chu♥︎

that means .. remembering your coffee order before you do. plugging your phone in after you fall asleep because he already knows you forgot again. laughing when your icy feet disappear beneath his thighs because, "you’re freezing, baby!" before wrapping your prized sanrio blanket tighter around you anyway.

the words come much, much later.

because to christopher, saying i love you is definitely not something you throw into the air.

this is after one of his late nights. he gets home well past midnight, shoulders slumped beneath his hoodie, smelling faintly of the studio and fabric softener. the apartment is crazy dark except for the slight glow of the television that you didn't remembered turning off.

you're asleep on the couch exactly where he knew you'd be, despite promising you wouldn't wait up .. as always!

because how were you ever supposed to feel at home without your boyfriend's arms draped all over you?

he crouches in front of you immediately, eyebrows knitting together. "oh baby .. why are you sleeping here?"

your eyes barely open, "wanted to see you." that's it, four sleepy little words.

and something inside his chest genuinely forgets how to work, so he doesn't say much after that.

instead, he stays impossibly close. one hand resting on your waist while you're both brushing your teeth, his forehead finding yours while leftovers spin lazily in the microwave, pulling you onto his lap instead of sitting beside you, as though even six inches suddenly feels unreasonable.

he gets like that whenever his feelings become too big for language.

later, you're sitting between his legs on the couch, wrapped inside the same sanrio blanket, which, to be honest, was a bit small for the both of you to fit under .. so naturally, he draped most of the blanket over you than himself. his chin rests on your shoulder while his thumb lazily traces invisible constellations across your palm, connecting stars only the two of you could ever see.

he hasn't stopped touching you all night .. which says something, considering how clingy channie already is.

"you okay?" you ask.

"yeah," pause. "just thinking." and another .. "you make bad days feel less bad."

you giggle. "that’s cute."

"don’t laugh, i'm being serious!"

you turn just enough to look at him.

and somehow the man who stands in front of stadiums without blinking suddenly can't make eye contact with one girl sitting in his lap. his girl.

his ears bloom pink.

his fingers fidget with yours.

"i think—" he stops & groans dramatically, then buries his face into your neck with all the dignity of a man accepting defeat.

"god, this is embarrassing .."

"christopher!"

"i love you, okay?" muffled into your shoulder. "like .. a lot. probably too much."

and because he's chan, silence lasts approximately half a second.

"don’t react yet, wait. actually— react! no wait—" you kiss him before he can spiral any further.

his shoulders soften first, then the tiny breath he didn't realize he'd been holding finally escapes, like he'd been standing on the edge of something terrifying .. only to discover you had been waiting there the whole time.

now .. scenario 2, maybe you say it first.

after he spends nearly twenty minutes patiently drying your hair because you were too tired to bother. carefully combing through every knot like it was the most important job he'd ever been given, mumbling apologies whenever he accidentally tugged a little too hard.

the room smells like shampoo, and the hairdryer clicks off. and you smile, "i love you."

he freezes, completely buffering, and staring at you like you'd just reached into the sky and handed him the moon.

"you love me?"

"yeah?"

"like… for real?"

and when you laugh, he practically launches himself at you, pulling you into the safest hug you've ever known. "okay," he whispers into your hair. "good, because i've been trying not to say it for weeks."

amd after that .. he never really stops.

before falling asleep? iloveu! pressed against your temple while you're waiting in line at the grocery store? iloveu! half-asleep in the morning? iloveu! while you're making coffee? iloveu! while you're looking out the car window? iloveu!

sometimes just because he looked at you for a second too long? "i love you."

"you said that five minutes ago, channie."

"yeah, and?"

minho ಄

it clearly wasn’t planned .. nothing with minho ever was.

one second you were both in your shared apartment arguing over whether he overfeeds soonie (he does) while he cooked dinner and you sat on the counter swinging your legs, stealing slices of tomatoes off his cutting board. and the next, you were exhausted after a long week, leaning your cheek against his shoulder while he stirred something on the stove, and it just slipped out.

quietly too! a small, "i love you, you know that?"

and for maybe three seconds—which is a lot for lee minho by the way, the world stopped.

because this man, who always had something to say, suddenly had nothing.

he blinked once .. twice .. turned back to the stove .. stirred absolutely nothing because the pan didn’t need stirring anymore .. and you caught the tips of his ears turning pink.

"why are you saying weird things while i’m cooking?" he mumbled.

you immediately panicked. "oh—sorry—you don’t .. have to say it back, i just—"

"did i say that?"

you stared .. & he refused to look at you.

"you’re making this awkward," he added, except his voice was quieter now.

i feel like minho is not the grand-confession typa guy, honestly ! love with him always lived in different places like packed lunches, his bundles (and yours), warming your side of the bed, and sending photos of dori at 2pm with zero context .. so hearing those words? it hit him harder than expected.

you hopped off the counter dramatically. "okay! wow y/n, new high score .. rejected in your own home .."

and before you could fully walk away, his hand caught your wrist lightly. “mm,” he'd hum; you turned.

he still wasn’t looking directly at you, by the way! very brave of him.

"i love you too."

"…that’s it?"

he finally looked up with that stupid smirk, "do you want fireworks? a parade?"

"yes, actually. and more noodles."

"tough."

but after dinner, he was .. weird? weird as in following you room to room weird. sitting closer on the couch weird. letting you steal his hoodie without fighting weird. at one point you caught him staring while you played with doongi.

"what?"

"nothing."

"you’re staring."

he looked away immediately. "you said you loved me first! so you deal with the consequences."

"the consequences being?"

he pulled you down beside him until your head rested on his shoulder naturally, like muscle memory.

"this," he said quietly.

later that night, when you were half asleep and tangled together under blankets, you felt him press a kiss near your temple, soft enough that you almost missed it.

"say it again tomorrow," he whispered, and you smiled into his chest. pfft what a tsundere. failed successfully!

bini ಄

this man loves loudly but accidentally !!!!!! 

you're both tucked away at home, an evening where neither of you bothers pretending to look presentable. sleep still lingers in your eyes, your hair has long since given up, and somewhere between the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the soft music playing in the background, the apartment feels wonderfully lived in.

you're perched on the kitchen counter while he cooks, as if there aren't perfectly good chairs a few feet away, but he simply functions better when you're within reach. one hand stirs whatever's simmering in the pan, the other absentmindedly rests against your knee, thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your skin as naturally as breathing.

it's been one of those days, you never tell him that .. he just knows.

before you even think to ask, your favorite mogumogu appears beside you, condensation gathering on the small bottle exactly the way you like it. 

he keeps filling the silence with ridiculously bad gym jokes, grinning at his own punchlines before leaning over every few minutes to steal another tiny kiss, each one so quick and absentminded it feels less like affection and more like instinct, as though he's collecting little reminders that you're still right there.

then, impatient as always, you sneak a taste straight from the pan. and a second later, you're hissing dramatically, waving your hand in front of your mouth after burning your tongue.

"ow—"

he immediately drops everything. "baby? wait—here, water—why do you eat lava???"

you're laughing and crying. he's dramatically checking if your tongue survived. big hands holding your face, eyebrows all scrunched, and then it slips out.

"i love you, but you have like .. zero survival instincts." you’d say.

silence, actual silence, because he freezes. and you do too. the kitchen fan is suddenly the loudest thing on earth.

his eyes go wide for like two seconds before he looks like his brain blue-screened. now this doesn’t mean he didn’t feel it, he does, soso much .. he just wasn't expecting now! at least, not while holding a spatula. 

you blink first. " .. you didn't hear that."

"but i did???"

"oh my god,"

"no wait—" he puts both hands on your cheeks again because physical affection is literally his operating system. "no, no, wait." he looks nervous for maybe the first time in months. which is saying something for someone who usually walks around built like a tank with golden retriever energy. "i wanted to say it first!"

your heart drops, then he continues. "not because i wanted to win or something stupid, okay!" he laughs awkwardly. "i just .. i've been feeling it for a while."

you stare and he gets shy for approximately 0.3 seconds before recovering. "i love you too, babylove, my princess, angel, fairy, goddess—like—a lot! kinda embarrassingly a lot .."

"you got taken aback."

"angel, you randomly dropped a life-changing sentence while burning your tongue."

you're laughing far more than the situation deserves now, the sound spilling into every corner of the kitchen until even he can't keep a straight face anymore.

he doesn't even think before reaching for you, he just does.

his arms wrap around you in one swift motion, pulling you flush against his chest in one of those impossibly tight hugs where your feet almost leave the floor. he's ridiculously strong, impossibly clingy, and has never once learned how to love in halve, as though holding you as close as humanly possible is the only way he knows how to convince himself you're really there.

then he mumbles into your hair, "say it again."

"you already heard it."

"again."

"i love you." his smile gets so big it's stupid.

"yeah," he says quietly. "that sounds right."

hyun ಄

the ridiculous thing was .. you both already knew, long before either of you ever gathered the courage to say it out loud.

it lived quietly in the spaces between you instead. in the way he always drifted to the roadside of the pavement without thinking, as though protecting you had become second nature. in the way your hopelessly tangled earphones somehow always ended up neatly wrapped in his hands before you even noticed. in how his apartment slowly stopped feeling like his, your skincare bottles appearing beside his ridiculously aesthetic candles until they looked like they had always belonged there.

the feeling was never the mystery, the words were. somehow, they were infinitely scarier.

hyunjin realizes first, and of course he does. he's halfway through a painting on some random tuesday afternoon, sunlight spilling across the studio floor while you're curled up nearby, happily occupied with your own little world. his brush pauses in midair, and he looks at you.

then suddenly .. oh. oh no. this is bad. this is huge. he's in love. not a little. is it in a fleeting, poetic way he'd eventually paint over? no. he's hopelessly, embarrassingly, movie-ending kind of in love.

he doesn't say it.

instead, he somehow becomes even worse.his hands find yours more often. forehead kisses become as frequent as breathing. he catches himself staring across rooms with the softest smile, only realizing you've noticed when you tilt your head.

"why are you looking at me like that?" 

"you're just .. very shaped."

"what does that even mean?"

"i don't know."

he doesn't say anything right away, mostly because his brain has an unfortunate habit of completely short-circuiting whenever it comes to you.

he'd imagined the confession a hundred different ways already, something beautiful; candlelight reflecting off pretty dinner plates. Flowers, obviously. maybe even a handwritten poem because, unfortunately for everyone involved, he's exactly that kind of person.

he wanted it to feel cinematic. life, however, has a habit of laughing at dramatic men.

so it happens after the most wonderfully unremarkable day. it's nearly one in the morning. you're both swallowed by oversized clothes, surviving on instant ramen because neither of you has the energy to make anything real. the kitchen glows under warm yellow lights while the kettle hums softly, and hyunjin, incapable of standing still for more than thirty seconds, is dramatically dancing beside the stove as he waits for the water to boil.

you laugh despite yourself, and then, he looks at you, quietly, different from that practiced, heartbreakingly beautiful stare he unconsciously gives whenever he's teasing you.

because your laughter lingers in the apartment a little longer than the music, because you're wearing his hoodie, sleeves swallowing your hands, and because somehow this tiny, ordinary moment, the chipped bowls, the instant noodles, the gummy smiles, feels infinitely more breathtaking than every perfect confession he'd rehearsed in his head.

and all at once, every grand plan quietly falls apart.

and he blurts.

"oh."

you blink. "oh what?"

he looks mildly horrified, then he starts pacing. "no wait because this wasn't supposed to happen like this. i had ideas. i literally had a concept."

"hyunjin—"

"no because why am i saying it beside ramen?" you start laughing, he grabs your shoulders dramatically.

"i love you, okay? which is inconvenient because i wanted candles or a rooftop or something cinematic but now it's instant noodles and your ugly house slippers."

silence, and he immediately spirals.

"you don't have to say it back right now by the way! actually— forget i said it. no don't forget it. remember it forever. but no pressure. oh my god—"

you cut him off by pulling him closer, "i love you too, hyune."

his brain exits the building. " .. seriously?"

"yeah?"

the grin that spreads across his face is ridiculous. full dimples. crescent eyes disappearing. pure sunshine .. and then his eyes tear up. 

"so technically," he says smugly, wrapping himself around you, "this means i win."

"you confessed in front of ramen."

"and yet i got the girl."

he kisses your forehead three times because one isn't enough, pulls you against his chest, and whispers softer this time, "i really, really love you."

sung ಄

zero plans. i’m telling you, zero! man rehearsed confessions in the shower for months and still blurts it out during the dumbest moment possible.

the first time jisung almost says it, it's by accident. not at all a romantic, cliche accident either. more like .. 2am, seven back-to-back voice notes because he got emotional after finishing a song draft.

voice note 01: "okay so don't laugh but i think this chorus sounds like a divorced father of three."

voice note 02: him aggressively singing.

voice note 03: silence. then, "wait, did i send the wrong file?"

voice note 04: "actually no, listen to this part—"

voice note 05 is just him sighing. "do you ever think it's weird how attached humans get? Like .. one day you're chilling and then suddenly one person becomes part of your routine and now you can't sleep unless they text goodnight."

you smile into your pillow.

voice note 06: "anyway. ignore me, baby. i'm in my .. feelings."

voice note 07: " .. also eat breakfast tomorrow."

he's affectionate constantly, hanging off you in public, kissing your cheeks randomly, squeezing your hand under tables, dramatically collapsing into your lap after long days, but actual vulnerability is something he circles around like a nervous cat, so months pass .. and then it happens while grocery shopping.

at the desserts aisle.

he's standing there, hair messy, carrying way too many snacks because "what if future-us wants options?" while arguing passionately about chip flavors.

"you cannot disrespect sour cream like this."

"i'm not disrespecting it, ji, i'm saying barbecue clears."

"you wound me."

"you're dramatic."

he gasps, loudly.

"me? dramatic? after everything we've been through?"

"we've been through grocery shopping."

"we've been through love."

you blink, he freezes, and you too, freeze.

an uncle pushing a cart squeezes past .. han's eyes go huge. "oh."

you stare, and he stares harder.

"oh my god."

"you just—"

"i know."

his ears turn red immediately. he starts laughing because that's what he does when he panics. "no because wait—that wasn't—i mean it was—but not like—wait no it is like that—"

you're trying not to laugh, he puts both hands over his face. "this is horrible! i had plans."

"you had plans?"

"yes?! there was supposed to be music involved .. maybe rain .. more chocolates."

"you said it first?"

"accidentally!"

"but you meant it?"

he drops his hands, and suddenly he looks small in that way he sometimes does when he's being honest. "yeah." quiet now. "yeah, i meant it." his fingers hook around yours.

"i think i've meant it for a while actually. which is annoying because now you know."

the words leave him with a sheepish little smile, almost as though he's embarrassed by how long he'd been carrying them around without realizing.

and somehow, your chest aches.

not painfully.

just... achingly full.

"you're stupid."

his entire face lights up so quickly it's almost blinding.

"that means you love me too?"

you roll your eyes, fighting a smile that had already betrayed you.

"i love you too, ji."

for exactly half a second, he forgets how to exist.

then his grin stretches so wide his cheeks hurt, dimples appearing like they couldn't wait another second.

he throws both hands into the air.

"everybody in aisle nine, she loves me back!"

every single person nearby immediately pretends not to be listening.

"han."

"i'm overwhelmed! do you think aisle ten heard—"

"han."

he laughs so hard he nearly folds in half before cupping your face with both hands like you're something impossibly precious.

one kiss lands on your forehead. another. and another. then your nose. then your cheek. Then he leans his forehead against yours, still smiling so hard his eyes have practically disappeared.

"cool. was getting worried there for a sec." as if there had ever been a universe where the answer would've been anything else.

oh and he absolutely insists on buying celebration ice cream afterward !! because love deserves dessert .. and while paying, he proudly tells the cashier he's having, "the best monday of my life!"

lix ಄

it's one of those slow mornings where the apartment hasn't quite woken up yet, the coffee is still brewing somewhere behind you, birds chatter lazily outside the window, and sunlight spills across the kitchen floor in warm little patches neither of you bothers to step around.

somewhere along the way, your relationship had quietly become domestic .. neither of you ever noticed when it happened.

his jacket permanently lives on the back of your chair now. your hair ties have mysteriously claimed every surface of his apartment. he knows exactly how much sugar goes into your coffee without asking, and you already know he'll spend the next ten minutes complaining about being cold despite stubbornly wearing shorts every single morning.

you're standing over the stove, trying to flip eggs with the concentration of someone operating heavy machinery. meanwhile .. he's attached to your back, completely, like dora the explorer’s particularly affectionate backpack that refuses to be removed.

"lix," you laugh, trying to rescue breakfast before it becomes scrambled by force. "move! you're literally making me cook with an extra fifty-six kilos."

"i'm helping."

"you're hugging my waist."

"exactly!"

his arms tighten ever so slightly, cheek nestled comfortably between your shoulder blades, his sleepy voice rumbling softly against your shirt while he lazily sways the both of you from side to side. with this big baby, physical touch isn't even a love language, it's closer to a biological necessity.

eventually you manage to turn around, spatula still in hand, and immediately have to bite back a laugh.

his freckles still peek through the morning puffiness dusting his cheeks, his hair has surrendered entirely to sleep, sticking up in impossible directions, and his eyes are barely open beneath heavy lids. it's deeply unfair that someone could look this pretty at nine in the morning. what a sunshine.

"you're staring," he says.

"you look weird."

"you kissed me first this morning."

"that was charity."

he gasps dramatically, heart lips parting in betrayal. "mean."

you grin and reach up to fix the strand of hair sticking out. and because he's felix, because he's too soft for his own good, because affection leaks out of him constantly .. he catches your wrist and kisses your palm without thinking.

"thanks for taking care of me," he mumbles.

"i made eggs, fefe."

"you always take care of me."

you shrug. "you take care of me too."

his expression changes a little, and he pulls you closer until your stomach presses against the counter.

"i love you."

silence, his eyes widen immediately after, and you blink. then he blinks. the eggs start burning.

"oh my god," he says, voice dropping lower from panic. "wait. wait—i mean—i do mean it—but i wasn't— not that i wasn't trying to—"

"felix."

"i wanted it to be cooler than this, guys."

"the eggs are smoking."

"okay, this is horrible." you start laughing so hard you bend forward while his hands cover his face.

"i ruined it."

"no you didn't."

"you didn't say it back," he whispers through his fingers; so you grab his wrists and pull them away.

the smile reaches you before the words do, small, sleepy and softer than the morning light pouring through the kitchen window. "i love you too, sunshine."

for a moment, he just stares. it's almost funny how visibly his entire face changes, like someone reached inside him and turned every light on at once. his eyes grow impossibly round, freckles lifting with the biggest smile you've ever seen.

"really?"

"no," you deadpan. "i just enjoy emotional torture."

he gasps dramatically before immediately launching himself at you. his arms wrap around your waist so tightly your feet nearly leave the floor, the hug so enthusiastic it squeezes a tiny squeak out of you.

he buries his face into the curve of your neck with an utterly shameless grin."say it again," he mumbles, his voice warm against your skin.

"you're clingy."

"correct." he doesn't even deny it.

"again."

you laugh quietly, fingers disappearing into his impossibly messy hair, absentmindedly smoothing down strands that refuse to listen. "i love you."

his answer comes in kisses, one against your cheek, then another, then another, and another. until you've completely lost count somewhere around seven.

he finally pulls back just enough to look at you, still smiling with that impossibly bright, sunshine sort of happiness that makes it feel like the whole apartment has become warmer. "cool," he says softly. "now we can be disgusting together."

you glance over his shoulder. ".. the eggs are dead."

he follows your gaze to the pan, where breakfast has long since surrendered to its fate. without even looking concerned, he simply shrugs, stealing one more quick kiss before resting his forehead against yours.

"we have love."

" .. love doesn't scrape burnt eggs off the pan."

"no," he says with complete confidence.

"but i will."

.. he absolutely does not.

the pan ends up soaking in the sink for the rest of the day while the two of you eat cereal on the couch instead, still tangled up together as though breakfast had never really been the point in the first place.

seung ಄

with seungmin... it happens because you're unbelievably annoying.

"...can you stop following me?"

"i'm walking to your kitchen, seung."

"you've been in my personal space for fourteen minutes."

"you hugged me??"

"i regretted it immediately."

"liar."

"i regret this conversation."

he clicks his tongue with the sort of long-suffering sigh reserved exclusively for you, watching as you laugh your way into his kitchen and open a cupboard without so much as asking,like you live there. which, at some point .. you sort of started to.

his varsity hangs neatly over the back of a dining chair, the very same one you stole two days ago and only returned because he’d begun sending dramatically edited missing person posters to your dms, complete with reward money and blurry surveillance photos.

somehow, his cereal has quietly become your cereal. his couch permanently wears your favorite shawl. his apartment carries the faint, comforting scent of your shampoo, tucked between fresh laundry and morning coffee.

you've settled into his life so naturally that neither of you can remember when it stopped being his place and started feeling like somewhere the both of you simply belonged. now you're balanced precariously on your tiptoes, reaching for the highest shelf because, for reasons known only to kim seungmin, every snack worth eating appears to be stored at nba-player height. which is weird because your boyfriend is barely 5 '11.

"i got it."

"no, i—"

"i said i got it."

"you literally can't see over my hea—"

"oh my god."

he walks behind you with the biggest sigh known to mankind, one hand resting on your waist without thinking while the other reaches above your head.

"so dramatic," you mutter, stretching another inch toward the top shelf. "do you keep these here so you stretch and grow taller or something?"

"says the minion risking a concussion for gummy bears."

"you would've caught that minion."

".. yeah."

it slips out so easily it almost disappears into the quiet. for just a second, neither of you says anything. you finally manage to grab the packet, nearly losing your balance in victory, before turning around with a triumphant grin.

and find him already looking at you. his hair is still hopelessly messy from this morning. the sleeves of his hoodie are pushed carelessly up his forearms, and he's wearing that expression; the one that's impossibly soft, the one he never realizes he's making whenever he forgets to guard his face around you.

"what?"

"hm?"

"you're staring."

he blinks once, as though you'd pulled him back into the room. "you have gummy bear dust on your cheek."

you look down at the unopened packet in your hand. ".. i literally haven't opened them."

".. oh."

you raise an eyebrow. "so you're just making shit up."

he clears his throat with all the composure of someone whose dignity has just packed its bags and left. "i panicked."

"you panicked?" there's the tiniest pause.

".. i didn't expect you to catch me."

you can't help smiling, "catching you doing what?"

"..."

"..."

"loving you."

silence. real, actual silence. he blinks once. then immediately groans. "...ah."

you blink.

"i wasn't supposed to say it like that."

"you—"

"i know."

"you literally just—"

"i know."

"you said—"

"i love you, yeah.. gosh."

his ears are turning pink so fast it's almost impressive, "i was gonna be cool one day."

"you?" you're trying so hard not to laugh. "cool?"

"i had a whole image."

"you never had an image, kim."

"i had potential."

"no, you had delusion."

"can you focus? i'm having a vulnerable moment."

"you confessed because i had imaginary gummy bear dust on my face."

"i told you i panicked."

the smile you're trying to hold back loses immediately. you laugh so hard you have to grab his arm, and he looks offended for exactly two seconds before the corners of his own mouth betray him.

"you're such an idiot. ‘ohmy, my precious y/n, you caught me being in love with you~~"

"mo, please .."

you shake your head, looking up at him. "i love you too."

".. yeah?"

"mhm."

"no hesitation?"

"i've been waiting for you."

" .. seriously?"

"you almost said it when i fell asleep on your shoulder."

" .. don't expose me."

"and when you got sick."

" .. delete those memories."

"and after we argued over whether cereal is soup."

"it isn't."

"it doesn't matter."

"it matters to history."

you reach up and cup his face anyway, he pretends to be inconvenienced for exactly half a second before leaning into your hand without realizing it.

" .. you're smiling," you whisper.

"i'm not."

"you have dimples."

".. those are structural."

you laugh again, and he rolls his eyes, muttering something about how you're lucky you're cute, but his arms have already found their place around your waist. "you know," he murmurs into your hair, voice low and syrup-soft now that you're close enough to hear it properly, "next time i say something life-changing .."

"hm?"

".. can you try not to laugh in my face?"

you grin against his shoulder, "no promises."

"oh well .. still love you though." and this time, he says it on purpose.

iyen ಄

so, it happens because of a lizard, at exactly seven-thirteen in the morning.

" .. jeongin." silence.

" .. jeongin."

another sleepy little grunt disappears into the pillow beside you.

"yang jeongin."

"hm."

"don't move."

"...why."

his voice is still tangled in sleep, low and raspy, words muffled against the pillow. black hair sticks up in every impossible direction, sunlight catching the stubborn strands falling over his forehead. without opening his eyes, he reaches across the bed until his hand finds your waist, like it always does.

his arm curls around you automatically, pulling you into his chest with the ease of someone whose body had memorized yours long before he ever consciously did.

"mm, baby, you're cold."

you don't respond. your eyes remain locked on one horrifying spot above the bed.

".. i'm about to be dead.

"that finally earns half of his attention. ".. what?"

you swallow dramatically. "there is a beast."

one eye slowly cracks open. ".. where? me?"

with all the courage of someone preparing to deliver their final testimony, you lift one trembling finger, and point toward the ceiling. "there."

he blinked. "baby, that's a lizard. a tiny one at that."

"tiny?" your voice cracks in disbelief. "it has a tail!"

".. it came with it."

"do something!"

"i just woke up!"

"jeongin!"

"i've been conscious for twelve seconds!"

"well be conscious faster!"

he sighs, rubbing both hands over his face before looking back up. ".. okay."

the lizard moved. and so did you.

except the lizard made considerably better decisions. your scream tore through the apartment; a full-body horror-movie one that was pulled directly from your soul.

before jeongin has time to process anything, you're already airborne .. one frantic scramble, one spectacularly uncoordinated leap, and somehow, against every law of physics .. you end up squarely on top of your very bewildered boyfriend.

"woah—" his reflexes woke up long before the rest of him did.

strong hands catch your waist without hesitation, steadying you before your panicked escape attempt sends both of you flying off the bed. 

the mattress bounces beneath you. his hair is still adorably messy, and sleep lingers in the softness of his eyes. all while his bare chest is warm beneath your trembling hands, the morning sun pouring through the curtains in quiet ribbons of gold that stretch across broad shoulders and the gentle definition of his abs. the light catches against his skin so unfairly that, under any other circumstance, you probably would've stared.

meanwhile, you remained completely oblivious .. your entire soul was still somewhere near the ceiling.

he blinked once, then looked past your shoulder. then back at you.

"you scared it, baby."

“it fucking scared me!"

he started laughing, dimples out, shoulders shaking, eyes disappearing into fox eyes while you clung onto him like your life depended on it.

"you are actually unbelievable."

"stop laughing!"

"i can't."

"i'm serious!"

"so am i."

"jeongin!"

"baby, i think it's more afraid of you."

"good."

another glance toward the ceiling, and the lizard had disappeared .. so, every ounce of colour immediately drains from your face.

" .. where the fuck did it go?"

you both slowly looked around the room.

"jeongin."

".. yeah?"

"if it touches me, i'm passing away."

he sighs with theatrical exhaustion.

"okay .." before you can question him, both hands tighten around your waist. he stands up effortlessly, taking you with him. your legs instinctively tighten around his waist.

you don't even notice you've wrapped yourself around him until you're suddenly eye level with the top shelves.

"you are not helping."

"i'm relocating the hostage."

"i am the hostage."

"i know."

he walked around the room carrying you like you weighed absolutely nothing, opening curtains, checking behind the wardrobe, under the desk.

"you've gotten suspiciously strong."

"i work out."

"you show off every chance you get."

he hums, "you noticed."

"i regret noticing."

"mhm."

"you smell nice."

".. thank you?"

"i hate that this is romantic."

his laugh rumbles through his chest, and because you're pressed so closely against him, you feel every bit of it, "i'm fighting for our lives, baby."

"you're conducting a lizard inspection shirtless."

"did you want me to put a shirt on first?"

"..."

".. actually no."

he grins, "thought so."

after another minute of searching, he notices the tiny culprit disappearing through the slightly open balcony door. "there."

he watches it disappear outside before sliding the door shut with one hand and turns back to you. "you can let go now, angel."

".. no."

"you've still got both legs around me."

"i know."

"my circulation misses me."

"you'll live."

he looked at you for a second before smiling, that stupid, ridiculously cute smile with his dimples making an appearance. "so dramatic."

"you love it."

"i really do."

the words left his mouth so naturally that neither of you registered them, until you both froze.

".."

his ears turned pink first. ".. well."

".. well."

you blinked. "you .. what?"

he rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't supporting you. ".. i said it."

"you did."

"i wasn't .. planning to."

"i know."

".. you don't have to say it back just because—"

"i love you too."

his fox eyes softened instantly. ".. yeah?"

you smiled, pressing the quickest kiss against the corner of his mouth. "yeah."

a beat passed, then he ruined the moment.

"So .."

"so?"

"if another lizard shows up,"

"i'm leaving you."

"what?"

"you'll be sacrificed first."

he gasped, "you literally just said you loved me?"

"i do .. but if it's between you and a lizard?" you nodded solemnly, "i'm picking survival."

".. i take it back."

"you can't."

　 ㅤ꯭yani ❤︎ hihello .. FIRST of all this is a collab w my sweet girl @eyisy so make sure to go show her incredible smau ver. a lot love too !! (≧∇≦) moving on~ #comeback x2 because i haven't posted hcs in a WHILE ! can we all please cheer i'm in my active era starting today づ. ◟マ + i hope we like the new theme and layout !!

HEARTLIST 𑄝੭ @its-stayville-forever @box-troll @woozarts @katsukis1wife @nctly @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbae @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @tricky-ritz @mangojellyyy @coquettecookiestay143 @hwangjoanna @jjuniebinnie @queenofdumbfuckery @wheresangel @warped-rabbithole @amarecerasus @straykiisses @hyunnerism @alisonyus @bangingchanxx @simpqueen2025 @pillbaby-main @chuahuahua @wheresangel @firstclassjaylee @shinwonderful @lolawritesforlove @hyunjinniemylove @babrieeee @midnite-fiction @eyisy @itsraininghyunebuckets @satan-223 @mikachux3 @itsraininghyunebuckets @lovelyjinirets @written-by-music ❤︎ get added!

ⓘ strikethrough = @ not working!

do not repost, copy, or feed my work to a.i. leave a like, comment & reblog to support the author. ♡ׁ◜ o ◝݂ ྀི১

he lets out a groan that could’ve contained stress and tiredness across several generations, and now is released as his eyes flutter close, not quite tired —he wishes he could be that lucky— but itchy in that sleepy way that tells him he’s well over his bedtime.

but, to be fair, could anyone blame him? love makes people a little bit crazy.

“chan-ahhhh,” your voice echoed in the hotel room through his computer, left not too far away from the bed, sitting on the dark desk table there. “muffinnnn,” you teased.

chan knew himself to be a weak man. and a weak man knows no law. or what was it?

“oh noooo,” your voice echoed with that electric sound coming from the computer call. if chan’s eyes were open, he could see you lying on your bed, arms folded beneath your face with one hand holding your face up as you made silly faces at the screen. “baby, your camera’s off.”

a weak man knows no law? no, that can’t be. a something man knows no something. god, english can be such a prick of a language sometimes.

it only came to chan’s head when you started making kissy sounds from your end of the facetime. drowning. a drowning man knows no law. and it only occurred to him because chan would’ve given by now exorbitant amounts of anything, there it be money or else, to be drowning in your kisses as you spoke.

“mmmm,” he hummed all smily, knowing you could hear it from the other end.

“darling,” you mumbled softly, sweet as so many different things that chan would probably get type one diabetes if he tried them all one after the other.

you teased him. “you’re soooo sleepy, mr. chan.” your accusation was met with nothing but silence, so you knew you were right. “you should sleep, honey,” you spoke, softer again.

chan let out tiny whines and moans as he stretched himself.

you hummed, smiling. “mmm, hot boy noises.”

“yes,” he let out before relaxing his body again, now less tense. “your hot boy,” he giggled, the smile rolling off his tone.

there was a bit. two. he turned his head over and looked at the camera.

maybe it was how you were the closest thing he could get to have you there with him, in the flesh, and still, the computer screen could never be enough, or maybe he was just very sleepy indeed, but before he could think too much about it, he let out a soft,

“i miss you so much i get flashbacks of you when i close my eyes.”

and the worst part is that the affirmation wasn’t just said to hear your lovingly cute giggle and the “awww baby” that you let out before, or to see your face all smiley on his computer screen. It was true.

“really?” you asked all giggly, like just the mere thought of your boyfriend thinking of you could turn your heart and your brain into fluffy mush.

it was something like that, to be honest.

“i swear,” he sighed softly, both loving and tired.

“what do you see? Is it like, do you picture me like in dead wife flashbacks, or like, more of a powerpoint of me’s.” you rambled, also starting to feel sleepy.

he snorted, and snuggled into himself, lying on the bed the closest he could be to the computer.

“dead wife?” he let out, “i don’t want my wife to die.”

you cackled, your chest all warm and fuzzy just because he uttered the w-word. “im not dead yet, silly. you don’t know what dead wife flashbacks are?”

maybe chan knew what it was. maybe he’d seen some in a couple of movies here and there. but, it was the perfect excuse to keep hearing your voice and watching you talk as you snuggled against your pillow at the other side of the screen.

he’d be a fool not to take it.

“what are you even talking about.”

you snorted at his tired confussion, and answered the question he was too tired to ask with the necessary questioning tone. “it’s like, in movies, when the main character’s partner dies, usually when they also have a child together, and there’s always like, old videos of usually him recording her while they’re like, on the beach late in the day and the sun is going down and it shines against her and she’s laughing, or something,” you licked your lips, yawning.

he yawned back, the damn thing ever so contagious.

he closed his eyes again, and now tried to imagine you in the way you just described. but, without noticing, he turned around and opened his eyes again, staring at the screen.

“i see my beautiful girl,” he started, his heart softening when he saw your smile on the screen. “she’s all smiley. i see her in a computer screen, lying on her bed,” he chuckled as you started cackling.

“so you just see me in your flashbacks?”

it wasn’t just you. it was you. he didn’t need anything else but you. and he loved you. he loved you, warm, and solid, and equally soft, and tender, and all so… yourself. he’s truly mad for you. and it’s all madness. the one that made him unable to think about all this properly, let alone put it into words —not when there’s so many things left to be said.

he loved you. he’d be nothing but a fool if he didn’t mention the way he was obsessed with every square milimeter of your skin. he wanted to crawl beneath it and cover himself with it like a blanket. he wanted to swim in the ever so shimmery colour of your eyes.

but this was all too much to let out for sleepy, sleepy chan. so he blinked slowly as he looked at you.

“yeah,” he sighed instead, smile still on his face. “no wives killed in the process.”

you let out a soft giggle at his sleepy humour.

“it’s so unfair that your camera’s off,” you then mumbled, your face snuggled in your pillow.

chan shrugged, even though you couldn’t see him. “I turned off the lights, so the camera can’t really see anything. maybe that’s why it turned off.”

“maybe,” you nodded softly.

there’s a beat in which none of you spoke, and then you sighed.

“my love.”

he found himself in awe at how soft the words came out. It tickled his heart, warming it. chan blinked, looking at his computer’s screen.

“i’m so in love with you,” he mumbled. “i miss you so much. two months without seeing you is torture,” he almost whined. “and there’s still a month left.”

“i miss you too. so much.” you smiled sofly, honesty oozing off of it. “i should let you sleep.”

you giggled at chan’s dramatic whine, as you started to drag out the moment you’d need to hang up the call. but you couldn’t help but smile. maybe because you were so in love with your boyfriend he had already drove you mad.

or maybe because of the plane ticket you had, scheduled in a couple days.

but, to be fair, could anyone blame you? love makes people a little bit crazy.

[🔸★💗★🔸]

~kats, who'S POSTING AFTER ALMOST A YEAR?? …yeah, um, sorry, my dudes. this doesn’t mean im back (because writer’s block is still out to fucking catch me and i don’t like making promises i could break) but this short bit came out in a whim and i miss my little tumblr blog corner <3 hope y’all don’t hate me for this one.

catiuskaa, july 2026 ©

chan ❤︎

minho ❤︎

bini ❤︎

hyun ❤︎

jiji ❤︎

lix ❤︎

seung ❤︎

iyen ❤︎

　 ㅤ꯭yani ❤︎ im sorry but why are these so long it lowk throws me off bc the sizes are so inconsistent .. unlike me bc im consistent in posting on here #dedicated also better late than fucking never to this trend .. why am I pulling an skz on socmed + did you notice the ioli cameo ♡︎ that’s my baby @eyisy

HEARTLIST 𑄝੭ @its-stayville-forever @box-troll @woozarts @katsukis1wife @nctly @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika @jeonginsbae @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @tricky-ritz @mangojellyyy @coquettecookiestay143 @hwangjoanna @jjuniebinnie @queenofdumbfuckery @wheresangel @warped-rabbithole @amarecerasus @straykiisses @hyunnerism @alisonyus @bangingchanxx @simpqueen2025 @pillbaby-main @chuahuahua @wheresangel @firstclassjaylee @shinwonderful @lolawritesforlove @hyunjinniemylove @babrieeee @midnite-fiction @eyisy @itsraininghyunebuckets @satan-223 @mikachux3 @itsraininghyunebuckets @lovelyjinirets @written-by-music ❤︎ get added!

ⓘ strikethrough = @ not working!

do not repost, copy, or feed my work to a.i. leave a like, comment & reblog to support the author. ♡ׁ◜ o ◝݂ ྀི১

You had always known Chan was different. Not just because he was a wolf hybrid: gray ears that twitched at every sound, a fluffy tail that betrayed his moods and those striking golden eyes that seemed to see straight through you, but because he was Chan. The leader type in everyday life, the one who stayed up late producing music in his room, who made sure the fridge was stocked with your favorite snacks and who somehow made the apartment feel like home instead of just a shared living space.

For the past six months, the two of you had been roommates in this cozy two-bedroom place on the edge of the city. What started as a practical arrangement had slowly deepened into something warmer. Late-night talks on the couch, movie marathons where his head would eventually end up in your lap and quiet moments where his hand would brush yours a little too long. There was tension, sure, but neither of you had crossed that line. He was respectful, almost painfully so. A gentleman with sharp canines and a growl that made your stomach flip whenever it slipped out.

But something had shifted in the last week.

First, Chan came home later than usual from the studio, his usual bright smile replaced by a tense line of his mouth. He barely said hello before disappearing into his room. The next morning, you found him in the kitchen at dawn, staring into the fridge like it held the answers to the universe. His ears were flat against his head and when you greeted him cheerfully, he’d flinched, muttering something about needing to train before bolting.

By day four, the avoidance was obvious. He’d leave notes instead of talking "Gone for a run, don’t wait up" and the apartment smelled… different. His natural scent, that comforting mix of warm cedarwood, fresh rain, and something uniquely him, had grown heavier. Muskier. It lingered in the hallways like invisible smoke, making your head feel fuzzy and your skin too warm whenever you passed his door.

You tried not to overthink it. Hybrids had their cycles, you knew that much. But Chan had always been open with you about that stuff before. He’d disappear for a day or two during his regular ruts, holing up with suppressants and protein shakes, then emerge sheepish and extra cuddly to make up for the distance. This time felt different. More intense. He wasn’t even texting back properly.

Tonight, you couldn’t take it anymore.

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner. You’d made dinner: his favorite, spicy chicken stir-fry with extra vegetables, but the plate sat untouched on the counter. After an hour of waiting, you wiped your hands on a dish towel and headed down the hallway toward the spare room you’d converted into a home gym. The door was slightly ajar, golden light spilling out along with the unmistakable sound of heavy breathing and the clank of metal.

You pushed the door open quietly.

Chan was there, back to you, shirtless and glistening with sweat under the overhead lights. His broad shoulders flexed as he curled a heavy dumbbell, biceps bulging, veins standing out along his forearms. The gray wolf ears atop his messy hair were pinned back tightly. His tail, thick and silver-tipped, lashed sharply from side to side with each rep, betraying his agitation. Black workout shorts clung low on his hips, damp with perspiration, outlining the powerful lines of his thighs and… something else.

You swallowed hard. He looked feral. Beautifully, dangerously so.

The air in the room was thick with his scent. It hit you like a wave: deep, earthy musk mixed with pure, raw arousal. Your knees felt a little weak. You’d read about hybrid ruts before, but experiencing it this close was something else entirely. The scent wrapped around you, sinking into your lungs, making heat bloom low in your belly.

"Chan?" you called softly.

He froze mid-rep. The dumbbell dropped to the mat with a heavy thud. Slowly, he turned.

Golden eyes met yours, pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of amber remained. His chest heaved, breaths coming in short, ragged pants. A low growl rumbled in his throat before he could stop it. Sweat trailed down the defined ridges of his abs, disappearing into the waistband of his shorts where an obvious, thick bulge strained against the fabric.

"You shouldn’t be here right now" he rasped. His voice was deeper than usual, rough like gravel. His ears flicked back further, but his body leaned toward you instinctively, nose twitching as he inhaled your scent. "Fuck… you smell too good."

You took a cautious step inside anyway, heart hammering. "You’ve been avoiding me all week. I was worried. I made dinner, but-"

"I know." He ran a hand through his damp hair, claws catching slightly. "I’ve been trying to handle it. Suppressants aren’t cutting it this time. It’s… stronger." His tail curled tightly around his own leg as if trying to restrain himself. "You need to go. Please."

But you didn’t move. The way he looked at you, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him, sent a thrill through your body. You’d imagined this moment in quiet, guilty fantasies before. Chan losing control. Those strong hands on you. His teeth at your throat.

"How long has it been?" you asked, voice quieter.

"Three days." He laughed bitterly, the sound edged with pain. "I thought I could push through. Studio work, extra workouts, cold showers… nothing’s working. Every time I catch even a hint of your scent from the hallway, I-" He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, eyes fluttering shut. When they opened again, the hunger was even more pronounced. "I’m losing it, baby. You have no idea what I want to do to you right now."

The pet name slipped out so naturally it made your breath catch.

You stepped closer, close enough to see the way his nostrils flared and his claws flexed at his sides. The gym mirror behind him reflected the scene: you in your simple tank top and shorts, looking small next to his powerful, half-feral frame.

"Then tell me" you whispered. "Or… show me."

Chan’s control visibly frayed. He took one predatory step forward, then another. His hand reached out, hovering near your arm like he was afraid to touch you. "You don’t understand. In rut… I’m not gentle. I knot. I get stuck inside you for a long time. I’ll want to breed you over and over until this fire in me dies down. I could hurt you."

"I trust you" you said simply. Your hand rose to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over the soft fur of his cheek. He leaned into it with a broken sound, eyes half-lidded.

"You shouldn’t." But even as he said it, his tail uncurled from his leg and brushed tentatively against your calf. The touch was electric.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body. His cock twitched visibly in his shorts, a small wet spot forming where the tip leaked. The scent of him was overwhelming now: pure alpha need, desperate and masculine. It made your own arousal spike, thighs pressing together instinctively.

Chan’s ears perked slightly at the shift in your scent. "You’re… wet." It wasn’t a question. His voice dropped to a near-purr. "For me?"

You nodded, cheeks burning.

He groaned, forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath was hot against your lips. "I’ve wanted you for so long. Even outside of rut. But this… this makes it impossible to hold back. If we start, I won’t be able to stop until my knot deflates. It could take hours. Days, maybe, if the rut’s bad."

"I’m not asking you to stop" you murmured, sliding your hands up his bare chest. His skin was fever-hot, heart thundering under your palm. "I want to help you, Chan. Let me take care of you like you always take care of me."

For a moment, he just breathed you in, trembling with the effort of restraint. Then, with a low, needy whine that sent shivers down your spine, he captured your mouth in a kiss.

It wasn’t soft. It was hungry, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, tongue sweeping in to taste you. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every inch of his hardness pressing into your stomach as he ground against you slowly, instinctively.

"Mine" he growled against your lips between kisses. "Been mine for months. Just didn’t want to scare you."

You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair and stroking the base of his sensitive ears. He shuddered hard at the touch, hips jerking forward.

The kiss deepened, turning messier. Chan walked you backward until your back hit the cool mirror. One of his thighs pressed between your legs, giving you something to grind against as his hands roamed: squeezing your hips, sliding under your tank top to feel bare skin.

"Fuck, you’re so soft" he muttered, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck. His teeth grazed your pulse point, not biting but threatening to. "Smell so fucking good. Gonna make you smell like me."

Your head fell back against the mirror with a soft moan. This was really happening. The tension that had built for months was finally snapping, fueled by his rut and your own suppressed desire.

Chan pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes glowing with lust and something deeper. His ears were forward now, fully focused on you. Sweat still clung to his skin, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Last chance, baby" he panted. "Tell me to stop and I’ll lock myself in my room with the strongest suppressants I have. But if you stay… I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."

You reached down boldly, palming the massive bulge in his shorts. He hissed, hips bucking into your touch.

"I’m staying" you whispered. "Let me help you, Chan."

A feral grin spread across his face, canines flashing. He scooped you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the thick workout mats in the center of the room.

"Then let’s start" he growled, voice full of dark promise. "Because once I get my knot in you, we’re not leaving this room for a long time."

Chan didn’t waste another second.

He lowered you onto the thick gym mats with surprising care, but the moment your back touched the floor his mouth was on yours again: hot, demanding and utterly consuming. His tongue tangled with yours as a deep growl vibrated through his chest and into your body. Large hands roamed everywhere, shoving your tank top up and off in one rough motion. The bra followed, tossed somewhere behind him.

"Beautiful" he rasped, golden eyes devouring the sight of your bare breasts. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his clawed fingers teased the other. Your back arched with a moan, fingers digging into his silver ears. The sensitive appendages flicked and trembled under your touch, making him groan around your flesh.

"Chan...please…"

He switched to the other breast, sharp teeth grazing just enough to sting deliciously. His tail lashed wildly behind him, brushing against your legs. The heavy musk of his rut filled the entire room now, thick enough to taste. You were soaked, aching and he could smell it.

Lower. His kisses trailed down your stomach, claws hooking into your shorts and panties, ripping them down your legs in one swift tug. He buried his face between your thighs without hesitation, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck, your scent…" He licked a stripe up your slit, tongue rough and eager. "So wet for me already. Gonna eat this pretty pussy until you’re screaming."

You cried out as he dove in, devouring you like a man starved. His tongue flicked over your clit with precise, relentless strokes before pushing inside you, fucking you with it. Two thick fingers joined soon after, curling against that spot that made your vision white out. His free hand pinned your hips down when you tried to writhe too much, growls vibrating against your core.

The first orgasm hit you fast and hard. You clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking around his head as you moaned his name. Chan didn’t stop, lapping up every drop until you were twitching and oversensitive.

"First one of many" he promised, crawling back up your body. His shorts were gone now, kicked off somewhere. His cock sprang free: thick, veined and longer than you’d expected, the base already starting to swell with his knot. The head was flushed dark and leaking steadily. "Need to be inside you. Now."

You reached down, wrapping your hand around him. He was scorching hot, pulsing in your grip. Chan’s hips jerked, a broken whine escaping him.

"Careful, baby. I’m so close already."

"Then fuck me" you whispered, guiding him to your entrance.

He pushed in slowly at first, savoring every inch. The stretch was intense, burning pleasure as your walls fluttered around his girth. Halfway in, he cursed, forehead pressed to yours, ears flat.

"So tight… taking me so well."

Then the last of his restraint vanished. Chan slammed the rest of the way in, bottoming out with a growl. You gasped at the fullness, nails raking down his back. He gave you barely a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting hard.

The pace was brutal. Each snap of his hips drove him deep, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the gym. His balls slapped against you, tail wrapping around your thigh to spread you wider. He fucked you like he was claiming you: deep, possessive strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside.

"Mine" he snarled against your neck, teeth scraping the skin. "Gonna fill you up. Breed this sweet cunt until it takes."

You moaned louder at his words, clenching around him. The knot at the base of his cock was swelling more with every thrust, catching at your entrance on the way out.

Chan flipped you suddenly, putting you on all fours. He mounted you from behind, one hand gripping your hip while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him go even deeper. His chest pressed to your back, sharp teeth finally sinking into the junction of your neck and shoulder, not enough to break skin fully, but enough to mark you as his.

You came again with a scream, walls pulsing around his cock. Chan groaned, hips stuttering as he chased his own release. The knot swelled fully, locking him inside you as hot, thick ropes of cum flooded your insides. He kept grinding, pushing it deeper, hips jerking with every spurt.

"Take it… all of it" he panted, voice wrecked. "Good girl. Such a good mate for me."

The knot kept you tied together. Every tiny shift sent sparks of pleasure through you both. Chan licked at the bite mark soothingly, arms wrapped around you as you both caught your breath on the mats.

But the rut wasn’t done.

After twenty minutes, the knot deflated enough for him to pull out. Cum dripped down your thighs. Chan watched with dark satisfaction, then flipped you onto your back again.

"More" he growled. "Need you again."

He took you face-to-face this time, slower but no less intense. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked into you, knot swelling once more. You lost count of how many times he made you cum: on his cock, on his tongue, with his fingers while he recovered between rounds.

At one point he carried you to the weight bench, bending you over it and taking you from behind again. The mirror across the room gave you a perfect view: Chan’s powerful body moving behind you, muscles flexing, ears twitching with pleasure, tail curled possessively around your waist. His golden eyes stayed locked on yours in the reflection.

"Look at us" he murmured, voice husky. "Look how perfectly you take my knot."

You did. The sight pushed you over the edge again.

Hours blurred. The gym filled with the scent of sex and sweat and him. Chan’s rut drove him relentlessly: three more full knots, each one leaving you fuller and messier. He whispered praises between growls: how perfect you were, how he’d wanted this for so long, how he was going to take care of you after.

Eventually, the frantic edge softened. The last knot locked you together on the mats once more. Chan collapsed carefully over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His ears drooped with exhaustion, but his arms held you close, tail draped over your leg.

"You okay?" he whispered, nuzzling into your marked neck. His voice was hoarse from all the growling and moaning. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, smiling tiredly as you stroked his ears. "I’m perfect. Sore… but perfect. And exhausted. Felt amazing."

He let out a relieved sigh, pressing soft kisses to your skin. The feral glow in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by that familiar warmth you loved. "Thank you. For helping me. For trusting me. I… I love you. Have for a while."

Your heart swelled. "I love you too, Chan."

The knot kept you connected a little longer. He used the time to scent you thoroughly, rubbing his cheek against yours, running his hands over every inch of skin he could reach. When it finally went down, he scooped you up gently and carried you to the bathroom attached to the gym.

He ran a warm bath, lowering you both into it. Chan washed you with careful hands, massaging your aching muscles and pressing kisses to every mark he’d left. You returned the favor, washing his chest and scratching gently behind his ears until he purred.

Later, wrapped in soft towels and one of his oversized shirts, he carried you to his bedroom. The sheets smelled strongly of him. He tucked you against his chest, arms and tail cocooning you securely.

"The rut might come back in waves" he admitted quietly, voice already sleepy. "But it’s a lot better now. Because of you."

You snuggled closer, tracing patterns on his skin. "Then we’ll handle the next waves together too."

Chan’s purr deepened, content and satisfied. His golden eyes slipped shut, ears relaxing fully for the first time in days.

As sleep pulled you both under, you felt the steady beat of his heart against your cheek and the warm brush of his tail. The apartment felt complete, like the two of you had finally crossed the line you’d been dancing around for months.

The next page held a table of contents, and even that was no light reading with headings and subheadings galore.

"The NDA protects me," Chan answered as you skimmed. "This isn't really the same thing."

"It looks pretty similar," you muttered. Only difference was that he'd chosen a far better font.

"I promise it isn't," he swore. "The NDA is there because of my job. This would've existed even if I wasn't an idol."

You glanced up at him briefly, acknowledging that, before flipping to the next page where a Purpose heading stared back at you.

The purpose of this agreement is to establish expectations, boundaries, responsibilities, and procedures regarding the private relationship between the undersigned parties...

(To be honest, you skipped most of the rest as it turned into legal jargon. If it was truly important, you trusted that Chan would put it in bold or underline it.)

The Background section began on the next page. Just at a glance, you could tell it was long. You peeked at the following pages to see that it spanned at least three. Even without reading you could tell Chan had recorded and written down every single little thing that had led to this moment. You were simultaneously horrified, impressed, and endeared.

"I'll let you read," he said after clearing his throat, pushing himself away from the table to go busy himself elsewhere. "Let me know if you have any questions. I'll just be... around."

He walked out of the dining area, presumably to pace around and likely clean things that were pretty spotless to start with. He did the same thing whenever he sat you down to listen to his working tracks. For all his accolades, he still struggled with being judged.

You sighed and looked back down.

The parties have maintained a close personal relationship for approximately three years and seven months. During that period, said relationship has evolved beyond the parameters of a typical friendship while remaining undefined in nature.

You snorted.

(He'd go to his grave refusing to say the words friends-with-benefits.)

Over the last twenty-two months, the parties have developed a pattern of communication significantly exceeding that of a conventional friendship. Relevant examples include but are not limited to: • A daily average of 127 text messages exchanged over a twelve-month period.¹

No wonder your battery was always dead.

You read the associated footnote:

¹ This figure excludes social media interactions, shared videos, and communication conducted through group chats.

Jesus Christ.

You made a mental note to ask how he'd calculated that later.

• The parties have established a pattern of prioritizing one another during periods of personal, professional, or emotional distress.

He provided in depth examples that led you on a nice stroll down memory lane.

There was the time he'd driven an hour out of the city because you'd texted him that your tire was flat. He hadn't known how to change said tire, but you learned together on YouTube once he got there.

The time you'd left a family gathering early because he'd had a rough week and sounded exhausted over the phone. This one had been for mostly selfish reasons, if you were being honest. You'd needed a good excuse to get away from your meddling aunts and uncles. But Chan had clearly thought it was a knight-in-shining-armor moment.

The time he'd cancelled plans with half his friend group to sit in an emergency room with you for six hours after a particularly unfortunate encounter with a paring knife (‘Who even uses those?’ he’d asked you). You remembered that one particularly well, mostly because you still had the scar and also because he'd spent the entire night arguing with the nurse about whether you needed more pain medication. The nurse had eventually started addressing questions to him instead of you.

Additionally, both parties have repeatedly engaged in behavior generally inconsistent with established social expectations regarding platonic relationships: • Consistently selecting seating arrangements that resulted in unnecessary physical proximity. • Maintaining physical contact for extended periods without apparent necessity. • Utilizing personal pet names not commonly employed when addressing other friends. • Sharing most, if not all, streaming accounts across personal devices. • Repeated instances of third parties incorrectly assuming the parties were romantically involved.²

According to the footnote, apparently there had been twenty-three separate incidents (that you guys knew of).

While the aforementioned behaviors may individually be explained through circumstances, context, or existing friendship dynamics, the frequency and intensity of such behaviors has increased significantly within the last six months. Over the previous six-month period, the parties have spent an average of four nights per week in one another's residences.

Four? That couldn't possibly be right.

But the more you thought about it... yeah. Yeah, you did spend quite a bit of time 'round his, and he at yours.

The parties have increasingly demonstrated an expectation of access to one another's personal space without prior arrangement or invitation. Examples include entering residences without knocking, possession of spare keys, and taking up space in refrigerators and dressers without permission. The parties have repeatedly defaulted to one another as primary companions for events, activities, and experiences generally associated with romantic partners. Documented examples include, but are not limited to, the following: a. June 18, 2025 – Kim Family Summer Barbecue The Second Party attended a family event hosted by the First Party despite having no familial obligation to do so. The Second Party remained at the event for approximately eight (8) hours and was subsequently included in multiple family photographs. Note: Three (3) separate relatives later inquired as to the status of the relationship. The parties elected not to answer directly. b. October 27, 2025 – Halloween Event Attendance The parties arrived at the event separately but departed together. Additionally, the parties coordinated what could only be described as a stereotypical 'couples costume'. Photographic evidence attached in Appendix C. c. February 14, 2026 – Valentine's Day Dinner The parties attended dinner together after both independently claimed they had "no plans." The reservation was made three (3) weeks in advance. Neither party acknowledged the significance of the date. The drafting party believes this avoidance was deliberate. d. April 6, 2026 – Coastal Weekend Trip The parties traveled approximately four (4) hours to attend a weekend festival. A total of six (6) hotel rooms were available to the larger group. The parties nevertheless elected to share one (1). When questioned regarding this decision, both parties stated it was "easier." No further explanation was provided.

You turned the page.

The next divider was blue and the tab sticking out from the side read: Current Relationship Status.

Following a review of the circumstances outlined in Section II (Background), the drafting party has determined that the current state of the relationship is no longer sustainable in its present form. The relationship currently operates within a space that informally incorporates many of the benefits, expectations, and behavioral patterns commonly associated with romantic partnerships while simultaneously refusing to acknowledge or define said arrangements. The drafting party further notes that continued reliance on phrases such as "we're just friends," "it's not like that," and "don't make it weird" has become increasingly ineffective. While friendship remains a significant component of the relationship, it is the opinion of the drafting party that friendship alone no longer accurately describes the current circumstances. Furthermore, existing attraction between the parties has been acknowledged repeatedly and by both parties. Recent events have rendered continued ambiguity increasingly impractical. On May 14, 2026, the parties mutually agreed to pursue a physical relationship. Subsequent discussions resulted in a mutual decision to explore said relationship in a manner intended to preserve the existing friendship while allowing for physical intimacy. The drafting party acknowledges that this arrangement was initially viewed as a practical solution to circumstances already present. However, further review has revealed several concerns. Primary concern: The proposed arrangement assumes the existence of a friendship capable of remaining unchanged. Accordingly, the drafting party believes it would be irresponsible to proceed under the assumption that physical involvement represents the sole objective of this agreement.

The next heading read:

Risk Assessment

The drafting party has identified several risks associated with proceeding under the framework of a purely physical arrangement. Risk #1: Existing Behavioral Patterns The parties already engage in activities commonly associated with romantic relationships. As a result, distinguishing between "friends engaging in physical intimacy" and "romantic partners" may prove operationally difficult. Risk #2: Escalation The drafting party has concerns regarding the assumption that feelings, expectations, or attachment levels will remain static following the introduction of physical intimacy. Historical evidence suggests the opposite outcome is more likely.

Apparently "historical evidence" referred to every previous attempt either of you had made to draw boundaries when every single one had failed. The friendship had simply absorbed the boundary and kept moving.

No overnight stays. Failed.

No calling after midnight. Failed.

No introducing each other to family members. Failed.

No becoming emergency contacts. Failed.

No kissing. Failed (spectacularly).

You found yourself smiling, mostly because you'd forgotten half of these were supposed to be boundaries in the first place. They were just a part of who you were together now.

The drafting party respectfully submits that the relationship has demonstrated a troubling tendency to become more serious whenever efforts are made to prevent it from doing so. Risk #3: The Drafting Party The drafting party has attempted to evaluate this proposal from a practical perspective. This effort has been largely unsuccessful.

The next divider was green, and the tab read: Conclusions and Recommendations.

Following review of the circumstances outlined herein, the drafting party submits the following conclusions: Conclusion 1: The relationship ceased to qualify as a conventional friendship some time ago. Conclusion 2: Existing emotional investment between the parties exceeds that which would reasonably be expected from a casual physical arrangement. Conclusion 3: The introduction of physical intimacy is unlikely to simplify the relationship and may, in fact, complicate matters considerably. Conclusion 4: The parties are already operating under many of the expectations commonly associated with a committed romantic relationship.

Recommendation: That the parties discontinue efforts to maintain an artificial distinction between friendship, physical intimacy, and romantic attachment, and instead acknowledge the relationship for what it has already become.

You turned the page. The final sheet was almost entirely blank with a short blurb at the top.

Proposed Agreement The undersigned parties hereby agree to enter into an exclusive romantic relationship and to approach said relationship with honesty, communication, mutual respect, and a willingness to stop making things unnecessarily complicated.

For a moment, you simply stared at it.

The entire binder had essentially been building toward this, and you'd figured that out pretty early in the game. Twenty-something pages of supporting evidence only for Chan to arrive at the pièce de résistance that could have easily fit into a text message. He had never been the type to do anything halfway, though, and apparently that included asking someone to be his girlfriend.

Anyone could buy flowers. Anyone could plan a fancy dinner. It took a very specific kind of person to create a thirty-page report proving he had feelings for someone.

Your gaze drifted further down the page.

The signature section occupied the bottom half. There were lines for signatures, dates, and initials, naturally. You would have been more surprised if there hadn't been.

The left side had already been completed.

You recognized Chan's signature (and not the one he used for autographs—his true signature), the familiar looping handwriting sitting neatly on the line beneath his printed name, Christopher Chahn Bahng. Next to it sat the date he'd signed it, which was yesterday, presumably the day he'd printed it all out. Below that, pressed into the corner with bright red ink, was a dojang stamp.

The only blank line left was yours.

Your eyes lifted toward the kitchen. He was out of sight, but you could almost sense him freaking out in there, probably biting his fingernails down to nubs.

"Is this why you never let me play games on your laptop?" you called, flipping through the appendices that followed the signature page. You smiled, seeing screenshots of text threads, pictures of you both engaging in what was indubitably PDA, and even a transcript of a drunken voicemail you left him (he really had no mercy). "You were afraid I'd see this sitting in your docs?"

Chan appeared in the doorway, and you nearly laughed in his face.

You'd known him for years. You'd seen him perform in front of thousands of people. You'd seen him handle interviews, negotiations, deadlines, and more stressful situations than you could count.

And yet, you had never seen him look quite this embarrassed.

His face was bright red, from his ears all the way down to his neck.

"You know," you said, resting a hand on Exhibit E-7 (a scan of a photobooth strip where you kissed his cheek), "most people just ask."

"I know." Chan rubbed the back of his neck. "In my defense, I wasn't planning for it to get that long. The first draft truly was just about sex."

Your interest piqued as you straightened brightly. "Can I read that one?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd read it someday, with enough needling. But that could only happen if you signed the new dotted line he'd provided you with.

Poor you.

You picked up the fountain pen he'd dropped off with the binder earlier, and you saw his eyes follow your hand. You leafed through the pages with deliberate slowness, letting the them fall into place until the signature sheet was visible again.

You brought the pen down near the signature line. The tip touched the paper for half a second, and you felt his breath catch in a way he probably didn't realize was audible... and you lifted the pen again, leaned back in your chair, and smiled to yourself.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and you knew he was physically trying to remain patient. When he opened them again, he looked more resigned than anything else. "If you have a question, just ask it."

You glanced up at him. "Just one?"

"I will answer as many questions as you like," he said kindly, though his smile looked strained.

You considered that for a moment and proceeded to abuse the privilege.

"Okay. First question."

Chan nodded.

"What changes?"

His expression softened slightly, probably because that was a real question. "Not much, honestly."

"Christopher." You raised an eyebrow.

"I'm serious." He stepped further into the dining room, resting a shoulder against the wall. "We already spend most of our time together. We already know each other's families. We already have keys to each other's apartments."

"All true."

"We already act like..." He trailed off.

"A couple?" you supplied.

"Yeah," he admitted, the word visibly giving him a shiver. "That. It’s merely an official label."

"Okay." You smiled to yourself and looked back down at the signature page. "Follow-up question."

"Go ahead." He sighed.

"If not much changes, why does this matter so much?"

That wiped the amusement clean off his face.

Yes, okay, you were aware that your words were unnecessarily combative. But you were always told to get all the info before signing anything to avoid scammers (of course, Chan was not a scammer, but the it’s the principle of the thing).

For a moment, he was quiet. Not because he didn't have an answer—he always had an answer. But he was probably writing it out in his head, reading it over and fixing typos.

Eventually, he exhaled. "Because the whole point of a casual arrangement is that it's temporary. There's an understanding that it isn't permanent. Maybe someone starts dating someone else. Maybe feelings change. Maybe life gets busy. Maybe somebody decides they're done."

You stared at him and he stared right back.

"I don't want to build something with an expiration date." He practically stared right into the depths of your soul. "Not with you."

"You think I'm going somewhere?" you asked through the raging beat of your heart.

"I don't wanna risk it," he said.

You stared back at him for a moment, and then another. And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, the smile that had been threatening at the corners of your mouth finally won.

Chan must have noticed with the way his shoulders loosened considerably. The poor man had probably been monitoring your facial expressions the same way he'd monitored the rest of your relationship. You'd have to tell him to take it easy once in a while, seriously.

You picked up the fountain pen again and held it over the page. You debated asking one teeny tiny last question, but finally deciding you'd tortured him enough for one evening, you lowered the pen to the paper.

You took your time. Partly because fountain pens were difficult, partly because if you were going to sign a relationship contract, your signature was going to look nice. (It was never too early to practice for the marriage license, right?)

The nib glided across the paper, and by the end of it, your name sat neatly next to his.

For a moment, you simply looked at it.

At his name.

At yours.

They looked good together.

You leaned back in your chair, admiring your work for a second more before reaching for the cap of the pen, when suddenly the chair lurched and scraped backwards.

You yelped, unbalanced.

"What the—"

Chan had somehow crossed the entire room in a single instant, one hand gripping the back of your chair as he dragged it away from the table with the strength of a hundred men.

"Chris!"

The laugh barely made it out of your mouth before he was kissing you, and any witty comment you might have had disappeared immediately.

You and Chan had kissed plenty (particularly in the last couple months, but even before then too), so you thought you were familiar with his kissing, with his lips, by now.

Oh, how wrong you were.

He was hungry. Just utterly starved. That was the only way you could describe it.

He kissed you deeply, completely, as though he intended to make up for every moment he'd spent second-guessing himself over the last few months.

His hand slid from the back of the chair to your jaw, thumb brushing briefly against your cheek as he leaned down further.

The angle forced your chin up, and he followed instinctively, deepening the kiss until your fingers (which had long since dropped the pen somewhere on the ground) found the front of his shirt just to steady yourself. The fabric twisted beneath your grip, but he didn't seem to notice. If anything, he leaned into you more, crowding you in the chair until the dining room, the binder, the table—all of it—fell away.

You could feel the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth even as he kissed you.

When he finally broke away, it lasted all of half a heartbeat before he was back again, stealing another kiss that was somehow softer than the first without being any less consuming. You laughed quietly against his lips, the sound muffled between you, and he answered with another grin you could feel more than see.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a thought surfaced.

Sealing deals must really get him going.

permanent taglist: @niku0704 @irikara (wasn't sure if you wanted to be on the general taglist or just for the seungmin series so erred on the side of caution lol lmk if you don't want to be on this taglist)

When Chan cupped your face and asked what the two of you were going to do about this, you did not see yourself ending up here.

With him hovering over you now, one hand resting at your waist while the other traced absentminded circles along your side, as though he couldn't quite convince himself to stop touching you.

Your back sank further into the cushions as he kissed you again, slow and unhurried this time. His lips lingered against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He kissed you like he was trying to memorize every part of you, and somewhere along the way, so caught up in the warmth of him, you didn't even realize your hips had shifted until they brushed against his.

Chan smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, there was barely an inch between you before he leaned in to steal one more quick peck.

Then another.

Only then did he sit back, slipping an arm behind you to help you lean against him.

"I-I'm sorry," you whispered more embarrassed than anything. A quiet laugh escaped him. "For what?" he asked, turning just enough to look at you properly. "Having a very normal reaction?"

You scoffed, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I think I should be the one apologizing." His fingers found yours, absentmindedly weaving between them before lifting your hand toward his lips.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your fingertips, then the back of your hand, lingering there for a moment. "The idea of...." he hesitated, smiling to himself. "Having a family with you."

You looked at him again.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Hearing you talk about wanting a family with me.…" he let out a quiet breath. "It made me feel....secure."

Your expression softened, "Chan....."

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, almost like he couldn't believe the thoughts coming out of his own mouth. "I've spent so long worrying about whether I'd ever be enough for someone else…. whether anyone would really want this life."

His eyes met yours again. "And then you looked at me and talked about a future that has Jia in it."

His gaze lingered on your face before dropping briefly to your lips. "If circumstances were different.…" he murmured, pressing another lingering kiss to the back of your hand, "…I don't think I'd be able to think about anything else. I'd do it right now."

You frowned slightly. "Do what?"

His eyes lifted back to yours, "….I'd put a baby in you right now."

The words landed with complete sincerity. Like he'd forgotten they were supposed to sound outrageous.

Your eyes widened, "Chan!"

"Hm?"

"You can't just say things like that." A nervous laugh escaped you despite yourself, your body heat slightly rising you were sure he could feel how warm you were getting.

It took him exactly one second to replay what he'd just said. His ears immediately started turning pink "….Right,” he looks away back towards the tv.

You chuckled softly, a quiet sound meant to soften the moment, to give him space to breathe. "We should probably finish the movie."

"Probably," he reached for the remote, fingers trembling just a little.

Twenty minutes passed, though the clock on the wall seemed to mock you, insisting it was longer. You couldn’t tell what had happened on the screen. The plot had dissolved into a haze of flickering colors, shadows dancing behind your eyelids.

Somewhere during the first scene after pressing play again, Chan shifted faintly beside you, it was barely even noticeable. Until his hand settled on your thigh. Not high enough to be considered too intimate, just above your knee. Warm and steady, like he’d done it without thinking, as if it belonged there.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the TV, but his eyes lingered elsewhere, watching you in the silence. Neither of you spoke. Neither moved. A minute passed. Then his thumb brushed over your leg, a slow, deliberate stroke.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. The movie blurred into a swirl of colors, everything completely meaningless.

His hand hadn’t moved away. If anything, it had crept a fraction higher, pressing into the space between your thoughts, and closer to the bottom of your shorts.

He still hadn’t looked at you.

"Are you even watching this?" you whispered.

"Not even a little."

You let out a soft, trembling laugh. "Good."

"Why?"

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze.

Because I want to see what you’re afraid to say.

Because I want to feel your hand tremble again.

Because I want this to go further.

Your voice was barely more than a breath, "Because I haven’t been paying attention since you said you wanted to put a baby in me."

Chan finally looked over, his eyes dark and searching, pulling you into his gaze. Despite the tips of his ears flushing with a bright pink hue again, his hand continued its slow ascent. It rested in the middle of your thigh, thumb gently caressing, sending a shiver through you.

"Why….is it something you want?" His voice was low, heavy with hunger, and his eyes never left yours as he watched your breath hitch.

You hesitated, your lips parting slightly, "I—"

"Hmmm?" he prompted softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he gripped your thigh, pulling you closer toward him. A small gasp escaped you, caught between anticipation and surprise.

"What's going through that pretty head of yours?" he whispered, voice thick with desire, eyes burning into yours as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

You played with the hem of your shirt, lips trembling as you tried to find the words. The space between you felt smaller, charged with unspoken promises. "I just…" you started, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, how much I’ve been waiting for you to make a move."

Chan’s gaze darkened further, and his thumb pressed a little harder against your thigh, slow and deliberate. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel his breath against your lips.

“You’re beautiful when you’re nervous,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft, yet edged with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

Your heart pounded fiercely, every nerve alight. The world outside the room faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the way his eyes held yours; intense, hungry, and waiting for your answer.

You drew in a shaky breath, voice trembling. “I want you closer. I want to feel everything....your skin, your breath, what it’s like when we’re not holding back.”

His thumb resumed its slow path along your thigh, a lazy rhythm that made thinking nearly impossible. “You really mean that?” Chan’s voice dipped lower, rougher. The question wasn’t a challenge, it was a door he was holding open, waiting to see if you’d walk through.

You nodded, the motion small and unsteady.

“Words, baby.” The endearment slipped out so naturally you wondered if he’d been holding it back for weeks. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your throat tightened. “I want this. I want you.”

Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or hunger finally given permission to surface. His free hand came up to your jaw, cupping it the same way he had earlier that evening when he’d first asked what you were going to do about all this tension between you.

Back then, you hadn’t had an answer.

Now your body seemed to know exactly what to do.

Your hips shifted again, pressing against the side of his thigh, and this time you didn’t pull away. Chan noticed. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies met, then back to your face with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“There,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

His thumb traced the curve of your jaw before his hand slid back into your hair, gentle but deliberate. He tilted your head slightly, exposing the line of your throat, and leaned in until his lips hovered just above your pulse point.

Not kissing, or licking, just breathing against you. The warmth of it made your fingers curl into the cushion beneath you.

“Chan…”

“I know.” His lips brushed the word against your skin.

Then his mouth pressed against your neck, soft and searching, and your eyes fluttered shut. His kiss was unhurried, almost reverent, like he was learning the shape of you one breath at a time. His hand on your leg tightened just slightly, grounding you both.

Your fingers found his shoulder, then his collar, then the warm skin at the nape of his neck. The contact drew a quiet sound from him, something between a hum and a sigh, and the vibration traveled through his lips straight into your bloodstream.

“You’re shaking,” he said against your throat.

“Because of you.”

“Good.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I want you to feel this. All of it.”

His hand slid higher on your thigh. Still over the fabric of your shorts, still maddeningly patient, but the intention was unmistakable now. His palm settled at the crease where your leg met your hip, thumb tracing the seam.

Your breath caught.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

“It’s not. It’s.....Chan, please.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, “please what?”

A frustrated laugh escaped you, shaky and thin. “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

“Oh, but you’re so pretty when you’re flustered.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, then another to the corner of your mouth. “I could watch you struggle for words all night.”

His fingers curled against your inner thigh, and the pressure sent a jolt through you that made your hips rock forward without permission. There was nothing to hide behind now, no movie to pretend to watch, no plausible deniability about what was happening between you.

Chan shifted, and suddenly his body was closer; not hovering over you again or pinning you down, but angled toward you in a way that made everything feel more intimate. His knee pressed against the outside of your leg. His shoulder brushed yours. His breath mixed with your breath.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “More times than I should probably say out loud.”

“Tell me?"

His eyes searched yours, checking. “You sure?”

“I want to know.”

His hand moved. Up, slowly, until his thumb rested just below the waistband of your shorts. Your shirt had ridden up slightly, leaving a band of bare skin exposed, and he traced it with deliberate focus as his hands rested at your mid-section.

“I thought about kissing you first,” he said, voice low and steady. “Slow. The way you deserve.” His thumb dipped beneath the waistband, just barely, and your stomach tightened. “Like this.”

His lips found yours again, and this kiss was different from the ones before. Deeper and more certain. His mouth parted against yours, and when your tongue brushed his lower lip, he made a sound low in his chest that you felt in your ribs.

Your hands found the nape of his neck.

His hand slid further beneath your shorts.

The fabric stretched to accommodate him, elastic giving way to his knuckles, his palm, the gentle press of his fingers against you. Not where you wanted him most, not yet, but close enough that every nerve in your body had rerouted itself to that single point of contact.

He broke the kiss to breathe, forehead resting against yours. “And then I thought about touching you.”

His thumb traced a line on your pelvic bone causing your hips to buck. “Like that?” he asked, the question dripping with something darker now.

“Lower,” you breathed.

Chan’s eyes flicked to yours. The pink in his ears had spread to his cheeks, but his expression was steady and focused, “show me.”

Your hand covered his arm, his hand still hidden beneath the dark fabric of your shorts, and guided it downward. The movement was slow, deliberate, charged with the kind of tension that made the air feel thick.

When his fingers brushed against the damp cotton of your underwear, you both stopped breathing.

“Fuck,” he whispered. The word was so quiet, so reverent, that it didn’t sound like profanity at all. It sounded like a prayer.

His fingers pressed against you through the fabric, experimental and gentle, mapping the shape of your arousal without any rush. The pressure was light, too light, but the fact of his hand there, the heat of his palm cupping you through cotton, made your head fall back against the couch.

“Look at me,” he said and you did.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly eclipsing the brown of his irises. The boyish fluster from earlier had burned away, replaced by something sharper. He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

“Is this okay?” His fingers pressed a little harder.

“Yes.....God, yes.”

He kissed you again, swallowing the sound you made when his middle finger found the seam of you through the damp fabric and traced it up and down. The friction was perfect, maddening, but not nearly enough.

Your hips rolled against his hand.

“There you go,” he murmured against your mouth. “Take what you need.”

His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap, your back against the arm of the couch and your legs tangled with his. The new angle gave him better access, and he took advantage of it immediately, fingers moving in slow, steady circles that had you gripping his arms.

“Does that feel good?”

You couldn’t answer. Your voice had fled somewhere behind your hammering heart. He smiled then kissed your collarbone. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The pressure built in increments. He varied his speed and intensity in response to the sounds you made, faster when your breath hitched, lighter when your nails dug into his skin, harder when your hips chased his hand.

His lips never stopped moving. Your neck. Your jaw. The hollow beneath your ear. He kissed each spot like he was cataloging it for later, filing away which places made you shiver and which made you sigh.

“I want to feel you,” he said against your ear, his voice rough. “Can I—”

“Yes.”

He laughed softly, “you didn’t even let me finish.”

“I don’t care what the question is. The answer is yes.”

His fingers stilled against you. For one heartbeat, then two. Then his hand withdrew from your shorts, and the absence of his touch was so acute that you nearly whimpered. But he was already moving, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts, looking up at you with an expression that was half question and half plea.

“Lift your hips for me.”

You did, and he peeled the fabric down your thighs with a care that made your chest ache. The shorts joined the growing collection of forgotten things on the floor; the remote, your earlier inhibitions, every reason you’d ever given yourself for why this couldn’t happen.

Your underwear stayed on, for now.

Chan’s breath shuddered out of him as he looked at you. His hand found your bare thigh, palm spreading wide over muscle and skin, and he dragged it upward until his thumb rested against the damp cotton between your legs.

“You’re soaked,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

His thumb pressed down, and the fabric did nothing to hide how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him. The evidence was there, impossible to ignore, soaking through the thin cotton barrier.

“Chan, please.”

“Please what?” He was pushing again, but his voice had lost its teasing edge. Now he just sounded desperate, like he needed the words as much as you did.

“Touch me, underneath. I need to feel—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, and his fingers: warm, calloused, trembling just slightly, finally, finally touched bare skin.

He froze, and you could feel it in the tension running through his forearm, the way his breath stopped halfway up your throat. His index finger rested just above where you needed him, and the pause stretched long enough that you opened your eyes to check if something was wrong.

Nothing was wrong. Chan was looking at you like you'd just handed him something fragile and precious, something he was terrified of breaking.

"Chan." Your voice cracked on his name.

"Hang on." He swallowed hard. "Give me a second."

His thumb traced a slow arc over your hipbone, the motion almost unconscious. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something barely above a murmur. "I've wanted this for so long that I need to make sure I don't rush it."

"You're not rushing." Your hips tilted toward his hand, seeking pressure. "You're torturing me."

A laugh escaped him, breathless and warm against your cheek. "Good."

But he didn't make you wait much longer. His middle finger slid lower, parting you with a gentleness that made your toes curl. The sound you made, half gasp; half moan, seemed to embolden him. His finger traced your slickness upward, circling once, twice, before retreating just enough to make you whimper.

"Shh." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

His hand withdrew from your underwear, and before you could protest, he was shifting your position. Strong hands gripped your hips, repositioning you until your back was fully against the couch cushions and your legs draped over his lap. The new angle left you completely open to him, and the vulnerability of it sent heat flooding through your chest.

But Chan wasn't done.

His palm slid down your calf, fingers wrapping around your ankle with deliberate care. He lifted your leg, bending it at the knee, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle. Then higher, your shin, the sensitive spot just below your knee. Each kiss was slower than the last, his breath warming your skin seconds before his lips made contact.

"What are you doing?" The question came out reedy, thin.

"Something I've thought about." Another kiss, this time to the tender flesh of your inner thigh. "Something I've thought about a lot."

He lifted your leg higher, guiding it over his shoulder. The position pulled you closer to him, your hips tilting upward, your thighs falling open. The damp cotton of your underwear was fully exposed now, the evidence of your arousal impossible to hide in this position.

His eyes dropped to the spot, and his expression shifted. The boyish flush on his ears had spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. But his gaze was steady and hungry. He looked at you like a man who'd finally been given permission to want something after convincing himself he never could.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, echoing his earlier words.

Then he lowered his head. His mouth pressed against you through the cotton.

The heat of his breath penetrated the fabric instantly, and your back arched off the couch before you could stop it. A broken sound clawed its way out of your throat, something between a moan and his name, tangled together beyond recognition.

Chan hummed against you, and the vibration traveled through the soaked fabric directly into your core. Your fingers scrambled for purchase, one hand fisting in his dark hair while the other gripped the couch cushion hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck." The word left you on a shudder.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing against you. "That good?"

"You know it is,” you breathed out, “don’t ask silly questions.”

"I wanted to hear you say it." He pressed another kiss to the cotton, softer this time. Then another, slightly firmer. His free hand slid up your thigh, thumb stroking the crease where your leg met your hip. "I wanted to hear the sounds you'd make."

His mouth was still there again, his tongue pressing against you through the damp cotton, relentless and unhurried. The fabric had grown impossibly wet against your skin, and the warmth of his tongue was undeniable, even with the thin barrier between you.

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe along the seam of your underwear, and the sound you made was barely appropriate; a broken, keening sound that seemed to surprise even you.

Chan responded by pressing his mouth harder against you, licking feverishly, while his nose brushed against your clit through the soaked fabric as he angled his head. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, anchoring you in place as he worked you through the cotton. He was thorough. He licked and sucked and breathed against you like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the fabric, learning every curve and crease with his tongue.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, chasing the friction, and he let you. He let you rock against his face, his hands firm on your thighs holding you steady while you took what you needed. When he finally pulled back, it was only to hook his fingers into the waistband of your underwear.

His eyes met yours. He didn't ask. He didn't need to.

You lifted your hips, and he slid the wet fabric down your thighs, past your knees, off your ankles. The fabric landed somewhere on the floor, joining the rest of the discarded things between you.

And then he looked at you. Really looked at you.

His breath caught in his throat again, and for a long moment, he didn't move. His hands rested on your bare thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin at your crease, but his eyes were fixed on the place he'd been worshipping through fabric moments before.

"Fuck," he whispered again, softer this time.

Then he lowered his head.

His first kiss, bare skin this time, nothing between you but air and want, made your entire body shudder. His lips parted against you, and when his tongue touched you, finally touched you without anything in the way, you cried out.

He didn't stop or pull away. He licked into you like he'd been waiting his whole life for the taste, and judging by the sounds he was making, low and desperate against your skin, maybe he had. "Baby," he whined against your skin, the word vibrating through you. "You taste incredible."

"Chan please—" you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against your lower ones. "Please what, baby?"

"More." The word came out desperate, ragged. "Please."

His eyes met yours, dark and hungry, and he added his middle finger, pumping in and out of your core, as you forgot how to breathe. Once you were stretched out, he added another, making you mewl from underneath him.

He licked and sucked and pressed his tongue inside you beside his fingers, his own moans vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He was obsessed, you could feel it in the way he kept going, even when your legs trembled, even when your fingers pulled his hair hard enough to hurt. He didn't care, he just wanted more of you.

"Chan—" His name came out on a sob as your orgasm crested, your body shuddering against his mouth. He still didn't pull away, instead he licked you through it, gentler now, drawing out every last tremor until you collapsed back against the cushions, breathless and shaking.

He finally lifted his head, his chin glistening, his lips swollen and wet. He looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough.

You couldn't speak. You just pulled him up by his shirt and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He smiled against your lips, a soft hum of approval vibrating through you.

Your hands slid from the hem of his shirt to his shoulders, then down his chest, savoring the warmth of his skin through the fabric. You broke the kiss slowly, your mouth trailing to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down to his neck. His pulse fluttered under your tongue.

"Mmm," you murmured against his collarbone, letting your fingertips graze the waistband of his pants. "Taste good."

He shivered, hands coming up to cup your face, tilting you up to meet his gaze again. But you shook your head gently, sitting up and pressing him back into the cushions. Not with force; with a slow, irresistible pressure, your body following him down as you straddled one of his thighs.

"Stay," you breathed, and his hands fell obediently to his sides.

You let your gaze travel down his body; his parted lips, his heaving chest, the unmistakable bulge straining against his pants. He lifted his hips slightly, a wordless plea, and you rewarded him by sliding them down. Your eyebrows shot up as you realized he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

His cock stood rigid and flushed, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip. He sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing under your gaze. You didn't speak right away. Instead, you let your eyes trace the length of him, the way his cock twitched in the open air, the way his stomach quivered with each shallow breath. The silence stretched, thick and electric, until he let out a soft, pleading whimper.

Your voice came out low and affectionate as your hand wrapped around the base. "Look at you. So hard and ready after taking care of me like that. You must like pleasuring me or something."

He shivered under your touch, hips jerking slightly upward. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to the head before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside. His thighs flexed, a shaky sound escaping him.

"Please," he whined, the word cracking with need.

You chuckled softly, circling the crown with light, teasing licks. "Not yet. I want to hear those pretty sounds a little longer." Your fist stroked him in unhurried pulls, your mouth hovering close so your warm breath teased his sensitive skin. "You're so sensitive. I love when you twitch and moan like this."

Chan groaned, head tipping back as his fingers dug into the cushions. You took him into your mouth, sucking and making out with his tip gently at first, then pulling off with a wet sound to lap at the slit. "That's it. Just let me handle everything. You're perfect like this, all desperate."

His whines grew louder, hips thrusting shallowly into your grip. "Please....more. I need you."

You wrapped your mouth around him, working down his shaft slowly, deliberately, drawing out every broken sound he made. His hips rocked in small, desperate rolls, chasing your warmth without quite forcing the pace, still letting you lead. His hands had moved from the cushions to your hair, fingers threading gently, not pushing, just holding on like you were his anchor.

You pulled off with a wet pop, your hand still stroking him as you pressed a kiss to his inner thigh. He whimpered at the loss, a shudder running through him.

You breathed against his skin, lips trailing upward. "You must be close baby." He whimpered in response.

"You've been neglected, haven't you, love?" He nodded desperately then gasped once your tongue circled his head again, lapping at the bead of precum that had gathered.

His grip in your hair tightened. "Please—I—please, I need to—"

"Yeah, baby?" Your voice was soft but certain. You kissed the tip once, twice, then looked up at him through your lashes. His chest was heaving, his eyes glazed and wet. "You've been so good to me, Chan. You gonna cum?"

A desperate nod. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck!”

"Go ahead, let go baby." You took him deep, until you were choking, all the way until your nose brushed his belly, then swallowed around him.

The sound he made was raw, almost pained, a broken cry that turned into a long, shuddering moan as his release hit your throat. You stayed still, letting him pulse against your tongue, your hand cupping his balls gently as you milked every last drop. When he finally stilled, trembling, you pulled off slowly, licking your lips clean.

You crawled up his body, lifting his shirt off as you press soft kisses along his stomach, his chest, his neck. His eyes were dazed, lips parted, and cheeks flushed. You brushed your thumb against his cheekbones and kissed him slowly.

"You're perfect," you whispered against his mouth. He let out a shaky breath and pulled you into a proper kiss, arms wrapping around you as he shifted and melted into the couch. "Fuck," he sighs out, in a daze, as you pull away.

You kiss his nose, "good?" His hold on you tightens as his eyes meet yours, "Perfect," he pecks your lips. "You are so perfect."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, so loudly you were convinced he could feel every beat through the fabric of your shirt. Judging by the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, maybe he could.

"You're staring," you whispered, trying to hide your face against his shoulder.

"I know."

"It's making me nervous."

He laughed softly. "Don't be acting all shy now."

You groaned, burying your face even deeper into his chest. "I mean it," he said, still smiling. "You're cute."

"I'm choosing to ignore you."

"noted."

He let the silence settle after that, his hand moving slowly up and down your back in an absentminded rhythm. Every now and then his fingers paused at the curve of your waist before continuing, as if reassuring himself you were still there. Your breathing gradually matched his.

The room felt warm, the movie long forgotten somewhere behind the sound of your heart settling back into a normal rhythm.

After a while, Chan pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "We should probably get cleaned up."

You made a quiet, reluctant noise into his shirt. "I know," he chuckled. "I don't really want to move either." Neither of you did immediately.

Another minute passed before he finally sighed dramatically. "If we stay here any longer, I'm never getting off this couch."

You lifted your head just enough to look at him, "I wouldn't be opposed to that."

He smiled before brushing his thumb across your cheek, "come on." This time, when he stood, he kept one hand wrapped around yours, helping you to your feet. You swayed for a second, earning a quiet laugh from him.

"You okay?"

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

You wrapped your arms around him and pressed your body against his, "I'm positive."

His expression softened before he reluctantly put space between you two, "Be back," he said before leaving a kiss on your forehead. He disappeared down the hall for a moment while you flattened your hair as best you could with your hands. A second later you heard the bathroom sink running.

"I left you a towel," he called. "And I put a clean shirt on the counter if you'd rather wear that to sleep."

"Channie," you looked at him and smiled fondly. "You didn't have to."

"I figured you'd be more comfortable."

Something about that made your chest ache. By the time you stepped into his bedroom a few minutes later, he'd already changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old T-shirt, his hair still damp around the edges from splashing water on his face.

He looked up immediately. "You feel better?" You nodded.

"Good," and without another word, he disappeared into the kitchen. You heard a cabinet open, then the refrigerator.

When he returned, he balanced two glasses of water in one hand. "I know," he said before you could tease him. "I'm hovering."

"You are, dad."

He smiled, "Humor me."

You accepted the glass anyway, smiling as you took a sip, he looked completely satisfied.

"What?"

"I don't know." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "Taking care of you just.…makes me feel better."

You leaned over and bumped your shoulder against his, "Is that so?" He nodded and laughed before taking your empty glass from you. "Bed?"

"Bed."

Chan turned the lights down until the room was bathed in a soft amber glow before pulling you towards the bed and pulling back the covers. You climbed in first, settling against the pillows while he walked around to the other side.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight and almost instinctively, you rolled toward him. He opened an arm without a word, and the way you fit against him as though you'd done it a hundred times before had your heart fluttering.

His chin rested lightly on top of your head, "you comfortable?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You need anything?"

You shook your head. "You?"

"I've got everything I need." His answer came so simply that it made you smile. Outside, the neighborhood had gone still. Somewhere in the distance, a car pulled from someone's driveway disappearing into the night.

Chan's fingers traced slow circles against your arm beneath the blanket. "Thank you," he murmured after a long while.

You tilted your head. "For what?"

"For trusting me."

Your eyes searched his face. He wasn't looking at you anymore. Just staring at the ceiling, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't ever want you to feel like you have to be anything except comfortable with me."

You reached up and intertwined your fingers with his. "And vice versa." His hand squeezed your hand gently as a comfortable silence settled over the room, neither of you feeling the need to fill it.

It wasn't long before your eyelids grew heavy, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you toward sleep. Just before you drifted off, you felt him press one last kiss into your head. "Goodnight," he whispered.

You smiled against his chest, "goodnight, Chan."

𐙚

He had never been the kind of man who woke up slowly.

His body snapped into consciousness all at once, like a switch being thrown, and that morning was no different, except for the heat. It pooled low in his belly before he even opened his eyes, a steady throb that matched the rhythm of his pulse.

The bedroom was still dark, thin streaks of dawn threading through the curtains, and beside him, You breathed in the slow, even cadence of deep sleep.

You were laying on your stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, your chan's shirt has ridden up, the sheet had slipped sometime in the night, leaving your back slightly bare to the dip of your waist where the blanket pooled. Your skin looked impossibly soft in the half-light.

Chan turned onto his side carefully, making the mattress shift only slightly. He didn't want to wake you. Not yet.

His mind flickered back to the night before; the taste of you, the sounds you'd made, the way your fingers had twisted in his hair. There was a reason he didn't suggest going all the way last night. Other than the fact that you did not mention it, Chan wanted the first time with you to be special.

Now, hours later, his body was making a compelling argument that 'not yet' had expired.

He watched you sleep for a long moment. The gentle rise and fall of your ribs. The flutter of you eyelashes; dreaming, perhaps. A small whimper came out with your exhale, and the sound of it, that tiny sound, sent a fresh pulse of want through him.

Chan leaned in and pressed his lips to your shoulder.

It was as light as a feather, barely a brush of skin against skin. He waited, your breathing didn't change.

He breathed you in, and his hand, moving of its own accord, ghosted up the length of your spine without touching, hovering just above the warm skin.

He kissed the nape of your neck, letting his mouth linger this time. The taste of you, slightly salty and something faintly vanilla from your body wash, spread across his tongue.

Then another, this time to the curve where your shoulder met your neck. He parted his lips slightly, just enough to feel the fine hairs there, and a sound rumbled in his chest that he swallowed before it could escape.

Your shoulder blade drew his mouth next, then the soft inward curve of your waist where the blanket had tangled. He was moving lower, propping himself on one elbow, mapping the landscape of your back with lips and breath. Every kiss was a question he wasn't asking aloud.

Do you know what you do to me?

Do you feel this too?

Can I have more?

"Chan?"

Your voice was thick with sleep, muffled by the pillow. You hadn't moved, hadn't even opened your eyes, but your hand had found his shoulder beneath the blanket and rested there, warm and grounding.

"Morning," he murmured against your lower back.

"What time is it?"

"Early."

You made a sleepy, questioning sound. "Why are you awake?"

He could have said something sweet, something about the sunrise or needing water. Instead, he let his teeth graze the rise of your hip, and said, voice rough, "Because I've been thinking about the way you taste."

Your breath caught. A small hitch that made the muscles of your back tense and release. Now he could see one eye, cracked open and watching him. "You're going to be the death of me," you whispered.

"Can I?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them, hoarse and urgent. "Please. Let me...just let me taste you again. That's all I want." He was already moving, already settling himself lower. "I'm just asking for this. For you. On my tongue."

"You're begging."

"I'm absolutely begging."

You propped herself on your elbows and looked down at him, and something in your expression shifted, from sleepy amusement to a quiet, considering heat. "You really mean it."

"Every word."

Your throat moved as you swallowed. "Then what are you waiting for?" He didn't need more than that.

Chan's hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your soft skin as he settled lower still, his shoulders nudging your thighs apart. The scent of you, warm and faintly musky and entirely you, filled his senses, and his mouth literally watered. He had to pause and press his forehead against the inside of your thigh just to steady himself.

"You okay down there?" Your voice was breathless, half-laugh.

"I'm trying not to embarrass myself," he admitted.

"That's adorable."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

He lifted his head and met your eyes. "Sit on my face."

The words landed between you like a stone dropped into still water. your lips parted, pupils went wide, swallowing the brown of your irises. "What?"

"You heard me." His voice was steadier now, confidence returning. "Sit on my face. I want to feel you above me."

The hesitation lasted only a heartbeat, and then you were moving, shifting up the bed as he rolled onto his back, arranging herself with a kind of focused precision that told him that you wanted this just as badly as he did.

Your thighs settled on either side of his head, and the world narrowed to the sight of you above him, backlit by the gray dawn. You were breathing hard, and so was he.

"Like this?"

"Exactly like that."

Chan's hands slid up the outside of your thighs, over the swell of your hips, pulling you down gently. His tongue curled against you, and the sound you made, a sharp, surprised gasp that turned into a moan halfway through, unraveled something in his chest.

He worked slowly at first, relearning the topography of you. The way you responded when he used the tip of his tongue versus the flat of it. The small, involuntary rock of your hips when he found a rhythm you liked. His hands gripped you harder, not to direct you, because he needed something to hold onto as he lost himself in your taste.

Your fingers found his hair, twisted and pulled at the strands. The sting on his scalp sent electricity straight down his spine. "There," you gasped. "Right there. Don't stop, Channie, please don't stop."

He continued fucking into you with his tongue, because who would he be if he didn't listen to you?

Time softened around the edges, became measured in the back and forth movement of your hips, the increasing urgency of your sounds, the way your thighs began to tremble against his ears. The taste of you was everywhere; on his tongue, his lips, his chin. He was drowning in it and had never been happier.

Your breathing changed, quickened almost. Your thighs clamped tighter, and Chan moaned against you, the vibration pulling another cry from your throat.

"I'm—" you couldn't finish the sentence.

He understood anyway. His tongue lapped against you harder and faster, as one of his hands left your hip to slide up your stomach, feeling the flutter of your breath beneath his palm. Your thighs squeezed him harder, fingers clenched in his hair as a raw, broken cry tore from your throat, your hips wildly grinding against his tongue as he flattens it.

He held you through every pulse, every shudder, drinking you down until you went limp above him, trembling and gasping. Only when your grip loosened and you collapsed to the side, pulling him closer to you, did the room fill with the sound of your ragged breathing and the soft, satisfied weight of your body against his.

Chan eased back as you slid off his face, your body still trembling from the orgasm. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and hungry as he watched you catch your breath beside him. The gray dawn light painted soft lines across both of you.

You turned toward him, fingers tracing down his chest. "Channie... I want more. I want you inside me. We...we can use protection, but...." you paused, "fuck I need you."

His cock twitched hard at your words. He reached in the nightstand without hesitation, tearing open a condom packet with his teeth. Sliding his pants off and rolling it down his thick length, he positioned himself between your spread thighs.

"You sure?" he asked, voice rough.

"Please."

He pressed the head of his cock against your slick pussy and pushed in slowly. Inch by inch, stretching you open until he bottomed out. A shared groan filled the room.

"Fuuuuck," he gasped closing his eyes. He stayed there for a long moment, buried deep, letting you both adjust to the thick stretch. His hips rocked in tiny, shallow movements at first, barely pulling back before sinking in again. The slow drag of his cock against your walls drew soft sounds from both of you.

"You like that, baby?" He moans against your lips causing you to whine. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into his lower back as you urged him deeper. He answered with a low groan, beginning to thrust in a steady rhythm, "you feel so good, babydoll....so so good."

He throws his head back grinding into you. Each stroke was deliberate, hips rolling forward until he was fully seated inside you before withdrawing almost completely, only to push back in again.

The wet sounds of your bodies grew louder with every thrust. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in as he kept the pace measured, savoring the way your pussy clenched around him every time he bottomed out. You could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the friction building heat between you causing your moans to get louder and more erotic.

"Keep squeezing me like that, babydoll," he growled, voice strained. He leaned down to kiss you, tongue sliding against yours while his hips continued into slow, deep thrusts. "I'm close," you breathed into his mouth.

"Yeah?" He thrusted hard into you. "Gonna cum for me baby?" Your nails dug into his back as the pleasure built gradually. He kept fucking you with that same controlled pace, angling his hips to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. The tension coiled tighter with each stroke, bringing you closer, until he stopped thrusting and pulled out suddenly, causing you to clench around nothing.

Your eyes shot open, "Chan," you whined out.

"Shhh, babydoll, I got you," he murmurs while admiring your pussy, before leading his cock back into you. "I got you."

Chan lingered above you, his breath warm against your lips as he eased his hips forward again. Instead of rushing, he kept the motion unhurried, sinking into your soaked pussy again with deliberate care. Every inch of his cock stretched you open slowly, the thick head pressing deeper until he was fully seated inside you once more. A low, shared sigh escaped both of you at the full connection.

Your eyes were in the back of your head, "F-fuck daddy, right there," you moaned out gripping his shoulders. The term of endearment made his cock throb inside of you, and his hips stayed buried in you.

"Say it again, babydoll," he rasped out, ".....please." He tried letting your walls adjust around him while his hands roamed gently over your sides. One hand sneaked down between you, as his fingers brushed your clit in soft circles. His other hand found yours, squeezing you gently. His mouth found yours again, the kiss slow and deep, tongues sliding together as he began to rock his hips in smaller, measured movements.

"J-just like that, daddy," you mewled out as he dragged his cock out just to slam it back into you, drawing out a loud groan from the two of you.

Despite wanting to continuously slam into you, he felt himself getting close, so he kept each thrust measured and sweet. He pulled back only a little before pushing forward again, the drag of his cock against your inner walls steady and intimate. Wet sounds filled the quiet room with every gentle stroke, but he never quickened the pace. Instead he focused on the way your body responded, watching your face for every flicker of pleasure.

Your legs stayed wrapped around his waist, heels resting against his lower back as you encouraged him to stay close. He answered by leaning down to press kisses along your jaw, then down your neck, his lips warm and lingering on your skin. The slow rhythm continued, his cock sliding in and out with careful control, the head brushing that sensitive spot inside you on every inward push.

Time stretched as he kept fucking you like this. Minutes passed with the same unhurried pace, his hips rolling forward to fill you completely before easing back almost to the tip. Your pussy clenched around him with growing need, but he didn’t speed up. He simply adjusted the angle slightly, angling his cock to press against that perfect spot again and again, drawing soft gasps from your throat.

Your hands explored his back, fingers tracing the muscles that flexed with each controlled thrust. He groaned quietly against your shoulder when your nails dragged lightly over his skin, the sound vibrating through his chest. Sweat began to gather between your bodies, but he kept the connection tender, pressing his forehead to yours as he continued the steady rhythm. "You like this, babydoll?"

You nodded as the pleasure built gradually, "Fuck yes." you whisper. "Yes yes yes." Every slow stroke pushed you closer without overwhelming you, his hips started stuttering as you squeezed tightly. “come on babydoll, let go,” he grunted out as you tightened your legs around his hips.

Your second orgasm approached like a rising tide rather than a sudden crash. When it finally washed over you, your pussy pulsed and fluttered around his thick length, squeezing him in rhythmic waves. Your back arched, pressing your chest to his as the sensation rolled through you in long, drawn-out pulses.

Chan held still through your climax, buried deep while your walls milked him. He kissed your temple, “that’s it baby, there you go,” he murmured softly against your skin as your breathing slowly evened out.

Only when your tremors began to fade did he resume the gentle thrusting, still keeping the pace measured and loving. He lasted longer this way, savoring every moment inside you. He can't remember the last time he's had sex, let alone with someone who reciprocated his feelings.

His own release built again slowly, his cock twitching inside the condom as the pressure mounted. When he finally came, it was with a deep, drawn-out groan, his hips pressing forward one last time as he emptied himself. His body shuddered against yours in long waves, the condom catching every pulse of his release.

He didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed nestled inside you, softening gradually while his hands continued their gentle exploration. One hand stroked your back. The other traced slow circles over your hip and thigh. His lips brushed yours in a series of soft, lingering kisses, each one unhurried and full of affection.

When he finally eased out, he did so with care, removing the condom and tying it off before dropping it aside. Then he gathered you against his chest, pulling the blanket up to cover both of you. Your bodies remained pressed together, skin to skin, as the morning light grew brighter outside. His fingers kept moving in slow, soothing strokes along your spine, and the quiet intimacy of the moment stretched on without any need to rush.

Neither of you spoke for a long while, but when you did the conversation drifted in and out between comfortable silences, interrupted only by lazy kisses and quiet laughter whenever one of you caught the other staring again.

Eventually the sunlight spilling through the curtains grew brighter, stretching farther across the bed until it reached your legs.

There wasn't much to say. The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the house settling and the distant chirping of birds outside the bedroom window. Every so often Chan would brush another kiss against your forehead or lazily trace circles along your back, neither of you particularly interested in being the first person to move.

Eventually, hunger won.

"If we don't get up," you mumbled against his chest, "we're going to waste the entire day."

Chan let out a sleepy hum, "I don't see the problem."

You smiled. "You said you needed groceries, especially for Jia."

One eye cracked open.

"…I did say that."

"And I need groceries too."

He sighed dramatically, tightening his arms around you for one last minute before finally letting go. "Five more minutes."

"You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"Then I'm making progress."

𐙚

By the time either of you finally convinced yourselves to leave the bedroom, the morning had quietly become afternoon. The house had settled into its usual weekend rhythm. Sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors in wide golden strips, warming the quiet rooms as if the day had been patiently waiting for the two of you to rejoin it.

Chan wandered into the kitchen first, still rubbing sleep from his eyes as he opened the refrigerator. He stared inside for a long moment. "...I've definitely been putting this off."

You laughed from somewhere down the hall. "That bad?" He stepped aside just enough for you to look.

Half a carton of milk.

A few eggs.

Butter.

One container of yogurt.

Three different condiments.

You looked back at him, "so....you've been surviving." You leaned against the counter, folding your arms. "My refrigerator isn't much better."

Chan glanced over at you, "No?"

"I keep buying ingredients because I think I'll cook."

"And then?"

"I get home from work and eat cereal."

He laughed quietly, "That explains a lot."

"It really does."

A comfortable silence settled between you as the coffee maker sputtered to life, filling the kitchen with its familiar sounds. Chan reached into the cabinet for two mugs without thinking, only hesitating for the briefest second before carrying on as if it had always been the obvious choice.

You noticed.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

By the time the coffee had finished brewing, the rich smell had drifted through the kitchen. Chan poured two cups and handed one to you, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you accepted it.

"Thanks."

He answered with a quiet hum before leaning back against the counter beside you, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. For a while, neither of you said anything, simply standing there with warm mugs in your hands, watching the backyard through the kitchen window.

"What time are you getting Jia tomorrow ?" you asked eventually.

"Around three."

You nodded into your coffee. "So we've got today."

"And most of tomorrow."

It was a simple observation, but it settled between you with a weight neither of you expected. Not because you had anything special planned, but because knowing there was still time somehow felt important.

Chan took another sip before setting his mug on the counter, "I still need groceries."

"Me too."

He glanced over at you, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Want to just go together?"

You smiled over the rim of your mug, "I was hoping you'd ask."

𐙚

Nearly forty minutes later, the reusable shopping bags were tucked into the back seat, coffee cups abandoned in the cup holders, and the two of you were pulling into the grocery store parking lot.

Saturday afternoons always seemed to bring everyone out at once.

Families navigated overflowing carts through the parking lot while college students hurried inside with hastily scribbled shopping lists clutched in one hand. Somewhere nearby, someone was losing a battle with a shopping cart that refused to separate from the rest of the line.

Chan grabbed one with considerably less effort before falling into step beside you, "you have a list?" he asked.

"Somewhere," you dug through your bag until you found a crumpled receipt folded into quarters, every bit of blank space covered in handwriting. He looked at it for a second before laughing,"....that's your list?"

"It made sense when I wrote it."

"I believe you," his smile lingered as the two of you wandered inside.

The store hummed with the familiar rhythm of a busy weekend. Shopping carts rattled over tile, conversations drifted from neighboring aisles, and somewhere overhead an employee announced a sale that neither of you paid much attention to.

Without ever deciding to, you settled into an easy pace.

You paused to inspect produce while Chan wandered a few feet ahead, reaching automatically for the things he always bought. Every so often one of you would stop beside the other.

"Need cereal?"

"Mhm."

"You still out of coffee?"

"Unfortunately."

A carton of eggs appeared in the cart.

Then bread.

Then fruit.

Somewhere along the way, Jia's favorite yogurt ended up beside your coffee creamer. A loaf of bread rested against vegetables you'd picked out. His pasta sat next to spices you knew you were almost out of.

Neither of you questioned it.

It wasn't until you reached the meat department that you finally glanced down into the cart. You rested both hands on the handle, smiling to yourself, "our groceries are kind of... mixed together."

Chan followed your gaze. For a long second, he simply looked, "...Huh."

"My stuff's with yours."

"And mine's with yours."

"They're going to have to be sorted when we get home."

He nodded once, "...Probably."

Neither of you reached into the cart. Instead, Chan picked up a package of chicken, dropped it in beside everything else, and continued walking. You smiled to yourself before following him.

For now, it didn't seem important whose groceries belonged to which house.

By the time you reached the checkout, neither of you had made much progress figuring out whose groceries belonged to whom. You started unloading the cart onto the conveyor belt while Chan grabbed the divider.

"Everything before this is mine," you said, pointing toward the growing pile.

"Mhm."

Coffee. Vegetables. Pasta. Chicken.

When you reached for the yogurt, Chan quietly slid it onto his side of the divider. You frowned. "...That was mine."

"It was?"

"You watched me pick it."

"Huh."

Before you could say anything else, he reached over and moved your coffee beside it.

"...Chan."

"What?"

"Those are my groceries."

He didn't even try to look innocent, "I know."

You narrowed your eyes. "You're trying to pay for them."

"I might be."

A laugh escaped you as you immediately slid both items back across the divider, "you are absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because they're mine."

"They're groceries."

"They're my groceries."

Resting his forearms on the cart handle, he smiled in that infuriatingly calm way that told you he'd already decided this conversation was entertaining, "I invited you."

"...To the grocery store."

"I still invited you."

"You don't buy someone groceries because you invited them to buy groceries."

"I don't see why not."

"I do."

The cashier glanced between the two of you, her expression already giving away that she'd decided this was the highlight of her shift.

Chan reached for his wallet anyway.

You caught his wrist before he could, "no."

He looked down at your hand before meeting your eyes again. "What?"

"I cook for you and Jia because I want to."

"I know."

"So you're not paying me back through produce."

He laughed. "I'm not paying you back."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Saying thank you."

"You can say thank you for free."

"...It's less convincing."

The cashier let out a quiet laugh before clearing her throat, "your total," she said, nodding toward your side of the divider, "is fifty-eight forty-three."

Chan looked almost offended, "....See?"

You blinked. "What?"

"It wasn't even close to a hundred."

You stared at him for a second before shaking your head, "that is the part you took away from this?"

"I feel vindicated."

Laughing, you handed your card to the cashier, "you are unbelievable."

A grin spread across his face, "so I've been told."

--

By the time the groceries were loaded into the back of the car, the afternoon sun had shifted just enough to stretch long shadows across the parking lot.

Chan started the engine, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel as he pulled out onto the main road. The radio hummed low beneath passing traffic, filling in the kind of silence that didn’t ask to be fixed.

You rested your elbow against the window, watching neighborhoods blur past before glancing over at him.

“What was Jia like when she was little?”

He smiled faintly, eyes still on the road. “She’s still little.”

“You know what I mean.”

A small exhale through his nose, like he’d already accepted the correction. “I know.” There was a pause as he thought back, “…She was fearless.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It should,” he said, finally glancing over with a grin.

That pulled a laugh out of you.

“She climbed everything,” he continued, warming into the memory. “The couch, the bookshelves, kitchen chairs. I’d turn around for two seconds and she’d be somewhere she absolutely shouldn’t be.”

“Chan.”

“I’m serious.” His mouth curved. “One time I walked into the kitchen and she was standing on top of the table.”

You turned fully toward him. “How did she even get up there?”

“I still don’t know,” he admitted, laughing now. “She just….figured it out.”

“And what was she doing?”

“Getting bananas.”

The car filled with your laughter, “she climbed onto the table…” you repeated, incredulous.

“…because she wanted fruit,” he finished, like that explained everything. “I found her holding the bunch over her head like she’d just won something.”

“Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

“Both,” you decided immediately.

“Definitely both,” the memory softened him a little, the grin easing into something fond. “I used to think she didn’t understand gravity.”

“She still doesn’t.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No… she just negotiates with it better now.”

The laughter settled gradually, the car slipping back into an easy quiet. A few minutes passed before your voice came again, softer this time.

“What about food?”

The shift was subtle, but it landed differently. You noticed it in the way his hand adjusted on the steering wheel before he spoke.

“When her mom left…” he began, voice quieter, “Jia had just turned two.”

You didn’t interrupt.

“I couldn’t cook,” he admitted after a moment.

“Not even a little?”

A small, sheepish smile. “I could ruin cereal.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you.

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you,” you said, still smiling.

“I lived off frozen dinners before she was born. After….that didn’t really work anymore.”

His eyes stayed on the road, but his voice shifted into memory, “so I started calling my mom. My sister too. Pretty much every night.”

“Every night?”

“Pretty much,” he said, amused at himself. “I’d just put them on speaker and stand in the kitchen like I had any idea what I was doing.”

You smiled. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“It was chaos,” he corrected immediately, but he was laughing. “I’d be like, ‘Okay… now what?’”

“And they’d tell you?”

“Yeah. ‘Dice the onion.’”

“Simple.”

“Except I didn’t know what ‘small’ meant.”

That made you laugh, “like… tiny? Medium? Is there a rule?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I asked that exact question.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

The two of you laughed again, softer this time, the kind that fades into something more comfortable. “I burned chicken three nights in a row once,” he added.

“Three?”

“I kept thinking I’d learned something from the night before.”

“And had you?”

“No,” he admitted, amused. A pause, then a small shrug. “But eventually… I got better.”

“What was the first thing you actually made right?”

His expression shifted slightly at that, “chicken noodle soup.”

“Why soup?”

“Jia got sick.”

The air in the car changed, not heavy, just quieter, “she wouldn’t eat anything,” he said. “I ended up sitting on the kitchen floor with her because she wouldn’t stay in her high chair.”

You watched him as he spoke, like you could almost see it, “she only ate maybe….three bites,” he said softly.

“And that was enough?”

“It felt like I’d won the lottery.”

Silence settled again, this one thoughtful rather than empty. After a while, he added, quieter still, “I figured if I was going to do this by myself….she deserved more than microwaved dinners.”

You looked at him for a long moment, “Chan.”

“Hm?”

“You’re a great dad.”

He smiled, but it didn’t fully reach his eyes this time. “I’ve mostly just been trying to stay one step ahead of her.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

A glance at you. “No?”

“I think you’ve spent the last four years building a life where she never has to wonder if someone’s coming home.”

That landed and stayed there. Chan didn’t respond right away. Just kept driving, fingers tapping once against the wheel like he was holding the words somewhere quieter than speech.

Then, after a beat, a small, genuine smile returned. “…Thanks.”

And this time, he didn’t try to say anything else.

He didn’t need to.

--

By the time Chan turned into the neighborhood, the conversation had already softened into something familiar.

Jia’s unwavering belief that broccoli was just “tiny trees.”

The phase where she had refused to wear matching socks for an entire week on principle alone.

The brief, intense period where she had announced she was a dinosaur and responded only to roaring.

It came in fragments between laughter, the kind that filled space without needing to push anything out of it.

Eventually, the house came into view. Then the driveway.

And when Chan pulled in, the two of you both seemed to notice it at the same time. The grocery bags in the backseat. Still sitting there. Still very much not sorted.

A pause settled over the car.

“…Right,” you said slowly. “We’re going to have to separate all of this.”

Chan followed your gaze like he’d only just remembered they existed. “…Yeah.”

Neither of you moved for a second longer than necessary. It wasn’t reluctance exactly. More like the quiet realization that the moment had finally caught up to you.

“…Do you remember what’s yours?” he asked.

You leaned slightly to see better, squinting at the jumble of bags. “I know the coffee is mine.”

“…I think.”

That made him turn his head toward you. “You were confident for a second there.”

“I was confident,” you defended lightly. “Until you made me think about it.”

A small laugh left him as he opened his door. “That’s dangerous.”

“So is this grocery strategy.”

That got a fuller exhale of amusement from him as he stepped around the car. You followed him to the trunk.

The air outside felt a little cooler, quieter without the movement of driving, like the world had paused just long enough for this to become its own small task.

Chan lifted the first bag and held it out slightly. “Okay. This one?”

You peered inside, then frowned. “I genuinely don’t know.”

“Helpful.”

“I’m trying.”

He handed it back into the trunk and picked up another. “This?”

You leaned in closer this time, taking your time. “Wait… I think those are your onions.”

A pause.

Chan blinked once. “I don’t buy onions.”

“You literally picked them up.”

“I would remember that.”

“You made me smell them.”

That did it. You both broke out into laughter at the same time. Your hand went to your face, shoulders shaking. “Oh my God.”

Chan bent slightly at the waist, laughing harder now, one hand braced on the edge of the trunk like he needed support to survive the memory.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he said through a laugh. “This feels like we’re dividing assets.”

“That’s exactly what it feels like,” you said, still laughing. “Custody agreement for groceries.”

He pointed at you without hesitation. “This is your influence.”

“My influence?”

“You kept saying ‘I'll use it’ about everything.”

You straightened, defensive but amused. “Because I will use it, whether its with you guys or by myself.”

That hung there a second longer than the joke deserved. The laughter didn’t stop, but it shifted, softer now, less chaotic. Chan looked at you over the open trunk, expression easing into something quieter. He picked up another bag, holding it for a moment before handing it over like he’d already accepted the answer.

“…Yeah,” he said gently. “We will.”

And somehow, that landed more than the joke ever did.

--

The house was quiet as you both stepped inside, the bags heavy in your hands. The familiar sounds; the soft rustle of plastic, the faint clink of bottles filled the space. You set your bags down on the counter while Chan moved to start unloading his own, a slow, practiced rhythm.

He looked up at you with a small, familiar smile. “Leave your bags for now,” he said softly. “We can take them over to yours when we get a chance.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. It was easier this way, him handling the division, the organization, the flow of the household. No need to worry about sorting everything immediately.

He moved with a quiet purpose, opening the fridge and freezer, carefully placing items where they belonged, his movements slow and deliberate, as if tending to something fragile.

"Here, just put them away while they're still in the bags, so you don't leave anything behind," he says glancing towards you. You watched him for a moment, feeling the steadiness in his movements, the familiar quiet confidence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the steadiness in his movements, the familiar quiet confidence. It wasn’t just about groceries. It was about the rhythm of the home, the way things could be organized and cared for without words, a shared understanding that everything would find its place naturally in time.

“Thanks,” you said softly, reaching for the bags again. “It’s….nice having this kind of normal, even if it’s just for a little while.”

He smiled, a little tired but genuinely peaceful. “Yeah,” he replied. “It’s good. We’ll make it feel like home, one step at a time.”

Later, as the evening settled in, you found yourselves in the kitchen again, this time side by side, reheating leftovers in the microwave. The hum of the appliance blended with the faint, distant chatter from the living room, stories about the day, sprinkled with the occasional giggle.

The quiet rhythm of the house continued, unhurried; passing plates, brushing shoulders, sharing small, knowing smiles as you set the table together.

You exchanged a glance, a small, knowing smile passing between you, feeling the unspoken understanding that everything was okay, just as it was.

You both sat side by side at the kitchen table, the soft glow of the overhead light casting a warm, calming hue over everything. The gentle clatter of plates and silverware punctuating the quiet. Outside, the faint sounds of the evening drifted through the window; distant traffic, a birdcall or two, filling the space with a peaceful, familiar rhythm.

You reached for a glass, taking a sip before glancing at Chan. “Do you remember how she used to react to changes?” you asked softly.

Chan chuckled, a quiet laugh that carried a hint of nostalgia. “Yeah,” he said with a small shake of his head. “She’d get all anxious if her routine was even a little different. Like, when she’d go to bed start asking for her nightlight or Leebit a hundred times.”

You smiled, remembering those nights. “She still does that?” you questioned.

"Not so much now," he nodded thoughtfully. “She’s adaptable. Just needs a little time to process.....speaking of I want to make sure she’s okay, you know. Before we talk about anything new between you and I.”

You looked at him, your expression softening. “Yeah. I think that’s smart.”

He paused, glancing down at his plate, then back at you with a quiet resolve. “I just… I want to be careful. Not rush her or make her feel overwhelmed. I want to tell her first, in a way she can understand, simple, gentle. No big surprises. Just us, taking it slow.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s the right way. She’ll trust us more if she knows she’s safe.”

The gentle hum of the house wrapped around you both, quiet but steady, an unspoken promise that patience and love would guide you through. No matter how long it took, everything would fall into place when the time was right.

You looked down at your plate, then back up at him, feeling the quiet strength in his words. “We’ll get through this,” you said softly. “One step at a time.”

He nodded, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

And in that peaceful moment, with the evening settling around you, you both knew that love wasn’t about rushing or pushing, it was about patience, trust, and quietly building something steady and real, day by day.

𐙚

The soft hum of the house continued around you, but at the table, everything seemed to slow down. The gentle flicker of the candlelight cast warm shadows across your faces, and for a moment, the world outside faded away.

You sat close, your shoulders just barely brushing, the quiet comfort of each other’s presence wrapping around you like a shared secret. You reached for your glass, but you hesitated as your arm brushed against his. He looked up at you, eyes dark and steady, a quiet understanding passing between you. The air grew thick with unspoken longing, a slow-burning tension that didn’t need words.

He shifted slightly, closing the space just a little more, his gaze dropping to your lips. You felt your heartbeat quicken, the anticipation building gently.

Without a word, he leaned in, a small, deliberate movement, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand reached out, resting softly on your thigh, warm and grounding.

Your breath hitched as he brushed a tender kiss along the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment. His lips lingered there, sending a shiver through you, and you instinctively leaned into him, closing the gap.

The slow, steady press of his lips against your skin sent a ripple of heat through your body. You felt the faint brush of his fingers, the subtle pressure of his hand, grounding you in the moment. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief second before opening again, meeting his gaze; soft, intense, full of promise.

The atmosphere shifted seamlessly, from calm and gentle to something more electric, yet still tender. You could feel the unspoken desire simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to unfold fully. But for now, it was enough; this quiet, lingering closeness, the shared breath, the unhurried connection at the heart of it all.

In that silence, at the dinner table, love and longing intertwined, simple and profound. And you knew, without saying a word, that this moment was just the beginning of something deeper, something waiting patiently just beneath the surface.

masterlist | next

a/n: ovulating (੭ ˊ^ˋ)੭ ♡ but originally, I wanted to do the whole weekend in this chapter, but I now have different plans. also for the love of GOD if you are a minor and interacting with this, don’t let me find out. You will get blocked.

Smut Warnings: Pregnant sex. Breeding kink, level hella heavy. Oral sex (female receiving). Doggy. Head shoved into the bed. Dirty talk. Begging. Squirting. Cowgirl. Overstimulation (male and female receiving). Multiple orgasms (male and female). Choking (male receiving). Missionary.

It was the perfect June day.

The weather sunny, the air balmy as it carried the scent of the sea through the small vacation home he bought after the birth of your daughter, the oldest.

It's more often now that he gets to come home to Australia now that he has kids of his own. Stray Kids are having their much deserved summer break with their own families and while he missed his seven, Chris knows this is where he needs to be right now. It's Father's Day and for the first time in eight years, it is just your small family.

Like the last couple of days, he has spent all day on the beach with his family. Running back and forth to the surf with his son, you walking with your daughter along the beach looking for shells and other items. He's so thankful for his mother for grabbing his new favorite picture of you.

Your daughter has run up to you with a conk shell, perfect and pink but before she makes it to you, she stops and looks down. A hermit crab he later learned from you was making it's way back to the water. Crouched together, you and your daughter are watching the small crab make its way down the beach.

When you looked up, you saw him watching and the smile that lit up your face was like Cupid's arrow hitting him all over again. Chris has to swallow thickly before smiling and waving before your son tugs on him to build a sandcastle.

The sound of your children giggling and their cheers filled the house all day but after the sun set, the gentle breeze turned cooler and their eyes got tired. He was just finishing up his nightly lock down and on his way back up the stairs when you meet in the hallway.

You're still in the light linen dress you pulled on after you joint shower during nap time. Some of the loose tendrils of hair cling to you from the heat of the day, the house, and the effort to corral two young children. Chris notices it causing a light sheen over your skin, the fabric clinging to you slightly.

"How did it go?" His voice is soft as he peeks around the door of your daughters room.

"They wanted to sleep in the fort your made." You smile and wrap an arm around his waist. "They played so hard that they are out cold."

Chris smile and kisses the top of your head before pulling the door closed, taking the monitor from you. "Time for us to go to bed."

"What if I'm not tired?" You tease as his hand roams over the dip of your waist and the flare of your hip.

The arm across you holds you in place as Chris rocks his hardening cock against your lower back. Hearing you gasp softly, his teeth graze the shell of your ear before he whispers, "I didn't say anything about sleeping, baby girl."

You gasp as heat races down to your core and your head tilts to the side, "Christopher." You already sound fucked out and it makes him growl against your skin as he grinds harder against you. "Okay, bedroom." You manage to get apart and into the bedroom.

Once the door is closed, you've turned around and are on him. Arms around his neck and your lips pressed to his. All he can do it groan into the kiss and pull you closer, careful of the small swell of your lower abdomen.

Your third. A surprise to your both since you had restarted a contreceptive after your son was born. Nearing the end of your first trimester, he knew what changes were awaiting you both.

"Christopher," your voice brings him back and effortlessly he scoops you up and carries you to the bed. "I need you. Now" Your fingers slip under the white shirt that he ripped the sleeves off of this morning, feeling the warmth of his sun kissed skin.

"I'm yours, baby girl." His fingers reach up and pull your hair from the clip you tossed it in before bath time and cupped your jaw softly.

"Please," You push the shirt up and kiss over his muscles, loving the way they ripple and jump for you. "I want to-"

His thumb finds your lips and silences you. Chris is a man of iron clad control. Except when it comes to you. "I know what you want, baby girl." He leans down and nuzzles his nose with yours before kissing you softly. "I'm all yours."

You wish you could say it was just the hormones but you knew that it was all Chris. Even before you found out how much pregnancy effects you, he never had to do much to get you arching and gasping his name. Your best friend, turned friend with benefit to boyfriend and finally husband. Knowing that he not only knows your body like the back of his hand but he knows the heart of you always made it easy for you to let go and just feel.

"Chris, please," the soft sob tells him that the pulsing between your legs is painful with how quickly it hit you.

Yes, being pregnant made you needier but it never took him long to get you squirming. Before it would be a look across a room with that smirk of his or a whispered desire before dinner and you were lost. Now, it was as simple as his hand on your waist or the way his hands flex as he cooks.

Now as he pulls his shirt over his head and moves onto his knees before you, a low sound leaves you and your hips rock forward. Desperate for something anything to help with the pressure in your dripping core.

"Hold on, baby girl," he pushes your dress up, groaning as he sees you. You've soaked through the light color pair you have on, allowing him to see how swollen you are. "Fuck, you're so wet." He pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, the movement knocking your arms out from under you.

A huff leaves you as you land on your back. Very quickly you have to cover your mouth as a loud moan is ripped from you when Chris leans in and drags his tongue up your covered slit. "Oh god," you exhale and press your hips up. "Don't fucking tease me."

He groans into you at the demand and quickly rips the fabric from you before both of your feet are planted on his broad shoulders and his face is buried back between your legs. His tongue slides into you as the bridge of his nose grazes against your swollen clit.

"Oh fuck, that's it baby." The praise falls from you as he fucks you with his tongue, letting you roll your hips up to his face. "Christopher that feels so fucking good."

When your nails slide over his scalp before gripping his hair, Chris groans into you. Both of his hands slide over the softness of your thighs, still strong enough to run after your children and to knock him on his ass. Up the swell of your belly, the knowledge that you are once again growing a piece of your shared love drives him mad.

Chris would keep you like this if you would let him. He loves every bit of you, pregnant or not but this, it has to be his favorite look. His dream come true. The sound he makes as it once again washes over him that you are his and this is his life makes you clench around his tongue.

Slowly, he knows you are sensitive and sore, his hands push your dress off your chest. Chris pulls away from you, kissing over your soft lower lips and inner thighs as you arch up, pushing your breasts into his hands. Leaning down he pulls your clit between his lips and pulls. Hard.

The suction on your clit, the stimulation from the way his tongue is also dancing over it on top of the sparks that shoot through you from his hands on your chest quickly shove you to your climax. You soak his chin, his chest, and the foot of the bed as you cum with his name on your lips, your thighs and hips twitching.

One more gentle kiss to your thighs, your hips, that beautiful belly, your sternum, before he licks a strip up your neck, tasting the sweat he noticed on your skin in the hall. His lips find yours and the kiss is feral, nothing but tongue and teeth as you hook your still shaking thighs over his hips and pull him to you.

"More," you breath against his lips, the desire steadily building back up. "Christopher, please,"

"You know you don't have to beg but fuck I love to hear it," he grinds against you and the soft gasp that leaves you makes him smirk. "So sensitive."

"You always do this to me." Your hands slide down his back, tracing the nail marks you left the night before, feeling him shiver and roll his hips into yours. "Plus, don't act like you don't love to hear me beg for your cock."

A low growl leaves him and he smirks down at you, watching the way your face changes each time his hips grind against yours, giving you the friction your core craves. "You have been begging for this cock for over a decade, baby girl. Of course-"

"Yes," you gasp before dragging your nails down the marks from before. "Your cock bred me so well-"

"Don't."

"Then please get inside me."

"I'm not going to be able to be gentle. I've been too rough."

"Christopher," his name comes out as a sob as you feel the pulse in your core and the ache of being empty. "Please, fuck me. Please, you did this to me. You put this fucking baby in me-"

Within seconds you are on your hands and knees with his body pressed tightly along the length of your own. One hand holding his shaft against your slit, coating himself in you, as the other is beside yours on the bed, holding his weight. You watch as his fingers flex into the bedding before they lace with yours. Gripping his fingers tightly, you turn your head to kiss the bicep beside your head.

The power that courses through the body above you has always excited you. He's your protector, your supporter. You've always been his soft place to land, the gentle home where he doesn't have to wear the armor. You feel his muscles are coiled and how he shakes with barely contained restraint.

Biting your bottom lip, you decide to take scissors to the last tether holding him back. You lean forward onto your chest, slip your fingers between his as Chris pushes forward to slide through you, your hips tilt to slide him in.

The thick, angry head of his cock catches at your entrance and you push back, gasping at the stretch. Everything is heightened when you are pregnant. You are more swollen with the added blood flow, so it feels like you are taking for the first time again but with the extra sensations there is none of the pain only the pleasure from the stretch of his shaft on your walls.

Your jaw drops and you moan lowly as you feel him sink lower onto his knees, one arm cradling the weight of your belly before he thrusts the rest of the way into you.

"You fucking devil woman," he growls into your skin as he starts slow, shallow movements, loving the way your pussy flutters around him, squeezing as you work to accommodate his girth. "You feel so fucking good, baby girl."

"Harder, Chris, I need this,"

"If I do much more, this is all over before it begins."

"You know as well as I do that, that isn't true. You love it when I mil-" your head is turned into the pillows by Chris's hand on your jaw as he pulls back and slams into you. The rest of your sentence is screamed into the pillows as he fucks the way you begged for it.

Hard.

"Remind me to pad the fucking headboard tomorrow," he growls as his hips drive into you at a pace that makes the mentioned piece of furniture continue it's beat against the wall.

You're screaming and drooling into the pillows, sobbing his name as your pussy drenched your thighs and his. The way he has your hips angled has him against your gspot then deeper. The sounds your bodies make each time they collide echo around the walls and Chris smirks before his eyes widen and he grips your hips.

"Don't fucking do that again unless you want-," he groans into your neck as you clench hard around him. "Baby girl, I can't-,"

You tilt your head, "Christopher," the breathless way you said his voice before your climax hits you. Along with way your body rolls against his, your release sliding down your thighs to his, and the silent scream, sends him right over the edge into his own.

Growls of your name into your skin as he pumps his release deeper into you, a low whine leaves him as your walls flutter around his shaft.

With a soft whimper from you, Chris withdrawals from you and gently lays you on your side before he flops onto his back. Smiling, you reach out and rest your hand on his chest. Once you feel his heart rate starting to slow some, you're up and swinging one of your legs over to straddle him.

You whine softly as you settle yourself, core still that throbbing ache of emptiness, on Chris's lap. He groans and grips your hips, not to move you but for stability. "What do you need, baby girl?"

"You," with his hands on your hips, you finally remove the dress from your body, tossing it to the floor before your hands find his chest once again. "Always you, Chris."

"You're so fucking beautiful," his voice breaks off as he looks up at you. Your hair falls around you in wild waves, his favorite way to see it. There is a shine in your eyes from your releases, the flush on your cheeks and your neck, the way your lips are swollen from you biting or him kissing them.

The rest of your body is preparing once again for the child you are growing and he cannot help but be amazed by the power that holds over him. His fingers trail over your breasts which have always been sensitive but during these first few months you're extra responsive.

"Chris, baby, please." Your hips move so his hardening cock slides against your core.

He groans and nods, "ride me, baby girl. Take what your body needs." His fingers curl over the flare of your hips. "Use me, my beautiful wife."

You gasp out a thank you as he helps you lower onto his cock, a low hiss leaving his lips at the overstimulation. "You always feel so much bigger the second time, Chris." One of yours hands moves to his bicep, allowing you to sink him deeper into your clenching heat.

"You feel so fucking good, holy shit." He whimpers and presses up, letting his knees bend behind you. He plants his feet on the bed but allows you to control the pace now that you are fully seated on him.

The support of his strong legs behind you allows you to know that if you were to wobble he would catch you. Being held by his strong hands and backed by his thighs, you brace yourself on your knees and start to move. It's a slow drag of your swollen walls over the overstimulated shaft of his cock.

Soon, both of your hands are back on his chest and you are in a punishing rhythm for him. While you have angled your hips so his cock hits that one spot deep inside of you every time you take him, the way your walls are gripping his cock have caused Chris to release your hips in fear of hurting you with his grip.

It's a pain and pleasure situation, you feel so good wrapped tightly around him but there is a small electric sting that comes from the overstimulation and Chris has held it in as long as he could.

"Please, baby girl," he cries out a whine leaving him when you sheath him fully in your heat. You're grinding slowly on him, panting softly as you watch your husband heave for breath below you.

"Baby, I'm so sorry, you just feel so fucking good," your voice comes out breathless.

"You're going to make me cum again and I don't think I can hold it," he arches and groans as you start your punishing bounce again.

Shifting your hands, one looses it's place and slips to his collarbones, your thumb pressing to the pulse point on his throat. You smirk softly to yourself as you remember something from your early days of marriage.

"Don't hold it baby, cum for me, Christopher." Your hand shifts to curl your fingers around his neck, not squeezing but letting him feel. "Cum for me baby boy."

A large hand curls over your littler on, Chris's fingers adding pressure to his wind pipe, making your eyes widen. Your body tightens around him as he whines. Keeping your pace on him you bring both of you closer to your releases.

Chris hits his first, the soft gasp of your name has you releasing his throat. His following groan is loud and bounces off the walls back you as he thrusts deeply, his hips jerking as he fills you for a second him.

Your hips slow as you help him ride it out, leaning down to kiss over his chest. It only takes him a few moments but you soon find yourself on your back with your knees hooked over the bend of his elbow and his cock still buried inside of you.

"You are fucking incredible, you know that?" He smiles as he circles his hips against you.

A gasp leaves you as your jaw drops open, your hands gripping his biceps. "Oh my god that feel so good, Chris,"

Continuing the slow rotations of his hips, Chris leans down and kisses over your chest, softly dragging his tongue over your swollen nipples. You arch and one hand moves to cradle his head, your walls pulsing around his cock as it shallowly moves in and out of you.

Circling his tongue around the sensitive peak, he groans into your skin as your fingers tug on his hair. Gently he tests the waters and wraps his lips around it, suckling softly. Chris whines once again as his own release starts to creep down his spine, he feels yours dripping from you and soaking the bed below you.

"Christopher, don't stop-" you release a sound that causes him to twitch inside of you. "Please,"

Releasing your nipple he places a soft kiss to your sternum before treating the opposite breast to the same treatment. "Cum, for me baby girl." He closes his lips around your nipple once more and sucks, shooting that pleasure straight to your core.

"Chris," you sob his name as your climax washes over you in waves.

You've tightened so hard around his cock that when you grind down to pull him deeper, Chris is shoves right over with you once again. Your name is groaned into your skin as he litters kisses over any exposed skin he can reach as he thrusts into you once last time.

The burning, emptiness is finally gone and all you feel is the satisfied stretch of your husband still buried inside of you. Your fingers card through his hair as he slowly disentangles himself and kisses you. He swallows the gasp as your legs are stretched and relaxes against the bed.

"Give me two minutes and your bath will be ready," he whispers against your lips before he climbs off the bed and disappears into the bathroom.

"Chris?" He hears you call for him as he starts to fill the garden tub with hot water.

"Yeah baby?"

"Christopher."

Turning his head towards the bedroom, he feels his body shake slightly before your voice calls for him again and the bathroom in Australia disappears.

His eyes snap open and they meet yours. A concerned look in them as your hands rub over his arms. "There you are. You scared me."

Sitting up on the bed, he looks around to place where he is. "I'm at the dorm."

You nod and sit back as he rubs his hands over his face. "You got back from Italy and crashed here while I was working on Jeju." Your head tilts to the side. "Are you okay?"

He nods slowly before looking at you once again. “I can’t believe I slept that hard.”

“I would have just climbed in with you but when I got here, I passed Innie on my way and he said you were making sounds.” You smiled softly, “he wasn’t sure if they were mumbles or moans but he said you were breathing so he left.”

You both are silent for a while as Chris fully regains consciousness. His hands scrub over his face and then into his hair, musing the already wild curls. “It was all a dream." He whispers to himself before his hands reach out and slide over your waist, meeting your soft but very much not pregnant belly. "I can't fucking believe it."

Your hand reaches up to his before he leans forward and collapses into your arms. You cradle him to you, holding him close as he shakes softly, the emotion and release of the dream washing over him. "It's okay baby," your hands soothe over his back as his cling to your waist.

"It was the best dream," he pulls back to meet your eyes. His still red with the tears as he sighs heavily. "We were parents and you were carrying our third." Gently his fingers ghost over your stomach once again. "It was Father's Day and we had a house in Australia. It was on the beach."

Smiling, your hands cup his cheeks softly to wipe away his tears, "that sounds like our future baby."

"I want that so badly. With you." His bottom lip wobbles and his eyes fill once again before he buries his face in your neck, grounding himself in your scent.

Your face softens and you place a soft kiss to his temple. Carding your fingers through his hair slowly, you whisper “one day, baby. I promise that one day we will have our Australian beach house and child running around."

After he calms down, his face heats with embarrassment of his break down but also because of how uncomfortably wet his boxers are. “God, I haven’t done that since before we started dating.”

“What, baby?” You try to pull back to look at him but his arms tighten, keeping you in place.

He huffs it all out at once and you bite your bottom lip to keep in the satisfied smile

"So, you already-?"

“At least once.”

“Christopher,” you finally manage to get him to look at you and his eyes are darker than before but yours are too. He’s torn between embarrassed, disgusted, and so turned on his cock throbs painfully hard between you.

"Oh god please don't. You begged and were so needy in the dream." He groans as his subconscious recalls some of the scenes.

You smirk, the understanding in your eyes, "ah, the pregnancy hormones."

“Fuck you got so wet.” He flops back and presses the heel of his palms into his eyes. “I’m traumatized by the best thing that never even happened to me.”

You’re quiet for a minute before a whisper comes to his ears, “do you want me to leave you alone or do you want help?”

His cock jumps in his boxers at the sincerity in your voice. As much as he knows you want to tease him, you’re willing to step back and give him space to deal with the aftermath.

"I don’t know how much I can handle but fuck yes I want your help.” his face deepens in shades of red as he feels your weight settle over him, settling on his thighs.

"How about we find out together?" Your lips are at his jaw, down his neck. “Tell me what you want, baby boy.”

The words echo through his brain and the sound that leaves him is feral, unhinged but his hands only grip your bare thighs. He does not take charge, he leaves that for you. Your name leaves his swollen lips and you smile, knowingly.

Your voice is whispered across his lips as your hands travel up his rippling chest. "Let me make you a daddy." You kiss him and the battle is lost.

He whines and wraps you in his arms and crushes you to him as he returns the kiss. Chris groans into your mouth as your hips start to circle over his, giving you both the friction you crave.

"Oh baby boy," his neck flushes at the nickname as you tease him. "You're so hard for me already." You hold yourself up with your arms on either side of his head. "Was it that good?"

"You made me cum three times and you choked me." His ear are red and his eyes roll into the back of his head as you grind yourself against his cock.

"Well,” you gasp softly against his ear when you find your rhythm together, the ridge of his cock meeting your swollen clit through the soaked front of his boxers. “Happy Father's Day to you, baby boy."

Chan watched Jia run into the house as soon as he unlocked the door. She kicked off her shoes somewhere near the entryway and disappeared down the hall.

"Daddy, I can wash up by myself!" she called over the sound of running water. "You need to wash up too!"

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "Don't rush, bug. And make sure you clean up if you make a mess."

The response came immediately, "I know!"

Shaking his head, Chan made his way into the kitchen and turned on the sink.

Across the street, you were probably already setting the table. Maybe plating dinner. Maybe trying to decide how much food was enough for a preschooler who alternated between eating three bites and eating like she hadn't seen food in days.

The thought settled into him far too easily, that was the part that caught him off guard. A few months ago, the idea of ending a Monday evening at your house would've felt unexpected. Now Jia accepted invitations before he did.

And if he was being honest with himself, part of him had already said yes the moment you'd offered.

He dried his hands and stared down at the sink, watching the water disappear down the drain. The sound of hurried footsteps running down the hall, broke him out of it.

Jia skidded into the kitchen with damp hands while grinning. "Lets go! Lets go! Lets go!"

Chan glanced down at her, "we don't need to rush bug," he chuckled out.

"But what if she starts without us?"

Chan paused although it was such an innocent question. Jia wasn't really worried about dinner, she was more worried about missing time with you.

His smile faded slightly. He spent the entire weekend trying not to think about that. About how easily you'd become someone Jia looked forward to seeing, and about how disappointed she'd be if that were to ever change. "I-I don't think she'd leave us out like that bug."

Jia nodded like she seemed satisfied with the answer, "Okay," then she grabs his hand leading him to the door. "But, let's hurry anyway."

𐙚

By the time they reached your house, Jia was already halfway up the walkway.

"Bug."

"What?"

"Slow down."

"I am going slow."

She wasn't.

Chan sighed as she bounded up the last step, already reaching for the door.

Before he could remind her to knock, you opened it. "We're back!" Jia announced, slipping past you and into the house before either of you could say anything else.

"Welcome back," you said, laughing as you watched her. She made it only a few feet into the house before stopping abruptly and turning around, "Thank you for waiting for us."

You blinked. Beside you Chan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

"You're welcome?"

Jia nodded, completely satisfied with that answer, and disappeared deeper into the house.

You watched her go before looking over at Chan. "What was that about?" you asked laughing. He let out a long sigh, "You don't want to know."

"That's usually a terrible sign."

"It usually is."

You laughed and shook your head before leading him further inside.

The smell of dinner grew stronger the closer you got to the dining room. Chan followed a step behind while Jia disappeared ahead of both of you. By the time they reached the table, she was already climbing into her chair.

"I win."

"It wasn't a race," Chan said immediately.

"It was for me."

You snorted, pulling out your own chair, "at least she's honest."

"Unfortunately."

Jia beamed.

The table was already set, dinner laid out between the three places. For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable quiet as everyone got situated.

Chan found himself looking around the table for a second longer than necessary before reaching for his glass. He wasn't sure when exactly the evening had stopped feeling like an invitation.

Maybe somewhere between crossing the street and sitting down. Maybe sometime before that. All he knew was that, lately, he kept finding himself in moments like this and forgetting they were supposed to feel unusual.

Everything settled into an easy rhythm after that.

Jia did most of the talking, as usual, narrating parts of her day that didn’t always follow logic but always demanded full attention. Chan listened like he was used to translating her world in real time, occasionally stepping in when she drifted too far from reality.

You didn’t interrupt. Just filled in the gaps when they appeared.

But you were also aware of him in ways that didn’t have much to do with listening.

The way his knee bumped yours under the table when he shifted, and stayed there. The way he reached for your water glass instead of his own and didn’t seem to notice until his fingers were already closing around it. The way he watched you explain something to Jia with a focus that felt borrowed from somewhere else entirely, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth forming words he’d heard a hundred times before.

Somewhere between bites of food and half-finished stories, the edges of the evening started to soften.

A shared laugh over something Jia insisted was “very serious.”

Chan quietly pushing the last bit of food on his plate toward you without comment. In which you pretending not to notice.

Jia deciding, mid-sentence, that she was suddenly too tired to finish speaking and continuing anyway.

Eventually, she leaned heavily against Chan’s side without warning, her voice slowing into something softer.

“I’m not tired,” she insisted, already blinking slower than before.

“Sure,” Chan said automatically.

But his hand moved anyway, resting lightly at her back. And his eyes lifted to yours across the table, just for a second, something in them that looked almost like apology. Or confession. Or both.

You watched it happen without thinking about it too much.

When the table was finally cleared, Jia was barely making it through her words. Her energy had drained all at once, like someone had quietly turned her volume down.

“I can walk,” she said, standing up too fast to be convincing.

“No you can’t,” Chan replied immediately.

“I can.”

“You just nodded off while sitting, bug.”

You stood beside them, smiling softly. “Do you want to go lay down in my bed?”

Jia considered this like it was a negotiation. Then nodded once, decisive. “Yes.”

Jia didn’t argue much once she was in your room. She only clung briefly to Chan’s sleeve before letting herself be guided down into the bed. He stayed until her breathing slowed.

You stayed too, leaning in the doorway while the room fell quiet.

Neither of you said much when you stepped back out. Just the subtle shift of leaving one version of the night behind and returning to another.

It felt quieter after that.

Chan helped without being asked. Stacked dishes. Wiped counters. Moved around the kitchen like he knew where things belonged even if he didn’t fully live there.

At some point, you noticed him carrying the trash bag toward the back door. “I’ve got it,” he said before you could reach for it.

“You don’t have to do everything,” you replied, following him anyway.

“I know.” He stepped outside before you did, the screen door clicking softly behind you.

The porch light was already on.

You stayed where you were for a second, just watching him move into the dimmer air beyond the threshold. He tied the bag, set it in the bin, but didn’t rush back inside.

When he looked back up at you, he saw you leaning lightly against the door frame. “You’re just going to stand there and watch?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you said. “Nothing I haven’t already done.” That earned a small exhale from him that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“You’re good with her,” he said after a moment. It didn't feel casual in the way he said it.

You blinked slightly, like you weren’t expecting it to land that directly. “Is that so?”

The space between you shifted.

He stepped back toward the porch slowly, like he wasn’t fully deciding to close the distance until he was already doing it. “You make it feel…” he started, then paused, choosing the rest carefully.

“Very normal....when you’re around.”

Your breath caught a little on the edges of that. “Chan,” you said quietly, like a warning and not a rejection.

But he didn’t move away from it. He just looked at you like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be allowed to, but he did it anyway.

You let him.

The space between you stopped behaving like something either of you was actively managing. It just…stayed.

Chan’s gaze flicked to your mouth, then back up. Not fast enough to pretend he hadn’t done it.

His voice came rougher. “I should probably—”

Your hand lifted, not reaching, just hesitating in the air between you like you were checking if the moment would hold its shape.

That was enough for him.

Chan moved before the thought could complicate itself any further. Not slowly this time. His hand came up and cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone with something that felt almost desperate, and he kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for hours and you were the only air in the room.

The first touch wasn’t careful.

It was need, pure and sudden, his mouth hot against yours, his other hand finding your waist and leaning into you hard enough that your back met the doorframe with a soft thud. You made a noise against his lips, surprised or relieved or both, and your fingers tangled in the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself to something that suddenly felt less like an idea and more like reality.

For a moment it stayed like that. Urgent and close. The porch light casting both of you in something too warm for the night air.

Then he pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, his thumb still tracing your jaw like he couldn’t stop touching you. “Sorry,” he said, voice low, not sounding sorry at all.

You laughed, breathless. “Are you sure?”

“Not really.”

You didn’t say anything for a second, just let your hand rest over his, feeling the small tremor in his fingertips. Then you nudged your nose against his. “If you’re going to apologize every time, we’ll be here all night.”

He grinned, and it was the first time you’d seen him look completely unguarded. “Maybe that’s not so bad,” he said.

For a second after, neither of you really move. Chan is the first to shift, but it’s small. Subtle, like the moment is only now catching up to him.

His hands were resting at your waist, by now but the grip was different from before. His eyes flick over your face like he’s trying to place what this is now that it’s real in a way it wasn’t a few minutes ago.

“…I didn’t mean for that to happen like that,” he says quietly. It’s not regret exactly. It’s the start of thought, way too many of them at once.

You exhale softly, like you were expecting that exact direction. “Chan,” you say, gently enough that it interrupts without pushing.

He stops as you step in a little closer, your chest almost against him, “Don’t overthink it,” you say simply.

“I’m not—” he starts, then stops again, jaw tightening slightly like he’s trying to find the right version of the sentence that won’t turn into something bigger.

“It’s fine,” you add, softer now. “We don’t have to turn this into anything tonight.”

His shoulders loosen slightly, but not all the way, “You sure?” he asks.

You nod once. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you reach up and lightly adjust the front of his shirt where you were holding it earlier, and places a gentle peck on his lips.

“Go home,” you say, not dismissing him, but putting a hold on it. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Chan studies you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to memorize the way you’re handling this without making it heavier than it is.

Then he exhales slowly like he’s letting go of the instinct to complicate it.

“…Okay,” he says finally.

But he doesn’t move immediately. The moment lingered between you for another second before reality quietly inserted itself back into the conversation.

Jia, who was asleep in your bed right now.

"You let out a small laugh first, "I guess you should get her home."

He closed his eyes briefly, "Right."

"Before she wakes up catches us like this."

He groans backing away from you reluctantly, "I'm not ready for that conversation yet."

You smiled softly as you pulled away from the doorframe, "Come on."

The walk back through the house felt completely different after that.

Which was ridiculous, because nothing had actually changed.

The hallway looked exactly the same as it had ten minutes ago. The framed photos were still hanging where they'd always been. The floorboards still creaked in the same places.

Yet Chan found himself noticing every time your shoulder brushed his as you walked ahead of him, every time you glanced back to make sure he was following.

By the time you reached your bedroom, his thoughts had already started getting away from him again.

Jia was sprawled diagonally across your bed, one arm wrapped around a pillow she'd clearly stolen for herself.

"Cute," you whispered.

Chan smiled softly as he picked her up leaning her head against his shoulder. "Yeah," he said as she sighed against his neck.

The goodbye at the door was shorter than either of you wanted it to be.

Maybe because neither of you trusted yourselves with another one, or because there wasn't anything left to say.

Not tonight at least.

𐙚

The problem with kissing someone was that it became impossible to remember what things felt like before.

Chan discovered that approximately six minutes after waking up.

By eight-thirty he was overthinking.

By lunch he was actively losing the argument against himself about texting you first.

By four-thirty he was standing outside the shop staring at his phone.

By four-thirty-two he gave up.

But even that didn’t feel like relief. Just a pause before his brain found another way to keep going in circles. So he did the only thing that didn’t require thinking through three possible outcomes.

He called you.

You picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, free to chat?” he asked, like he hadn’t been standing outside long enough to lose an entire argument with himself.

“I am” your voice came through easy. “You okay?”

That alone made him exhale a little,“…Yeah,” he lied automatically.

Then, he added on weaker, “Not really.”

That got a small laugh from you, “I figured,” you said.

He shifted his weight, still standing outside the shop without fully committing to going in or walking away.

“Is this one of those situations where I’m overthinking something that doesn’t need thinking?” he asked.

There was a pause on your end.

“Probably.”

That was so blunt he almost laughed. “…That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be,” you said lightly. “It’s meant to stop you.”

That made him go quiet for a second. Not the kind of silence that meant the call dropped, but the kind that meant his thoughts were finally lining up in a way he didn’t like.

“…So what am I supposed to do with this?” he asked eventually.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because you could hear it, what he was actually asking wasn’t logistical. It was definition-shaped.

What are we?

What is this allowed to become?

What happens next?

And you could tell he was already building answers he didn’t trust, so you didn’t meet him there. You kept it simple.

“We don’t have to do anything with it right now.”

That made him exhale through his nose, “feels like avoiding it.”

“No,” you said. “It feels like not forcing it into something it’s not ready to be.”

He pauses again, “and what is it?”

That’s the moment where everything naturally narrows, because now he’s said it out loud without naming it.

“We can just be two people who like each other,” you said again, softer this time. “That’s enough.”

He repeated it under his breath, like he’s testing whether it holds under pressure.

“Two people who like each other….and that’s it?” he asked.

You let a small pause sit between you before answering, “Yeah,” you said. “We don’t have to define everything the second it starts existing.”

“…Okay,” he says, "I can do that."

𐙚

Chan had mentioned dropping by later in the evening, and you had agreed. He just didn’t plan on it being as late as it was.

By now, the house was silent, the kind of quiet that settles in after everything for the day has already happened. Inside, Jia slept peacefully, her room undisturbed, unaware of anything unfolding just beyond it. The rest of the house had softened with her sleep, each room feeling stiller than before.

You found yourself at the window more than once, looking out across the street without fully thinking about it. Chan’s house was dim now, the porch light off, only faint light coming from inside.

You caught movement from the garage.

Chan stepped out and, as your eyes met, you knew it was an invite for you. Nothing needed to be said or overthought. You already understood what he meant.

You stepped outside without hesitation.

The night air was cool and still, the street quiet around you. No one else was out, no sound beyond the faint rustle of leaves.

Chan was already there, and you closed the distance between you easily, like it was something neither of you needed to question.

"Let's go to the back," he says smiling at you before he grabs your hand like it's second nature.

You follow him, footsteps light but steady. The cool night air brushes against your skin, sharpening your senses. The deck in the back is quiet, bathed in soft moonlight, shadows cast by the nearby trees swaying gently in the breeze.

He gestures for you to sit on the railing, and you do, with his assistance. Chan follows, leaning casually against the railing, directly next to you, both of you taking in the peaceful night.

The silence is comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You glance at him, feeling the warmth of his presence, the quiet thrill of just being here together. He breaks the silence, voice gentle, “feels good out here, huh?”

You nod, smiling softly, “Yeah. Peaceful. Just us.” Your eyes trace the stars, then drift back to Chan’s face. The moonlight catches the slight crinkle of his eyes as he looks at you, a softness that’s almost shy.

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment, then gently takes your hand in his and interlocks your fingers. You squeeze gently, feeling the unspoken connection deepen.

There’s a moment of silence, then Chan leans in slightly, his voice a whisper, “I’ve thought about this, about us, more than I’d like to admit.”

You give a quiet, breathless laugh, "Yeah? Me too.” He smiles, a little nervous, a little hopeful. “It’s just… nice to be like this.”

You nod again, feeling the truth in his words. The night feels different now, more open, more honest. The cool air, the quiet backyard, the stars, all of it wraps around you like a shared secret.

He pauses, then softly brushes his thumb across your knuckles, “Can I kiss you?”

You smile, heart fluttering.“Yeah.”

His lips meet yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss, no rushing, no hiding. Just two people who want to be close, savoring the quiet night and the warmth of each other.

The kiss deepens slowly, a tender exploration of connection and trust. He leaned in closer, shifting from being beside you, to standing in between your legs. One of his hands moved to rest on your waist, steady and reassuring as you rested your arms on his shoulders.

After a moment, he pulls back just enough, resting his forehead against yours, “tonight, I just want to be here with you. Not thinking about anything other than us, no rush.”

You breathe in deeply, feeling the calm and the thrill of this simple, honest moment, “Me too. Just us.”

He offers a soft, shy smile, then leans in for another gentle kiss, one that feels like the beginning of something real and unforced.

As the night deepens, you stay close together in the quiet night air, watching the stars, feeling the comfort of each other’s presence; free, open, and entirely real.

𐙚

That following Sunday, Jia was sprawled across their living room floor, completely absorbed in a cartoon that had apparently become the most important thing happening in the world.

You sat on one end of the couch, half paying attention to the television and half scrolling through your phone, listening to Jia's running commentary drift through the room.

The back door opened.

You didn't think much of it at first. Chan had been in and out all afternoon, splitting his attention between whatever he was working on in the garage and checking on Jia whenever he had an excuse.

A few seconds later, footsteps crossed the kitchen.

When you glanced up, Chan was standing in the doorway.

His eyes found yours immediately. "Can I borrow her for a second?" The question was directed toward Jia, but he never looked away from you.

Jia finally tore her attention away from the television long enough to squint at him. "No."

Chan blinked.

"No?"

"No," she repeated firmly before pointing at the screen. "We're watching this."

You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing.

His gaze flicked toward you before returning to his daughter.

For a moment, it looked like he was considering arguing.

Then Jia sighed dramatically, already turning back toward the television. "Fine," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But bring her back."

A smile tugged at the corner of Chan's mouth.

"Thanks, bug."

The second she lost interest, she was fully immersing in her cartoon, Chan looked back at you.

You already knew that look. The one that usually appeared right before he decided something and expected you to follow along.

Sure enough, the moment you stood up, his hand closed around yours.

"That was subtle," you murmured as he led you toward the kitchen.

"I asked permission."

"Barely."

"It still counts."

The kitchen was quieter, the sounds of Jia's cartoon muted by the doorway behind you. Chan didn't stop until you were fully out of sight of the living room, and even then, it only took another second before his hands settled at your waist.

You laughed softly. "Chan."

"What?"

"You saw me this morning."

"I know."

"You saw me an hour ago."

"I know."

His answer came without hesitation, like neither fact had any bearing on the situation.

Before you could point that out, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around you. Like he'd been thinking about it long enough that the moment he had access to you again, this was where he ended up.

Your amusement faded into something softer as you slipped your arms around him in return.

For a few seconds neither of you said anything.

The kitchen sat quiet around you, the only noise coming from the television in the next room and the occasional sound of Jia talking back to it.

Chan rested his chin against your shoulder and let out a long breath.

“You okay?” you ask softly, caressing his upper back, feeling the tension melt away as he leaned into you.

He nods, and when he finally lifts his head, his eyes drop briefly to your mouth, lingering there for just a heartbeat before he slowly looks back into your eyes.

The smile you were trying to suppress didn't help. Neither did the fact that he was smiling too.

His smile widens slightly, mirroring your own unspoken feeling, and for a moment, everything else fades away; the room, the TV, Jia’s cartoon echoing faintly in the background.

In that suspended moment, the only thing that matters is the softness of his gaze and the quiet understanding passing between you. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, closing the distance slowly, gently brushing his lips against yours.

It’s a tentative, almost hesitant kiss, light and tender, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand moves from your waist to rest softly on your hip, anchoring him there, steady and sure.

Your lips part just slightly, responding to the intimacy, your heart pounding a little faster. One of his hands brushes your back, pulling you just a fraction closer, as if he’s trying to hold onto this perfect, fleeting moment.

Time seems to stretch in the quiet space between you, the only sound your shared breathing, soft and warm. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, eyes still closed for a moment.

You both breathe in sync, a silent agreement passing in that breathless pause. The smile you were trying to hide finally breaks free; soft, genuine, and full of hope. Neither of you says a word; the moment speaks for itself.

Until, Jia's voice carried from the living room.

"Daddy!"

You both froze.

Chan closed his eyes. "What?" he called.

A pause.

"Are you done?"

You immediately buried your face against his shoulder to keep from laughing. Chan chuckled quietly, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked down at you.

“Guess that’s our cue,” he murmured, his voice low, still holding you close.

You nodded, your heart still pounding from the moment, but feeling the warmth of his presence settle comfortably over you. “Yeah,” you whispered, voice husky with lingering emotion.

He finally stepped back, gently taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen, back toward the living room where Jia was waiting, blissfully unaware of how much just happened in those few seconds.

As you crossed the threshold, Jia’s bright voice called again, and you exchanged a subtle, knowing glance, the kind that said, we’re in this together, in quiet, shared understanding.

The moment might have been interrupted, but its significance lingered, woven into the fabric of this ordinary Sunday, an unspoken promise waiting to unfold.

𐙚

Your stolen time together didn’t feel like a series of moments anymore, just something that continued to happen.

The house was quiet, just the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of cartoons down the hall while Jia was sleeping. You and Chan sat on the couch without really settling into it, the silence between you stretching long enough to feel like it had its own shape.

Eventually, Chan broke it.

“I’ve been thinking about her,” he said quietly.

You turned toward him immediately, but he didn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere low, unfocused, like he was trying to hold the thought steady before it slipped away.

“Jia’s mom,” he added.

That made the room feel tighter.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “I keep thinking about it lately. About why she did it. What it looked like from her side. What she was willing to walk away from.”

His jaw flexed once before he continued, quieter now. “And I keep thinking about what she missed. About what that did to Jia without her even realizing it.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “And us. What it’s shaped.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time.

He finally leaned back slightly, but it didn’t ease anything in him, “I wonder if she ever thinks about her,” he said after a moment. “About Jia. Or if it ever crosses her mind at all.”

You didn’t rush to fill the space. You just watched him, the way his hands stayed loosely clasped together like he was holding himself in place.

When you did speak, it was quiet, “that’s a hard thing to carry around on your own.”

His eyes flicked toward you at that, but he didn’t fully meet your gaze.

“I don’t even know what to do with it,” he admitted. “I keep telling myself I’ve moved past it, but I haven’t. It’s always there, and lately it feels…louder.” He pauses again before continuing, “I think I’ve just been trying to function around it instead of actually dealing with it.”

His fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to ground himself in something physical. “And I don’t want that to spill into everything else,” he added. Softer now. More honest than planned. “I don’t want to get it wrong with her. With Jia. With you.”

That last part landed differently, even in the quiet. You shifted a little closer without thinking, letting your hand find his.

“You’re not pretending it’s easy,” you said gently. “That already matters more than you think. And you’re not doing it alone, even when it feels like it.”

His grip tightened slightly around your hand. He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you like he was letting the words sit somewhere deeper than conversation usually reached.

Then he leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against yours.

Eventually, Chan exhaled, slow and uneven, and pulled back just enough to look at you properly again. His hand was still around yours, but the grip had softened, like he was slowly remembering where it was supposed to stop.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he said quietly. It wasn’t firm. It sounded more like something he was trying to convince himself was reasonable.

You nodded anyway, because staying would’ve meant holding onto something that was already starting to shift. His hand stayed around yours as he walked you to the front door, like neither of you had fully agreed to the idea of letting go yet.

The house felt quieter as you moved through it. Not in volume, but in attention. Every small sound seemed closer than it should’ve been—the soft creak of the floor, the muted hum of the night settling outside the walls.

Chan opened the door but didn’t step through immediately. Just held it, like he was giving himself a second to figure out where the moment ended.

You stepped out onto the porch first. He followed you out, stopping just inside the threshold, one hand still resting on the doorframe. Close enough that the space between you didn’t feel like distance yet, just hesitation.

For a second, neither of you spoke. Not because there was nothing left to say, because anything said now would make it more serious in a way neither of you were fully prepared to carry out into the night.

His eyes stayed on you a beat too long. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said finally.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Then quieter, like it slipped out before he could decide whether to keep it in, “Text me before you go to bed.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

The silence didn’t break. Chan’s hand tightened slightly against the doorframe. And then he moved towards you again. Like the decision had already been made somewhere between the last sentence and this one, and his body was just catching up.

His hand came up first, careful, not rushed, fingers finding your jaw like he needed something solid to anchor to before he lost the nerve.

And then he kissed you.

Soft at first, controlled in the way hesitation tries to stay in charge even when it’s already losing. But it didn’t stay there for long.

The space between you collapsed in on itself, not suddenly, but inevitably, like the moment had been leaning this way the entire time and just finally stopped resisting.

Your hand found itself on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as his other hand settled at your waist, steadying you against him like he wasn’t entirely sure where he ended anymore.

The porch light behind him cast everything in a warm spill of gold, catching the smallest movements, his breath shifting, the angle of his hand at your jaw, the way neither of you stepped back even when there was room to.

Then, there was a sound from inside.

Neither of you broke the kiss at the sound, too lost in each other to care at the moment. Chan’s hand stayed at your jaw. Yours stayed on his neck.

Inside, the hallway light faintly spills forward. A small figure appears at the edge of it.

Jia.

Half-asleep, hair slightly tousled, one hand holding Leebit, the other resting loosely against the wall like she’s only partially committed to being awake. She doesn’t step forward right away. Just stands where the hallway opens toward the door.

Watching.

Not interrupting. Not reacting. Not even fully processing. Jia blinks once, slowly. Like the information never quite fully lands, only passes through her.

Then she shifts her weight back. Not a retreat in alarm, just the quiet decision of someone whose body remembers sleep is still the priority. Whatever she needed her dad for was not important to her after all.

She disappears the same way she arrived: without sound, without commentary, the hallway swallowing her back into dimness. The house settles again almost immediately.

Chan’s forehead dips closer for a moment, like he’s grounding himself in the last fragment of contact before he lets it go. His hand at your jaw lingers, warm and hesitant, then slowly, almost reluctant, it drops away.

The porch light behind him spills a soft glow over both of you, casting gentle shadows on his face, like this moment was both fragile and inevitable, stitched together by the quiet understanding that neither of you fully knew you needed.

He exhales slowly, the words nearly lost in the quiet. “…Right.”

You nod, your own breath shallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Right.”

Chan hesitates, eyes flickering toward the street. Without a word, he takes a step closer, standing just at the edge of the porch, watching you carefully. “Just…make sure you get inside okay,” he says softly, voice steady but gentle. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, then nod. “I will.”

He stays there for a beat longer, watching as you step off the porch, heading toward your house. He doesn’t follow, doesn’t need to. Watching you walk away, he’s already relieved, knowing you’re safe, a silent promise that he’ll be nearby, just in case.

The door closes behind you, and you lean against it for a moment, feeling the weight of everything that just happened settle deep in your chest. The house feels quiet now, but inside, you can’t shake the sense that something inside you has shifted, more certain, more real than before tonight.

You wonder what he’s thinking now, standing in the dark. Does he feel the same tightness in his chest? The flicker of hope mixed with worry? You can’t tell from where you are, but you know he’s internalizing it just as much as you are.

Tonight wasn’t just about words or touches. It was about what you both kept hidden, what you both needed to say without really saying it. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for now, you carry this moment with you; soft, fragile, real.

--

The door clicks shut behind you, and he lingers on the porch, feeling the weight of everything that just happened settle into him. Inside, Jia is asleep, unaware of the storm of feelings swirling just beneath the surface. Worry about her well-being is constant, but beneath that lies a deeper concern, what her mother’s choices have already done to her, and what the future might hold.

His gaze drifts to the dark street, but his thoughts remain fixed on what he just saw, on your face, on the way you left, on the vulnerability that was there. The question presses unbidden, what if this moves beyond just a moment? What if it’s more than just a fleeting connection?

Used to carrying the weight of Jia’s world alone, tonight’s closeness, the way emotions surfaced, made him realize how much has been held back. The possibility of caring more, of risking more, feels like a turning point. It’s not just about him anymore; there’s a new layer of responsibility, a new fear, what this could mean for Jia, for her trust, for her stability.

A faint tremor in the chest, warmth mixed with rising anxiety, spreads quietly. The thought lingers: What if she doesn’t want this? The fear is sharp and persistent. What if it’s too soon? The idea of risking her trust, risking the fragile steadiness they’ve built, what that might mean, hangs in the air.

Breathing slowly, he reminds himself that control is an illusion, especially when it comes to love and trust. But the weight of what could change is undeniable. Starting something new, something that might reshape everything, comes with risks. For her, for him, for what they might be building.

The night feels heavier, more uncertain. Yet, beneath it all, there’s a quiet understanding: this moment marks the beginning of something that can’t be ignored anymore. A change that might just redefine everything, if only they’re brave enough to face it.

𐙚

By Friday, the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the driveway as Chan pulled up to his mother’s home. Jia, strapped into her car seat, was already buzzing with anticipation, her bright pink backpack packed with more toys than clothes.

“Nana's going to make cookies!” she announced, her voice a happy chirp. “And we’re going to read all the stories!”

Chan’s smile was genuine, a little tight around the edges. “I know. And I’m going to miss you like crazy.” He unbuckled her, lifting her into his arms for a hug that felt a little longer than usual.

His mother opened the door before he even let himself in. “Darling! And look at you, my little ray of sunshine!” she cooed, her eyes crinkling as Jia wriggled out of his arms and into her embrace.

“Nana!” Jia squealed, burying her face in her grandmother’s shoulder.

“She’s all yours,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “Have fun, bug. I’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” his mother said, already ushering Jia inside. “We’ll have a grand time. You go on and enjoy your own weekend.” She gave him a knowing smile, the kind that hinted at a deeper understanding than he was ready to acknowledge.

He lingered for a moment, watching them disappear into the warm glow of the house. Then, with a final, lingering look, he turned back to his car. The quiet that descended felt both liberating and strangely hollow. The promise of a weekend with you was a bright, beckoning light, but the departure of his daughter always left a small, persistent ache.

The drive back felt longer than usual, the silence in the car amplified by the absence of Jia’s chatter. He found himself replaying the last few moments of your encounter, the not-so-hesitant kisses, the gentle way you had handled his confession. He was already looking forward to the evening, to the quiet comfort of your shared space, the slow unfolding of conversations that didn’t require the constant vigilance of being a sole parent.

He arrived at your house not long after, the familiar scent of your home a welcome embrace. The plan was simple: a movie, takeout, and the luxury of uninterrupted conversation. As you settled onto the couch, your hand finding his, a sense of ease began to seep into him, a quiet contentment that had been a rare commodity lately.

You were halfway through the movie, lost in the flickering images and the shared warmth of your proximity, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a slight frown creasing his brow. It was his mother. He’d told her he’d be unreachable for most of the weekend, wanting to fully immerse himself in this time. He answered, a little annoyed.

“Hey, Mom. Everything okay?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, a charged pause that spoke volumes. Then, Jessica's voice, usually so warm and melodic, was laced with an uncharacteristic sharpness. “Chan. We need to talk.”

His stomach tightened and you paused the movie looking at him, worried. “What is it? Is Jia okay?”

“Jia is perfectly fine,” she said, her voice tight. “She’s currently attempting to teach me how to play ‘Monster Truck Mayhem,’ and I’m fairly certain I’m losing.” Another pause. “But she did tell me something. Something she saw. Something you apparently forgot to mention.”

Chan’s mind raced. What could she possibly mean? Jia was a whirlwind of imagination, prone to embellishing stories, but this tone… this was different. He felt a prickle of unease. “What… what did she tell you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, his gaze flicking to you, who had paused the movie and were watching him with a concerned expression.

Jessica's sigh was heavy, tinged with a mixture of exasperation and something that sounded almost like… disappointment. “She told me that you.....", she pauses trying to find the proper words. "You shared a kiss. On the porch. Last Friday night.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Chan’s breath hitched. He hadn’t meant for anyone to find out. Not like this, not so soon. But it had, and now, Jia, his observant, innocent daughter, had been a witness.

He felt your gaze on him, steady and questioning. He couldn’t lie. “Mom, I…” he started, scrambling for an explanation, for a way to soften the blow, to explain the inexplicable.

“Don’t ‘Mom, I’ me, Chan,” Jessica cuts him off, her voice firm. “You know how I feel about transparency. Especially when it involves someone who is becoming a part of Jia’s life. You’ve been so careful, so guarded. And then this?"

The implication hung in the air. He hadn’t told you about his mother’s reaction to Jia’s parentage, about the quiet unease that had always simmered beneath the surface of their family history. He hadn’t wanted to burden you with his own anxieties, his own past. He’d been so focused on protecting Jia, and in doing so, he’d inadvertently built a wall around himself.

“It… it just happened,” he stammered, feeling childish and exposed, acutely aware of your silent presence beside him. “It wasn’t planned. As for Jia, we've been so careful. She was asleep....or I thought she was that night.”

Jessica repeated, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Chan, you’re not a teenager. This is serious. You have a child who is forming her understanding of relationships based on what she sees. And you have someone new in your life, someone who deserves to be treated with respect and honesty.”

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He knew she was right. Every word his mother spoke was a mirror reflecting his own shortcomings, his own fears that had manifested as a lack of communication.

He looked at you, your expression unreadable for a moment, then saw a flicker of understanding, a quiet empathy that eased some of the tension in his chest. You placed your hand on his arm and smiled softly at him, calming his heart down.

“Mom,” he said, his voice steadier now, more resolute. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have told you. And I should have been more open with… with you. It’s just… it’s new. For all of us. And I’ve been trying to navigate it carefully.”

Jessica was silent for a moment, and Chan held his breath, waiting for the judgment. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, though still carrying a weight of concern. “Carefully is one thing, Chan. Secretive is another. I just want you to be happy, and I want Jia to be secure. And for that to happen, there needs to be honesty. All around.”

“I understand,” he said, the words feeling like a genuine promise this time. “I’ll talk to everyone. Properly. And I’ll… I’ll be more upfront with you too.”

“Good,” she said, a hint of relief in her tone. “Now, go back to your movie. And try not to let this derail your weekend.” She paused. “But do call me when you’ve had a conversation about all of this. I want to know you’re both okay.”

He agreed, the call ending with a promise of a follow-up. He hung up, the silence in the room now a stark contrast to the charged conversation. He turned to you, your expression open and waiting.

“So,” you said, your voice gentle, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “The porch kiss. Apparently, it was quite the topic of conversation.”

Chan let out a shaky breath, a laugh bubbling up from his chest, a mixture of relief and embarrassment. “Yeah. Apparently.” He reached out, taking your hand, his thumb tracing the back of it. “I’m sorry you had to hear about it like that.”

You squeezed his hand. “It’s okay,” you said, your gaze steady. “Your mom’s right. It’s new. And we don’t have to have all the answers right now. But…I think we do need to talk. Properly.”

He nodded, the weight of the unspoken questions settling between you, but now, it felt less like a burden and more like an invitation. The movie was forgotten for the moment. The unfolding map of your connection had just taken another unexpected, but perhaps necessary, turn.

He nodded, the weight of the unspoken questions settling between you, but now, it felt less like a burden and more like an invitation. The movie was forgotten for the moment. The unfolding map of your connection had just taken another unexpected, but perhaps necessary, turn.

You tilted your head, your gaze steady. “So, what now?”

Chan’s thumb continued its slow sweep across the back of your hand. The initial relief from his mother’s call was already giving way to a different kind of tension, the one that settled when deeper conversations loomed. “Now,” he began, his voice softer, more hesitant, “now we talk. Properly. My mom’s right. We need to. About… everything.”

He looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the darkened window, as if the answers were etched in the night sky. “It’s not just about the kiss, you know. It’s…it’s about everything that comes with it. With me. With Jia.” He finally met your eyes again, and the vulnerability there was a palpable thing. “Her mother… her absence has been a shadow over our family. For a long time.”

He paused, gathering his thoughts, the words seeming to weigh him down. “It changed things. For my parents, for me. It made me… overprotective. Fiercely so. I learned to do everything myself, to shield Jia from any hint of instability. Because her mother’s leaving… it was sudden. And it left a void. A big one.” He ran a hand over his jaw, the gesture a familiar sign of his internal struggle. “And I worry, constantly, about what that absence has done to Jia. About what it’s shaped in her. And now…” He hesitated, his thumb stopping its motion. “Now I worry about what it’s shaping in us. In this.”

He took a deep breath. “I need to know what you want from this. From… us. Because for me, it’s always going to be about Jia. Her well-being. Her stability. And I can’t…I can’t risk her getting hurt again. If this doesn’t work out, and she’s already attached…that’s a whole new level of pain I don’t want to inflict.”

The question hung in the air, direct and unflinching. You felt a gentle pressure as you met his gaze, your own thoughts swirling. The idea of becoming a stepmother, of stepping into that complex, delicate role, was something you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to contemplate before. It was a possibility that had emerged slowly, almost imperceptibly, with each shared smile, each quiet evening, each moment of connection.

“I don’t have all the answers right now, Chan,” you admitted, your voice soft but honest. “It’s…a lot. The idea of being a stepmother. It’s not something I ever actively sought, but…with you, with Jia…it feels different. It feels… possible.” You paused, searching for the right words. “I like you. I like spending time with you. And I care about Jia. I see how much she means to you, and I see how she lights up when she’s with me. That’s… that’s significant.”

You squeezed his hand. “But you’re right. It’s not something to rush into. It needs to be handled with care. For Jia’s sake, most of all. I wouldn’t want to step into a role that wasn’t truly meant to be, and then have it fall apart, causing her more pain.” You met his gaze, your own a mixture of hope and a quiet understanding of the risks. “I want to explore this, Chan. I want to see where it goes. But only if we’re both being completely honest about the potential… and the pitfalls.”

He let out a slow exhale, a subtle easing of the tension in his shoulders. “That’s… that’s what I needed to hear.” He looked down at your clasped hands, his thumb still gently stroking yours. “It’s just… the thought of her getting attached, and then… and then it not working out… that’s the part that keeps me up at night. The fear of failing her, again, in a different way.”

“I know,” you whispered, your heart aching for the burden he carried. “And I get that. I really do. It’s a huge responsibility. And I wouldn’t want to be the reason for that pain either.” You brought his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “But we can’t let fear dictate everything, can we? We can take it slow. We can be mindful. We can talk about it. Every step of the way.”

He looked back up at you, a flicker of something akin to relief in his eyes. “Slow. Mindful. Talking. I can do that.” He squeezed your hand, a little tighter this time, a silent promise. “And… if it does work out… if this is something real… then… I want you to be a part of her life. In a way that’s healthy and supportive. Not a replacement, but… a positive addition.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile foundation being laid. The conversation was far from over, the complexities of Jia’s absent mother, his fears, your potential role, all vast and uncharted territories. But for the first time, the map of their connection felt less like a minefield and more like a landscape they were willing to explore, together, with open eyes and cautious hearts.

The silence that settled between you was no longer charged with anxiety, but with a quiet understanding, a shared commitment to navigate the unknown, one careful step at a time.

Chan’s gaze drifted, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand, but his attention seemed to be pulled inward. He was quiet for a long moment, the rhythmic hum of the air conditioner and the distant city sounds filling the void. Then, he cleared his throat, the sound a little rough.

“Have you ever…wanted to be a mom?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his eyes fixed on your joined hands. “Like, have your own. Give birth.”

The question, so direct and intimate, landed with a surprising weight. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic, the raw vulnerability it implied. The playful smile that had been on your lips faltered, replaced by something more serious, more revealing. You met his gaze, and the knowing glint was still there, but it was now tinged with a different kind of honesty. You saw the shift in his eyes, the way his pupils dilated almost imperceptibly, the subtle tightening of his jaw that wasn't born of distress, but of a sudden, heightened awareness.

Instead of a witty retort, you met his question head-on, your voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. “Yes, Chan,” you said, your gaze unwavering. “I have.”

The directness of your answer seemed to stun him. He pulled his hand back, not in rejection, but as if he needed space to process the unexpected sincerity. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours. The playful tension that had been building was still there, but now it was layered with a new, potent undercurrent of raw desire.

“You have?” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper, the words thick with unspoken implications. He scooted closer, the physical space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice steady, your gaze holding his. The playful shield had fallen away, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored his own. “And seeing you with Jia…seeing the way you are…it makes that want feel…more real. More possible.”

His eyes swept over your face, lingering on your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken attraction that now thrummed between you. The question about motherhood, which had seemed so about the future, had suddenly become about the present, about the undeniable pull that existed between the two of you.

“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble, the words laced with a potent mix of curiosity and something that felt dangerously close to anticipation. He reached out, not to touch your hand this time, but to gently cup your cheek. His fingertips caressed your cheekbones for a moment, sending a jolt through you. “What are we going to do about that?”

The question wasn’t about Jia’s future anymore. It was about yours, about theirs. And the unspoken answer hung in the charged air between you, thick with the promise of something more, something physical, something that had just been irrevocably sparked.

masterlist | next

Normally, he had no problem keeping rhythm. In fact, he was quite good at it. If he were really paying attention, he would’ve noticed this cacophony of sounds and likely pulled out his old laptop to record a sample or type something out quickly. Inspiration, he often said, was found any and everywhere, if you simply took the time to stop and listen.

He wasn’t about to listen to his own advice right now, though.

Your giggles — usually a source of his own happiness (and inspiration) — were at the moment getting on his nerves. Not because it was you, and not because he thought your laugh was annoying, no — he loved your laugh, loved you. But the fact that Jeongin was the one making you giggle and blush like that… well, that simply wasn’t acceptable.

He glares over at you, where you’re curled up in the corner of the couch and glued to your phone, squealing and giggling as you watch and re-watch Jeongin’s parts in the new music video.

He looks sooo good in this video, Channie!

I can’t believe how much he’s grown into his features, he looks so different now…

Ah, his biceps! Has he been coming to the gym with you more often?

“No, he hasn’t.” Chan’s voice is sour, bitter and jealous. His cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment — here he was, a grown man of nearly 30, throwing a hissy fit over his dongsaeng. Jeongin, of all people! Of all the other members! It made it that much more humiliating, that he was jealous of Jeongin. His baby brother.

If you notice the sullenness in your boyfriend’s voice, you don’t show it, which adds to Chan’s annoyance. Why weren’t you watching his parts? His clips? What was so fascinating about Jeongin in this video?

“Maybe he’s been going with Bin, then… because he’s gotta be working out pretty damn hard for those…” you marvel, rewinding the video again to catch another glimpse of Jeongin’s biceps flexing as he raises his arms.

That was it. Chan’s scowl darkens, and he moves over next to you to grab your phone from your hands — the video still playing — before scooting back over to his end of the couch, a smug smile on his face now as he hears your protests.

“Chan, wha…” you grumble, your gaze finally settling on your attention starved boyfriend. His face lights up as you regard him — never mind that your expression is confused and annoyed — and he shuts off your phone, beaming.

“You’re not paying attention to me,” he pouts, and his cuteness almost makes you forget about his thievery.

“Give it back,” you pout back, playfully reaching for your phone.

“Uh-uh… Jeongin time is over. It’s Channie’s time now.” He grins wider, holding the phone even further out of your reach. You groan in exasperation.

“Babe, come on…”

“I said, it’s time to pay attention to Daddy now.”

A chill runs down your spine at the dominant turn in Chan’s voice. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry, and your heart starting to pound faster. When you meet his gaze, his eyes are dark with lust and control. He makes sure that you’re watching his every movement, as he stands up and places your phone on the nearby table, screen side down. You can hear it buzzing, and he clicks his tongue as he watches you twitch with hesitation.

“Why’re you so focused on other things, baby girl? I’m right here… I need you too,” he croons, slowly walking towards you. You feel exposed, bare, despite the fact that you’re still completely clothed.

Once he’s standing before you, he nudges between your legs so that he’s able to get right in front of you, smirking as he watches your expression change to a flustered one. Your eyes lock with the sight before you — his crotch, his erection straining at the confines of his jeans. A strong, firm hand at the back of your head gently guides you closer, until your plush lips press against his hardness. You let out a small whimper as you feel his cock throbbing, pulsing against your hot mouth.

“Seems like you might need me just as much as I need you,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his voice as he lets out a shaky exhale, feeling every quiver of your desperate, eager mouth. “Is that right, baby?”

“Mm… mhm…” you moan, your voice muffled. He lets out a low groan, the vibrations of your voice making him shudder with arousal.

“Good girl. ‘S what I like to hear.” His grip on your hair tightens, and he pulls you back, away from his crotch. It makes you whine again, but he shushes you as his free hand fumbles with his belt, with his button and zipper before roughly shoving his jeans and his boxers down at the same time. His jaw clenches with impatience and the strain of holding back as his cock twitches and bobs right before your eyes — it’s a bit cruel how he holds you back, makes you watch as a bead of precum forms at his slit. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, salivating as he watches you with amusement and satisfaction.

Finally, finally, he loosens his grip on your hair once more, grunting as you take that as permission to touch him. You move forward eagerly, your hands grabbing at his muscular thighs to pull him even closer, needing him to overwhelm every one of your senses. You press messy kisses to his hip, his upper thigh, making him groan and leak more precum, the sticky fluid dribbling down his aching shaft. You’re careful to not tease too much, knowing his patience is thin already tonight. And anyway, you want to please him. He needs it, and you’re completely willing to give it — to show him just how much you want him, more than anyone else. Forget everyone else.

He lets out an uneven, shaky breath as your lips finally close around his tip, your tongue swirling around his slit and tasting his bitter essence. You put on a bit of a show, moaning at the taste as you flutter your lashes and look up at him, further spurred on by the sight you’re met with — him, his head thrown back already, groaning as he lets you worship him.

You take more of him in your mouth, eager to please him more now, your grip tightening on his creamy thighs as you hollow your cheeks and tighten your lips around his throbbing length. His tip prods the back of your throat, and you hold back a gag as you swallow around it, eliciting a strained grunt from the man above you.

He takes things into his own hands now, mind blurred with lust. He curses under his breath, using both hands to grab your head and thrust fully into your mouth, chuckling breathily at the sound of your surprised, garbled moan. Your nose presses against his crotch, nosing at the short, fine hairs there. You take the opportunity to use your tongue to swipe at his balls, making him grit his teeth and shiver at the sensation.

“Fuck… taking me so good, aren’t you?” he practically purrs, looking down at you with adoration. “My good girl…”

Eagerly, you let out a whimper, the vibrations of your throat around his cock making him mutter a quiet “fuck” under his breath.

Once he’s sure that you’re adjusted, sure that you’re ready, he draws his hips back, sucking in a deep breath as he looks down at his spit slicked length. His hips snap forward, thrusting his cock into the back of your throat roughly, and he moans loudly as you let out a choked splutter. He thrusts hard and fast, chuckling darkly at the sight of your spit dripping down his chin, dribbling down his balls and making a messy puddle of fluids on the floor between the two of you.

“Mn, fuck… ‘y like that? Like the feeling of my cock down your throat?” he grunts, biting his lower lip hard as he feels your tongue swipe along the underside of his length, teasing despite his rough treatment.

Your nails dig into his skin, as if to wordlessly say, yes.

The hungry, lustful look in your eyes paired with the hot, wet cavern of your mouth proves too much for Chan to handle, at least for too long. You’re far from done when he pulls you off of his cock, and you let out a hoarse whine of protest. His chest is heaving, the exposed skin of his lower stomach shiny with perspiration.

“Bedroom,” he growls, dark eyes trained on your shivering form as you stand up immediately, obeying his words like a well trained dog. He kicks off his jeans and boxers, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he follows you to the bedroom, stalking you like a predator closing in on its prey.

You feel like you’re being hunted too — stumbling on shaky legs (even though you hadn’t even been fucked yet), short of breath. You cast a look over your shoulder every few steps, slowing your pace as you watch Chan’s shadowy form trailing after you. He too pauses, to take off his shirt. Your breath hitches as you watch him pull the sweat soaked garment over his head, his muscles flexing deliciously in the limited light.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, baby.” You shiver, your panties dampening and your heart rate increasing as his voice echoes down the dim hallway. You quicken your pace, skittering down the hall and entering the bedroom. You perch delicately, nervously, on the edge of the bed — watching the doorway, waiting for Chan.

He enters momentarily, but every second feels like an eternity until he appears in your line of vision again.

Completely nude now, he looks like a Greek god standing there. There’s a slightly cocky, arrogant look on his face as he watches your hungry expression, and he shifts to wrap his thick fingers around his even thicker cock. Stroking slowly, teasingly, he lets out a low groan, squeezing his tip before letting go, smirking at the way you squeeze your thighs together and suck in a quick, eager breath.

“Strip. And lay back for me,” he orders, watching from the doorway. Refusing to come closer, unless you listen to what he says. Holding the reward of his cock just out of your reach.

What else can you do?

It’s not like you wanted to disobey anyway.

You fumble with your clothes, the fabric suddenly becoming extremely confusing as you try to rip everything off as fast as possible. Chan hides a smile behind a stoic demeanor as he watches you struggle to get your shirt over your head.

You eventually figure it out, your cheeks flushed with sheepishness as you settle in the middle of the bed, propping yourself up slightly with your elbows. Just enough that you can still see Chan.

He’s looking over your nude frame appreciatively, a low grumble of a growl in his throat as he finally begins to approach. He crawls onto the foot of the bed, slowly making his way up to you, back muscles rippling with every slight movement. He doesn’t stop until he’s hovering over you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh, hot and throbbing right next to where you need him most. You’re sure he can feel it too, from the way his length slips against your slick skin, dampened with your juices.

He leans down, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. Memorizing everything about you, as if he didn’t already have it committed to memory.

He adjusts, angling his hips slightly differently, making you gasp as he presses against your sopping slit instead of your inner thigh. It was like he could read your mind — or, he was just thinking the same thing.

Your hands find refuge on his back, nails taking up and down his milky, rippling skin. His hands settle on your hips, squeezing the plush flesh there, anchoring himself before he pulls back slightly, nudging your legs onto his shoulders, that same cocky grin spread across his handsome features as he looks down at your flustered expression. He leans over to press a surprisingly tender kiss to your quivering leg, before he looks down and lets out a shaky breath, tapping his tip against your clit.

“Ready?” he murmurs softly, his other hand reaching up to find yours — both of your hands were lost, clutching at the sheets desperately after you removed them from his back. You squeeze his hand gently, the feeling comforting.

You nod, biting your lower lip in anticipation. And so he presses forward, a guttural groan escaping his lips at the same time a whimpery mewl escapes yours.

There’s a slight bit of resistance as he presses the blunt tip of his cock against your tight slit, reminding both of you that it had been too long since the last time this happened. You wince slightly at the burn, the stretch, as his tip wedges its way inside, pressing deeper and deeper. It begins to satisfy that gnawing hunger from within, making you let out a sob of relief as he bottoms out inside you, despite the slight pain that remains.

Chan lets out a snarl, upper lip curling as he presses your legs up against your chest, nearly folding you in half as he starts to fuck you hard and fast — mirroring the rough pace he’d set when fucking your face just minutes before.

“Fuck, fuck… fuck yes,” he groans, letting out a pleased hum as he hears your mewls increase in volume. He bottoms out, grinning widely as you squirm when he swirls his hips in circles, grinding his tip against your cervix. It feels so deep, so intense — it’s no wonder you can’t help but sputter and babble for more, even though he’s giving you more than you can handle.

“Baby girl likes it when Daddy’s rough with her, hm?” he coos, snapping his hips against yours, the emanating squelches making you moan with embarrassment and arousal. “Come on… say it. Tell me how much you love it, how good you fuckin’ feel right now…”

He reaches down, thumbing at your sensitive, ignored clit, making you gasp at the sudden dual pleasure. “F-feels so good!” you manage to stutter out, finding it extremely difficult to properly form words at the moment.

He pulls out suddenly, and your skin screams for his touch to return. Your legs fall back limply, aching from the position that they had been pressed in all this time. His expression is one of pure lust, endless longing, as he looks at the sweaty sheen of your skin, the way the dim light highlights your curves and dips.

“Flip over for me, baby.” His voice is commanding, that dominant edge not leaving despite the growing exhaustion in his aching muscles.

You do so, your legs shaking as you get on all fours. Chan’s touch is back on you instantly, sending fire through your veins, bringing you back to life. You find your voice, whimpering his name — Daddy — desperately, loudly, as he shoves your face into the sheets and presses his hips against yours.

He drags his tip over your clit, over your aching and swollen hole, stopping just before he reaches your ass. He sucks in a quivering breath, in a trance as he stares at the glorious sight before him. Never before has anyone been able to evoke such animalistic instinct from him before, such primal urge. He stares at your vulnerability, drooling at the implications and potential possibilities. “Pretty… my baby girl has such pretty holes, all for me to use…”

“Daddy, please!” you plead, your cries muffled, tears and snot and saliva soaking the sheets beneath your face.

He growls in response, slapping his cock against your swollen pussy. You sob, your feet kicking against the mattress weakly, listlessly, uselessly.

He plunges his cock back into you without any warning, without even another word. Your sob turns to a deep moan, your walls clamping down around his thick girth, sucking him in deeper.

It takes everything in him to not fill you up right there, right at that moment.

Drawing back slowly, his balls tight and full, he has to hold back even more, biting his tongue. There’s a circle of cream around the base of his cock, your combined fluids making a painfully erotic sight. He needs more, needs to feel you cum on his cock.

He changes his position, faster than you can protest. One hand cements itself on your hip, the grip bruising. The other reaches around, pressing hard against your puffy clit and rubbing in tight circles. He has to muffle a moan by leaning down and biting your shoulder as he feels your pussy clench around him again. His hips start thrusting again, frantic and needy. His teeth release your flesh, soothing the sting with his soft lips, pressing sloppy kisses everywhere you need him.

“D-Daddy…” you moan, the new position bringing you to your orgasm much faster than before. You can feel him so fucking deep, feel the roughness of his calloused fingers directly on your clit. It’s too much, and you both know it. You can practically see the smug grin on his face as you close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of his tip dragging against your g-spot with each knowing draw of his hips.

“Go on, cream on my cock, baby. Know you wanna,” he growls, pinching your clit between his h thumb and forefinger, moaning in harmony with the scream it brings from your lungs. “G-gonna breed this pussy so fuckin’ full…”

You think you black out for a second, but you can’t be sure. All you know is that one moment you’re crying Chan’s name, and the next his front is pressed against your back as he whispers your name back, heat blooming inside you as he spurts ropes of thick cum deep into your womb.

He presses kisses to your sweaty shoulder, hands coming to gently smooth over your waist, soft praises falling from his lips — so sweet in comparison to the dirty filth he’d been spewing just before.

He pulls out with a sharp inhale, watching the pearly rivulets of your combined release flowing from your sweet pussy. He nearly leans back in, but you flip back over to pull him into a searing kiss instead. He kisses back, heart skipping a beat as he gently pulls you into an embrace.

“Satisfied now?” you murmur, voice hoarse but still teasing.

That was something (one of the many things) he adored about you — your insatiable, never ending spark. He rolls his eyes, resting his head on your chest.

“Mm… maybe for now,” he concedes, indeed content for now, as long as your phone (and the replays of Jeongin’s parts) stay away from his girl.

petrichor-han 2026. do not translate or repost without my permission.

please consider reblogging and/or leaving a few kind words if you enjoyed this fic :) tumblr posts revolve around reblogs, and i'd appreciate the gesture!!

-

🤍 check my masterlist HERE !

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ! ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

-

TAGLIST: @zayn-210 @swariechan143 @melsdelusions @xakx @millanniii @inthefairygrove @nikimurahuh @thegreenlynx @afararraaaa @minnies-girls @murutama @thatssoemelia @mangalovesanime-blog @angelbbygrl @straykidsdreamer @velvetmoonight @skzfangirl143 @felxvrs @geni-627 @stayalittlelonger143 @st4rprincess @user13947251 @hyyunjinnn @n0vehiswriting @xesqz @nOvehiswriting @urbexbat @astrophia13 @eos-princess @angelwings-fly @wooyonyangatiny @lezleeferguson-120 @porangporangxlinosxx @mandmilovehim @lezzle37 @adorned-lover @cherry-bomb-heart @ryvannanightshade-kpop @jeonginholic @pinknymphkisses @1giss4swft3 @imoosgnaj @red40sperson @you-dont-know-my-name @nominatedmiss @seongjed @manii-theabsolutegoat3 @velocityyx @emeraldgem22 @jinsoulistic @nominatedmiss @alondra6011 @wxxtve @dig1talpup @hiddenmistbeacon @samya8 @strawberristhings