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↳ Tinder matched and subsequently ghosted by the hot guy that lives across from you, you’re mostly resigned to singleton life, dejected and somewhat fed up. That is, until a screwed up delivery turns things around, in the most unexpected of ways.

↳ Female reader x Bang Chan

↳ 10.7k

! Strong language, angst and tension, DILF Chan, single dad Chan, neighbours au, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, a major size kink, Chan has a concerningly massive cock, explicitly unprotected sex, creampie, soft dominant Chan, praise and instruction, body worship, themes of single parenthood, brief references to illness, miscommunication quickly resolved, adult themes throughout !

「suitable for 18+ readers only」  「© August 2022 by jl-micasea-fics」

Flat 2.

As in, the accommodation between flats one and three.

As in, the residence opposite yours.

As in, the living space occupied by him.

You’d had a good day, up until this point. Work had been relatively peaceful, save for that one particularly stubborn customer that simply couldn’t grasp the concept of needing proof of purchase for a refund.

You suppose that in this moment, you know how that customer had felt. Looking down at the neatly strung brown paper parcel in your hands, you’re confused, concerned, and more than a little annoyed.

The label on the box reads, stark and clear, ‘Copper Court, Flat 2’. Yet here you are, having retrieved it from your pigeon hole; and your pigeon hole most certainly isn’t labelled ‘Flat 2’.

Your first thought is to shove the parcel in his pigeon hole, and you would, were it not already stuffed full to the brim with letters and magazines, spam leaflets from the local takeaway offering twenty percent off pizzas on a Tuesday.

A good neighbour would just take it up to Flat 2. A good neighbour would empty the pigeon hole of its current postal nightmare and take that up too, hand delivering it with a smile.

But here’s the thing.

You’ve been making an active point of avoiding the guy from Flat 2. Whether it’s leaving ten minutes earlier for work or opting to take the stairs to the third floor rather than risking inescapable metal confinement via the elevator, the sudden decline in your once frequent run-ins is no accident.

And really, you don’t think you can be blamed for that. If someone had told you three weeks ago that you’d be inexplicably Tinder matched with the guy living opposite you, only to be stood up on the night of your first date and subsequently ghosted, you’d be loath to believe them.

But that’s exactly what happened.

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