warnings:Â established relationship, non-korean reader
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count:Â 600
"Pass me the lotion, Innie."
Jeongin blinks, looking up from where heâs sitting cross-legged on the beach towel. His windblown hair is slightly messy from the ocean breeze, a pair of dark sunglasses resting on top of his head. He holds the bottle of bronzing tanning oil in his long fingers, his dark eyes trailing down to where you're lying flat on your stomach, the tie of your bikini top resting unclasped against your shoulder blades to avoid tan lines.
A flush immediately spreads across his cheeks, dusting the tips of his ears.
"You... you want me to put it on you?" he asks, his voice dropping slightly into that flustered, hesitant register he gets whenever you catch him off guard.
"Unless you want my back to burn," you tease, turning your head on your folded arms to look up at him with a lazy, amused smile. "Come on. Don't be shy, baby."
Jeongin clears his throat, shuffling closer on his knees until he's hovering right beside you on the sand. "I'm not shy," he mumbles defensively, though his dimples pop out in a flustered smile as he squirts a generous pool of the oil onto his palm. He inspects the bronzing bottle for a second, tilting his head with a bewildered crease between his brows. "I still don't get why you want to get darker on purpose, though. Back home, everyone does everything they can not to get tan."
"Well, I'm not Korean, baby," you chuckle softly, glancing up at him over your shoulder. "I like having a warm summer glow."
Jeongin rolls his eyes affectionately, his pink cheeks deepening. "Fair enough," he mumbles, rubbing his palms together to warm the oil before gently lowering his hands to your back.
The moment his hands make contact with your skin, a sigh escapes your lips. Jeonginâs hands are steady despite the pink hue still burning on his neck. He starts at your shoulders, his long thumbs digging with pressure into the tense muscles at the base of your neck.
"Feels good?" he murmurs softly, leaning in a little closer.Â
"Mmh... incredible," you hum, resting your chin on your hands. "You're getting really good at this, Innie."
Jeongin lets out a low, breathy chuckle against the back of your neck. "I told you I could take care of you," he whispers, his hands gliding down the curve of your spine. His fingers trace the delicate line of your ribs, slick with oil, before settling over the small of your back. His touch lingers at your waist, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles over your hips.
"Jeongin-ah..." you murmur, turning your head slightly. "Your hands are getting awfully low."
Jeongin pauses, though he doesn't pull his hands away. Instead, he leans down until his chest is hovering just inches above your back, his dark eyes glint with a sudden, playful confidence as he looks down at you.
"I have to be thorough, Noona," he rasps softly, his voice dropping an octave as his thumb strokes a slow line along the edge of your hip bone. "Even with a tan, I don't want you sunburnt."
"Is that right?" you tease, your breath hitching slightly as his hands slide further down, smoothing the warm oil along the back of your thighs with unhurried, heavy pressure.
He hums, a mischievous smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. He leans down even further, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to the skin between your shoulder blades, making you shiver in the afternoon heat.
"You're terrible," you laugh softly, reaching back to catch his wrist.
Jeongin twines his fingers through yours, squeezing gently, his bright, dimpled smile breaking through as he leans down to whisper right against your ear. "Terrible? I'm the best boyfriend you've ever had. Now hold still... I still have to do your legs."
warnings:Â established relationship, fear of heights
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count:Â 1.2k
The safety carabiner metallic-clinks against the zip line cable, and Lee Minhoâs knuckles turn a stark, bone-white.
Youâre thirty-five feet off the ground, perched on a small, round wooden platform built around the trunk of a massive oak tree. The forest floor looks unnervingly small down below, dotted with tiny patches of moss and fallen pinecones. The suspension bridge stretching between your platform and the next consists of nothing more than swinging wooden slats connected by thin wire ropes, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze.
Minho is standing behind you, his spine pressed so flat against the main tree trunk he looks like heâs trying to merge with the bark.
"Minho," you say, turning your head to smile up at him. "Your turn. Just step onto the first plank."
Minhoâs dark eyes are wide, fixed entirely on the horizon, specifically avoiding looking down at all costs. His heavy climbing harness hugs his waist, and the bright yellow helmet sitting over his dark hair gives him the air of a very grumpy, thoroughly miserable construction worker.
"I am evaluating the integrity of the wood," Minho says smoothly, his deep voice carrying a subtle, telltale tremor he tries desperately to mask with a sharp glare. "It looks cheap."
"Itâs rated for two thousand pounds, Lix said this place was totally safe," you tease gently, resting your hand on his arm.
The second the name leaves your lips, Minhoâs jaw tightens.
That was the whole reason he was up in this tree in the first place. Two nights ago, when you had offhandedly mentioned wanting to try the forest canopy obstacle course, Felix had immediately volunteered to tag along, gushing about ziplining and swinging from trees. Minho had shot up from the sofa so fast heâd nearly knocked over his iced Americano.
âFelix has a busy schedule,â Minho had announced coldly, snatching the booking tablet right out of your hands. âI'm going with you.â
He had been so smug about it, too. He had spent the entire drive to the adventure park resting his hand on your thigh, shooting victorious glances out the window, internally gloating about claiming your weekend date before anyone else could.
Jealousy, as it turned out, was a powerful motivator. It was just a shame jealousy didn't grant immunity against acrophobia.
"Felix is an idiot who trusts infrastructure built by teenagers on summer jobs," Minho grumbles, though his hand doesn't loosen its vice grip on the safety wire. "And if you mention his name again while I am suspended in mid-air, I will throw his PC into the river when we get home."
You let out a giggle, stepping back toward him on the small wooden platform. The platform gives a tiny, natural creak, and Minho instantly freezes, his pupils dilating in panic.
"Hey," you whisper, stepping right into his space and placing your hands flat against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering behind his heavy safety vest. "You don't have to play it cool, Min. I know you hate heights."
Minhoâs eyes flick down to meet yours. "I don't hate heights," he mutters, though his chin trembles slightly as the wind rustles through the treetops. "I just have a very healthy respect for gravity."
"Right. And that's why you haven't taken a single step in three minutes?"
"I'm letting you go first. It's called chivalry." Minho winces slightly, his ears burning a deep, furious pink beneath his yellow helmet.
"You came up here just so I wouldn't go with Felix, didn't you?" you tease softly, running your thumbs up the sides of his neck to soothe the tense muscles in his shoulders.
Minho lets out a long, ragged exhale, finally letting his head drop forward until his helmet clinks softly against yours. His hands leave the safety wire for a split second, reaching around your waist to pull you flush against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. The radiating heat of his skin and his rapid breathing fan against your collarbone.
"Yes," he confesses in a low, muffled murmur against your skin. "And now I'm going to die in an oak tree while wearing a yellow hat. I hope you're happy."
You laugh softly, wrapping your arms securely around his waist, letting him anchor himself to you. "You're not going to die. We're double-clipped to steel cables. You couldn't fall even if you tried."
Minho shifts slightly, peering down over your shoulder at the swaying wooden plank bridge ahead. "If I fall, I'm taking you with me."
"Fair enough," you smile, taking a step back toward the bridge, keeping one of his hands firmly laced through yours. "Okay, look at me. Don't look at the ground, don't look at the trees. Just look right at my face. Step where I step."
Minho swallows hard, his long fingers squeezing yours tightly enough to cut off circulation. "If you let go of my hand, I will bite you."
"I'm holding tight, promise."
You turn around, stepping carefully onto the first suspended wooden slat. The bridge sways slightly under your weight, the steel cables humming. "Come on, Min. Show the trees who's boss," you call back encouragingly, taking another step.Â
Grumbling a series of colorful threats under his breath, pretty sure you heard a 'stupid Felix' in there. Minho slowly extends one long leg, placing his foot squarely in the center of the first plank. The moment his weight shifts, the bridge gives a tiny wobble.
"Nope. Absolutely not. Cancel the date," Minho announces rapidly, his body locking up completely.
"You're doing great!" you laugh, taking two quick steps forward to pull him along. "Look at me. Besides, how else will you get off?"
Minhoâs dark eyes snap to yours, he takes another shaky step, then another, his jaw set in a line of pure, stubborn determination. Step by step, using your face as his only horizon, he navigates the swaying bridge, his boots thudding softly against the wooden slats until both of his feet finally hit the solid platform on the other side.
The moment he arrives, he immediately wraps both arms around you from behind, pinning you against his chest while his chin rests heavily on your shoulder. He lets out a loud, dramatic sigh of relief, his heart still thumping wildly against your back.
"See?" you hum, leaning back into his solid frame. "You made it."
"I am never leaving this platform," Minho states flatly. "We live here now. Send my mail to Oak Tree Number Four."
"We still have to do the final zip line to get down to the ground," you remind him gently, pointing to the long wire stretching across the open forest floor to the exit clearing.
Minho looks at the zip line, then down at the distant ground, and finally back at you. A sudden, familiar glint of cat-like mischief flickers back into his dark eyes as he realizes the end is in sight.
"I need compensation for emotional damages," he demands softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"Fine, just lets go down."
Minho hums, clipping himself into the zip line trolley. "Watch and learn. I'm going to make this look effortless."
"Five seconds ago you were crying about a wooden plank," you remind him, chuckling as you step aside.
"Fake news," Minho counters smoothly, winking at you before kicking off the edge of the platform.
He shoots down the zip line with a loud zipppp, his windbreaker rustling in the breeze. For about three seconds, he looks like a majestic, fearless athlete, until a sudden gust of wind spins him around backward mid-air, causing him to let out a startled, high-pitched yell all the way down until his feet hit the woodchip landing pad at the bottom.
The bell above the glass door of gelato parlor chimes loudly, cutting through the low hum of the air conditioner and the quiet pop song playing over the speakers.
Kim Seungmin doesn't even look up from where he is wiping down the stainless steel counter with a damp towel. He already knows who it is.
"Day fifty-two," Seungmin announces flatly to the empty air, his voice completely devoid of amusement as he folds the rag. "The temperature outside is 27 degrees, which means you're here to waste my oxygen and deliver another hazard of a pickup line."
"Good afternoon to you too, Seungmin-ah!" you beam, stepping up to the glass display case and leaning your elbows over the top ledge.
Seungmin slowly lifts his head. He looks sooo cute in his dark apron, a clean white polo underneath, and wire-rimmed glasses resting delicately on the bridge of his nose.Â
"I don't recall giving you permission to use informal language, customer," Seungmin notes dryly, grabbing a paper cup and a green plastic spoon without even asking for your order. "Your usual?"
"You remembered!" you gasp dramatically, resting your chin in your hands. "Is it because I'm unforgettable?"
"It's because you order the exact combo every single day at 3:15 PM like a scheduled pestilence," he corrects, plunging the heavy metal spade into the tub of cold cream. "And because if I don't get you out of here quickly, you'll start talking."
"Speaking of talking," you grin, leaning in an inch closer. "Are you made of gelato? Because you're cold, sweet, and I feel like I'm going to get a brain freeze every time I look at you."
Seungmin stops mid-scoop. He looks at the scoop of gelato in his hand, then at your expectant face, and finally up at the ceiling as if asking the universe for strength.
"A three out of ten," Seungmin evaluates solemnly, dropping the round scoop into your cup with clinical precision. "And I'm being generous."
"A three?!" you gasp, offended. "I spent my entire lunch break coming up with that!"
"Then you should ask your employer for a refund on your break time," he counters without missing a beat, smoothing down the top of the gelato. "Because that was a tragic misuse of mental labor."
Despite his words, you don't miss the faint twitch at the corner of his lips.Â
"You're laughing," you point out, pointing a finger at him. "Kim Seungmin, you're smiling! I saw it!"
"I am experiencing a muscle spasm caused by customer-induced exhaustion," Seungmin lies, sliding the cup across the counter toward you along with a napkin. "That will be five dollars and fifty cents."
"You know, one of these days, my charm is going to break down that icy wall of yours," you declare, tapping your phone against the card reader.
"Your 'charm' sounds like a public nuisance," Seungmin replies, handing you your receipt.Â
"We'll see about that tomorrow," you wink, taking a bite of the pistachio gelato. "Same time?"
Seungmin adjusts his glasses. "Unfortunately, I am contractually obligated to be here. So yes. Prepare a better line next time."
"Challenge accepted, Seungmin-ah!"
"Leave," he hums, though as you turn to head for the exit, he leans his elbows against the counter, his chin resting in his hand as he watches you walk out into the afternoon heat, a soft smile finally breaking through his stubborn front as soon as your back is turned.
â･°âŠ
By late August, a relentless heatwave has begun to break, and the countdown to the end of summer is ticking away.
You walk into the gelato shop on a rainy Tuesday, shaking out your umbrella by the door. Seungmin is behind the counter, leaning against the register, waiting, two paper cups already packed to the brim with gelato sitting on a tray beside him.
"You're four minutes late," Seungmin notes as you approach, tapping his wrist where an imaginary watch would be. "I was almost forced to enjoy peace and quiet."
"Traffic was awful," you sigh, stepping up to the counter. "Wait... why are there two cups?"
Seungmin picks up the tray, unlatching the small wooden partition in the counter and stepping out into the customer seating area for the very first time all summer. He pulls out a chair at a small corner table near the window and sits down, gesturing toward the seat across from him.
"My break started two minutes ago," Seungmin says simply, taking a spoon for himself. "And since tomorrow is the last day of August, I figured I should save you the embarrassment of delivering another ninety-second pickup line over a glass counter."
You blink, stunned, before a grin breaks across your face as you slide into the chair opposite him. "Are you telling me you're actually hanging out with me?"
"I am eating my lunch," Seungmin corrects smoothly, though a faint flush dusts the tips of his ears. "You just happen to be sitting in the area."
"Riiight," you tease, taking your cup. "So... no pickup line today?"
Seungmin takes a quiet bite, tilting his head as he studies your face through his glasses. "Actually... I prepared one."
Your jaw nearly drops to the floor. "You? Prepared a pickup line? Kim Seungmin?"
"Don't get excited," he warns, though the crinkles around his eyes deepen with pure amusement. He sets his spoon down, leaning forward over the table, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart do a flip.
"Go on,"Â
"Are you an unregistered pet?" Seungmin rasps, his voice dropping an octave into that he rarely uses. "Because you follow me around like a puppy."
Silence stretches across the small table. Your breath catches in your throat, your cheeks burning bright pink as the sudden sincerity behind his sarcastic words hits you like a freight train. Seungmin watches your flustered reaction with a triumphant smirk spreading across his face.
"Zero out of ten," you mumble, covering your face with your hands. "That was awful."
"It wasâŚ" he mumbles leaning back in his chair with a soft, breathy chuckle, his long fingers reaching across the small table to gently nudge your wrist away from your face. "Now stop hiding. You've been flirting with me for two months... the least you can do is give me your phone number so I don't have to wait until 3:15 PM to roast you."
warnings:Â waterpark? like genuinely not some kind of innuendo
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count:Â 1k
Clutching the heavy rubber handles of the bright turquoise tube until your knuckles turn white, you take a cautious half-step back from the edge. Thirty feet up on the platform of the parkâs tallest water slide, your stomach does a violent drop as you stare down into the mouth of the chute. The water thunders loudly into the dark opening, disappearing into steep, terrifying twists far below.
Your knees shake against the slick deck tile. You step back another inch, seriously considering abandoning your tube and taking the stairs back down in utter defeat.
"Hey... take a breath, you're totally safe." A deep voice cuts through the roaring water cascades and blaring pop music.
You turn your head toward the dispatch station. Standing right beside the slide entry is a boy. He looks like he walked straight out of a summer sports catalog. Wearing bright red lifeguard trunks, a fitted white rashguard with GUARD printed across his broad chest, and a bright red lanyard with a silver whistle resting over his collarbone. Long blonde hair peeks out from under a red visor, damp at his temples, and a light swipe of white zinc sunscreen covers the bridge of his freckled nose.
He steps away from the control panel, his bare feet padding softly across the damp wooden deck until heâs standing directly in front of you. He reaches out, his warm, sun-kissed fingers gently settling over yours on the handle of the double tube.
"First time on the Tsunami Drop?" He asks softly, his deep Australian accent laced with gentle concern.
"Yeah," you breathe out, letting out a nervous laugh as you stare down at the chute again. "And honestly... I think I just lost every single ounce of courage I had on the climb up here."
Felix lets out a soft, melodic chuckle, a brilliant, sunshine smile breaking across his face. Deep, signature dimples indent his cheeks, completely melting away the cold terror in your chest.
"It looks a little intimidating from up here, I won't lie," He coos, tilting his head as his dark eyes scan your face. "But the drop is super smooth. Once you get past the first dark turn, it feels like floating."
"I don't know..." you murmur, taking another small step back. "I think I might just walk down the stairs."
Felix glances down at the double tube held between your hands, then back up at you with a playful, mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes.
"Tell you what," Felix hums, his deep voice dropping an octave as he leans in just an inch closer. "My rotation shift is actually switching right now, and I need to do a safety run down to the bottom bay anyway. How about we take the double tube together?"
You blink, looking at him in surprise. "Together?"
"Yeah!" Felix smiles brightly, twirling his whistle string around his finger. "I'll sit in the back seat. I'm a certified lifeguard, an expert tube navigator, and, most importantly I won't let you fall out. Deal?"
Your heart gives a sudden, fluttering hit against your ribs. "You'd really do that?"
"Just doing my duty," Felix winks playfully, though a sweet, genuine blush dusts his freckled cheeks under the afternoon sun. "Though... I usually don't give personal escort service unless my sliding partner is exceptionally cute."
Your cheeks heat up instantly. "Is that in the guard manual?"
"Page one," Felix jokes smoothly, guiding the double tube onto the wet launch ramp.
He steps into the shallow water channel first, settling into the back seat of the double tube. He holds the sides steady, extending his hands up toward you. "Alright, jump in front. I've got you."
You take a breath and sit in the front slot, your back coming to rest flush against Felixâs chest. His frame comfortably surrounds yours, his legs extending along the sides of the tube to keep you secure. His warm hands reach around your waist, settling firmly over yours on the front handles. The radiating heat of his skin and his steady, calm breathing against your neck instantly grounding your panicked nerves.
"Ready, Y/N?" Felix whispers right beside your ear, his breath tickling your skin.
"Ready," you whisper back, gripping the handles tight.
"On three," Felix says softly. "One... two-"
Before he even reaches three, he gently pushes off the deck, launching the tube straight into the mouth of the chute.
You let out a gasp as the tube shoots into the rushing water. Darkness takes over for three wild seconds as you twist through the enclosed tunnel, the sound of roaring water echoing all around you. The sudden steep drop hits, making your stomach fly into your throat.
Felixâs grip on your hands tightens reassuringly. His deep, resonant laugh rings out right against your back. "I've got you! You're doing great!"
The tube bursts out of the dark tunnel into the blinding afternoon sunlight, gliding across the final crest before plunging into the splashdown pool with a massive wave of cool blue water.
The tube slows down, floating smoothly into the shallow exit channel.
You wipe water from your eyes, letting out a laugh as the adrenaline rushes through your veins.
Behind you, Felix lets out a breathy chuckle, running a wet hand through his blonde hair to push the dripping strands out of his eyes. Water droplets glisten against his collarbone and sun-kissed skin, his dark eyes shining with golden excitement as he looks down at you.
"See?" Felix hums softly, his dimples popping out in a triumphant grin. "Piece of cake. You were amazing."
"Okay... that was actually incredible," you admit, turning around in the tube to face him. "Though you definitely cheated on the countdown."
"Tactical distraction," Felix counters smoothly, stepping out into the knee-deep water and offering his hands to help you out of the tube. "Works every time."
You take his hands, stepping onto the slick exit stairs. His fingers linger wrapped around yours for a second too long, before he reluctantly lets go.
"So," Felix says, resting his hands on his hips and tilting his head as he adjusts his visor. "Now that you've conquered the biggest drop in the park... do you mind if I join you for a cold ice pop on my break? I think we earned it."
You smile, looking into his bright, earnest eyes. "Only if you promise to be my escort on the next slide, too."
Felixâs face lights up with pure joy. "Deal. Don't go getting swept away without me."
warnings:Â vacation house, neighrboors, jeongin is slightly younger
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count:Â 1.3k
The breeze carries the scent of salt water through the screen door of your rented cottage. Itâs only day three of your two-week getaway, and youâve already fallen into a lazy routine. God knows you haven't step further than the porch.
The only variable in your peaceful vacation is the boy next door. You had noticed him on your first afternoon, tall, build, with crescent eyes and a smile that brought out deep dimples whenever he thought no one was looking. Heâs staying alone at his family's place right across the low wooden property fence.
Heâs currently standing on his side of the grass, wearing an oversized striped shirt, dark hair slightly tousled from the wind. In his hands, he holds a small ceramic plate covered in aluminum foil, staring at your back porch like it's a maze he can't figure out.
He takes two confident steps toward the fence, adjusting his posture to look casually laid-back. "Excuse me," he calls out. His voice carries effortlessly across the lawn.
You look up from your book, pushing your sunglasses onto the top of your head. "Oh! Hey, neighbor."
The moment your eyes lock onto his, Jeonginâs stance hitches slightly. His foot clips a stray pinecone, forcing him to take an awkward step forward to keep his balance. A pink blush dusts the tip of his ears, though he quickly clears his throat and straightens his shoulders, trying to play it off as a deliberate stride. "Hey," he hums, trying for a low, nonchalant tone as he leans one forearm over the fence post. "I, uh... I accidentally made too much bulgogi. My family left for the city this morning, so itâs just me."
"Accidentally?" you smile, setting your book down and standing up. You walk over toward the fence, your shirt catching the breeze. "How much meat did you grill for one person?"
Jeonginâs eyes track you as you approach, his throat bobbing in a nervous swallow. "Like... four plates," he lies smoothly, though his dimples betray him as a flustered smirk twitches at his lips. "It was a math error."
You laugh, a bright, warm sound that makes Jeonginâs pulse hammer against his ribs. You reach across the low fence, taking the warm plate from his hands. Your fingertips lightly brush against his knuckles in the process.
Jeongin freezes for a microsecond at the soft contact, his breath catching in his chest before he quickly tucks his hands into his pockets to hide how warm they suddenly feel.
"Well, thank you, Jeongin-ah," you say softly. "I was actually just thinking about what to make for dinner."
"No problem," he stammers out, trying to keep his voice grounded in a mature, steady register. "I'm a pretty good cook. You know... if you ever need someone to make sure you're eating well while you're here."
"Is that an offer to chef for me?" you tease, tilting your head. "Jeongin-ah, I should be taking care of you, not the other way around."
That single sentence is a hit to his ego. His lips part in mild, flustered offense, a deep crimson flush rushing down his neck. Up close, you look effortlessly confident, the realization sends his internal panic scale off the charts.
"I can take care of myself!" he defends quickly, his voice accidentally jumping an octave. He winces internally, coughing into his fist to lower his pitch again. "I mean... I'm a grown man. I can take care of you. It's... neighborly assistance."
"Neighborly assistance," you repeat, biting the inside of your cheek to hide a fond smile. "I'll hold you to that. Do you want to come sit on the porch for a minute? I just brewed fresh iced tea."
Jeonginâs brain completely stalls. His eyes widen slightly before he blinks. "Oh. I... right now?"
"Unless you're busy?"
"No! I mean- no, I'm completely free. Leisure time. Very relaxed schedule," he stammers, practically tripping over the low wooden fence as he eagerly steps over onto your side of the property.
â･°âŠ
By the second week, "accidental extra food" has become a daily ritual.
Jeongin has brought over homemade pancakes for breakfast, watermelon wedges in the afternoon heat, and stew he swore he "just happened to cook an entire pot of." In return, youâve invited him onto your porch every evening, sharing drinks and talking until the stars come out over the water.
He tries so hard to be the dependable guy next door. Clearly. He intercepts you to carry grocery bags from your car, offers to check the porch light fuse when it flickers, and always insists on walking on the road-side of the quiet gravel lane when you walk down to the small village market together.
Yet his hopeless crush on you breaks through every smooth front he tries to build.
"It's just sticking on the latch," Jeongin says, crouching by the small wooden gate that leads down to your private lake dock. He has a small metal toolbox sitting beside his knees, a pair of pliers in hand. He looks remarkably handsome in a simple white tank and loose denim shorts, completely in his element.
You stand leaning against the wooden post above him, sipping cold lemonade. "You don't have to fix that, Jeongin. The landlord said itâs been squeaking for years."
"I have the tools," he hums, keeping his head down as he works oil into the hinges. The muscles in his broad back and shoulders flex as he turns the wrench, a light sheen of sweat catching the late afternoon sun. "Plus... I don't want you hurting your hands trying to force it open. Especially since you're supposed to be resting."
"You're very attentive, you know that?" you remark gently.
Jeonginâs hands pause on the wrench. He slowly looks up at you from his crouched spot on the grass, his dark eyes wide and earnest beneath the wisps of dark hair falling over his forehead.
Your heart gives a sudden, unexpected flutter against your ribs. "Jeongin..."
Feeling the shift in the air, Jeonginâs cheeks ignite in his signature crimson blush. He hurriedly stands up, wiping his hands on a rag, desperately trying to regain his playful composure.
"I mean- it's standard chivalry!" he stammers out, his voice squeaking slightly on the last word. He winces, burying his face in his hand with a soft groan. "God, ignore that. My voice didn't just break."
You let out a fond laugh, stepping down off the porch step until you're standing right in front of him. "Jeongin-ah, you don't have to try so hard."
Jeongin drops his hand from his face, looking down at you. Because you're standing a step lower on the grass, he has to look down slightly, his tall frame blocking out the warm orange sunset behind him.
"I'm not trying to," he mumbles, his lower lip pushing out into a tiny, sulky pout. "I just... I don't want you to think I'm just some kid next door. You keep calling me Jeongin-ah like I'm a little boy."
"I don't think you're a little boy," you whisper, reaching out to gently touch the bare skin of his arm. "I think you're sweet, thoughtful... and very strong." You tilt your head. "It's an affectionate nickname is all."
Jeongin freezes solid. His eyes scan your face, searching your expression to see if you're teasing him, but finding only genuine affection in your eyes. He takes a small step closer, closing the remaining distance between you until his sneakers are brushing yours.
"Strong, huh?" he rasps, his deep voice dropping an octave as his long, warm fingers reach out, hesitantly sliding around your waist. His palm rests against the small of your back, his touch gentle yet grounding you against him. "Then maybe you shouldn't have accepted all those plates of food, Noona."
"Are you holding dinner against me now?" you tease softly, resting your hands against his broad chest, feeling the frantic, rapid pounding of his heart beneath the thin cotton fabric.
"No," Jeongin whispers, leaning down until his forehead rests lightly against yours, his dimples peeking out in a sweet, breathless smile. "I'm just hoping you stay for dessert."
suggestion for summer/stay week thing: Changbin and aircon malfunction (can be a handy specialist fixing the aircon in a tight-fitting uniform đ or just having to exist in close proximity of each other with a broken aircon, like, with a side of oblivious mutual pining?)
â i hope you like this, i didn't want to be too obvious but this was in fact one of my ideas for changbin, so you convinced me
warnings:Â reader and changbin know each other but its not explained.
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count:Â 1.1k
Of course your air-con would break on the hottest day of the year, during a heatwave, that's just your luck. Whoever is your guardian angel can go fuck themselves.
The air in your apartment is suffocating enough to feel like a physical weight pressing against your chest. Outside, the sun has turned the concrete city into an oven. Inside, your window air conditioning unit had let out a tragic, metallic sputter two hours ago before dying completely, leaving the air inside your living room stagnant and sweltering.
Youâre sitting on the edge of your sofa in an oversized cotton tee and shorts, a glass of ice water sweating against your palm, when heavy knocks ring out against your front door.
You practically sprint to answer it.
Standing in the hallway with a heavy leather tool bag slung casually over one broad shoulder is Changbin.
He looks like a walking hazard to your health. Because of the heatwave, heâs discarded his usual heavy work jacket, wearing only a snug, charcoal grey ribbed tank top that clings tightly to his broad chest and highlights the ridiculous cut of his shoulders and biceps. Sweat glimmers over his sun-kissed skin, his dark hair slightly damp and sticking in messy strands to his forehead. His low-slung work trousers are held up by a heavy tool belt resting right over his hips.
"Heard thereâs an emergency in here," Changbin hums, sending an traitorous shiver straight down your spine despite the 95-degree room.
"Changbin," you breathe out, stepping aside to let him in. "Thank god. I think Iâm about ten minutes away from melting into the floorboards."
He chuckles as he steps past you into the apartment. His eyes flick over you, a playful glint flashes in his dark eyes, his lips curling into a smile.
"Yeah, itâs definitely hot in here," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat too long before he turns toward the dying AC unit mounted near the window. "Let's see whatâs going on with this thing."
He drops his heavy tool bag onto the floor with a loud thud. He crouches down in front of the unit, the movement straining the thick fabric of his tank top across his muscular back.
You lean against the edge of the windowsill, holding your cold glass of ice water against your neck with a quiet sigh. "Is it fixable, or do I need to pack my bags and live in a grocery store walk-in freezer?"
Changbin looks up at you from his spot on the floor, resting one arm casually over his knee. The view from down there gives him a very clear look up at you, his eyes trailing down the line of your throat to your bare legs.
"Depends," he rumbles, reaching into his belt to pull out a heavy screwdriver. "Are you gonna stand there looking like that, or are you gonna help me?"
"Help you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know the first thing about HVAC, Seo."
"I don't need you to fix the wiring," he rasps, his fingers deft as he unscrews the front casing of the unit. "I just need you to keep me cool while I work. Itâs an oven over here."
You smile, stepping a little closer until your knees are just inches from his shoulder. You take a piece of ice from your glass and drop the melting cube down the back of his neck.
Changbinâs entire body goes rigid. A gasp catches in his throat, his chest expanding as he pauses his work. He slowly tilts his head back to look up at you, his dark eyes blown out, burning with a heat that has nothing to do with the summer weather.
"Playing dirty?"Â
"Just offering customer service," you tease. "You said you needed help staying cool."
"You're not cooling me down," he turns around fully on his knees so heâs facing you. He reaches up, his calloused palm wrapping around the back of your thigh, his thumb stroking smooth circles against your heated skin. "You're making it a hell of a lot hotter."
The heat of his palm against your thigh feels electric, a burning contrast to the cold water in your hand. Your breath hitches as Changbin pulls you just an inch closer, his broad frame standing between your legs as he kneels before you.
"Focus on the machine, Changbin," you whisper, though you don't make any move to step away. In fact, your fingers instinctually tangle into the soft dark hair at the nape of his neck.
"I am focused," he murmurs, his eyes dropping to your lips before sliding back up to meet your gaze. "Iâm a multi-tasker."
"You famously aren't."
He holds your gaze for three agonizing seconds before letting out a chuckle and turning back to the exposed wires of the AC unit. His fingers work with effortless, practiced skill, tweaking the internal fuse and clearing the dust filter while keeping his body brushed flush against your legs.
"Alright," Changbin hums after a few minutes, his muscles flexing as he gives a final turn to a stubborn bolt. "Moment of truth."
He reaches up and flips the power switch.
The unit hums, hesitates for a second, and then roars back to life, blowing a powerful, ice-cold gust of freezing air straight into the room.
You let out a relieved sigh, closing your eyes as the frigid air washes over your flushed skin, cooling the sweat at your collarbone and neck. "Oh, thank god. You're an absolute miracle worker."
Before you can step back to enjoy the draft, Changbin stands up in one fluid movement. He crowds you back against the wall right beside the blowing air conditioner, trapping you between his warm body and the cool wall.
"A miracle worker, huh?" he rasps, resting his hands on the wall on either side of your head, leaning in close until his lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. His chest presses lightly against yours with every intake of breath. "What's my reward?"
"I thought customer satisfaction was its own reward, Changbin," you murmur, looking up into his eyes.
Changbin pauses, a lopsided smirk spreading across his lips as he raises an eyebrow at you. "'Changbin'?" he tsks softly, his thumb catching your chin and tilting your head up. "What happened to Bin? Your air-con is fixed, Bunny. I'm officially off the clock."
"Oh? Is that how it works?" you tease, your breath hitching as his hand slides around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his tool belt. "You only get 'Bin' when you're off duty?"
"Well, I'm completely off duty now," he rasps, his lips brushing against your jawline, making you shiver. "Which means you owe Bin his reward."
Summer camp runs on a frantic clock: morning calls bouncing off the wooden rafters, sticky maple syrup coating plastic plates, and the endless energy of thirty seven- and eight-year-olds running wild through the grass. Finding even ten minutes of silence feels like an impossible task, which is exactly why you guard your spot by the creek like a buried treasure.
Tucked away behind the mess hall, where the groomed gravel paths give way to a thick canopy of oak, maple, and towering white pine, the creek runs cool and shallow over smooth worn stones. You sit with your knees drawn up to your chest on a broad, sun-warmed boulder, an old paperback novel resting in your lap. The air carries the rich, nostalgic scent of damp earth, pine needles, and sweet August sunshine.
A twig snaps nearby, followed by a soft, startled rustle of leaves.
"I knew someone was hiding down here."
You turn your head to find Hyunjin stepping carefully through the brush. Heâs wearing an oversized camp staff tee that hangs loosely off one shoulder, his dark hair tied back in a messy half-up with stray strands falling around his face. He holds a sketchbook tucked under his arm and a pencil twirling between his long fingers, stepping over exposed roots with effortless grace.
"Am I trespassing on your secret sanctuary?" you ask, offering a warm smile.
"I can share," Hyunjin hums, his deep voice carrying a soft, melodic warmth as he slides onto the flat rock a few feet beside you. He sits cross-legged, resting his sketchbook on his knees. "The kids in Cabin Three were trying to weave yellow dandelions into my hair again. I needed a tactical retreat before I ended up looking like a flower garden."
You chuckle softly, settling back against your knees. "You're too soft on them, Hyunjin. You have to learn how to say no."
"I can't," he confesses, his pencil already making smooth scratching sounds against the paper. "They look up at me with those giant puppy-dog eyes and I completely melt."
Whenever you peek over at him from the corner of your eye, you catch the subtle shifting of his shoulders, the focus in his dark eyes, and suddenly his gaze lifting directly to meet yours. He holds your eyes for a beat too long, catching his breath before snapping his gaze back down to his page, a blush dusting his high cheekbones.
"What are you drawing?" you ask gently, leaning in a fraction.
Hyunjin quickly tilts the pad toward his chest, a shy, dimpled smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Nothing yet. Just... trying to capture how the sunlight hits the water."
â･°âŠ
"If Cabin Four loses another flag in the mud, Iâm turning in my whistle," you declare, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead as you lead a line of campers through the forest trail.
"Don't surrender yet, Captain," Hyunjin says, stepping up to match your stride. He offers you an exaggerated, noble salute. "Iâve mapped out a strategic route. We take the high ridge, flank Cabin Seven near the old weeping willow, and victory is practically guaranteed."
"Since when did you become a military strategist?" you laugh, admiring him navigate the overgrown path.
"Since my cabin promised to stop dumping glitter in my hair if we win today," he replies with utmost seriousness, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as a bright grin breaks across his face.
By the final ten minutes of the game, you and Hyunjin end up as the last line of defense at the creek border.
"Incoming!" Hyunjin suddenly breathes out, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist, gently pulling you back behind the trunk of a massive oak tree just as a swarm of rival campers run past your hiding spot.
The space behind the tree is narrow. Youâre pinned flush against the rough bark, and Hyunjin is standing impossibly close in front of you, his tall frame shielding you from view. His hand is still loosely wrapped around your wrist, his thumb resting right over your pulse. His chest rises and falls in quick hitches, his dark hair clinging slightly to his temple. His full lips are parted as he stares down at you, his chest almost touching yours with every intake of breath.
"Did they see us?" you whisper.
Hyunjinâs gaze flickers down to your lips for a fleeting second before shifting back to your eyes. The distant sounds of screaming campers and rustling leaves seem to fade.
"No," he whispers back, his voice dropping into a cadence that sends a shiver straight down your spine. "Nobody saw."
He doesn't release your wrist for three long seconds after the noise of the children completely fades away.
â･°âŠ
The mid-August heatwave settles over the valley driving the entire camp down to the lake shore. After supervising the youngest group while they splash in the shallow end, you wade out deeper into the cool water, letting it wash over your sun-warmed shoulders with a relieved sigh.
A sudden, sharp splash of ice-cold water hits the back of your neck.
You gasp, spinning around to find Hyunjin treading water a few yards away, he would be looking utterly innocent, if not for the wide, mischievous grin spreading across his face and the sparkle in his dark eyes.
"Hyunjin!" you threaten, kicking up a huge wave of water straight toward him.
He laughs and dives beneath the surface. A second later, you feel a pair of firm hands catch you around the waist under the surface. Hyunjin lifts you up slightly as he surfaces right in front of you.
"Gotcha," he murmurs, his hands lingering securely on your hips beneath the water.
The lake reaches his upper chest, water droplets glistening against his collarbones under the sun. Floating slightly, your feet barely graze the soft sand below, leaving you leaning into his steady, warm frame to keep your balance.
"You're a menace, Hwang," you tease gently, resting your hands lightly on his damp shoulders.
"I'm keeping you cool," he counters softly, his playful energy softening into a quiet, intense tenderness. His dark eyes scan your face, searching every detail before sliding down to where his hands rest at your waist.Â
â･°âŠ
It's the final Friday of camp. The campers have all been tucked into their bunks, exhausted from an afternoon of packing heavy trunks, leaving the forest night quiet.
A campfire burns near the wood line, sending golden sparks dancing up into the sky. Most of the counselors are scattered around the log benches, laughing over warm mugs.
You sit on a wooden bench slightly set back from the main circle, wrapped snugly in a thick wool blanket against the sharp chill of the late August night.
The wooden bench dips as Hyunjin quietly sits down beside you. Heâs wearing a thick, oversized dark sweater, holding two steaming mugs. He hands one to you, the rich aroma of hot cocoa rising into the cool air.
"Thanks," you whisper, cupping the warm mug between your hands.
"Can't believe eight weeks flew by like that," Hyunjin hums softly, leaning his back against the bench and tilting his head up to gaze at the stars overhead. "It feels like we just got here yesterday."
"I know," you agree,"It's going to feel so strange going back to real life without all of this."
Hyunjin turns his head to look at you. "I don't want to go back to real life if you're not in it," he says simply.
The words rest gently in the quiet night air. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you turn to face him fully, your breath catching in your throat.
"Hyunjin..."
Instead of speaking right away, Hyunjin reaches out, his long, warm fingers carefully slipping beneath the edge of your wool blanket to find your hand. He weaves his fingers through yours, squeezing gently, his touch a steady, comforting warmth against the chilly night breeze.
"I've been trying to find the right time to say something all summer," he whispers softly, his thumb tracing circles over the back of your hand. "Every afternoon by the creek, every hike through the trees... I kept telling myself to wait for the perfect moment."
"And is this the perfect moment?"Â
Hyunjin smiles, a vulnerable smile that brings out his dimples, and leans in close. He rests his forehead lightly against yours, his breath fanning across your cheek.
"It is now," he whispers.
He closes the distance remaining, pressing his soft lips against yours. The kiss is slow and unhurried. When he pulls back just an inch, his dark eyes shine beneath the starlight, his hand tightening its grip on yours.
"Don't leave camp without me," he hums softly against your lips.
You smile, leaning back in to pull him into another quiet kiss under the stars.
Hihihii!! Im in love with your work, the detail is IMMACULATE, YOURE MY FAVORITE SKZ WRITER đ Im here to request for the 2026 summer event if that's okay!!
I thought maybe for Han) OKAY so fem reader is taking their younger sibling to summer daycare and Han just falling in love at first sight and is completely ASS at compliments and taking them đ Just shy and nervous Hannie, THANK YOUUU!! đŤśđŤś
â didn't quite do this bc i already wanted dad han but here: structurally sound
You have your sign-in clipboard prepped, the low wooden tables wiped down, and a freshly laid mat full of colorful foam blocks waiting for the new wave of four-year-olds to storm the room. You stand by the cubby organizers with a warm, welcoming smile pinned to your face, ready to greet nervous parents and clingy toddlers.
Then the front door clicks open, and Han Jisung walks in.
He looks less like a seasoned adult and more like an overgrown toddler who got dressed in a state of mild emergency. He wears an oversized knit sweater that looks soft enough to sink into, messy dark brown hair flopping into his eyes, and a pair of round glasses sitting slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. Clenched tightly in his right hand is a tiny, sparkly pink glitter lunchbox, held gently in his left hand is his four-year-old daughter, Hana.
The second Jisung lifts his head and makes eye contact with you across the bright, sunlit classroom, his whole body visibly glitches.
His feet stop mid-stride. His eyes widen into dinner plates, his jaw slacking open just enough for his breath to catch audibly in his throat. It's as if his soul abruptly leaves his physical body, floating somewhere near the ceiling fans while his brain attempts a complete system reboot.
"Hi there!" you say warmly, stepping forward with a friendly wave. "Welcome! You must be Hana's dad."
Jisung does not speak. He just stares at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked puffs.
"Appa," Hana whispers, yanking hard on his coat sleeve. "Appa, the new teacher is talking to you."
That seems to snap a wire back together in his brain. Jisung jolts, his foot catching on the corner of a low play rug. He stumbles forward two frantic steps, flailing his free arm in a desperate attempt to regain balance before pitching violently into the wooden cubby shelf. The metallic clatter of half a dozen small coat hangers echoes through the room.
"I am intact!" Jisung blurts out instantly, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak as he shoves himself upright. A deep, violent red stain is already blossoming from the collar of his sweater straight up to the tips of his ears. "Hello. Yes. I am... parent."
You can't help the genuine, soft laugh that escapes you. "Are you alright? That looks like a heavy bump."
Jisung looks down at you, taking in your amused expression, your warm eyes, and the dimpled curve of your smile. Panic flares in his dark eyes like a lit match. He clearly feels the overwhelming urge to say something smooth, something charming to erase the fact that he just nearly demolished a cubby unit in front of his daughterâs new teacher.
He takes a deep, dramatic breath, puffs out his chest, and looks you straight in the eye.
"You have... very organized teeth," he says solemnly.
Silence stretches across the cubby area.
Hana looks up at her father, then at you, blinking her large, innocent eyes. You blink back, your brain stalling as you process the statement.
"My... teeth?" you repeat, a bewildered smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
"They're straight!" Jisung squeaks, his filter completely disintegrating into dust as the mortification settles in. "They are... very neatly arranged in your head! Good job on the bones!"
You tilt your head, sparing a glance at the child⌠"Thank you?" you say, struggling with every fiber of your being not to burst into full-blown laughter.Â
You lean down slightly to match Hanaâs eye level, giving her a gentle, reassuring smile. "It's so wonderful to meet you, Hana. And it's so sweet of you to drop her off personally, Mr. Han. Most parents have to rush off to work, so it's lovely to see a dad who is so sweet and attentive."
That is a mistake.
The moment the compliment leaves your mouth, Jisungâs physical form surrenders. The crimson on his face deepens to a shade previously unknown to science. His shoulders hike up to his ears, his fingers loosen, and he drops Hana's sparkly pink lunchbox straight onto his own foot.
"Ow!" he yelps softly, before frantically waving his hands in front of his face like he is trying to put out a fire. "It's cotton! I wear clothes every day! I'm legally required to be here!"
He spins on his heel to flee, but Hana catches his sleeve again with a soft tug. "Appa! You forgot my kiss bye-bye!"
Jisung freezes mid-spin, his eyes darting frantically between you and his daughter. "Right! Kiss! Goodbye protocol!" He hurriedly swoops down, planting a loud, frantic peck right on Hana's forehead. "Be good, sweet pea, love you!"
Without waiting another second, Jisung spins back around, trips over the exact same play rug he hit on his way in, shoves open the front glass doors, and bolts out toward the parking lot as if he is being hunted by wild animals.
Hana watches the door slam shut behind her father with a heavy, mature sigh. She turns back to you, smoothing down the front of her overalls.
"Daddy likes your face," she informs you matter-of-factly.
You cover your mouth with your hand, letting out a breathy giggle. "Does he now?"
"Yes," Hana nods solemnly, marching over to the foam blocks. "He made macaroni for breakfast to prove he can cook, but he burned the pot and had to throw it in the yard. Uncle Minho made my lunch."
â･°âŠ
Over the next three weeks, drop-off and pick-up quickly become the undisputed highlight of your workday.
Jisung, as it turns out, is an absolute disaster of a man, and his brain short-circuits every single time he steps within ten feet of you, drop-off is a daily spectacle of unadulterated comedy.
He never gets better at giving compliments.
On Tuesday, when you wear a soft yellow sundress, Jisung makes eye contact with you, freezes in the doorway, and blurts out, "You look very... structurally sound today."
On Thursday, when you spray a light strawberry body mist before the afternoon pick-up, he sniffs the air, flushes bright pink, and whimpers, "You smell like non-toxic fruit products!" before burying his face in his jacket sleeve.
And taking compliments? Taking compliments is a physical hazard for him.
When you praise his new haircut: he drops his car keys into the toy sink, trips over a plastic tricycle, and stammers, "It grows out of my skull!" before fleeing.
When you tell him he's doing an amazing job raising Hana on his own: he freezes completely solid for eight full seconds, forgets how to speak, and hides behind his four-year-old daughter while squeaking like a wet dog.
Hana is his worst nightmare and your best ally. The little girl has absolutely zero filter and takes immense joy in exposing her father's massive, agonizing crush every single afternoon.
"Daddy said you have pretty eyes!" Hana announces cheerfully during afternoon pick-up on a rainy Friday.
Jisung, who is in the middle of zipping up Hanaâs raincoat, freezes in place, his knuckles turning white on the zipper. "Hana, sweet pea, let's play the quiet game-"
"He said it to the mirror while he was shaving!" Hana continues loudly, pointing a tiny finger at her father's bright red face. "He said, 'If she looks at me today, I'm going to pass out.'"
"I am going to pass out right now," Jisung whispers to the floor, his entire neck turning a terrifying shade of scarlet. He doesn't lift his head. He just stays crouched on the carpet, clutching his daughter's raincoat, looking like a man awaiting execution.
You chuckle softly, walking over to sit on one of the low wooden chairs in front of them. You lean down, resting your chin in your hands as you look at the thoroughly humiliated dad.
"You know, Jisung," you say softly, dropping the formal 'Mr. Han' for the first time. "You don't have to be so nervous."
Jisung slowly, painfully lifts his head. His round glasses are slightly fogged up, his dark eyes wide and pleading behind the lenses. "I'm not nervous," he lies horribly, his voice jumping an octave. "I am a calm lake. A peaceful pond."
"A peaceful pond who dropped his wallet in the sandbox yesterday because I said 'good morning'?" you tease gently.
Jisung winces, burying his face in his hands with a muffled, agonizing groan. "Please stop. I am begging you. My soul is leaving my body through my ears."
"I think it's sweet," you say softly.
Jisungâs hands slowly part, his dark eyes peeking out through his fingers. "You... you do?"
"I do," you smile, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Though, if I'm being honest, I think your compliments need a little work. 'Structurally sound' was a choice."
Jisung lets out a high, squeaky laugh, dropping his hands to his knees. "I panicked! I tried to say you looked lovely, but my filter panicked and gave me an architecture word!"
"Well, to make it up to me," you say, standing up and dusting off your apron, "I think you should buy me a coffee."
Jisung blinks. Once. Twice.
His entire posture goes rigid. The color drains from his face for two terrifying seconds, only to crash back in a tidal wave of brilliant, burning crimson. His jaw drops open, his lips moving soundlessly as his brain tries to compute the fact that the girl of his dreams has just asked him out.
"Coffee?" he squeaks out, his voice cracking violently. "Like... the hot liquid?"
"Yes, Jisung. The hot liquid," you giggle, picking up Hana's lunchbox and handing it to him. "There's a great little cafe down the street. Unless you're too busy?"
Jisung scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly knocks his knee against the low table again, catching himself at the last microsecond. He clutches the sparkly pink lunchbox against his chest like a shield, his eyes fixed on you in absolute, breathless wonder.
"I am available for liquid consumption!" he declares loudly.
Hana claps her hands together in delight. "Daddy got a date! Daddy got a date!"
"Hana, please, I am holding onto my life by a thread," Jisung whines softly, though a huge, dimpled, unstoppable grin breaks across his face as he looks at you. He rubs the back of his neck, his blush still burning hot, but his eyes glowing with genuine, ecstatic warmth. "I... I would really love to get coffee with you. Truly."
"Great," you smile, stepping closer to gently straighten his crooked glasses on his nose. "I'll see you at five, Mr. Han. Try not to walk into any cubbies on your way out."
Jisung melts under your gentle touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before he nods frantically. "No promises!" he squeaks, before grabbing Hanaâs hand and practically floating out the front door, the happiest disaster of a man you have ever seen.
Hana looks up at him, pulling on his arms. "Does that mean I can go to Uncle Mimo's house tonight?"Â
Buying an automated home ice cream maker had seemed like a brilliant summer idea.
Inviting your loving boyfriend, Kim Seungmin, into the kitchen to help you use it, however, was a grave miscalculation.
"I'm assisting," Seungmin declared calmly, leaning his elbows against the marble island while chewing on a freshly washed strawberry, a strawberry that was supposed to be chopped for the popsicle base resting on the counter.
"Assisting implies you are contributing labor, Seungmin," you noted, measuring out condensed milk and heavy cream with precision. "So far, youâve eaten four strawberries, criticized my measuring technique, and sat on the dish towel."
"I am moral support," he countered smoothly, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, those useless, hot glasses, with the back of his hand. His dark eyes glinted with that distinct, playful malice he reserved exclusively for the people he adored. "Besides, kitchen safety dictates that all ingredients must be thoroughly inspected for poison before going into the machine. Iâm saving your life."
"Kitchen safety? It's our personal kitchen."
Seungmin simply smiled, a sweet, puppy-like expression that looked entirely innocent until he reached over, unprompted, and dipped the pad of his index finger directly into your bowl of heavy cream mix.
"Hey!" you gasped, trying to swat his hand away.
Too fast for you, Seungmin popped his finger into his mouth, making a thoughtful, exaggerated tasting noise. He tapped his chin, looking up at the ceiling as if consulting a panel of Michelin-star judges.
"Mmm. A bit too sweet. Lacks character. Needs more strawberries," he reported solemnly. "Which is tragic, because someone ate all the strawberries."
"You! You ate the strawberries!"
"It was an inspection!" Seungmin defended with a deadpan expression, though the corners of his lips twitched helplessly. "Should have gotten more."
You let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the spatula. "Alright, Chef Seungmin. Since you're the expert, you can operate the ice cream machine. Pour the liquid into the metal bowl while I pour the berry puree into the popsicle molds."
Seungmin straightened up, dusting non-existent lint off his shirt with sudden, theatrical gravitas. "A massive responsibility, but I will accept."
He picked up the heavy measuring pitcher of cream mixture, stepping up to the newly unboxed ice cream maker sitting on the counter. He stared at the sleek stainless steel machine for a long moment, then at the single 'POWER' button on top.
"Is this going to explode?" he asked quietly.
"It's an ice cream maker, Seungmin, not a lawnmower."
"I'm just saying, electrical appliances sense weakness," he murmured.
With agonizing slowness, Seungmin poured the cream base into the chilled inner canister. Surprisingly, he managed not to spill a drop. However, the moment he clicked the lid shut, he leaned over and slammed his thumb down on the start button with maximum dramatic effort.
The machine whirred to life, its internal paddle beginning to slowly churn the liquid into soft serve.
Seungmin gasped in mock astonishment.
"You literally just pushed a button," you chuckled, shaking your head as you carefully filled the silicone popsicle molds with bright pink strawberry puree and milk.
"It took vision," he insisted, creeping back up behind you.
Before you could lock the plastic lids onto the popsicle molds, Seungminâs arms slid smoothly around your waist from behind, his chin coming down to rest heavily on your shoulder. The warm, solid weight of his chest pressed flush against your back, his familiar scent of clean laundry and subtle cologne wrapping around you instantly.
"What are you doing?" you murmured, leaning your head back slightly against his cheek.
"Inspecting the popsicles," he hummed, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"You're in my way."
"I'm holding you steady so you don't spill," he corrected sweetly, his long fingers trailing up your arm until his hand covered yours over the popsicle stick. "See? Teamwork."
"You're a menace."
"I'm your menace," Seungmin corrected softly, a quiet, genuine warmth lacing his tone as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.
For about ten minutes, the kitchen settled into a soft, quiet rhythm. The ice cream maker hummed steadily on the counter, the mixture slowly thickening into rich, velvety soft-serve. You wiped down the counters while Seungmin sat on the stool, watching the paddle rotate with the fascinated intensity of a cat staring at a fishbowl.
"Hey," Seungmin called out softly.
"Yeah?"
"Look at this."
You turned around from the sink, drying your hands on a towel. Seungmin was leaning over the machine, pointing into the open chute where the ice cream was nearing completion.
"Does it look done to you?" he asked innocently.
You leaned in close to peer over his shoulder into the chute. "Hmm, let me see, it looks like it might need another two minutes to-"
Boop.
You froze.
Seungmin had scooped a small, freezing dollop of vanilla soft-serve directly onto the tip of his finger and booped it right onto the tip of your nose.
He immediately burst into a bright, chaotic laugh, his sharp eyes crinkling into half-moons as he ducked backward to escape retaliation. "A perfect fit!"
"Kim Seungmin!" you gasped, feeling the icy cold cream melting on your nose. "You are six years old!"
"It was a culinary impulse!" he wheezed, laughing so hard he had to hold onto the edge of the island. "You were wide open!"
"Oh, you're dead," you threatened, grabbing a dab of soft-serve on a spoon.
Seungminâs eyes went wide as he backed away toward the living room doorway. "Wait, wait, timeout! Think about the hardwood floors! Think of the cleaning!"
"I don't care about the floors!" you laughed, chasing him around the island.
Seungmin scrambled backward, his long legs nearly tangling, but instead of running away, he suddenly stopped, opening his arms wide in dramatic surrender. "Fine! Do your worst! Strike me down!"
You slowed to a halt in front of him, raising the spoon teasingly. But looking at his goofy, dimpled grin, you couldn't actually bring yourself to throw it. Instead, you reached out with your free hand, grabbing the lapel of his shirt, and leaned in to press a firm kiss right to his lips, deliberately smudging the cold ice cream from your nose directly onto his cheek in the process.
Seungmin blinked, startled by the kiss, before feeling the cold smudge on his face.
He let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, his hands coming up to rest gently on your hips as he pulled you closer, ignoring the mess. "Cheater," he whispered fondly.
"It's called tactical revenge," you countered softly.
Seungmin smiled, leaning down to gently lick the bit of cream off your nose before kissing you again, long and sweet, tasting faintly of fresh strawberries and vanilla.
"Mmm," Seungmin hummed, pulling back just an inch with that familiar, mischievous glint back in his eyes. "Much better than the popsicles."
"The popsicles aren't even frozen yet!"
"Which means," Seungmin grinned, turning you around and gently nudging you toward the couch, "we have two hours to kill while the freezer does all the work."
Heyy sereia, I did see that you closed your questions but i was just wondering if its permanent or not? And if not them for how long? Thank you!! Sorry if I bothered you! đââď¸đŤ
â hi hi! I was going through it but i'm here and ready to go, feel free to check out my new event.
2026 Summer Event
â and asks are now open. check out my updates for more info.
The morning sea breeze was crisp and cool, carrying the salty scent of the tide as the golden sun barely began its climb into the pale blue sky.
"Hold on, Lix, the cooler is slipping!" you called out, trying to balance two folding chairs and a canvas bag over your shoulder while trailing behind Felix.
Felix didn't slow down, his bare feet sinking into the soft, unblemished morning sand with energetic strides. He was carrying the massive beach umbrella over his shoulder like a lance, his blonde hair tossing lightly in the wind. A brilliant, wide smile was practically glued to his face as he looked back at you, his deep brown eyes glittering with excitement.
"Come on, slowpoke! We need to claim the best spot right by the water before everyone else shows up!" he beamed, taking a dramatic, bounding leap over a gentle sand dune.
By the time you caught up to him, Felix had already driven the spiked end of the umbrella into the sand with surprising strength, opening the broad blue shade over a flat patch of beach. He tossed his woven tote onto the sand and immediately dropped to his knees, burying his hands in the cool, untouched sand.
"Look how quiet it is," he murmured happily, looking out over the endless stretch of sparkling water, where gentle waves were lapping against the shore. "It's perfect today."
"It really is," you agreed, setting down the gear and unrolling your oversized towels under the umbrella's shadow. "Which means we're going to keep it perfect by being smart."
You unzipped the front pouch of your tote, pulling out a brand-new tube of high-SPF sunscreen. Felix immediately let out a dramatic, playful groan, flopping backward onto his back in the sand.
"We just got here!" he whined playfully, squinting up at you through long, dark eyelashes. "The sun is barely even hot yet!"
"Which makes it the best time to apply a base layer," you countered sternly, kneeling beside him and squeezing a cool dollop of white lotion onto your fingers. "Hold still."
Felix sighed, but he sat up obediently, tilting his chin up as you gently smoothed the lotion across his cheeks, over the delicate bridge of his freckled nose, and down his neck. He melted under your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your palm, a soft, content hum vibrating in his chest.
"See? That wasn't so bad," you said, squeezing his cheek.
"Fine, fine," Felix chuckled, quickly standing up and shaking his shoulders out like a puppy. "I let you put it on once! Now I'm going in!"
Before you could remind him about re-applying every two hours, he was already dashing toward the water with a high-pitched yell, his bare feet kicking up wet spray as he dove headfirst into the cresting morning waves.
â･°âŠ
"Lix, seriously, come under the umbrella for two minutes," you called out, squinting against the blinding glare of the sun as you smoothed another layer of SPF 50 across your arms. "You've been out there for three hours. You're going to turn into a lobster."
Felix turned back toward your beach setup, water splashing around his knees as he flashed a brilliant, blinding smile. His blonde hair was slicked back, wet from diving into the waves, and his golden skin glinted under the harsh heat.
"I'm totally fine!" he called back, his voice bright and airy over the rushing sound of the surf. He patted his cheek playfully. "My skin loves the sun. Besides, the freckles are blooming!"
"The freckles are gorgeous, Felix, but UV radiation does not care about your aesthetic," you warned, holding up the spray bottle of sunscreen like a weapon. "Just let me spray your shoulders."
"In a bit, promise!" he laughed, waving a hand dismissively before turning right back around to chase another cresting wave into the ocean.
You let out a dramatic sigh, shaking your head as you sank back into your beach chair. Heâs going to regret this so badly later.
â･°âŠ
By five in the afternoon, the sky had shifted into a bruised palette of violet and warm gold, and Felixâs stubborn confidence had completely, utterly collapsed.
Back in your air-conditioned beach rental, Felix was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but loose cotton shorts, looking like a thoroughly defeated puppy. The golden glow he had boasted about earlier was completely gone, replaced by a deep, glowing, fire-engine red across his shoulders, chest, and the bridge of his nose.
"Don't say it," Felix whimpered softly, his voice muffled against his hands as you walked out of the bathroom holding a chilled tub of aloe vera gel.
"I didn't say a word," you replied innocently, though you couldn't resist a small, teasing smirk as you pulled up a chair in front of him. "How are we feeling, Sunshine?"
"Everything is hot," he whined softly, slowly lowering his hands to reveal his flushed face. His bottom lip was stuck out in a deep, pitiful pout, his big brown eyes practically shining with regret. "My back feels like a heat lamp. Even the breeze from the fan stings."
"Well, thatâs what happens when you fight the sun," you cooed softly, your tone shifting from teasing to gentle caretaking as you rubbed a generous blob of cool green gel between your palms. "Alright, lean forward slightly. This is going to be cold."
Felix tensed up in anticipation, bracing himself with his hands on his knees. "Go easy..."
The moment your gel-slicked palms gently touched his burning shoulder blades, a sharp, breathless gasp tore from his throat. His shoulders hiked up to his ears, a tiny, adorable squeak escaping him before the soothing chill of the aloe began to sink into his inflamed skin.
"Shh, easy, I've got you," you murmured softly, using flat, feathery strokes to smooth the gel across his upper back and shoulders.
Slowly, as the cooling sensation took over, the tension in Felix's frame began to melt away. A long, shuddering sigh released from his chest, his head drooping forward until his forehead rested lightly against your sternum, seeking your solid warmth.
"It feels so good," he mumbled into your shirt, his hands reaching up to delicately circle your waist, careful not to press his sunburnt forearms against anything rough. "You were right. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."
"Apology accepted," you giggled softly, pressing a quick, dry kiss to the top of his damp, blonde head. "Though you're stuck on house arrest until this red turns into a tan."
"Does house arrest mean you'll cuddle me and feed me fruit?" Felix asked, tilting his flushed face up just enough to look at you through his long eyelashes, a tiny, mischievous glint returning to his eyes despite his tender skin.
"Only if you promise to let me douse you in sunscreen next time," you countered, gently dabbing a bit of aloe right onto the red tip of his nose.
Felix wrinkled his nose, leaning up to press a sweet, warm kiss to your jaw. "Deal."
series taglist 6/50: @kenia4 @hug4helios @itsraininghyunebuckets @krupskayasfav @honeybunny143 @pixie-felix
When Bang Chan had frantically booked a last-minute, emergency private lesson before boarding a ten-hour flight home to Australia, he had sounded utterly desperate on the phone. âHeâs terrified of water, he panics if his feet leave the floor, and he needs to learn how to float if he falls in. Please, whatever self-rescue method you use for toddlers, just apply it to him.â
You had assumed "he" was a very large, unusually panicked toddler.
Instead, standing by the edge of the sleek, indoor heated apartment pool was Lee Minho.
He was sitting cross-legged on a lawn chair, wrapped tightly in a oversized fluffy towel like a disgruntled burrito, glaring at the crystal-clear water with the exact intensity of a stray cat being threatened with a spray bottle. His dark hair was dry, his arms were crossed over his chest, and his eyes narrowed the second he saw you walk in holding a mesh bag of pool toys.
"You're not a baby," you said, stopping at the edge of the deck.
Minho didn't even blink. "Observant. Did Chan hire you?"
"He hired me," you replied, setting your clipboard down on a side table. "I'm a certified Infant Swimming Resource instructor. I teach children under the age of four how to roll onto their backs, float, and rest if they accidentally fall into deep water."
Minho stared at you in absolute, horrified disbelief. "He sent me a baby swim teacher."
Before you could reply, your phone vibrated violently against your hip. And then again. And again. You pulled it out to check the screen, wincing at the flood of notifications from Seungmin, who had apparently gotten your number from Chan.
Kim Seungmin: did you arrive yet
Kim Seungmin: is the pretty kitty boy in the water
Kim Seungmin: drown him
Kim Seungmin: if he tries to bite you hit him with a noodle
Kim Seungmin: make him do the starfish float. please send videos
You hastily shoved the phone back into your pocket before Minho could read the screen, though he was already watching you with deep suspicion.
"Is someone telling you to drown me?" Minho asked smoothly, tilting his head. "Because if it's Seungmin, I'm going to throw his shoes in the river when he gets back."
"Nobody is drowning anyone," you lied calmly, tossing your mesh bag onto a sunbed. "Look, Chan paid in full upfront, and I have a strict no-refund policy. So whether you're sixteen months old or twenty-six years old, you're getting in this pool, and you're learning how to float on your back."
Minho shuddered, eyeing the water like it contained piranhas. "I don't do deep water. I have a very comfortable relationship with dry land."
"The shallow end is three feet deep, Minho," you pointed out, stepping down the concrete stairs into the warm water. The water rose up to your waist as you turned back to face him, extending a hand. "Come on. Step by step. I promise I won't let you sink."
For a long moment, Minho stayed entirely still, weighing his options. But the sheer embarrassment of refusing a lesson booked by his leader, for infants nonetheless, combined with his stubborn pride, finally won out. Heâs gonna drown Seungmin when he gets the chance. With a heavy, dramatic sigh, he unraveled his towel, revealing a fitted black rashguard and swim trunks, and crept toward the edge of the pool with agonizingly slow steps.
"If I die, my cats will haunt you," he muttered, tentatively dipping a single toe into the water.
"Your cats sound lovely," you coo softly, mirroring the gentle, soothing tone you usually reserved for crying infants. "Good job. Very brave."
Minho glared at you so hard you thought his eyes might bore holes through your skull. "Don't use your baby-talk voice on me."
"Then don't take ten minutes to put your foot in the water."
Grumbling under his breath, Minho slowly lowered himself into the pool, his fingers instantly locking onto the concrete edge with a white-knuckled grip. His shoulders were hiked up to his ears, his chest heaving with shallow, nervous breaths as the water reached his ribs.
"Okay," you said, stepping closer so you were standing directly in front of him. "First rule of ISR self-rescue: when panic sets in, you roll to your back to breathe. You don't thrash."
"I don't thrash," Minho lied, his body as rigid as a wooden board.
"Right. Let's test that." You gently reached out, placing one hand behind his neck and the other under his lower back. "Trust me. Lean your head back into my hand. Look up at the ceiling lights."
Minhoâs entire frame went stiff as a board. "If you drop meâ"
"I have a ninety-nine percent success rate with screaming toddlers, Minho. I am not going to drop a grown man." You gave his lower back a gentle upward nudge. "Head back. Ears in the water. Relax your shoulders."
Minho let out a tiny, high-pitched noise that he would undoubtedly deny making for the rest of his life, but he slowly let his back arch, his dark eyes fixed entirely on your face as his ears dipped below the surface. The quiet hum of the underwater filtration system filled his ears, making his breathing hitch in panic.
Instinctively, his hands reached out, his long fingers clinging desperately to the front of your rashguard, yanking you an inch closer.
"I've got you," you murmured softly, keeping your grip under his neck rock-solid. "You're floating. See? The water is holding you up."
Minho blinked up at you, his pupils slightly blown out. Slowly, as the seconds ticked by and he realized he wasn't sinking to the bottom, the rigid tension in his chest began to ease. His legs drifted upward toward the surface, sprawling out into a perfect, textbook starfish shape.
"Look at that," you smiled down at him, genuinely impressed. "You're a natural. See how easy it is?"
Minho stared up at you, his hands still tightly bunched in the fabric of your shirt over your chest, his expression shifting from blind terror to a quiet, arrogant smugness.
"Of course I'm a natural," he hummed, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet pool room. "I'm Lee Minho. I excel at everything."
"You're currently clinging to my shirt like a koala," you pointed out.
"It's called tactical stability," he countered smoothly, though he didn't make any move to let go. In fact, he seemed entirely comfortable floating there in your arms, letting you support his weight while he lazily kicked his feet. "Are all your lessons this soft?"
"Usually there's more crying and a lot more splashing," you chuckled. "You're doing better than most of my two-year-olds."
"I am much better than a two-year-old," he sniffed, tilting his chin up.
Right on cue, your phone on the poolside table buzzed again with a loud BZZZ.
Minhoâs eyes flicked toward the noise. "If that's Seungmin again, tell him I'm surviving out of pure spite."
"I'll be sure to pass along the message," you smiled, gently guiding him through a slow roll back onto his stomach so he could stand up on his own feet.
Minho splashed slightly as his feet hit the concrete floor, running a wet hand through his dripping dark hair to slick it out of his eyes. With his dark locks plastered flat to his forehead and his soaked rashguard clinging heavily to his frame, he looked remarkably like a thoroughly offended wet cat, dripping, and slightly miserable, yet somehow still managing to radiate an incredible amount of arrogant, feline dignity. He looked around the pool deck, then back at you, a tiny, dimpled smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"So," Minho said, leaning his hip against the edge of the pool with a lazy, cat-like grace. "When is our next lesson? Chan paid for the whole week, right?"
"He paid for three sessions," you replied, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you hated water."
"I hate drowning," Minho corrected softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he took a step closer to you in the water. "Floating with you, however... I think I can get used to."
âIâm not coming to Australia with you.â
He hums dismissively before bundling himself in his towel. âSo weâre done?â
âItâs been 15 minutes, get back in the water.â
series taglist 5/50: @kenia4 @hug4helios @itsraininghyunebuckets @krupskayasfav @honeybunny143
Hi! What are your limits for smut? Iâve been wanting to suggest a request for the events but unsure if youâd be okay with it
hey iâve yet to really get ask that make me super uncomfortable. feel free to send it and iâll judge if i feel up for it.
đŹ 0  đ 0  â¤ď¸ 13 ¡ ASK GUIDELINES đ ¡ last updated: 11/30/2025
BASICS
â I will just delete asks that break guidelines or delete those that
