warnings: vacation house, neighrboors, jeongin is slightly younger
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count: 1.3k
The breeze carries the scent of salt water through the screen door of your rented cottage. It’s only day three of your two-week getaway, and you’ve 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. He’s staying alone at his family's place right across the low wooden property fence.
He’s 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, Jeongin’s 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 it’s 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?"
Jeongin’s 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 Jeongin’s 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."
Jeongin’s 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.
⋆｡°✩
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, you’ve 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 it’s 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.
Jeongin’s 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, Jeongin’s 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 😏 or just having to exist in close proximity of each other with a broken aircon, like, with a side of oblivious mutual pining?)
★ 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: reader and changbin know each other but its not explained.
event masterlist: #SummerStarFalls
word count: 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.
You’re 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, he’s 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 there’s 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 I’m 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, it’s 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 what’s 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. It’s 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.
Changbin’s 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?"
"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 he’s 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. "I’m 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. He’s 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."
⋆｡°✩
"If Cabin Four loses another flag in the mud, I’m 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. "I’ve 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. You’re 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.
Hyunjin’s 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.
⋆｡°✩
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.
⋆｡°✩
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. He’s 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?"
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 💙 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 😭 Just shy and nervous Hannie, THANK YOUUU!! 🫶🫶
★ 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 daughter’s 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.
You lean down slightly to match Hana’s 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, Jisung’s 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."
⋆｡°✩
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 Hana’s 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.
Jisung’s 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 Hana’s 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?"
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, you’ve 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. I’m 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, Seungmin’s 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.
Seungmin’s 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! 🙂↕️
★ 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
★ 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.
⋆｡°✩
"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. He’s going to regret this so badly later.
⋆｡°✩
By five in the afternoon, the sky had shifted into a bruised palette of violet and warm gold, and Felix’s 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, that’s 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. “He’s 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.”
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. He’s 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."
Minho’s entire frame went stiff as a board. "If you drop me—"
"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.
Minho’s 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."
“I’m not coming to Australia with you.“
He hums dismissively before bundling himself in his towel. “So we’re done?“
“It’s been 15 minutes, get back in the water.”
series taglist 5/50: @kenia4 @hug4helios @itsraininghyunebuckets @krupskayasfav @honeybunny143
You’re such a good friend. That is the only thing circling in your mind as you follow your friend into the all-inclusive resort, carrying your luggage into the grand lobby where rooms have been booked for the two of you. You’ve followed her across an entire ocean just so she can visit her long-distance... situationship? Boyfriend? Maybe you should have listened more closely on the plane.
"And he works here?" you ask her, keeping pace as you follow her toward the reception desk.
"Yes! He got us the rooms! Isn't that so nice?"
It's the least he could do after making her fly this far out... You keep that thought strictly to yourself, though.
You reach the front reception desk and watch as your friend instantly throws herself at the blond boy behind the counter. He’s got cute freckles glittering against sun-tanned skin, probably from working out in the heat gleaming down outside, bleached blond hair, and a smile so bright it could probably blind anyone who stares too long. He seems just as excited to see her, though, quickly rounding the desk to wrap his arms around her waist.
Okay... maybe boyfriend.
Just then, someone clears their throat right behind you.
"Felix. You're gonna get us in trouble, mate."
You spin around toward the voice. The man standing in front of you now is significantly more filled out than Felix, more your type, really. He's wearing a vibrant turquoise resort shirt with sleeves that look like they’ve been deliberately cut off to show off thick, muscular arms, and soft, dark curls that tumble messily over his forehead, slightly damp from the tropical humidity.
Okay, so maybe this vacation will do you some good. At least you have eye candy.
The man looks at you, offering a warm, dimpled grin as he easily scoops up your bags. "I'll take these to their room. At least wait till your break, man."
⋆｡°✩
By the next afternoon, you’ve decided this is definitely turning out to be a great vacation.
Perched comfortably on a sunbed, you take in the sun while sitting poolside, an pornstar martini held firmly in hand. You are definitely not googling the pool boy... The pool boy who, as it turns out, goes by Chris. Does this man do literally everything in the resort on his own? Who knows.
All that matters right now is that he's completely shirtless, sweating under the afternoon heat, and his broad abs are glistening as he hauls equipment and cleans up around the edge of the water. You watch in quiet fascination as a single bead of sweat falls from his brow, dipping past his collarbone and tracing a slow path down his stomach.
Wow... He's probably a great hugger... lover.
"Hey? Hey?"
A voice sharply snaps you out of your daydream. You blink, looking up to find Chris standing a few feet from your sunbed, wiping his brow with a hand towel and smiling at you with a certain air of cockiness.
"You alright there?" he asks, his Aussie accent tilting up playfully.
"I'm perfectly fine," you mumble. You can immediately feel the heat blooming across your cheeks, desperately hoping you can pass it off as a sunburn. "I'm just enjoying the amenities."
Chris chuckles, resting a hand on his hip and throwing you a mischievous wink. "I'm a pretty good add-on, no?"
"You'll have to do," you say dismissively, turning back to take a slow sip of your drink, completely missing the slight slump in his broad shoulders as he chuckles nervously and walks away.
⋆｡°✩
Come evening, you find yourself sitting alone at the resort’s outdoor lounge bar, looking like a total loser.
Unsurprisingly, your friend has left you to fend for yourself to "enjoy the resort" while she's off galavanting with Felix, who is now officially the boyfriend, you guess. This is so lame... moreso because you look incredibly pathetic sitting at an empty bar, scrolling mindlessly through reels on your phone without even a drink to hold.
"Hello again."
A deep, smooth voice breaks through the ambient lounge music and snaps you out of your silly pity party. You look up to see the man from earlier stepping behind the bar, the man that seems to be all you can see in this resort. He is now wearing a clean black polo that hugs his broad chest nicely.
"Sorry, I didn't properly introduce myself earlier," he says, leaning over the counter with a warm, genuine smile. "I'm Chris. Felix's friend."
He reaches a hand out across the bar. Grateful for any actual human interaction, you take it, feeling his calloused palm against yours.
You reply, offering a small smile. "Wait... do you work every single job at this place? Front desk, pool maintenance, bartender?"
Chris lets out a rich, throaty laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his dark curls shift. "Feels like it sometimes. I usually cover the evening shifts here when the pool closes up. Speaking of which..." He rests his elbows on the bar, tilting his head with a cheeky glint in his eye. "I noticed you didn't look too impressed by the pool amenities earlier. Figured I should try harder to impress you on the night shift."
Your cheeks warm up again as you remember your response from the afternoon. "Oh, is that right?"
"Definitely," Chris says softly, grabbing a fresh glass and sliding it over. "So, what can I get for my favorite guest to make up for her friend abandoning her?"
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hand as a playful smile pulls at your lips. "Surprise me, Chris."
Chris winks, picking up a cocktail shaker with practiced ease. "Alright, one specialty coming right up. You know, I usually charge extra for custom drinks, but for you, it’s on the house. I guess you could say I’m... mixing business with pleasure."
You roll your eyes, though a laugh sneaks past your lips. "Are all your jokes this terrible?"
"Terrible? I think they’re great" he says completely earnestly, strainers and bottles practically flying through his hands like a showman. He pours a vibrant crimson drink into a chilled glass, garnishing it with a slice of dragonfruit. Sliding it across the marble top to you, he leans his elbows on the counter, dimples deepening. "Drink up. I guarantee it’ll drop your stress levels... though I can't promise it won't raise your heart rate."
"You really don't turn it off, do you?" you ask, taking a slow, appreciative sip. The drink is delicious, sweet, tropical, and carrying a subtle kick. "Okay... I'll admit, this is incredible."
"Told ya," he says softly, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a second too long before he flashes that playful grin again. "I take my job very seriously. Delivering top-tier customer satisfaction is my main priority. Especially when the customer happens to be the prettiest girl in the resort."
"Is that line in the employee handbook?"
"Nah, that one was tailored specifically for you," Chris chuckles, wiping down a glass with a rag. "Though if management asks, I’m just giving you exceptional five-star service."
“Weren’t you just saying Felix was going to get you in trouble this morning?”
He just shrugs, smirk playing on his lips.
As the hours tick by, the lounge bar slowly empties out until it’s just the two of you left under the warm glow of the ambient string lights. Chris continues to pour you drinks, mixing each one with an increasingly ridiculous array of resort-themed puns, claiming he was "pool-ing" your leg, asking if you needed a "vacation from his jokes," and insisting that spending time with you was the "highlight of his resort career."
By the time he wipes down the counter for the last time and flips the 'Closed' sign around, your cheeks hurt from laughing.
"Well, favorite guest," Chris says, stepping out from behind the bar as he rolls down his polo sleeves. "Looks like my shift is officially over."
You check your phone, gasping slightly at the late hour. "Oh wow... I didn't realize how late it got. I should probably get back to my room before my friend remembers I exist."
"Allow me," Chris says, stepping up beside you and offering his arm with a charmingly formal bow. "Escorting lovely guests back to their rooms safely is an unofficial part of the night-shift concierge duty."
You smile, slipping your arm through his as you both step out into the warm tropical night. The walk through the resort paths is quiet, save for the distant sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore and the gentle rustle of palm trees in the warm breeze.
When you finally reach your hotel room door, you turn around, leaning your back lightly against the wood. You tap your keycard against the lock until it clicks green, but you don't push the door open just yet.
"Thanks for keeping me company tonight, Chris," you whisper, looking up at him. "You really turned a lame evening around."
"Anytime," Chris replies softly, stepping in just an inch closer. His broad frame comfortably blocks out the rest of the hallway light, his dark curls slightly messy and his dark eyes searching your face. The playful cockiness from earlier melts away, replaced by something far softer, almost shy. "I meant what I said earlier, you know. You really made my shift tonight."
You linger there, the silence between you stretching thin with unspoken heat. You look at his lips, catching the tiny, expectant hitch in his breath, half-expecting him to lean down and close the distance for a kiss.
Instead, Chris reaches up with a gentle hand, his warm, calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. He steps closer, leaning in slowly, and softly presses his lips right against the middle of your forehead.
The kiss is lingering, warm, and overwhelmingly sweet, sending a sudden flutter straight to your stomach.
"Get some rest, Y/N," he murmurs softly against your skin, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes with a soft, dimpled smile. "I'll see you by the pool tomorrow afternoon, yeah?"
"Yeah," you breathe out, your cheeks blooming red. "See you tomorrow, Chris."
With one last wink, he turns and strolls down the hallway, hands casually tucked into his pockets. You slip inside your room and shut the door behind you, leaning against it with a wide grin as your heart hammers in your chest.
★ hey everyone!! i would say i'm sorry for disappearing but that would be the third time i say that this year TT. Anywhooo. I graduated, moved and started a new job as a preschool teacher so my days have been very long. I've been falling asleep as soon as I got home.
★ BUT!! In honor of STAY WEEK (as if i could even miss it) I'm putting out a quick summer event. My reception will be pretty spotty for a couple days! But that will not stop me from ★ writing so hopefully everything will be out by the end of the week? or maybe I'll do a couple extra pieces.
★ If you're in anyway interest please check out the event post to see when things come out and what i have coming up: 2026 Summer Event
#SummerStarShowers
starting with: resort amenities | chan x reader
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ASKS!!!
★ I've gotten some DMs about asks and just general worry about me (oops my bad). I have three tasks left in my inbox. I've been struggling to write for them, so I thought that I would leave it up to you all in one of them that is most appealing to you.
which one would you like to see most?
edging/petplay sub!minho
anal play/rimming sub!han
chastity/strap-on sub!jeongin
Voting ended onAug 3
★ Regardless, I will be opening my tasks again in hopes it will bring back some of my motivation to create content. Specifically, maybe fake text ideas to get me back into my routine.
The bedroom is warm, dim, the heavy scent of detergent and clean sheets. Your bodies are completely tangled together, Jisung is curled on his side, his back pressed flush against your chest, one of your arms slung over his waist as you breathe in the sweet, familiar scent of his hair.
For a long time, there is nothing but the soft hum of the radiator. But then, Jisung stirs. He gives a quiet, sleepy sigh and tries to slowly, subtly slide out from under your arm, his foot tentatively reaching out of the warm covers.
You tighten your grip slightly, your sleep-heavy arm holding him close. "Where are you going, Hannie?" you mumble against the back of his neck, pressing a soft, dry kiss to his warm skin.
"Bathroom," he murmurs back, his voice thick with sleep. "I have to pee, baby. Let me go."
Instead of letting him slide away, you squeeze your arms a little tighter around his waist, pulling him back until there isn't a breath of space left between you. "No, stay," you coo softly, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. "You're too warm. Don't go."
A playful, teasing warmth blossoms in your chest, a sudden desire to push his boundaries. You drape one of your legs heavily over his thighs, pinning his legs together and locking him in place with the lazy, crushing weight of your body.
"Did I say you could get up, Hannie?" you whisper, your voice dropping into a soft, commanding coo.
"Please," Jisung whimpers, his voice cracking as he tries to subtly shift his weight away from you again, testing the heavy, solid boundaries of your hold. "Please, let me get up. Just... just five minutes. I really can't hold it if you're laying on me."
"Then you’ll just have to try your hardest," you murmur, leaning forward to press a slow, lingering kiss to his warm, bare shoulder, inhaling the comforting scent of his skin.
Jisung lets out a weak, shuddering breath, his head dropping back against your chest as he realizes he isn't going anywhere. The heavy drape of your thigh over his legs keeps him completely pinned, and every small, desperate tilt of his hips to find a comfortable angle only presses his lower stomach harder against your firm thighs.
"See? Isn't this nice?" you coo in his ear, your hand slowly sliding down his chest, tracing the soft line of his ribs. "Just stay right here. Let me distract you."
You press a series of slow, lazy kisses along the curve of his neck, your lips lingering over his pulse point. He tries to focus on the sweet, warm affection, but his body is fighting a losing battle. Your hand continues its downward path, slipping past the waistband of his soft boxers to rest flat against the tight, rounded heat of his lower abdomen.
He gasps, his entire body jerking slightly at the sudden contact. "Ah- baby, don't, please... it's too much," he whines, his fingers blindly reaching back to claw at your hip, his knuckles turning white as he tries to pull your hand away.
"Shh, easy, Hannie. Just relax for me," you whisper, pressing a firm, deliberate bit of pressure with your palm right against his full bladder.
A high-pitched, desperate sob escapes his throat, his legs locked tight beneath yours as he squirm helplessly. But the sweet friction of your hand and the overwhelming intimacy of being held so close starts to betray him. You feel the sudden, thick heat of him stirring against your thigh, his body growing warm and heavy with arousal.
You let out a soft, delighted hum against his skin, sliding your hand lower until your fingers wrap around his growing length.
"Look at you," you tease gently, your voice dropping into a sweet, degrading coo. "Getting so pretty and hard for me when you're this desperate. But you know what happens when you get horny, don't you, baby? It'll just make it hurt worse."
True to your words, you begin to stroke him, your hand sliding up and down his slick, sensitive length with a slow, agonizing rhythm. Jisung lets out a fractured whine, his head thrashing against your shoulder. The swelling heat of his erection only tightens the muscles in his lower belly, pinching his bladder and making the urge to cum and empty himself flare.
"Ah! Baby, stop, please, I'm gonna- I'm gonna leak," he cries out, his hips twitching forward in a desperate attempt to escape the sweet torment of your palm.
"Let it leak, Hannie," you whisper back, reaching over to the bedside table with your free hand to grab the bottle of lube. The quiet click of the cap makes his shoulders bunch with instant anticipation.
You squeeze a generous amount of the cool gel onto your fingers, the chill making him shiver violently as you press them against his puckered, trembling entrance. "You're already so tight. Let's see how much more you can take."
You slide your first finger inside him.
Jisung screams into the quiet room as his body clamps down around you. He is so incredibly sensitive from the pressure of his bladder, and the sudden intrusion of your finger stretches him to his absolute limit. Before he can even catch his breath, you add a second finger, slick with lube, parting him easily and beginning to search.
You find his prostate almost instantly, already highly sensitive. But because his bladder is so desperately full, his prostate is pushed right against it. The moment your fingers hook upward, pressing firmly against that sweet spot, you are simultaneously crushing his bladder from the inside.
"Oh god! No, no, please!" Jisung sobs, his entire body going rigid. His legs lock together beneath yours as a wave of pure physical panic washes over him. The sensation is blinding, hitting his prostate sends a jolt of raw pleasure straight to his core, but it instantly triggers the overwhelming, explosive urge to pee. He is caught in a vice grip of sheer sensory overload. "I can't- I'm gonna wet the bed, I'm gonna pee on you, please let me go-"
"Do it," you command, your voice dropping into a low, fiercely encouraging purr as you drive your fingers deeper, curling them ruthlessly against his prostate. "Make a mess for me, Hannie. I want to see you completely ruin these sheets."
"N-no, I can't, it's dirty-"
"It's perfect," you coo, picking up the pace, your fingers fucking him with a relentless, shallow friction that hits his sweet spot over and over. Your other hand wraps back around his hard, leaking length, stroking him in perfect sync with your fingers. "Show me how dirty you can be, baby. Let it go, let me see you make a mess."
With a desperate, choked cry, his erection twitches violently in your grip. Thick, white ropes of cum paint his own lower stomach and splash against your fingers as his body is wracked by the intense, blinding spasms of his release. But the sheer force of the climax completely drains him. The clenching, involuntary contractions of his orgasm act as the final blow to his physical endurance, his muscles give out and with it his ability to hold back.
"Look at you, Hannie... oh, sweet boy," you coo softly, keeping your fingers buried deep inside him to feel every lingering, trembling pulse of his surrender. "You came so pretty for me."
A heavy, soaking wave of scalding heat spills out between his thighs, instantly drenching his boxers, your hand, and the soft sheets beneath you. The sudden emptying of his bladder, his internal walls clenching in desperate spasms around your fingers as the pressure finally dissolves.
"You couldn't even help it, could you? Your poor little body is just so weak and needy."
"Look at how wet you made us," you tease gently, pressing your lips to his sweat-slicked ear. "So helpless. You're just a sweet, dirty little boy who can't even hold his pee when he gets fucked, hm?"
Jisung whimpers, a weak, embarrassed sound as he tries to hide his face in his hands. "Baby, please... I'm sorry... "
You slowly ease your slick fingers out of him, letting out a hum of absolute satisfaction. You wrap both of your arms tightly around his waist, pulling his trembling, damp body flush against your chest and burying your face in the crook of his neck.
"Don't be sorry, sweet boy," you whisper reassuringly, rubbing soothing, flat circles against his lower back. "We can wash the sheets. You did so well for me. Just breathe. I've got you."
He lets out a long, shaky sigh, slowly turning his head to press his nose against your neck, his arms wrapping weakly around your shoulder as he finally sinks into the absolute, warm safety of your embrace.
"We do need to get up to change the sheets though."
