⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ daddy 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
part 8 | series masterlist summary: he’s new to the neighborhood, moving into the house directly across from yours in the quiet little cul-de-sac. you don’t know much about him. only that he works on cars in his garage, mows his lawn shirtless like he’s trying to ruin your life, and always looks a little too tired. it’s not until a little girl appears in his driveway one afternoon that you realize the handsome mechanic across the street comes with a tiny family attached. pairing: girldad!bangchan x reader genre: fluff, some angst, smutttttt cw/tags: emotional vulnerability, healthy attachments, unplanned unprotected sex, mentions of "gonna put a baby in you" AGAIN, gift giving as a love language soundtrack: underwater - Red velvet, weakness - Seulgi, Lookin 4 - crush a/n: a lot is happening here chat, grab your popcorn! * ✩˚word count: 11.6k ˚✩ *
The days found their rhythm. Not all at once, but quietly, until one morning you realized you couldn't remember the last time you hadn't seen Chan.
Sometimes it was over breakfast before work. Sometimes it was a knock on your front door just to steal five minutes before he picked Jia up from daycare.
Most evenings ended the same way. Dinner at one house or the other. Jia insisting whoever finished eating first had to help her build blanket forts or color at the kitchen table. Bedtime stories that somehow became a three-person tradition.
It wasn't planned, it just happened.
Somewhere between borrowed hoodies left draped over the back of Chan's couch and the extra toothbrush that had quietly taken up permanent residence beside his in the bathroom, the line between your life and his had begun to blur.
The nursery, however, seemed determined to stay a nuisance. Every morning started with a new list. By lunchtime, half of it had been crossed out. By dinner, two more things had somehow taken their place.
You spent your days bouncing between online plant orders and the nursery, slowly working your way through years of neglect one room at a time. Dust gave way to sunlight. Shelves reappeared. Cabinets emptied. Progress, just....slower than you'd hoped.
The building itself wasn't what worried you. It was everything behind the walls; electrical, plumbing, roofing. The kind of work you couldn't do yourself, no matter how many tutorials you watched.
--
Across town, Chan lowered the hood of the pickup in front of him with a solid thunk. "There you go," he said, handing the keys back to the customer. "She should be good to go now."
The older man smiled, thanking him before fishing his keys from Chan's hand. As he turned toward the parking lot, Chan's attention caught on the faded lettering stretched across the back window of the truck.
Miller & Sons Commercial Roofing.
He blinked. "Hey."
The man turned back.
"You still with Miller & Sons?"
The customer looked surprised. "Retired a couple years ago. Why?"
Chan rested a hand against the truck, trying to sound casual. "You know anybody you'd trust with an older commercial building?"
The man studied him for a second before answering, "depends. What kind of building?"
"A plant nursery."
That earned a smile. "Buying one?"
Chan smiled back, shaking his head. "My girlfriend did." There was something wonderfully effortless about that line. The words came so naturally he didn't even think about them.
The man nodded. "Well, tell your girlfriend not to let anybody talk her into replacing more than she has to. Half the time these companies make their money convincing people everything's beyond saving."
"I'll let her know."
"I've got a guy for you."
He scribbled a name and number onto the back of one of his old business cards before handing it over. Chan thanked him, tucked it into his pocket, and watched the truck disappear out of the lot.
"Your girlfriend?"
Chan looked up.
Hyunjin was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, an amused expression already forming on his face. Changbin glanced over from the car he was working on, and even Minho looked interested.
Chan frowned. “What?”
Hyunjin nodded toward him. “Your girlfriend.”
It took Chan a second to realize what he meant. “Oh.”
That only made the looks on their faces worse. “Since when?” Hyunjin asked.
Chan shrugged, slipping the card into his pocket. “I don’t know.”
Changbin stopped what he was doing. “No, seriously.”
Chan looked between them, confused by the sudden attention. “What?”
“When did you ask her?” The question landed harder than he expected, because he didn't have an answer. The silence stretched just long enough for Minho to realize it first.
“You never did.”
Chan slowly looked over, “I don’t think I did.”
Hyunjin stared at him. “So let me get this straight.”
He started counting on his fingers, each one making Chan feel a little more ridiculous. “You’ve met the nursery owner.”
Chan opened his mouth, but Hyunjin kept going.
“You’re asking around for contractors.”
Another finger, “You’re helping her figure out repairs on a commercial property.”
Another, “Jia asks if she’s coming over like it’s a normal part of your schedule.”
Another, “She has basically become part of your house.”
Changbin added, “And you two have been spending nights together for weeks now.”
Chan rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the floor. “When you say it like that...”
“How else are we supposed to say it?” Changbin laughed.
Hyunjin shook his head, still amused. “You’re out here planning renovations before you even asked the girl out.”
Chan opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out. Because the worst part was that he wasn't sure what he was defending. He knew what he was doing, he just hadn't realized what it meant.
Minho, who had been quiet through most of it, glanced over at him. “You should probably ask before you renovate her whole future.”
Chan laughed quietly, shaking his head, but the words stayed with him.
𐙚
A few days later, things had started to settle into something neither of you had really talked about. Not a routine exactly, but something softer.
You stopped asking if it was okay to come over. Chan stopped looking surprised when you walked through his front door with your bag over your shoulder, already knowing where you would set it down.
Some evenings, you arrived while he was making dinner and immediately stole a taste from whatever he was cooking before he could tell you to wait. Other nights, he showed up at your house with Jia, claiming she had “specifically requested” your help with bedtime stories when both of you knew she just liked having another person there to laugh at her dramatic retellings of the day.
Your things started appearing around his house without either of you acknowledging when it happened. A hair tie left beside the bathroom sink, a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the couch, abook sitting on the coffee table because Chan knew you would probably reach for it the next time you came over.
Small things.
The kind that happened so naturally neither of you thought to question them. Until Jia started noticing.
Four-year-olds had a way of saying things adults spent months avoiding:
“Are you sleeping here tonight?”
“Are we eating dinner at your house or our house?”
“Can you read the dragon book?”
Each question was innocent enough, but every time, Chan would pause for just a moment. Somewhere along the way, you had stopped feeling like someone visiting their home, you had become part of it.
Maybe that was why, a few nights later, when Jia was finally asleep and the house had settled into the quiet of the evening, Chan found you at the kitchen table surrounded by paperwork.
The nursery had reached the point where you couldn’t avoid it anymore.
The dreaming had been the easy part. The vision, the excitement, imagining what the space could become. The reality was everything that came after. Permits, estimates, contractors, insurance, and questions you didn’t know how to answer yet.
You stared down at the papers in front of you, trying to make sense of another estimate that somehow left you with more questions than answers.
Chan came into the kitchen after checking on Jia, leaning against the counter for a moment before noticing your expression.
“Bad?”
You let out a tired laugh, dropping your pen onto the table. “I don’t even know anymore.”
He pulled out the chair beside you, sitting down without saying anything.
You ran a hand over your face, looking back at the mess spread out in front of you. “I just don’t know who’s actually trying to help me and who’s just seeing an opportunity.” That was the part that bothered you most. Not the work or the money. The uncertainty.
Chan stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes moving over the papers before he reached for his phone.
You looked over. “What are you doing?”
“Can I show you something?”
There was something about the way he asked that made you suspicious. “Chan?”
He smiled slightly, “just look.” He opened his phone and turned it toward you.
At first, you thought it was just a note. Then you saw the title.
Nursery
Your eyes moved down the screen.
Roofing Electrical Plumbing Greenhouse restoration Fencing Masonry Permit contacts
Underneath each category were names, numbers, and little notes:
"Used by the shop for years" "Honest, doesn’t overcharge" "Retired but knows everyone" "Ask for David"
You stared at the screen for a long moment before looking back at him. “What is this?”
Chan suddenly looked much less confident, “I’ve been asking around.”
“Chan.”
“I didn’t call anybody,” he added quickly. “or hire anyone.”
“I know.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes dropping briefly to the table. “I just…” he hesitated. “I didn’t want you starting from zero.” Something in your expression softened.
You picked up his phone, scrolling through the list, and then you kept scrolling. It wasn’t five names, it wasn’t even ten. There were pages of information. You looked back at him, almost unable to believe he had been carrying all of this around on his phone without saying a word.
“When did you do all this?”
Chan shrugged, like it was nothing. “Here and there.”
“Chan.”
“Lunch breaks.”
You gave him a look that told him you didn’t believe for a second that was the whole answer.
He laughed quietly, finally giving in. “Talked to customers too.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, the disbelief mixing with something warmer. “You interviewed your customers?”
His mouth twitched. “A little....”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
But he didn’t look embarrassed, not really. He looked like someone who had quietly been trying to make something easier for you and couldn’t understand why you were looking at him like he had done something extraordinary.
Your eyes dropped back to his phone in your hands, scanning through the names and notes again. Every small reminder, every recommendation, every comment about who was trustworthy or who would actually take the time to listen.
He had been paying attention.
“You really believe I can do this.”
Chan looked up at you, almost confused by the question. “Of course I do.”
You swallowed, looking back down at the list. “You’ve spent weeks preparing for something that isn’t even yours.”
That made him pause, because when you said it like that, he realized you were right. He had spent weeks collecting names, asking questions, and remembering details.
His gaze dropped back to the phone before a quiet laugh left him. “I did, didn’t I?”
You smiled softly. “You did.”
For a moment, he just looked at the list, almost amused by himself. “I’ve been putting all this effort into helping you build a nursery.....” His eyes lifted to yours, and something seemed to click into place, “...and I never actually asked you to be my girlfriend.”
You blinked. “What?”
He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know."
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
That made you laugh, and he smiled at the sound. “I realized the other day that I’ve been introducing you as my girlfriend.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “You have?”
“Apparently.”
"And you only just realized?"
He sighed. "Hyunjin realized first."
You covered your face, laughing harder. “Oh my god.”
“I know.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
"So I've been told."
The laughter faded into something quieter. Chan reached across the table, his fingers finding yours as naturally as they always seemed to. His thumb brushed absentmindedly across your knuckles while he looked at you with the same steady warmth he always had.
“I know we’ve kind of skipped a few steps.”
"A few?"
"A lot."
You smiled causing his face to match yours.
"But I'd still like to ask." His hand tightened gently around yours. ""Officially."
The room settled into a comfortable silence. “Would you be mine?”
You looked at him for a long moment before your smile finally won. "Took you long enough."
The relief that crossed his face was almost immediate. His shoulders dropped as he let out a breath that sounded like he'd been holding it for days. "So..." he smiled. "Is that a yes?"
You leaned across the table just enough to steal a quick kiss. "Yes, Christopher."
"Good."
"Good?" You laughed, shaking your head.
Chan smiled, looking almost sheepish, as his thumb traced a slow circle across the back of your hand. "I've been calling you my girlfriend for days."
"I know."
"I would've been really embarrassed if you'd said no."
You laughed again, leaning in until your forehead rested lightly against his, "good thing I wasn't planning on it."
"Very good thing."
His hand slid from yours to your cheek, fingertips grazing your skin with familiar tenderness. He looked at you for a second, smiling like he was seeing something he'd wanted for a long time.
"Hi, girlfriend," he murmured.
You laughed softly, your nose brushing his. "Hi, boyfriend."
Neither of you smiled any less as he kissed you again.
His lips met yours with an unhurried warmth that made the rest of the room seem to disappear. It wasn't the desperate kind of kiss that stole your breath. It was slower than that, lingering as though neither of you felt the need to rush anymore. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek while your fingers found the back of his neck, gently threading through the hair at the nape.
When you smiled against his mouth, he smiled too, a quiet laugh escaping him before he kissed you once more.
"You know," you murmured when you finally pulled back, "I liked you better when I thought you were smooth."
Chan let out a laugh, shaking his head, "I was never smooth."
"No," you smiled, stealing one last kiss. "But you're pretty cute."
He looked at you with the same fondness that had followed you for weeks, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "I'll take cute."
Neither of you moved for another moment. Eventually, your eyes drifted back toward the stack of papers on the table. "So..." you sighed, though there was far less weight behind it than before. "Now that you're officially my boyfriend..."
Chan raised an eyebrow.
"Am I allowed to steal your contractor list?"
A grin spread across his face, "I was wondering how long it'd take you to ask."
"I thought you were waiting for me."
"I was."
You nudged his shoulder with yours. "You're impossible."
"Maybe." He picked up his phone again, unlocking it before sliding it across the table toward you. "It's all yours."
You looked down at the screen, then back up at him. "You'll help me figure out who's first?"
Chan nodded without hesitation. "Every step."
𐙚
The smell of coffee reached you before you were fully awake.
You stretched beneath the blankets, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The space beside you had already cooled, telling you Chan had been up for a little while.
A faint giggle drifted down the hallway. You smiled to yourself, of course Jia was awake.
By the time you wandered into the kitchen, still wearing one of Chan's t-shirts and rubbing the last traces of sleep from your eyes, breakfast was already underway.
Jia sat at the island in mismatched pajamas, swinging her legs beneath the stool while enthusiastically explaining something with both hands. Chan stood at the stove with his back to you, flipping pancakes one-handed while somehow managing to keep up with the story.
"...and then Leebit said—"
"She doesn't talk, bug."
"She did in my dream."
Chan nodded solemnly. "My mistake."
You leaned quietly against the doorway, watching them for a moment before Chan glanced over his shoulder. The second he saw you, the corners of his mouth lifted.
"There she is."
Jia twisted around so fast she nearly slid off her stool. "You're awake!"
"I am."
She beamed. "Daddy made pancakes."
"I can smell."
"They're bunny pancakes."
Chan looked offended. "They're supposed to be bears."
"They're bunnies."
"They have round ears."
"Bunnies have round ears too."
You covered a laugh as you crossed the kitchen. "I think they're....abstract."
Chan pointed the spatula at you. "Thank you."
"I wasn't agreeing with you."
"I heard support."
You laughed, stopping beside him. Without thinking, your hand found the small of his back, giving him an affectionate rub as you peeked into the pan. "They smell good."
"They'd smell better if someone stopped critiquing my artistic vision."
"I'm critiquing the presentation."
"The taste carries the presentation."
"So that's why the ears are uneven?"
He looked at you with mock offense. "I thought girlfriends were supposed to be supportive."
"I'm supportive," you answered without missing a beat.
Chan looked at you for a second before smiling to himself. He turned back to the stove, trying to hide it as he slid another pancake onto a plate.
Jia, however, noticed immediately. "Why are you looking like that?"
Chan glanced over his shoulder. "What?"
She pointed between the two of you with her fork. "You keep doing that."
You frowned, trying not to laugh. "Doing what?"
Jia scrunched up her nose, searching for the right words. "That."
Chan let out a quiet laugh. "That's....not very descriptive, bug."
“I don’t know how to say it,” she admitted. She looked between the two of you again before taking another bite of pancake. “You look at her like you look at me.”
Chan’s smile softened. “What does that mean?”
Jia looked at him like the answer was obvious. "You always say I'm your important girl." She pointed toward you with her fork. "She's important too."
The kitchen fell quiet for a moment. You looked at Chan, and he looked back at you. Somehow, Jia had managed to say in five words what neither of you had ever quite figured out how to.
Chan was the first to look away, reaching for his coffee with a small shake of his head. "She's going to remember this forever, right?"
You laughed softly. “She’s four.”
“Exactly. She’s going to bring it up when she’s twenty.”
You laughed. "You really think so?"
"I know so."
Across the island, Jia had already moved on to explaining why one of her stuffed animals wasn't allowed to sit next to another one anymore, completely unaware that she'd just left the two of you with more to think about than either of you planned on over breakfast.
Before long, the conversation drifted into the rest of the morning, pancakes disappeared from plates, and Chan reminded Jia for the third time to finish her milk.
Nothing about the morning looked different, but somehow, everything was.
𐙚
A few days later, the nursery finally started looking less like a forgotten building and more like something that could become yours.
The difference was small. A few measurements marked across a clipboard. Tape outlining where walls would be opened. Conversations that sounded less like if and more like when.
You stood beside Chan as the contractor walked them through the space, pointing out the repairs that needed to happen first.
"The greenhouse is actually in better shape than I expected," he said, tapping the metal frame. "The bones are solid. Most of the work is replacing what's worn out and reinforcing what hasn't been touched in years."
You nodded, jotting down another note. There was still so much to do, but for the first time, it didn't feel impossible.
Beside you, Chan listened just as closely. Every so often, you caught him looking away from the building and toward you instead, as though he was more interested in whether you understood than whether he did.
"You know," you said, nudging his arm, "you don't have to supervise every conversation."
He looked at you, “I’m not supervising.”
“You’re definitely supervising.”
“I’m observing.”
You smiled. “That’s just a nicer word.” A quiet laugh escaped him before his attention returned to the contractor.
The tour continued through the main building before circling back outside.
"Once the structural work's finished," the contractor said, looking across the property, "I'd focus on the landscaping. That's what'll change people's first impression. Right now they see an empty lot. Give it some life, and they'll start seeing the nursery instead."
You followed his gaze toward the overgrown beds. "That's probably going to be one of the bigger projects."
"I'll do it."
The words were out before Chan seemed to realize he'd said them.
You turned toward him, "you'll do it?"
He blinked once, then shrugged, "I mean....yeah."
“Chan.”
"What?" He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "It looks like a jungle out there."
"It is a jungle."
"So I'll un-jungle it."
You laughed. "I'm pretty sure that's not the technical term."
"It gets the point across."
The contractor looked amused. “You’ve done landscaping before?”
Chan nodded. “A little." Chan glanced around the property. "Nothing this big, but I’m not starting from zero.”
You watched him for a moment. He said it so casually, as though volunteering weeks of his own time to help build your dream was simply the next logical step.
“You know you don’t have to do everything, right?”
His expression softened. “I know.”
“Then why are you?”
For a moment, Chan didn't answer. His eyes drifted across the nursery; the greenhouse, the empty flower beds, the space you had spent months imagining aloud.
There were a hundred different answers.
Because he'd watched you pour every spare hour into making this happen. Because he knew how overwhelming it all felt, even when you pretended it didn't. Because helping you had quietly become one of his favorite parts of the week.
And somewhere between phone calls, contractor lists, and Saturday mornings spent covered in dirt. He'd fallen in love with you.
The realization settled over him with surprising ease. Not all at once though, like noticing the sun had been out for hours. It had been there all along.
He looked back at you and smiled. "Because I want to."
You searched his face for another moment before smiling too. "Okay."
There wasn't anything else to say. Somehow, that answer was enough.
𐙚
By the time you pulled into the nursery's gravel lot, the place had started to look different.
The plywood covering broken windows had been replaced with clean panes of glass that caught the morning sun. Fresh lumber leaned neatly against one side of the building, waiting for the next stage of repairs. Even the greenhouse looked lighter now, years of grime finally washed away from the surviving panels.
There was still plenty to do, but for the first time, it looked like a nursery again.
You climbed out of your car, balancing a tray of iced coffees against your hip as the familiar sound of music drifted across the property.
Not construction, music. You rounded the corner of the greenhouse and found the source almost immediately.
Chan.
He was kneeling beside one of the flower beds with a pair of work gloves shoved into his back pocket, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dirt smeared across one forearm. A shovel rested beside him while he worked through another section of overgrown roots that had somehow survived years of neglect.
A few feet away, Jia was equally occupied.
She wore a pair of bright pink gardening gloves that were at least one size too big, carefully patting dirt around a tiny marigold with all the concentration of someone performing open-heart surgery.
You leaned against the fence for a moment, watching them without interrupting.
"Daddy," Jia announced, "Kevin needs more room."
Chan looked up from the flower bed, "I thought Kevin was over there."
"He moved."
"Plants don't usually do that."
"He wanted friends."
Chan nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."
You couldn't help smiling, only then did you clear your throat. Both heads turned at the sound.
Jia lit up immediately. "You came!" She abandoned her tiny shovel and came running, nearly tripping over her own boots before throwing her arms around your legs.
"I brought coffee," you laughed, balancing the drink carrier with one hand while hugging her with the other.
"For Daddy too?"
"I suppose."
"I knew you were my favorite," Chan called from where he was still kneeling.
"You haven't even said good morning."
"I was waiting to see if you brought coffee first."
You shook your head, walking toward him. "You've been here all morning?"
"Since eight."
You glanced at your watch. "It's almost eleven."
He looked around the nursery as though that answered everything. "There was a lot to do."
You handed him one of the coffees before looking over the work he'd already finished. The difference surprised you.
The flower beds had actual shape now. The weeds were gone. The edges had been cleaned up. Even the old stone pathway leading toward the greenhouse had started to reappear beneath years of overgrowth.
You looked back at him. "Christopher."
"What?"
"You've done all this?"
He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. "With help." He nodded toward Jia.
She puffed out her chest proudly. "I dug holes too."
"You dug one hole," Chan corrected.
"It was a good hole."
"It was."
She nodded, completely satisfied with that assessment before picking up her tiny shovel again. "I'm making another one."
Chan watched her for a second before looking back at you. "I should probably see what she's planning before we accidentally end up with a pond."
You smiled, watching him walk over to where Jia was already digging another hole with complete confidence. "She gets that from you."
Chan glanced back over his shoulder. "Landscaping?"
"The inability to start something small."
He looked toward the nursery; then toward the pile of supplies, tools, and half-finished projects scattered around the property. "I don't know what you're implying."
You laughed. "You started with looking up who could fix things around the nursery and somehow ended up taking care of half the property."
"That's different."
"How?"
He opened his mouth, paused. Then nodded toward Jia. "She's digging a hole."
You stared at him, "you're changing the subject."
"Am I?"
You shook your head, smiling as you followed him toward the flower beds. The three of you stayed until the afternoon sun started to dip lower, the nursery slowly filling with the sounds it had been missing for years.
Conversation. Laughter. The scrape of shovels against soil. It was strange, seeing the place like this. For so long, the nursery had only existed as a project. A list of problems waiting to be solved. A building full of things that needed fixing before it could become anything else.
But now there were moments where you caught yourself forgetting that.
Like when Jia sat in the dirt explaining her gardening strategy to Chan as if she was the expert and he was the one learning. Or when Chan stopped what he was doing just to listen to her tell him a story that had absolutely nothing to do with plants. Or the way realized you had spent the entire day here without once feeling like you were doing it alone.
𐙚
The shop settled into its usual rhythm after lunch. Air compressors hissed in the background, someone had the radio playing just loud enough to hear between the sound of impact wrenches, and the smell of oil clung to the garage like it always did.
Chan had just rolled himself out from beneath an SUV when Changbin wandered over, wiping his hands on an already stained rag. "My cousin's redoing his backyard," he said.
Chan looked up from the socket wrench he was putting away. "Congratulations?"
Changbin ignored him. "They're tearing out all the landscaping stone."
That earned a little more attention. "What kind?"
"The flat kind."
Chan looked at him, "that tells me absolutely nothing."
Hyunjin glanced over from the next bay, laughing under his breath. "I know what he means. The stone people use around flower beds."
"Exactly," Changbin said, pointing at him. "Those."
Chan leaned back against the workbench, thinking it over for a second. "You think they're getting rid of all of it?"
"Pretty much."
"Huh." He nodded to himself. "I'll ask her." The words came out so naturally he didn't even notice them.
Hyunjin did though. "You'll ask her?"
Chan frowned. "Yeah."
"You don't even have to think about it anymore."
"Think about what?"
"Everything's 'I'll ask her.'"
Chan looked between the two of them, genuinely confused. "Well, yeah....It's her nursery."
"Exactly," Hyunjin said with a grin. "You just proved my point."
Before Chan could argue, Minho came through the door carrying a box of parts. "Mrs. Kim next door is getting rid of nursery pots."
Chan looked up immediately. "Really?"
"About thirty of them."
"What size?"
Minho shrugged. "Pot-sized."
Changbin snorted, "very helpful."
"They're free," Minho replied, completely unfazed.
Chan nodded once. "I'll see if she wants them."
Changbin folded his arms, looking around the shop. "You know, a month ago we fixed cars."
"We still fix cars," Chan pointed out.
"Yeah," Changbin said, "but now we're also sourcing landscaping stone, nursery pots, and whatever else your girlfriend's nursery needs."
Chan looked from one of them to the other before a reluctant smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't ask you guys to do any of this."
"No," Hyunjin said. He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "You didn't have to."
Changbin smirked. "Besides, if we're hearing about this nursery every Monday morning, we might as well help build it."
Chan laughed. "I don't talk about it that much."
Three pairs of eyes landed on him as the room went still for a moment.
"Do I?"
Minho rolled his eyes playfully, "you spent ten minutes last week explaining greenhouse glass."
Hyunjin nodded. "I know more about irrigation than I ever wanted to."
Changbin grinned. "I still don't know anything about plants, " he pointed at Chan, "but I know you're happy."
--
By the time you made it back to the nursery that afternoon, your head was already full of everything you still needed to figure out. The repairs were moving along, but there was always something waiting around the corner. A question from a contractor, a decision you hadn't considered until someone asked, another number on an estimate that needed your attention.
You were getting better at it, though. Not at magically knowing what you were doing every second, because you definitely didn't. But at trusting that you could figure things out as they came. The nursery had stopped feeling like one giant impossible project and started feeling like a hundred smaller ones that could actually be handled.
You parked near the main building and grabbed your notebook from the passenger seat, already thinking about what you wanted to get done before the end of the day. It wasn't until you looked toward the greenhouse that you noticed the truck sitting beside it.
You paused.
You didn't recognize it. More importantly, you weren't expecting anything to be delivered.
The driver noticed you looking and stepped away from the back of the truck with a clipboard in hand. "Hey, are you with the nursery?"
"Yeah," you answered, still trying to figure out what was happening.
"Perfect. We were trying to figure out where you wanted everything."
You looked behind him. "Everything?"
The driver smiled and motioned toward the truck, and for a second, you thought there had to be some kind of misunderstanding. Because the plants lined up behind him weren't what you expected.
You had been looking at starter plants. Small things you could nurture over time. Things that would grow alongside the nursery. These were already grown.
Trees with full branches and established roots. The kind of trees you had pictured years down the line when you imagined customers walking through the property, sitting beneath the shade, spending an afternoon surrounded by flowers.
Not something you expected to see waiting for you on a random Monday. You stepped closer, still staring, "where did those come from?"
The driver glanced down at his clipboard. "Delivery order."
You looked at him. "No, I mean....I didn't order these."
His expression shifted slightly as he checked the paperwork again. "They're paid for."
That made you frown. "By who?"
He turned the clipboard around, pointing toward the name at the top. Your name. For a moment, you just stared. Then you looked back at the trees.
There was only one person who could have done this. Your phone was already in your hand before you even thought about it.
He answered quickly.
"Hey."
"Christopher Bahng."
The pause that followed told you everything. Not because he was surprised, because he knew exactly why you were calling.
"Hi."
You looked toward the truck again. "You bought trees?"
A quiet laugh came through the phone. "I bought some trees."
"Some?"
"Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds dramatic."
"Chan."
"I know."
"You bought trees."
"I know."
You tried to hold back a laugh because somehow he sounded like he was the one being accused of something unfair. "Why?"
There was a brief silence. Then he spoke, voice softened, "because you needed them."
And that answer was so simple, so completely him, that it almost made you laugh. "You can't just buy things because I need them."
"I didn't."
"Chan."
"I didn't, not all of it."
That caught your attention. "What does that mean?"
He hesitated for a second. "The trees were part of it, but....it wasn't just me."
And then, slowly, he explained.
The supplier had given him a discount after hearing about the nursery. Another greenhouse owner had offered extra plants they had available. People had connected him with materials, recommendations, and resources because they liked what you were trying to build.
You listened quietly, looking around the property while he talked.
The delivery truck was still idling nearby, the workers waiting patiently for instructions while you stood there trying to process everything at once.
The discount, the extra plants, the people who had apparently heard about the nursery before you had even met them.
"You really didn't think to tell me any of this?" you asked, though there wasn't much accusation behind it.
A quiet laugh came through the phone, "I didn't know it was going to turn into all this."
You looked back at the trees. "Chan, there are trees."
"I know."
"Actual trees."
"I know."
"You keep saying that like it's normal."
"It's not normal?"
You stared at the truck.
"No."
Another small laugh.
"Okay. Maybe not."
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.
Because somehow, this was exactly how he would do something like this. He wouldn't announce it. He wouldn't make a big deal out of it. He would just quietly make a few calls, ask a few questions, and somehow end up with an entire network of people invested in something that mattered to you.
The realization settled somewhere between overwhelming and impossible to put into words.
Before you could say anything else, the driver cleared his throat gently. "Sorry to interrupt, but we do need to know where you'd like everything placed."
You blinked, remembering you weren't just standing in the middle of a surprise. Right. The trees still needed somewhere to go.
"I should probably let you work," you told Chan.
"You should. But I'm still talking to you about this later."
"I figured."
You smiled, shaking your head as you looked back at the trees. "You sound way too calm about this."
A quiet laugh came through the phone. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you just sent a truck full of trees to my nursery without telling me."
"I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
"You realize most surprises are usually flowers, right?"
"Those seemed a little obvious."
You glanced toward the workers waiting by the truck, one of them still holding the clipboard. "So your solution was trees?"
"I went with something you actually needed." You couldn't even argue with that. Because that was the thing about Chan. He never seemed to think of these moments as grand gestures. He just noticed something you needed and found a way to make it happen.
The driver caught your attention again. "Where would you like the first ones placed?"
You covered the phone slightly. "Sorry, one second." You walked a few steps closer to the front of the property, studying the space.
The entrance had always felt too empty. Too exposed. You had imagined greenery there more times than you could count, but seeing the trees sitting in front of you made it feel real in a way it hadn't before.
"Can you put the taller ones near the front walkway?" you asked. "Not too close to the building, but enough that they'll frame the entrance."
The worker nodded before motioning for the crew to start unloading. "We'll begin with these, then."
You stepped back, bringing the phone to your ear as the first tree was carefully lowered from the truck. "You know," you said, watching the crew maneuver it toward the entrance, "most people would probably worry about whether they were overstepping."
"I did."
You stopped. "Really?"
"Of course." His answer was quiet, matter-of-fact. "It's your dream. I just wanted to help you build it."
Your gaze followed the workers as they carried the tree across the property.
"And..." You could hear the smile in his voice now. "Maybe I like spoiling my girlfriend."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Maybe?"
"Alright." He chuckled. "Definitely."
You shook your head, smiling to yourself, "I knew it."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"No," you admitted, watching the tree settle into place. "Not even a little."
"Good. Because I like seeing you happy."
You watched the first tree settle into the ground, the corners of your mouth refusing to cooperate. "You know," you murmured, "you're awfully pleased with yourself."
Chan laughed softly. "A little."
You shook your head. "Good." The silence that followed was comfortable, broken only by the sound of the crew unloading another tree. "I should let you get back to work," you said.
"Probably."
"I'll call you later."
"I'll be waiting."
You smiled. "And....thank you."
His answer came without hesitation. "Always, babydoll."
You slipped your phone back into your pocket and looked over the property once more. The workers were already waiting for your next instruction, another tree suspended on the forklift as they glanced your way.
"Alright," you called, walking toward them. "Let's figure out where the rest go."
𐙚
Saturday grocery trips had quietly become another habit.
It wasn't something either of you had planned. It was just easier. If you were already together after spending the morning at the nursery, one of you would inevitably realize there was nothing planned for dinner, Jia would immediately announce she was starving, and somehow the three of you always ended up wandering the grocery store together.
Chan pushed the cart a few feet ahead while you helped Jia decide between two different cereal boxes. Every few minutes she'd hold one up for your opinion before immediately turning to Chan for his.
He'd barely glance over before giving an answer, earning an exaggerated sigh every time she decided he hadn't put enough thought into it.
"You didn't even look."
"I did."
"No, you guessed."
"I've been right every time."
Jia narrowed her eyes as though she wasn't entirely convinced before slipping her hand back into yours and continuing down the aisle.
Neither of you thought anything of it.
It had become second nature somewhere along the way. She reached for your hand when she wanted to tell you something, when another cart rolled past a little too close, or simply because she felt like it. Sometimes she let go a few seconds later. Other times she'd forget she was holding on at all.
You barely noticed anymore.
The three of you drifted farther down the aisle, tossing items into the cart as you crossed things off the list on your phone. Chan reached for pancake mix while you compared prices, and Jia busied herself inspecting every brightly colored cereal box within arm's reach.
A woman stocking one of the shelves looked up as you passed, smiling when she noticed Jia tucked comfortably against your side.
"Staying close to Mommy today?"
The question was so casual it took a second to register. Your hand stilled where it rested on the cart. Across from you, Chan froze with a box of waffle mix halfway to the basket. Jia looked up at the woman, then back at you.
You found your voice first, "oh," you said with an apologetic smile. "I'm not..."
The woman's expression changed immediately, "Oh goodness, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," you assured her quickly. "Really."
She smiled, clearly embarrassed. "You three just looked so..." She gestured vaguely between the three of you before laughing at herself. "I'm sorry."
"No harm done," Chan said easily.
She thanked you both before moving farther down the aisle, leaving the three of you standing in the sudden quiet.
Jia was the first to break it. "Can we get strawberries?"
You looked down at her, "I thought you wanted grapes."
"I changed my mind."
Chan reached for the cart, "that makes one of us."
The conversation moved on as naturally as it always did. You finished shopping. Chan complained about the price of strawberries. Jia insisted on putting exactly three apples into one of the produce bags because "that's how many we need."
Everything felt normal again.
And yet, every now and then, when you caught Chan looking at you across the shopping cart, there was something thoughtful in his expression that hadn't been there before.
Neither of you mentioned it. Not there. Not with Jia humming to herself as she searched for the next thing on the grocery list.
The moment slipped quietly into the background, but neither of you left it behind.
--
By the time you made it back to Chan's house, the grocery bags had been rearranged three separate times in the back seat because Jia had decided she was in charge of making sure everything was "where it belonged."
Neither of you had questioned her system. Mostly because neither of you understood it.
Apparently, the cereal needed to be next to the snacks because they were friends, and the bread had to be moved because it was "too close to the heavy things." Chan had nodded along like this was perfectly reasonable.
Dinner followed the same rhythm the two of you had fallen into without noticing. You chopped vegetables beside him while he cooked, moving around each other in his kitchen with the kind of ease that only came from repetition. You no longer hesitated before opening cabinets or reaching for things. You knew where he kept the plates. He knew exactly how you liked your vegetables cut.
Jia sat at the island, swinging her feet as she supervised the entire process. "Daddy, you're putting too much seasoning."
Chan looked over his shoulder, completely offended. "You haven't even tasted it."
"I know."
"Then how do you know?"
She shrugged, entirely confident in herself. "I can tell."
You had to turn away to hide your laugh. Chan caught it anyway.
"You're laughing at me."
"I'm laughing at the fact that she sounds exactly like you."
That made him pause, then he pointed the spoon at you. "That's actually rude," but he was smiling.
The rest of the night passed the way it always seemed to lately. Bath time turned into a negotiation over which toys were allowed to join. Pajamas somehow became a ten-minute conversation about whether dinosaurs got cold at night. Story time became three books instead of one because Jia had mastered the art of asking for "just one more."
By the time Chan finally managed to close her bedroom door, the house had settled into the kind of quiet that only existed after Jia had used up every bit of energy she had.
You were curled into the corner of the couch when he came back into the living room, two glasses of wine in his hands.
"I come bearing rewards."
You looked up, accepting one from him. "For surviving bedtime?"
"For surviving today, especially grocery shopping."
You laughed softly. "That wasn't that bad."
Chan gave you a look as he sat down beside you. "You got called Jia's mommy in the middle of the store."
Your smile softened, "okay. Maybe it was a little eventful."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he set his glass down and reached for you, pulling you closer until you were sitting sideways across his lap.
You didn't protest, you barely even thought about it anymore. That was probably the part that surprised you most. How many things had become normal without either of you realizing it.
Chan rested one arm around your waist, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your side while the television played quietly in the background.
"Still thinking about it?"
You glanced down at him. "The store?"
He nodded.
You smiled slightly. "A little."
"Me too."
For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you looked down at your wine glass, "I don't even know why I hesitated."
He tilted his head slightly. "You don't?"
"It just didn't feel wrong."
The words came out quieter than you expected. Chan didn't tease you, or make a joke. He just looked at you like he understood exactly what you meant. "I know."
You stayed quiet for a moment, letting everything settle. It wasn't about replacing anyone. It wasn't about stepping into a role that wasn't yours. Jia had a father who loved her more than anything, and you would never want to change that.
It was just, somewhere along the way, she had started looking for you too.
"You know she really loves you, right?" Chan said quietly.
You looked up at him, a small smile pulling at your mouth. "I know."
"No, I mean..." He shifted slightly, his hand resting against your side as he looked at you. "She really loves you."
The softness in his voice made you smile, "I know, Chan."
And you did.
You saw it every time Jia reached for your hand without thinking or when she insisted on showing you something that had happened hours ago because apparently it couldn't wait another second. You weren't trying to become something you weren't. You were just someone she trusted.
Chan seemed to understand that too. "She doesn't do that with everyone," he said.
You glanced at him. "Do what?"
"Let people in."
There was something about the way he said it that made you look away for a second. Because Chan knew his daughter. He knew the difference between Jia being friendly and Jia being comfortable. He knew when she was simply being polite and when she had decided someone was safe.
And she had decided that about you.
"She's special," you murmured.
A small smile crossed his face. "She is."
His thumb moved slowly against your side, almost absentmindedly, "and so are you."
You immediately rolled your eyes, though the smile on your face gave you away. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"
"Not really."
That earned a quiet laugh from you, and Chan smiled at the sound.
"I just like seeing you two together," he admitted after a moment.
Your expression softened as you looked back at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." His gaze dropped briefly, like he was trying to put the feeling into words. "I don't know. I like that she has someone else who makes her happy."
The simplicity of it made your chest tighten.
Because that was Chan. He never looked at you like you were filling some empty space. He wasn't asking you to take on something that wasn't yours. He was just happy that the person he loved had found another person she loved too.
You leaned closer, resting your head against him. "I love you."
His arms tightened around you almost immediately, "I love you too."
For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. The house was quiet, Jia was asleep down the hallway, and you were sitting there with the person who had somehow become such a constant part of your life.
His fingers continued tracing slow circles against your arm as the silence settled again, comfortable and familiar. "I like this," he said after a while.
You looked up at him. "This?"
He glanced around the room.
The blanket thrown over the couch. Jia's toys that had somehow migrated out of her bedroom. The little pieces of her life scattered around the house. The little pieces of yours that had started appearing too.
"Yeah," he said softly. "This."
His eyes returned to yours, "you being here."
A smile tugged at your mouth. "You know I'm here a lot."
"I know."
His own smile appeared. "That's why I like it."
You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe."
The two of you sat there for another moment, wrapped up in the comfort of something that had stopped feeling new a long time ago.
Then his expression shifted slightly, not enough that anyone else would notice, but you did.
"What?"
Chan smiled a little. "I was just thinking."
"That sounds dangerous."
He laughed under his breath. "I know we've talked about this already."
You didn't need him to explain what he meant. You had talked about the future before. You had talked about what you wanted, what scared you, what kind of life you both imagined having someday.
This wasn't a new conversation.
It was just Chan admitting another piece of it. "I just think..." He paused, his hand moving from your side to your cheek. "I like imagining more."
You smiled. "More?"
His eyes flickered with amusement. "You know what I mean."
You tilted your head slightly. "Say it."
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You really like making me say things."
"Sometimes."
He looked at you for a moment before leaning closer, his forehead resting against yours. "Fine." His voice lowered, teasing but sincere, "I want to put a baby in you someday. Really make you a mommy"
The laugh that escaped you was immediate, and you pushed lightly against his shoulder. "Christopher."
"What?"
"You cannot just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because you know exactly what you're doing."
His grin widened, "maybe."
You shook your head, still smiling. "You're impossible."
"And you love me."
You looked at him for a moment, unable to argue with that. "Yeah," you whispered. "I do."
And when he kissed you, it wasn't because the conversation had changed everything.
It started soft. The kind of kiss that could have ended after three seconds and left you both content. But his hand was still on your cheek, and your weight was settled across his lap on the couch, and the house was so quiet around you.
His thumb traced along your jaw. Your fingers found the collar of his t-shirt.
The kiss deepened by degrees, neither of you rushing it. Chan's other hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing just enough to bring you closer, and you went willingly, your knees sinking deeper into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs.
When you finally broke apart to breathe, his lips didn't go far. They pressed to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the hinge of your jaw.
"Chan."
"Mm."
"Jia—"
"Is asleep." His mouth moved lower, tracing the line of your throat. "Has been asleep for an hour. Probably will be for the rest of the night."
You wanted to argue, or at least pretend to, but his lips found the spot just below your ear and the protest dissolved into a sharp inhale.
His laugh was a puff of warm air against your skin. "See?"
"You're very confident."
"I'm very observant." He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and his expression had shifted again; still soft, still loving, but with something hungrier moving beneath it. "Also, you're the one still sitting in my lap."
"Maybe I'm comfortable."
"Maybe." His hands slid down to your thighs, thumbs pressing circles through the fabric of your leggings. "But you're not just comfortable."
Your breath caught. "No?"
"No." He leaned forward, lips brushing yours but not quite kissing. "You're thinking about it too."
"About what?"
"What I said. About putting a baby in you."
Heat flooded through your chest, your stomach, lower. You couldn't look away from him. "You really don't hold back, do you."
"Not with you."
The words hung in the quiet. The baby monitor stayed green. The house stayed still.
Your voice came out quieter than you intended. "It is....something I think about."
"Yeah?"
"Sometimes. When you're holding her. When I watch you put her to bed." You swallowed. "I think about what it would be like if she was ours."
Chan's hands tightened on your thighs. Not painfully, just a reflexive squeeze, the kind that told you he was holding himself back from something.
"That's—" He stopped, exhaled slowly. "That's not fair."
"What isn't?"
"Saying things like that when you're sitting on me like this."
You felt the evidence of what he meant pressing against you through both your layers of clothing, and a small, involuntary sound escaped your throat.
Chan's head dropped back against the couch cushion, eyes closing for a beat. "I'm trying to be good."
"Who asked you to be good?"
His eyes opened, pupils dilated. "Okay," he murmured. "Come here."
He kissed you again, and this time there was nothing soft about it. His tongue swept across your lower lip, and you opened for him immediately, and the taste of him; the faint hint of the wine, the warmth of his mouth, made your fingers curl into his shirt.
His hands left your thighs.
Slid around to grip your ass through your leggings, pulling you down harder against him, and the friction drew a gasp from somewhere deep in your chest. Chan swallowed the sound, one hand moving up under the hem of your shirt, palm flat against the bare skin of your back.
You rolled your hips without meaning to, or maybe you meant to. Maybe you'd been meaning to since the moment he said those words in that low, teasing voice.
He broke the kiss with a groan. "Careful."
"Why?"
"Because she's asleep in the next room, and I'm not about to have an audience for this."
"There's no audience, right now. She'll be fine," you giggled.
Chan laughed, breathless. "That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
"The point," he said, and his hands were moving again, sliding your sweater up, fingertips tracing your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, "is that I want to take my time with you. And I can't do that if I'm worried about every little sound."
Your shirt came off.
Dropped somewhere on the floor beside the couch. Chan looked at you, the simple lace bralette you'd thrown on hours ago, the way your chest rose and fell with quickening breath, and something in his expression cracked open.
"God," he whispered. "Look at you."
"Chan."
"I mean it." His hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking the skin just above the waistband of your leggings. "Every time. Every single time, I think I'm prepared, and then you're right here, and I'm—"
He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the center of your chest, right over your sternum, and you felt his lips part, felt the wet heat of his tongue against your skin.
Your head tipped back. Your fingers threaded into his hair. "That's—" The word came out strangled.
He pulled back just far enough to speak. "What?"
"Nothing. Don't stop."
He didn't. His mouth moved across the swell of your breast above the lace, then down, his hands working at the clasp behind you with practiced ease. The bralette loosened, and he drew the straps down your shoulders with deliberate slowness, watching your face the whole time.
"Tell me if you want to stop," he said quietly.
"I don't."
"Tell me anyway. If anything feels like too much."
"Chan." You cupped his face in your hands, forcing his eyes to meet yours. "I want this. I want you. I have wanted you all day."
Something in his expression softened, then sharpened again. "Okay," he said. And then he was kissing down your neck, your collarbone, the newly exposed skin of your chest, and his hands were at the waistband of your leggings.
Chan kept his voice low, barely above a whisper, as he glanced toward the hallway leading to the bedroom down the hall. "We have to stay quiet," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips firmly.
You nodded as he started sliding the waistband of your leggings down your hips. He didn't just strip them off; he lingered, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your hips, teasing the edge of your underwear before you lifted so he could slide the fabric down and tossed them blindly onto the floor.
The cool air of the room hit your bare skin for only a heartbeat before his warmth returned. He didn't move to enter you immediately. Instead, he shifted, sliding his hands up your inner thighs, his palms hot and calloused. He spread your legs wide, pinning them back so you were completely open to him.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough. He groaned lookin you in the eyes, his gaze dark and heavy. "You're soaking wet for me. You've been wanting this all day, haven't you?" He shifted bringing one of his hands between your legs to find your clit, rubbing it in a slow, heavy circle.
You let out a shaky breath, your hips involuntarily twitching upward into his hand. "Yes....please, Chan. I can't....I need you."
He chuckled, a low, predatory sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Patience. I told you I wanted to take my time."
He freed himself quickly, his cock springing out, thick and pulsing, already leaking a bead of pre-cum at the tip. He didn't put it inside you yet; instead, he took your hand and guided your fingers to the head of his shaft, letting you feel the heat and the throb of his pulse.
"Feel that?" he whispered, his voice strained. "That's what you do to me. Just being near you has me like this."
You squeezed him gently, a small moan escaping both of you, and the sound seemed to break something in him. Chan shifted his position, leaning back against the couch to give you more space, his legs spreading to make room for you. He looked up at you, his eyes hunger-filled, his chest heaving.
"Get on top. I want to watch you take it."
You moved slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs. You straddled him, your knees digging into the soft fabric of the couch on either side of his hips. As you hovered over him, the head of his cock brushed against your opening, teasing the sensitive entrance but not yet pushing through. You gasped, your hands resting on his broad shoulders for balance, your fingers digging into his skin.
"Do it," he groaned, his hands coming up to grip your waist, his thumbs digging into your hips. "Slowly. I want to feel every single inch of you stretching around me."
You let out a shuddering breath and began to lower yourself. The sensation was overwhelming. You felt your walls stretch and mold around the thick girth of his shaft, sliding deep inside you in one slow, agonizingly perfect motion. You stopped halfway, the friction making your vision blur.
"Channie....you're so big," you whimpered, your head falling back.
"And you're so tight," he hissed, his eyes closing in sheer pleasure, his grip on your waist tightening until his knuckles were white. "Fuck, you're squeezing me so hard. Keep going baby, all the way down."
A soft gasp escaped your lips, but you bit it back, mindful of the sleeping child down the hall. Chan’s hands slid up your back under your shirt, holding you close as you bottomed out, feeling him hit your cervix with a blunt, satisfying thud.
Chan let out a low guttural sound, his head snapping back against the couch. "God....fuck....you feel incredible. Don't move. Just stay right there for a second." You stayed still, breathing heavily, feeling the way he filled every void inside you. The silence of the room was filled only by your synchronized, ragged breathing.
"I can't... I can't just stay still," you whispered, your voice trembling.
"Then show me," he challenged, a smirk playing on his lips despite the strain in his voice. "Show me how much you want it."
You didn't need to be told twice. You began to lift yourself, sliding up until you were almost off him, the suction of your pussy pulling at him, then slamming back down, taking all of him back inside. The wet, slapping sound of your pussy meeting his thighs echoed through the room.
You began to rock your hips. His cock throbbed inside you with each movement, stretching your walls. You moved deliberately, grinding down to feel every ridge and vein, your clit rubbing against his pubic bone.
"Fuck, just like that," he breathed against your ear, his tone strained to keep the volume down. You clenched around him, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. His fingers dug into your ass, guiding you up and down his length without making the couch creak too much. Each thrust stayed controlled, deep but silent, your bodies pressing together as you rode him.
"Just like that. Ride it. Take it all, baby."
You picked up the pace, your hips rolling in a rhythmic, grinding motion. Every time you descended, you felt his cock rubbing against your G-spot, sending jolts of electricity through your core. You leaned forward, pressing your chest against his, and pressed your mouth to his neck to muffle any sounds, while he thrust up to meet you, your breath coming in short, jagged pants.
"You like that?" he gasped, his voice dropping an octave as he began to thrust upward to meet you, his movements becoming more urgent. "Tell me how it feels. Tell me whose pussy this is."
"Yours," you sobbed out, your pace accelerating, your clit rubbing frantically against the base of his cock. "It's yours, Chan....oh god, please don't stop," you whined into his shoulder.
"I'm not stopping," he growled, his fingers digging deep into your flesh. "I'm going to fill you so full you'll feel me dripping out of you for hours."
It doesn't register that you were fucking raw until it was too late.
It hit you like cold water, the absence, the lack of that thin rubber barrier. You froze mid-roll, and he felt it, the way your rhythm stuttered, the way your thighs locked.
"What?" Chan's hands slid up your back, catching the shift in your body. "You okay?"
You lifted your head from his shoulder, and in the dim light slicing through the blinds, you saw his face; brows drawn, lips parted, still buried inside you. Raw. You opened your mouth, but the word came out wrong, barely a breath.
"Chan, we didn't —"
He went still. The air changed. "Fuck." He said it soft, not angry, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flattened against your lower back, pressing you closer, not pulling away. "Fuck, baby. I'm sorry. I got carried away, I should've—"
"We both did," you whispered, and your walls clenched around him involuntarily, you were still full, still feeling every inch of him twitching inside you. And God, it felt so much better than it should have. The heat of him, the slick slide, the way you could feel every ridge and vein with nothing between you.
He felt it. His breath hitched. "You need me to stop?" His voice had gone rough, that protective edge cutting through the lust. His thumb traced your hipbone. "Say the word. I'll pull out right now."
But you could feel him twitching inside you, the effort it was taking for him to hold still, to offer you the out. His jaw was tight. His cock was pulsing.
You should climb off. You should go find a condom in his nightstand, make him put one on, finish this the responsible way. Instead, you rocked your hips, just a fraction of an inch, and watched his eyes roll back.
"Don't you dare pull out," you breathed against his mouth.
His groan was strangled, cut short by the reminder of proximity, of the thin walls and the small ears. "You're going to get us in trouble," he breathed.
"Then keep me quiet."
He bit his lip and yanked you down into a kiss instead; open-mouthed, desperate, swallowing whatever sound tried to escape. His hips started moving again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to carve himself into you. "Fuck," he murmured into your mouth, the word vibrating through his chest into yours. "You're going to be the death of me."
You broke the kiss to breathe, pressing your forehead to his. Your movements were sloppier now, desperate, the coil in your belly winding tighter with every grind of your clit against his pubic bone.
"Chan—"
"I know," he gasped. "Me too. Where do you want it?"
The question sent a fresh wave of heat through you. Like it was a given. Like he was already planning to paint your insides white and deal with the consequences after.
"Inside," you breathed. "I want it inside."
His hips bucked up, once, twice, three more sharp thrusts, and then he was coming, hot and pulsing, his mouth clamped against your shoulder to muffle the sound, his whole body shuddering beneath you. You followed a second later, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, your thighs clenching around his hips as you rode it out.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the distant tick of a clock. The house was still. His daughter's nightlight glowed steady down the hall.
Chan's hand came up to cup the back of your head, his thumb stroking your hair. "Shit," he whispered. "That was..."
"Yeah."
You shifted, and felt the warm trickle of him starting to escape. A small, wet loss. You eased off his lap, your thighs slick, and landed on the couch cushion beside him. The air hit your skin, cooling the mess between your legs.
Chan was already reaching for the throw blanket draped over the armrest. He handed it to you without a word, and you pressed it between your thighs, leaning back against the cushions.
He didn't get up. Didn't rush to clean himself or put distance between you. He just sat there, catching his breath, his hand finding yours on the cushion.
You let him pull you to your feet. The blanket stayed pressed between your thighs as you followed him down the hall, past Jia's door soft pink light spilling out from underneath and into his bedroom at the end.
He closed the door behind you with a click that felt like a seal.
And when he came back from the bathroom with a warm washcloth, kneeling between your legs on the edge of his bed to wipe the evidence off your skin, you watched his hands move with the same care he used to braid Jia's hair, and something in your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the sex.
He tossed the washcloth in the hamper and killed the overhead light, leaving only the dim glow of the lamp on his nightstand. The bed dipped as he climbed in beside you, sheets cool against your still-warm skin.
You rolled toward him without thinking, your cheek finding the hollow of his shoulder, your palm flat against his chest. His arm came around you, hand settling in the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.
His heart was still drumming, so was yours.
He reached over with his free hand and switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The blinds caught a sliver of moonlight, just enough to see the outline of his jaw, the curve of his nose.
"Goodnight," he murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. You felt the word more than heard it , a vibration through his chest, a warm breath against your skin.
Between your thighs, you could still feel the ghost of him. The ache. The evidence. Your body humming with the memory of being full.
You tucked your face into his neck and let your eyes fall closed.
His breathing evened out within minutes; the deep, boneless weight of a man who'd spent himself completely. His arm stayed heavy around you, his hand splayed across your back like he was holding onto you even in sleep.
You listened to the rhythm of it. The soft tick of the clock on his nightstand. The faint hum of the house settling around you.
Down the hall, Jia slept on, dreaming her four-year-old dreams.
And you let yourself drift in the warm dark of his arms, not thinking about tomorrow, not thinking about what this meant; just breathing him in, your body still remembering the shape of his inside you, until sleep pulled you under, soft and steady, like tide coming in.
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a/n: TWO more chapters left chat! Its the way I kept falling asleep editing oops
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