisoka but find that he is also transfixed on your food. A pout appears on his face and the gaze in his eyes as he regards the marshmallows is almost longing.

Mustering up your courage, you ask, “Um… would you like to join me? I kinda just realized that this is way too much for me to finish by myself…”

Hisoka’s gaze locks onto yours, his expression the liveliest you’ve ever seen off stage. “You sure?”

Brain short-circuiting over how adorable he looks, you only barely manage to nod back.

“Hold on.” Hisoka says, rushing off to the kitchen with an unnatural speed. Before you can really process the interaction, he’s already back at your table and kneeling opposite from you. “My manager said I can take a break for a short while since there’s not too many customers right now. Thanks for sharing your marshmallows…” he trails off. Realizing you forgot to introduce yourself, you immediately do so.

He softly smiles in return. “My name is Hisoka Mikage.”

“Ah, I have to confess that I already knew that.” You laugh nervously. His eyes narrow at you in suspicion, and you honestly don’t blame him. However, the dangerous aura he suddenly exudes has you recoiling a bit. “I, uh… I’ve seen you act before in the Mankai Company.”

His demeanor relaxes ever so slightly at your explanation, but you can tell he’s still on edge.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It’s just that I’m a big fan of your acting and I can’t really believe that I’m seeing you outside of your show runs.”

Still, Hisoka remains silent, staring at you coolly from across the table. Wordlessly, you slide over the chocolate marshmallow mousse to his side as a sort of placating gesture. Hisoka’s eyes narrow even further, squinting at the dessert as if it had personally offended him.

“Is this a bribe?

“…Is it working?”

Hisoka puts a spoonful of the mousse into his mouth and hums thoughtfully as he takes his time to savor the flavor. Seconds pass agonizingly slow before he simply nods at you.

“Apology accepted.”

You feel as if a huge weight is lifted off of your shoulders.

From that day forward you get to know more about Hisoka Mikage, rather than Hisoka the Winter Troupe member of Mankai Company who you so ardently idolized.

And so what if you still idolized him for that? It’s not like it took away from the real affection you had for him as a friend.

‘Only as a friend.’ You think to yourself glumly.

You were thankful for his friendship, really. After that day you two officially met, you frequented the café quite often. In return, Hisoka would set aside his break time for whenever you stopped by. Your relationship had gotten close enough that he felt comfortable resting his head in your lap. You always teased him for this, calling him a “cuddle monster that can only be satiated by naps and marshmallows”. Hisoka has no qualms with this and completely accepts his role.

However, despite the progress you’ve made, you could sense that there’s a barrier he always had up. You could tell that he was trying but there were times that Hisoka would get a faraway look in his eyes as the two of you lazed about. It was during these moments that you felt so close but still so far from him.

One day, he decides that the two of you should hang out at a beach – which is frankly quite ridiculous given the season. Within the first few minutes of arriving, Hisoka remains silent, so you decide to tell him as such.

“So… what’s the reason for taking to me to the beach on this cold winter day?” you joke, trying to lighten the heavy aura Hisoka exudes.

His eyes suddenly snap over to yours as if broken out of a reverie. Just as you’re about to let it be – Hisoka gets into these moods at times, after all – he replies.

“This beach is a place I’ve only shared with my troupe members; it’s a significant place to who I was – to who I am. You’ve become an…” he pauses, mulling over his words carefully. “…important person to me. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about you that makes me feel safe. But–“

Filled with a surge of affection at his words, you blurt out, “Would you like to maybe make this official?”

Hisoka stares at you incomprehensively.

‘Hell, I’ve gotten this far already.’ You think to yourself, thoroughly embarrassed, but determined. ‘I may as well let it all out.’

“I’m sorry if I’m coming on too strong, but this has been on my mind for a long while. Ever since we met at the café – maybe even long before that, when I first saw your acting,” You give him a watery smile. “I was so intrigued by you. I always felt like there was something that just drew me to you. You can’t believe how ecstatic I was that we were able to become friends. But lately, it just hasn’t been enough for me. I’m sorry. I’ve fallen for you.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, scared to see his reaction.

“I love you, Hisoka. If you’ll have me, I’d like the chance to make you happy as your friend, but even more so as your partner.”

Seconds tick by, your anxiety skyrocketing in the silence, when Hisoka’s words strike straight through your heart.

“I can’t.”

“…Oh.” Your voice cracks, tears welling up in your eyes at his rejection. “I see. I totally get it. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be obligated or anything because of my feelings. I’m sorry – “

“Wait.” Hisoka cuts you off then makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not you, I promise.” He grabs your arm causing you to freeze in place, preventing you from making your escape. “It’s not fair to you. I know it isn’t, but…”

“But?” you prompt.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.” Hisoka mumbles, head bowed low, unable to look you in the eye. “…and it kills me.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“There are things that I’m still trying to figure out for myself – things I’m still trying to figure about myself. To drag you into it would be selfish of me. You don’t deserve that.”

“And if I said I didn’t care?” you sob. “What if I told you that I want to help you through it?”

Hisoka makes a pained expression at your words, letting go of your arm as if he was burned. He returns back to his shell that you so desperately tried to pull him out of. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. This is my burden to bear… I’m sorry.”

And just like that, he walks away.

The next day you go to the café where you first met. You pet Marshmallow when he comes over to you as you take a seat at your usual spot, but Hisoka never shows up.

[wonderlustlucas]

greatest gift - park chanyeol

⇢ prompt I cannot form an answer with my lips because I am so focused on yours. ⇢ pairing chanyeol x female reader ⇢ word count 8.7k ⇢ genre fluff & smut ⇢ warnings explicit sexual content, fingering, unprotected bathroom sex!, dirty talk, chan loves mirrors, borderline dom!pcy but it’s pretty soft, friends to lovers, christmas, i kind of got some classic white people at parties vibe but that may just be me, chanyeol in christmas pajamas ⇢ summary After years of being in love with your best friend’s cousin, Park Chanyeol, one certain Christmas party leads to some unbelievable confessions and activities in the bathroom that most certainly would get you on Santa’s naughty list.—christmas party!au ⇢ a/n merry belated christmas!! i apologize for the lateness... anyway. & happy new year!! :) for being almost 9k and for me taking 15 centuries to write i actually wrote this moderately quick so yay i hope u enjoy sex c christmas chanyeol

read the sequel here!

Judging by the blinding streaks of radiant sunlight penetrating through the blinds and the distant hum of activity from the streets outside your window, you have slept way longer than you bargained for. With a mesmerized sigh you soak in the warmth upon waking up, stretch your arms and yawn, shedding the remaining glimpses of a dream.

However, the sound of your phone ringing like an annoyed rattlesnake renders your peacefulness impossible, having awakened you in the first place, and you grudgingly reach blindly for the chiming nuisance.

“Hello?” You mumble into the speaker after kneading your eyes with your knuckles and swiping across the screen, the thick enchantment of sleep still clouding your brain.

“Jesus, ___, did you just wake up?” The obvious bewilderment in none other than Park Seoyun’s tone causes you to laugh groggily, only fueling her astonishment tenfold. “Wow, I’m glad I called when I did then,” she utters.

“Why? What’s up?” You ask, converting the call to speaker mode and resting the device on your chest. “Because you’re supposed to be ready in three hours?” She says, tone laced with annoyance. “You know, the Christmas party? The one you’ve gone to with me every year?”

Oh, yeah.

Ever since you were young, Seoyun has invited you to attend nearly all of her family’s gatherings throughout the years, a tradition that began as a nonchalant need of a friend’s company to survive the dreadful hours spent with family and friends she had no real interest in seeing.

Sad, how that works.

Of course, you would not complain, considering over the years you have bonded with her family just as much as your own.

“Pfft, of course,” you laugh in a weak attempt to blow off your forgetfulness, “I totally remembered. I’m on top of the game right now, Sunny. Nothing to worry about.”

“Mm,” she hums in faux belief, you can practically see her eyeroll, “Chanyeol asked if you were coming.”

Chanyeol? Park Chanyeol? Park fuck-me-in-every-way-known-and-unknown-to-man Chanyeol?

“Of course he did,” you scoff, trying to play off the way your heartbeat rapidly picks up at the thought of him asking whether you would be there as if you do not care, “I’ve only been to every one of your parties for like, the past fifteen years.”

Seoyun laughs. “Anyway, I’ll be over around five. Try not to take too long just so you can impress your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You shout in protest. At the silence that follows you realize she has already hung up. Bitch, you sigh, rolling over to check the time, sheets rustling loudly in your ears. The 2:00 pm blinking back at you from your digital clock takes a few moments to process through your brain before you realize just how badly you overslept and how much your sleep schedule is fucked.

Still, this cannot take the stupefied grin off your face.

It takes everything within you to kickstart your nerves into working, just some cereal and you’ll be on your way, you tell yourself, finally sweeping the ruffled blankets elsewhere and abandoning the warmth of bed. Walking out of the room, you make your way into the kitchen and wince at the momentarily blinding light bouncing off the windows before continuing on to unroll the bag of Honey Bunches of Oats and pour a hefty serving into a bowl, the scratching and ruffling of plastic filling the otherwise silent apartment.

Because even after eating, watching an episode of iCarly, and spending an unnecessarily prolonged time in the shower to shave, the thoughts racing through your brain are of one person and one person only: none other than Chanyeol.

Seoyun claims that it did not take her long to recognize your developing crush on her cousin, considering she had been shipping the two of you the second you told her that you thought he was cute in sixth grade.

According to her, the slaughter that your heart (and underwear, as you got older) endured every time you came twenty feet of the panty-dropping man was excruciatingly obvious and she forced the confession out of you like a fisherman casting mercilessly. Whether it was the effects of alcohol or solely the accumulation of being caught and needing to reveal everything to your best friend, you spilled everything to Seoyun after your first high school party without a hint of hesitation or embarrassment because let’s be real, there’s absolutely nothing shameful about being attracted to such a man.

Nonetheless, it was still terribly awkward. Not only is he Seoyun’s cousin, but Chanyeol has also always been a step ahead, considering he is three years older.

For example, years ago when he was starting university and you were only a junior in high school, you could have sworn that he was blatantly flirting with you over text only hours before he posted a picture with some gorgeous senior perched prettily on his lap. You mopped around for hours, and Seoyun’s only form of consolidation was, “Don’t worry. He’s a hoe.”

As if that helped.

Even before that, years prior when you were in eighth grade and he was a sophomore, you had joined Seoyun on her large family vacation for the first time. During movie night, you were curled up dangerously close to his chest and could not remember any of the horror film the following day considering you had prayed the entire time that he could not hear how your heart did somersaults in your chest or why your lower stomach squirmed every time his breath fanned against your neck. Weeks later, you cried yourself to sleep when you found out he had a new girlfriend, knowing it was way too good to be true for him to share your feelings when you were in middle school.

After all, you were just a ‘little sister’ to him.

Or, when the same event occurred only a few months ago, while you, Seoyun, and the rest of her cousins snuggled up to watch the new Jurassic World instead of going out for the third night in a row, Chanyeol eagerly leaped to sit beside you and, as a result of his dramatic begging, you became his pillow and slept through the night with his arms wrapped snuggly around your waist and his legs entangled with your own.

It would not have been so bad if you did not wake up with a boner pressing against your back.

Still, this excludes the random ab pictures sent over SnapChat if a conversation turned a certain direction, the videos of him playing a new song he would text, the intense checking-out, the questionable touches, the heart-stopping compliments, and so, so much more that has transpired over the years. And yet, the realization that hurts the most is not simply an attraction to a gorgeous man just out of reach, it is that you know that you love him.

If it was not for the years and personal time spent with him, you would have never developed such a raw emotion for Chanyeol. It would have never grown past a basic attraction. But no—his baby face mismatched with his deep voice, his bright personality that can lift the spirit of any room, the somewhat concerning way he still does not know how to handle his general largeness, his effortless ability to make anyone laugh, his unfailing kindness, his ears, his laugh. Oh, the list goes on and on.

The way he oozes natural charm fused with all the times and tiny memories spent together made for a solemn night several years ago where you had the incomprehensible realization that your universe starts and ends with Park Chanyeol.

Ever since they retired and moved into a smaller living space, Seoyun’s grandparents have held every holiday gathering in the common room of their apartment building. It’s convenient, free of charge, and, as a result of their first-class living, luxurious and very, very large.

After setting foot into the building’s first floor through the immaculately flawless glass doors and gawking at the pristine white marble floors, guests make their way to the common room just past the receptionist’s desk, where a woman sits in front of a computer, waiting drearily for her shift to end. The common room is like a perfect magazine cover with its linen white curtains, the kind of white untouched by hands and devoid of dust.

Upon entering said room, to the left is a fairly open space accessible for the Pollyanna gifts—aka where all the ladies in their mid-forties and fifties flock around like seagulls to discuss their favorite candle scents for the winter season.

To the right of this is a lounging area with a sofa, two loveseats, a long glass coffee table in the middle, and a fireplace against the wall. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides the facts that the leather of the couches and fur pillows appear to be real and that the fireplace’s mantel seems to contain enough expensive knickknacks to pay off student loans.

Past this is where the party really begins. Also known as the dining tables. Two huge mahogany tables with matching chairs take up most of the bright room’s space, left without a tablecloth and daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine. Two tall, gold candelabras command attention from the center of each table, holding smooth white candles that go without being lit each year. To the right of the tables is a grand piano, shiny and pitch black against the white marble floors and white walls and waiting to be played. No one ever plays.

The far end of the common room is another lounging area, this one with an enormous television instead of an extravagant fireplace mantel. Next to this is the entrance to a small kitchen for the party to store and serve food “buffet style,” if so desired. Stainless steel appliances seemingly untouched by hands, brick walls painted white, and the same marble floor throughout the entire floor. Out of the kitchen, a hallway with two bathrooms leads back to the lobby.

Having been here so many times, walking in with Seoyun at your side is no problem. Even greeting all her family and their friends, albeit your awkwardness when it comes to being social, is not a problem. Trying to silence the animalistic sounds of your growling stomach until dinner is ready is also, surprise, ultimately not a problem.

Now, what is a problem, something that started as a minor concern during the first ten minutes after arriving but now consumes you alive, is that after two and a half fucking hours, Chanyeol has not spoken to you once.

At first, you thought he may have just not seen you. But after making eye contact for even a split second one too many times within the first hour, you know he had to of seen you. Even when you and Seoyun went over to stand by him and two more of her older cousins, he still refused to say a word. So now, as you sit alone on the leather sofa, angry, hurt, and trying to ignore a woman talking much too loudly about her new duvets while Seoyun is off doing God knows what, you have no other option but to just look around the luxurious room in order to occupy your thoughts in some way that does not end up going back to Chanyeol.

Deciding on the richly carved mantel of the fireplace just in front of you, you start from the exquisite plate-glass clock in the middle and scan to the right: a silver drinking-cup, a small oval portrait of a young woman framed in gold, and a crystal vase filled with white tulips. And then to the left: two dainty china figures of a lamb and a shepherd, a porcelain, heart-shaped box, a blue cloisonné pitcher, and several other bisque porcelain figures—a dachshund, a cat and kittens, and an angel.

Just as you are getting to the flower pots sparsely placed throughout the room, a flimsy box is suddenly flung onto your lap. When you look up, completely zapped out of your daze, Seoyun flops down beside you with a grimace.

“Pajama time,” she sighs, lifting the lid of her own box and pulling out the fuzzy Christmas top, “perhaps I’ll end my life now.”

Laughing, you do the same, amused and not as disappointed as you thought you would be when you lift the plain red long-sleeve shirt and plaid red and white pajama bottoms. “Hopefully it’ll be quick this year.”

One of Seoyun’s family Christmas traditions you have grown accustomed to is her grandmother buying all the children pajamas and forcing them into one big family photo, whether you are actually family or not. What many of you did not realize was that “children” simply meant the youngest generation.

So now, ranging between the age of two and twenty-eight, nearly half of the party’s guests have to stop what they are doing and change for the picture.

“I hope so, too,” she mutters, scowling as she watches a wave of guests head for the bathrooms, “come on. There’s a closet in the computer room where we could get changed.”

Nodding, you follow Seoyun to the hallway and head for the conveniently unoccupied computer room and shut yourselves in the dark closet before changing. “Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet,” she suddenly springs on you, effortlessly popping the bubble you have secluded yourself in. “What? No, I’m fine. Just tired… I guess,” you answer, laughing shakily as you pull the pajama bottoms up your legs. They are terribly snug around your butt.

Past the darkness speckling your vision, you can still see Seoyun glaring at you, seeing right through your bullshit. You take in a deep breath of the stale air.

“Just… I don’t know. I sound like a baby. Chanyeol has not said one word to me since we’ve been here,” you say, pushing your arms through the sleeves of the red shirt, “and I don’t know why, or if I did anything, or if he’s just being a dick. I have no clue.”

Seoyun exhales loudly, planting her hands firmly on her hips before, “Listen, I don’t know what is up with him, either. I know it’ll be hard, but don’t let him get to you. Just ignore him too, stop looking at him so he sees you don’t give a shit about him.”

“But I do give a shit,” you grumble, jutting your bottom lip out and staring at your feet.

“Well, today you don’t. Don’t let him win, okay? Show him you could care less,” she preaches, reaching out to pull you into a hug and you graciously take it. “Thanks. I’ll try,” you mumble into her neck, squeezing her tightly before stepping back and collecting your clothes.

“Ready for this picture?”

“I was born ready.”

You were not, in fact, ready. For as soon as you left the closet and met up with every other person dressed in ridiculous pajamas at the lobby, Chanyeol came sauntering in looking like he owned the damn place.

Even in Christmas pajamas, he still managed to look like a god.

Stop looking, you scolded yourself when he glanced over. And you did, turning away from where he stood and moving to the opposite side of the group for the twenty minutes it took until everyone was there for the picture. Huddling over one of Seoyun’s younger cousins, you smiled until your jaw was numb as every adult fumbled with their cell phone, proud that you managed to forget Chanyeol.

So, when you and Seoyun end up splitting up in search of another place to change since a young janitor had taken to cleaning the computer room, you were rather shocked to see that the only person in line for the bathroom was you. Perhaps everyone had gone home after the infamous picture.

But what is even more shocking is to watch disbelievingly as Park Chanyeol strolls towards you from the end of the hallway as you lean against the wall opposite of the women’s bathroom, waiting for whoever is inside to open the door. His entire walk you glare at him coldly, pulse quickly picking up as he gets closer.

After what seems like the walk to Calvary, he’s finally beside you.

“___,” he greets with an innocent smile, leaning on the wall with you and you wince, quickly looking away from him. From what you can see from your peripheral vision, he’s looking at you, yet you refuse to look back. There is simply no shot that you would so easily brush off the fact he has ignored you the past few hours, no matter how much you ache to.

“Aw, what?” Chanyeol whines after processing your lack of acknowledgment. He shifts closer, bare arm brushing yours and you cannot fight your shiver. So quickly you are putty in his hands. “Mad that I didn’t talk to you today?”

Yes. Biting your tongue to keep back the sarcasm that bubbles like acid at the back of your throat, you only grace him with an icy glance before crossing your arms and returning your gaze to the door across from where you stand. “Don’t be like that,” he grumbles, voice unacceptably low as he stoops down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Brain on overdrive at his proximity, you finally look at him with his big puppy eyes and sigh, “Say you’re sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” he smirks, eyes bright with triumph. What a child.

The hot annoyance burning its way through your veins only intensifies and you shrug his head off your shoulder, sidestepping further away and praying for whoever is occupying the restroom to hurry their ass up. When a quiet protest slips past his lips, you look over at him, head pounding because why does he have to be such a dick and why does he look so good?

You simply cannot fight it, the way your gaze mindlessly travels up his body, albeit the dumb Christmas pajamas that just barely stretch over his build, scanning over the proportions of his frame, lingering on how taut the white tee-shirt is against the expanse of his shoulders and chest, and finally struggling to settle back onto his face. When you meet Chanyeol’s eyes, you know he knows, for you were far from nonchalant.

When a noise analogous to a growl resounds from his throat, you are momentarily blindsided, seeing stars, as this was the last reaction you expected and yet, your nausea only triples when he takes two long strides to stand beside you. No—not beside you. In the blink of an eye Chanyeol is against you, hands reaching for your waist and pushing you back with enough force that a gasp escapes you upon impact with the wall. Or, maybe that was simply the shock from it all.

“You know,” Chanyeol mutters, voice so dangerously deep your stomach churns, “I did that on purpose. I like watching how you react to me.”

“Excuse me?” You laugh, sounding way more out of breath than you would like to as you stare wide-eyed at him, fear of the unexpected rooted deep in your stomach. Your mind simply cannot process his words or understand why he takes your change of clothes bunched up in your fist and drops it on the floor with his own. “You heard me,” he smirks, hands gliding lower, lower, lower, oh, you find purchase gripping his biceps when his fingers dare to press into the flesh of your ass, “I can read you like a book. Sometimes,” he pauses, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I feel like I know you better than you know yourself.”

Every ounce of breath seems to be stolen from your lungs, floating in the air as he speaks, you cannot seem to think with him like this and the acceptance that you are simply a piece in his game of chess angers the sensible part of you. “That sounds like manipulation to me,” you finally say, cocking your head to the side and staring up at him with a certain hardness in your gaze. “Mm,” he hums, seemingly pondering for a moment before ducking down to press his lips under your jaw, placing a sloppy kiss to the tender skin before, “like I said, I enjoy watching. You can’t catch my hints to save your life, so I had to switch things up.”

Your mind is in no shape to process his words with his mouth on your throat, so quickly he tarnishes the skin there, bruising with bright magentas and deep violets and God, what about hints? Squeezing your eyes shut, you cannot help but wonder if this is it—the straw that breaks the camel’s back, shatters the vase and shakes the earth—whether you are stuck in some disturbingly unfair dream or if this is all happening because he somehow feels the same.

“You’re quiet again,” Chanyeol grunts, deserting your throat to meet your gaze and the curiosity softening his features has you weak in the knees, “what are you thinking?”

You swallow, overwhelmed, studying the hesitance that crosses his beautiful face before breathing, “I really can’t think when the only thing I’m focused on is your lips.”

That’s it. The chord inside him finally snaps and Chanyeol closes the distance, silencing the heavy breaths that leave your lips with his own. Twelve years still were not enough to prepare either of you for this moment. A sensation akin to the explosion of fireworks, kissing Chanyeol has a burst of vivid, fizzing sparks coursing through your veins and coloring your insides. The urgency of the kiss—opening his mouth with yours, his hands returning to knead your ass and pull you closer, your hands wrapping into his shirt—translates into a sort of unspoken mutual understanding that settles into the core of your heart, affirming that this should have happened a long time ago.

Chanyeol breaks away to trail his lips lower than before and your whimper of protest at the loss of just kissing him is quickly cut off with a gasp when he licks the indent of your collarbone, working back up your neck to slide over your jaw. When he pauses at the side of your mouth to offer you some recovery time and raises his eyes to meet yours, you gather the courage to tenderly cup his face in your hands and plant a softer kiss on his lips. In response he exhales in relief, hugging his arms around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer as his tongue finds its way working against your own once more.

Certainly, you must have died and gone to heaven to experience such bliss.

Warmth blooming in your chest, your hand slides away from his jaw to the nape of his neck, tugging at the hair there and Chanyeol gasps into the kiss, immediately responding with his lips moving and pressing in such a way that has your head positively swimming. Just like that, you are drowning in warm, heavy air as the dizzy sense of euphoria shifts into desire welling within you when he bites your lower lip, tugging it into his mouth to suck on. “I can’t believe,” he breathes against your lips, breaking away to stare down intensely into your eyes, “this is the first time we’re doing this.”

“In the hallway of your grandpa’s apartment lobby, to boot,” you laugh breathlessly, searching Chanyeol’s face for the emotion hidden beneath the darkening of his stare. You’re somewhere in between losing yourself to his lips roughly tumbling over the apple of your throat and dragging your fingers under his shirt, hands cool against the burning heat of his back, when the bursting open of the bathroom door across from where you stand turns the hot moment to ice. Scrambling to get away from one another, you and Chanyeol start in a frantic series of yelps, kicking limbs, and pat-downs before you urge yourself to glare at whoever occupied the single woman’s restroom for such an excruciatingly long time.

Gaze softening once you recognize that it is one of Seoyun’s distant cousins and her young daughter, you watch with a new wave of embarrassment flushing over you as her eyes flick back and forth between you and Chanyeol, both clearly riled up and panting, before leading her toddler in the opposite direction as she bites against a knowing grin. For a long moment you watch her go, the reality of what just took place sinking to the pit of your stomach and you trace your swollen bottom lip with the pad of your finger, clenching your eyes shut to somehow burn the touch of his lips into your mind forever.

Chanyeol’s loud exhale somewhere besides you cuts your daydreaming off short, and you turn to look at him as the fire in your veins starts to dwindle into ash. “We just,” you start, voice catching in your throat and sounding much weaker than you intended, “what was that?”

Having him off of you gives you unfiltered access to stare at him, pupils blown and his breath coming sharply, and your gaze subconsciously travels down the length of his body in order to engrave the image of how beautiful he looks in this moment onto your brain for eternity until, oh, you finally take notice to the bulge that the thin material of his pajama bottoms do little to hide. Seeing this, you at last register the hot drip of desire between your legs and the way your body trembles with uncontainable want.

“I… I don’t know,” Chanyeol admits, his low, hoarse voice draining any control you had left, “I would like to do it again, though.”

Do it, please, please do it, you want to say, pulse jump-starting at his declaration. Instead, you are rendered speechless, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, with the muffled hum of festive celebration from his family just around the corners. In a sudden act of impromptu bravery, you bundle your clothes—his, too—into your arm from the floor and stretch over to grab his wrist before quickly kicking open the bathroom door and hurrying him inside after you.

“Let me get this straight,” you start once the door clicks shut, voice suddenly booming in the small confines of the bathroom and Chanyeol jerks in surprise when you slam the clothes onto the floor with an ungratifying thump, “what is going on here? Because that was not a normal kiss—that was like… a sicko mode kiss. And I mean, you have to know by now I have the biggest crush on you, no, actually, I’m totally in love with you. So if you’re just doing this to mess with me, then I don’t know wh—"

Overwhelmed but enamored by your quick, almost unintelligible spiel, Chanyeol figures his best bet at shutting you up is returning his hands to your hips to pull you flush against him and latching his lips to yours, capturing your mouth and train of thought in such a deep kiss it sucks all the air out of your lungs. Instantly, your fingers thread through his hair, lost once more to him—his musky fragrance, the sinful way his tongue wraps around yours, the effortless manner he lifts you up onto the marble countertop.

“Can I take this off?” He asks suddenly, breathless as he pulls away, fingers toying the hem of your tee-shirt up your back. Afraid your words would come off as a croak, you only nod, trying to reel yourself in on how oddly polite his question is juxtaposing to the darkness of his hungry eyes. In one quick motion, Chanyeol helps rid you of the garment, tossing it to join your change of clothes on the freezing tiles. Sighing at the sight, he brings his hands to your chest, lost in the way you shiver beneath his featherlight touches tracing the column of your throat, coasting over your collar bones and finally to the swell of your breasts spilling out from the underwhelmingly mediocre beige bra. It’s with yet another surge of bravery and desire do you reach behind you, fumbling to undo the clasps and watching as Chanyeol’s stare turns to something predatory as he soaks it all in.

“That’s just unfair,” he groans, hesitating, for he fears that if he reaches out and touches you this way, you will break under his fingers like a porcelain doll. In the end, he realizes he is being foolish—he knows you’re here to stay—and at last brings himself to stand between your legs. Finally. Your breathing turns heavy when his mouth starts its ravishing once more, nipping and sucking tender marks down your jaw and at the junction of your neck and shoulder. At last, his lips meet your breast and he does not hesitate in taking a bud gently between his teeth, rolling the other into a hard peak between his index finger and thumb. This time you cannot suppress your moan.

“Oh,” you swear, “fuck.”

Smirking against your skin, Chanyeol relishes in the sound, eyes heavy-lidded and blood pumping hotly under his skin as he bites a violet blossom on the mound of flesh before switching sides. “Chanyeol,” you whine, nails digging crescents into his arms when the sparks tingling up and down your spine seek for more. The sound of your voice, so weak, so needy, has his dick twitching against the restraint of his boxers and he growls into your skin before pulling away.

“___,” he starts, voice gruff as his hands come on either side of you, laid flat against the cold marble to cage you in, “I’ve fantasized about this moment for years, and I have to say I never once imagined it would be at our Christmas party.”

He pauses, gently taking your hands in his and helping you off the sink before hurriedly turning around to lock the door. Your heart suddenly seems to be surging electricity through your veins rather than pumping blood. When he steps closer again, he unexpectantly spins you around, hands splayed across your stomach to keep you upright, forcing you to take in the reflection in the mirror.

“On vacation, I’ve imagined waiting until everyone’s left to fuck you in the sand,” he starts slowly. Your eyes almost roll back into your head at the sheer audacity of his words. “Or, at Seoyun’s twenty-first birthday party. You had no idea how badly I wanted to rip that dress off and fuck you against the bar in front of everyone to see.” By now, you are shaking, knees ready to buckle under the weight of his words and yet you cannot find it in yourself to look away from the pink swell of his lips and the words that slip past them.

“I thought you would have caught on this summer when you woke up with my cock digging into your ass,” Chanyeol hums, nuzzling into your neck, “all night I had to keep myself from stealing you away and making that your favorite vacation yet. So tempting, you are.”

You press your legs together and swallow past the dryness of your throat.

“You seem to have forgotten that I’ve been waiting for this since I was like, twelve,” you sigh, his intoxicating touch making it rather hard to breathe, “well, not this. But having you. Being able to love you and… you know. Call you mine.”

“You’ve always had me, though. Always been yours,” he returns quietly, endearingly, and presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder. At this, you take a moment to try and memorize what the mirror reflects: the heavy breathing you share, untamed hair and swollen lips, cheeks over-heated, his hands traveling softly up and down the expanse of your abdomen in an oddly unfitting but appreciated act of gentleness, skin damp with a light sheen of perspiration and the cute curls of his dark bangs contrasting harshly to the heaviness in his eyes.

Washed in a warm glow from the dim overhead lights, you almost look untouchable together.

“It hasn’t always seemed that way,” you say, bitter, for all these years have passed of you hopelessly in love with him, “where we really both that dumb to never see it?”

Chanyeol blinks, understanding, before his grip on your waist tightens and he exhales on your neck once again before, quietly, “Let me prove it?”

His hot whisper against the side of your neck only causes a stronger wave of arousal to suck you in and you’re suddenly weak in the knees, the coil in your core winching tighter. Answering his question with only a miniscule nod, you are hardly able to form a response by the time Chanyeol is tilting your head to face him and melding his mouth to your own once more before nudging you forward, pressing you into the edge of the sink. His hands are quick to tug his shirt over his head and he does not even grace you with enough time to worship his figure as he is already crouching down, reaching around your hips to untie the knot of your pajama bottoms and shimmy them down your legs. An utterly embarrassing whimper leaves your throat when Chanyeol’s fingers hook around the elastic of your panties, yanking them down in an unceremonious rush.

You almost miss the gorgeous that slips past his lips when he rises back to his full height to admire you, licking his lips and surveying you with such a lecherous glint to his eyes that you quite literally feel yourself become wetter. “You okay?” He asks, pressing his chest to your back and growing harder just from watching you stare dumbly back at him with your fucked-out expression and he’s barely even touched you yet, every atom of your being vibrating with need as his hand travels tauntingly slow toward your center.

“M’perfect,” you gasp as he draws a featherlight line up your slit with the pad of his finger, “just perfect.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Chanyeol purrs in your ear, arm tense as a wire as it balances holding you upright and parting open your folds. Oh God he’s going to be inside me you think just as his middle finger finishes toying at your entrance and finally presses in enough to easily slide in to the knuckle. Your hands scramble to grip the lip of the sink as a moan tears from your throat, a shiver wracking your figure when he effortlessly adds a second finger to add to the delicious stretch.

“You are,” you rasp, squeezing your eyes shut when he takes care to draw a rough circle to your clit, “such an asshole.”

“How so?” Chanyeol chuckles darkly in your ear as you greedily roll into his hand to meet his thrusts and suddenly his shoulders are trembling. His control is chipping away at a much faster rate than he had hoped.

“You’ve kept me waiting—fuck,” you hiss when he dares to dig deeper, “all this time.”

His pace is absolutely agonizing, swirling his fingers as he pulls them out, massaging your clit for only a heartbeat before pressing back inside of you again. “How do you think I feel?” He growls back, ignoring how you whimper and writhe under him as he finally pulls out of you to ruthlessly flick at the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Chanyeol,” you sob quietly, arms trembling violently and knuckles white as you grasp the sink impossibly harder, “ngh, Chanyeol, please.”

“You look so pretty like this,” he sighs, other hand coming up to stroke strands of hair away from your face, “I bet you’d look even prettier with my cock stuffed in you.”

“Fuck, fuck,” you whine, clenching around nothing as the tight coil begins to unravel and you manage to choke out, “if, fuck, if you want that to happen you have—you have to stop.”

“Mm,” Chanyeol contemplates, obsessed with the idea of making you cum like this but also dying to bury himself within your velvet walls, “alright.” Not that he wouldn’t pay up to do both.

Next time.

With the muscles in his arm beginning to grow tired, he finally relents after a particularly brutal flick that leaves your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Without the sticky press of his body against yours and the relief of his fingers off of your cunt, you are left to shiver again, sucking on your bottom lip viciously to try and recover from the earth-shattering pleasure that still smolders like a forest fire in your core and ignites your nerves. You turn slightly to focus your gaze on Chanyeol as he stares, breathless, at the floor, chest erratically rising and falling and hand glistening as a result of your arousal. Finally, you can appreciate his figure in a different light, mesmerized by every curve and indent of muscle glistening with sweat. It is during this moment of adoration that you decide that Chanyeol’s shoulders are your next favorite thing, second to his ears.

Well, maybe your third, you remind yourself when his length, arching impressively long and thick beneath his pajamas, catches your eye. Ignoring the fragility that has your bones rattling, you cannot help but reach out for him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your bare chest to his, breathing out a relieved sigh against his skin. He shivers, and you realize he is just as shaken up as you are no matter how sturdy his hold feels once his arms curl around your waist.

“You said you’re in love with me?” He suddenly asks, voice vulnerable as if he fears you are going to take everything back and desert him. “For as long as I can remember,” you swear honestly, it really has always been him, and lean up to skim your lips along the sharp angle of his jaw. Chanyeol exhales shakily and curls his fingers into your sides when you reach the soft nook under his ear and suck at the skin, proud that you can reciprocate the same effect he has on you.

Laving your tongue over the bite once you are satisfied with the mark, you step back until you can sit on the edge of the marble countertop, heart racing a mile a minute as he loosens the tie of his bottoms just enough so he can drop them to his ankles. “Cute,” you pipe, regarding his Santa-spotted boxers and ignoring the rush of heat to your already drenched core. Grinning at your comment, Chanyeol ultimately shuts you up when he tugs down his last article of clothing, his now unclothed length red and angry when it slaps against his stomach.

“Wow,” you say without remorse, staring only a second more before dragging your gaze up to his eyes, “I knew you had an award-winning dick!”

“You can’t just say that kind of stuff,” Chanyeol chuckles, guiding you to stand before turning you to face the mirror. Then, in a tone lower than you have ever known it, “Are you still on the pill?”

Impressed with how he happened to remember such a minute detail about your life, you offer a tiny nod, suddenly feeling flushed and dizzy all over again because how is this real?

“Thank God,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to kiss you and once more you cannot think or breathe with all the love and adoration loaded into one kiss. After pulling away and pressing a firm hand on your back to further bend you over, Chanyeol groans at the sight of your breasts swaying so enticingly at this angle, but redirects his attention to taking hold of his cock and dragging it along your slick center, coating it in your juices and his precum. You nearly jump at the contact, a shock of electricity darting up your spine at the realization that this is really, truly happening.

You have only just registered him carefully positioning himself to your entrance by the time Chanyeol is rolling his hips forward, slowly dragging against your velvet walls and filling you to the brim. “Oh my God,” you breathe, followed by a series of moans that tumble past your parted lips.

“Fuck me,” Chanyeol groans past gritted teeth, thrusting into you at a slow pace with you clenching so tightly around him. “I am,” you simper, dragging your eyes up from the floor to see his disappointed eye roll as your core slowly but surely loosens around him. “Still rude, even with my dick in you.”

You are keenly aware of Chanyeol leisurely drawing his cock almost completely out of you, nestling just barely within your entrance before slamming back in to draw a high-pitched cry past your open mouth. “Baby, you have to be quiet,” Chanyeol rumbles from above you, voice like thunder in the small bathroom as the powerful, rough tilts and thrusts of his hips ease slower but harder.

The fire in your stomach that had begun to simmer down after his fingers had left you only minutes before suddenly consumes you whole, pleasure washing over you hotly with each thrust of his cock past your slick walls. You’re a panting, mewling mess in no time, euphoria fizzling in your abdomen and shooting up your spine when the hand that is not anchoring you in place dips to brush against your throbbing clit.

“Look at me, baby,” Chanyeol shudders, fucking into you relentlessly, “please look at me when you cum.”

With your fingers growing numb as a result of your iron grip on the sink, you blink away the stars clouding your vision and focus on his face, strands of obsidian hair damp with beads of sweat that trickle down his sideburns, cheeks flushed and glowing rosy, and his soft features struggling to hide the haze sitting over his mind of how incredible you feel as your walls start to tighten around him once more.

“___,” he moans, hands curling into the dips of your waist to rock your body in synch with his drives, “I hope you know I love you more.”

This is all you need to hurl you over the edge. The coil within your core winding tighter and tighter suddenly snaps at his words harmonizing with a particularly hard thrust against your g-spot. For a blissfully long moment, all you see is searing light freckling your vision, body trembling as your orgasm washes over you. Chanyeol moans sharply at the feel of you clenching so impossibly tight around him, throwing his head back and praying to memorize your loud cry.

Ensuring you ride out every second of your climax on his cock, Chanyeol sloppily thrusts into you, chasing after his own high at the sight of you so blissfully fucked-out in the mirror. He quickly follows, coming inside of you with a harsh shudder. Limbs growing weak with pleasure coursing hotly through your veins, you remain in your bent position, eyes widened in adoration as you watch him give one last feeble thrust into your raw cunt to finish out his high.

Then, he draws out of your walls, trails of his pearly cum seeping out with it, and a rush of air escapes your lungs. The moments that follow are peaceful, quiet to catch your breath and not once do you worry that any of what just occurred was a mistake.

When you finally heave one last breath and open your eyes, you spin around to Chanyeol, who leans utterly exhausted against the wall. “Hey,” he smiles innocently when he looks up, all the lust that had darkened his features completely draining away. In its place is his usual soft goofiness. “Hi,” you reply, stepping closer to wrap your arms around his waist.

There is no roughness in this kiss. Instead, it’s deep and longing and reassuring in that this was not a one-time thing.

“If this doesn’t make you my boyfriend, I think I’ll have to end my friendship with Seoyun,” you breathe against his lips before reclining back to meet his eyes. He chuckles, hand dropping to pinch your ass and you yelp, jerking closer to him and away from his hand as he retorts, “This better make me your boyfriend. I don’t know what else I’d have to if it didn’t. I’m all out of ideas.”

“Yah,” you grumble, planting your hands against his chest to push yourself off of him, “or, you could’ve just flat out confessed.”

Chanyeol raises a brow, watching as you clasp your bra back on, “Hey, I’m not the only one who goes without blame. You could have said something sooner, too.”

“Yeah, whatever. We’re both dumb,” you grumble, sitting down to pee while simultaneously pulling your sweater back over your head. You watch on, calmly, naturally, as he dresses himself back to his regular clothes before standing to do the same.

“I don’t want to go back out,” Chanyeol whines, bumping his hip to yours to make room so he can wash his hands with you, “I wanna stay here with you.”

“In the women’s bathroom? Really?” You laugh disbelievingly, running your hands through your hair to somehow not only tame it, but lay it so it covers the love bites higher up on your throat. Groaning at your dumb sense of humor, Chanyeol waits for you to zip up your boots, not even bothering to explain what he meant, before gathering your pajamas with his and cracking open the door to check if the coast is clear.

“Good?” You whisper, clinging to his back. When he nods, you head out into the hallway together, clinging to his side like a koala and barely blinking an eye when his fingers intertwine with yours, his hand snugly enveloping your own. With a different wave of warmth blooming in your chest and up to your cheeks, you yank Chanyeol to the wall just before the corner, smothering his lips with yours and curling his sweater in your fists.

“Are we telling them… or just winging it?” You whisper, drawing back when his tongue threatens to slip past the seam of your lips. Too soon to get lost in his taste again, no matter how sweet he tastes against your lips.

There would be plenty of time for that later, anyway.

“Act natural now, but,” he murmurs, staring down at you with so much marvel weighted in his gaze you feel as if you may implode, “maybe by the end of this damn thing they’ll know.”

“Okay,” you agree, leaning up to peck his top lip one more time before continuing on through the empty kitchen and into the main room, ignoring the faint thrumming coming from your groin. Navigating through the dwindling crowd, you first make a pit stop to grab your cell phone where you left it on a coffee table before seeking out a spot on the sofa. Not even two seconds after sitting down, it dings with notifications.

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I can’t believe I can kiss you whenever I want now

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I miss you already

[9:04 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: even though I can see you rn

Your head snaps up, dying to find him and unable to hide your smile. Once you find him across the room, looking unfairly delicious for someone who just had their dick inside you, he winks. You grin, looking back down when your phone buzzes again.

[9:05 PM] yeol (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧: I want everyone to know ur my wifeyyyy

[9:05 PM] YN: yeol its been like

[9:05 PM] YN: a minute

[9:05 PM] YN: and slow down there, tiger. i need the ring first

[9:05 PM] YN: but don’t worry. they’ll know soon:’)

“___!” Shouts a familiar voice and you jump, scrambling to shut off your phone before searching over the cluster of guests until you find Seoyun waving near the piano. You make your way over, grabbing a bowl of potato chips on the way.

“Hey, where have you been? Took you an awfully long time to change,” she asks as soon as you are close enough, suspicious, “you missed Pollyanna.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” you trail off, frantic, mind drawing a blank as you try to think of a reasonable excuse, “had to—”

“She was with me,” a gruff voice cuts in, thick with smugness as his hand slaps onto your shoulder. Face draining of color you side glance to Chanyeol who stands closely behind you, his other hand sliding to hook his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans. When you dare to slowly look back to Seoyun, her gaze follows the path of his hand, processing, before focusing back on your face with raised brows. Then, “What are these?” She gasps, reaching to pull the collar of your sweater down, exposing a splotch of purple blossoming across your skin.

“Ay!” You grumble, smacking her hand away and jerking closer to Chanyeol. “You guys… seriously?” Seoyun grumbles disappointedly, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. You tilt your head up to Chanyeol for help, the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gives a lopsided grin.

“It took you guys this fucking long just to fuckin a bathroom at our Christmas party?” She hisses, planting her hands on her hips as she bellows out a disbelieving laugh.

“We’re dating,” Chanyeol announces loudly once she has stopped snickering to herself like a lunatic. So loud, in fact, that a few heads close enough spin to see just who is dating who.

You suddenly wish the floor would swallow you up.

Seoyun nearly chokes. “Well, then,” she coughs, rocking on her heels, “shove a quarter up my ass because I just played myself.”

Her face softens when she watches Chanyeol securely wrap his arms around you from his spot behind you. She sighs. “I knew it was going to happen soon. You guys have been all over each other this past year. I’m pretty sure half the family has been waiting for this,” Seoyun beams, eyes twinkling joyously, “except you didn’t get a shot of getting one of Julia’s Italian cookbooks as a gift.”

“Fuck, man. I really wanted to add another to my collection,” Chanyeol fake whimpers and you laugh with Seoyun. “What’d you get?” You ask her, pouting in disappointment when Chanyeol unwinds his arms to stand next to you.

“Don’t be jealous, but,” she pauses, digging into her pocket before pulling out an Amazon gift card, “I actually got the best gift, to be honest. All the other shit was dumb knickknacks. Key chains and shit.”

“Seoyun!” Someone calls from behind you before you can express your envy. She grits her teeth.

“I’ll talk to you lovebirds in a bit. Mom needs me,” she sighs, giving your hand a squeeze as she moves past you.

Only a heartbeat later Chanyeol is stepping in front of you. “Sorry you missed out getting a gift,” he frowns, dropping his hands to hold yours but pauses when he realizes you are still holding the basket of potato chips, “I hope you’ll still have a merry Christmas.”

You laugh, brows drawing together when he seizes the basket out of your hands to place on top of the piano albeit the please keep things off piano sign. “Seriously? Nobody could ruin this Christmas even if they tried.”

When Chanyeol leans in close, resting his forehead against yours and sharing your breath, your fingers run down his spine to pull him close. The world falls always when he kisses you again, soft and slow and comforting in ways that words would never be. With his hand resting just below your ear, thumb caressing your cheek, you cannot help but smile against his lips when you feel the beating of his heart against your chest.

“Love you,” Chanyeol whispers.

Screw Pollyanna. In the end, you got the greatest gift of them all.