((ugly noises))

The first thing you saw when Chaewon turned off the main road was a wooden sign nailed between two posts at the edge of the trees.

CAMP SKZ

Strength. Kindness. Zeal.

You stared at it through the windshield, your iced coffee sweating between your knees.

“Screaming. Kid. Zoo,” you said.

Chaewon laughed hard enough that the car swerved slightly on the gravel. “We haven’t even parked yet, bitch.”

“I’m preparing myself.”

“You’re going to love it.”

The road curved beneath a canopy of pine trees before opening into a clearing. Cabins sat in neat rows along dirt paths, dark green with cream trim and little wooden signs hanging near the steps. The main lodge stood at the center of camp with a wraparound porch and a bell mounted beside the door. Farther down, the lake flashed blue through the trees, bright under the afternoon sun.

Counselors were already everywhere. Some carried bags. Some dragged coolers. Someone near the sports field was fighting with a volleyball net that had wrapped itself around his leg. Music played faintly from somewhere near the mess hall, interrupted by laughter, shouts, and the slam of car doors.

Chaewon parked beside Cabin Three and turned off the engine.

You sat there for a second.

She nudged your arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Just accepting that I voluntarily gave up six weeks of air conditioning.”

“You also gained practical experience for your social work degree.”

“I could’ve done that indoors.”

“You would’ve hated indoors.”

You opened your door and stepped into warm air that smelled like pine, dust, sunscreen, and lake water. You grabbed your backpack and reached for your duffel just as someone jogged past the parking area carrying two stacked coolers against his chest. He moved quickly over the gravel, shoulders broad beneath a fitted gray shirt, arms locked around the cooler handles like they weighed nothing. His black shorts clung to thick thighs, and his hair was damp at the edges from the heat.

A voice called from the lodge porch. “Changbin! Chan said those go by the mess hall!”

The guy turned his head. “I know. I’m saving them from Jisung.”

“I didn’t do anything!” another voice yelled from inside.

“Yet.”

“No one respects me here!”

The guy, Changbin, laughed and kept walking.

You realized you were still holding your duffel strap without lifting it.

Chaewon followed your gaze. “Oh,” she said.

You pulled the bag from the trunk. “What?”

“You’re studying social work, not anatomy, girlfriend.”

You shoved your backpack higher on your shoulder and started toward the lodge. “Keep talking and I’ll request a different roommate cabin.”

“You can’t. I already claimed you.”

“Unfortunately.”

Inside the lodge, the main room was full of folding chairs, clipboards, name tags, and counselors trying to look normal while silently judging where to sit. You followed Chaewon to two chairs near the middle. A woman with a neat ponytail and a staff binder stood at the front, speaking to a guy who nodded with his whole attention.

“That’s Director Hong,” Chaewon whispered. “She runs the camp.”

A few minutes later, Director Hong clapped her hands once, and the room quieted.

“Welcome to Camp SKZ,” she said. “For those of you returning, welcome back. For those of you joining us for the first time, we’re glad you’re here. The next three days are staff training. Campers arrive on day four, which means you have three days to learn the grounds, your roles, the emergency procedures, and each other.”

Introductions came next.

Chan went first. He was the head counselor, assigned to leadership games, campfire circles, evening reflections, and night rounds. He had a calm, friendly way of speaking that made the room settle around him.

Minho handled nature trails and animal care, introducing himself plainly before telling everyone not to touch anything with teeth, venom, suspicious coloring, or an attitude.

Jisung ran games, skits, and cabin competitions, which explained why he had already made three people laugh before orientation started.

Hyunjin handled arts, mural painting, and talent show costumes, speaking with enough passion about glitter supervision that even Director Hong looked amused.

Felix ran the baking club and kindness crew, warm and bright as he explained that campers would make simple treats and write notes for each other throughout the week.

Seungmin handled music, morning announcements, and talent show rehearsals with a polite smile that made it clear he would absolutely make children rehearse until they got the words right.

Jeongin led beginner archery and team games, relaxed and confident with a whistle already hanging around his neck.

Then Changbin stood.

You made a point of looking at his face, but it didn’t help much.

“I’m Changbin,” he said, one hand lifting in a small wave. “I’m studying kinesiology. I’ll be running athletics, strength challenges, canoe safety drills, and helping with any activity where someone might decide they’re stronger than common sense.”

Jisung leaned back in his chair with a frown. “You can just say my name.”

“I was being polite.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I was trying.”

The female counselors followed.

Bestie Chaewon handled drama games and cabin bonding, which fit her perfectly because she could make forced group activities feel almost normal.

Yunjin led waterfront activities and swim safety, sunglasses perched on her head, whistle ready, voice strong enough to cut across a lake.

Minji ran crafts and friendship bracelets, sweet until she began discussing bead organization with startling seriousness.

Hanni handled dance and movement games, smiling as she promised to make even reluctant campers move by the end of the summer.

Nari took quiet hour, the reading corner, and puzzles, her voice soft but steady.

Jisoo led gardening and outdoor science, already excited about the herb beds and the little greenhouse behind the mess hall.

Kazuha handled yoga, stretching, and morning warm-ups by the lake.

When it was your turn, you stood with your clipboard against your chest. “I’m studying social work,” you said. “I’ll be helping with camper care, cabin check-ins, conflict resolution, and general emotional damage control.”

Chan nodded solemnly. “We’ll need that.”

“Especially from the counselors,” Seungmin said, glancing at Jisiung.

Jisung pointed at him. “You all are obsessed with me.”

“I didn’t name you.”

“You looked right at me.”

You sat back down, and Chaewon leaned toward you.

“Good intro,” she whispered.

“Thanks. I blacked out.”

After orientation, Director Hong walked everyone through the rules. No campers alone near the lake. No hiking without two counselors. No food in cabins unless you wanted bugs, raccoons, or a lecture from Minho. No swimming without Yunjin present. No campfires without Chan or Director Hong. No using the emergency golf cart unless it was a real emergency.

Jisung raised his hand. “What counts as a real emergency?”

Director Hong looked at him.

He lowered his hand. “I know.”

Staff week moved quickly after that.

You unpacked in Cabin Three with Chaewon, fought over the bed by the window, lost because Chaewon had already put her pillow there. You toured the mess hall, infirmary, craft cabin, waterfront, sports field, hiking trails, storage sheds, and the little patch of garden beds behind the kitchen. By the end of the first day, your shoes were dusty, your shirt clung to your back, and you had already learned that camp maps looked cute until you were the person trying to follow them.

You also learned that Changbin was very helpful.

He carried coolers. He moved tables. He fixed a wobbly bench outside the mess hall because he had noticed it during the tour. He helped Minji lift craft bins onto a high shelf. He took a stack of folded camp shirts from Felix before Felix could insist he had them. He moved through camp like his body was always ready to be useful.

On the second day, you rotated through everyone’s activity areas so you could understand where campers might need support. Baking club with Felix smelled like cinnamon and sugar even before anything went in the oven. Arts with Hyunjin involved brush washing rules, canvas labeling, and a warning that creative freedom did not include painting on cabin walls again. Quiet hour with Nari was peaceful enough that you considered hiding there until August.

Then you reached athletics.

Changbin stood under the shade of a large oak with his clipboard tucked under one arm. He had changed into black shorts and a sleeveless staff shirt, which felt deeply unnecessary and also unavoidable. Sweat had dampened the hair at the nape of his neck. His shoulders looked broad enough to be unfair.

You walked up beside him and forced yourself to look at the equipment.

“Social work has brought me to sandbags,” you said.

He laughed. “You sound thrilled.”

“I’m open-minded.”

“You look suspicious.”

“I can be both.”

He walked you through each station. Relay races for teamwork. Obstacle courses for confidence. Strength challenges adjusted by age. Balance games for campers who hated running but still wanted to feel included. He spoke clearly, not rushing, and every explanation came back to safety and encouragement.

“You really thought this out,” you said.

He shrugged. “Kids remember when adults make them feel weak.”

You looked at him. He kept his eyes on the field. “I don’t want to be that guy.”

The answer stayed with you longer than you expected.

Later that afternoon, during canoe safety training, Changbin demonstrated emergency carries with Jisung, who seemed far too excited to be rescued.

“Lift me like I matter,” Jisung said, standing with his arms out.

Changbin sighed. “You matter less every time you speak.”

“Cruel.”

Changbin still lifted him easily, shifting Jisung over his shoulder while the group clapped and laughed.

You watched the movement of Changbin’s arms, the stability in his stance, the way he carried Jisung like it cost him almost nothing. Changbin set him down and looked across the group.

“Anyone else want to try being carried?”

His eyes landed on you. You felt heat creep up your neck.

“No,” you said immediately.

He grinned. “I didn’t say your name.”

“You looked at me.”

“You can hear smiles and read looks now?”

“With enough suspicion, yes.”

He crossed his arms, which did not help the arm situation. “Scared?”

That was unfair.

You pushed your clipboard into Chaewon’s chest and stepped forward. “Fine.”

Changbin crouched in front of you. “Piggyback is easiest.”

“Don’t drop me.”

He looked back over his shoulder. “You think I’m going to drop you?”

“I just met you yesterday.”

He laughed, and you climbed onto his back before you could overthink it. His hands hooked securely under your thighs, warm through your shorts. Your arms settled around his shoulders. He stood slowly, and your stomach dropped for reasons that had nothing to do with height.

He was solid beneath you. Steady. “You good?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“You sound tense.”

“You’re holding my thighs in front of coworkers.”

His laugh came out low. “That would do it.”

He carried you across the grass with no visible effort, taking even steps while everyone watched. You tried to keep your face neutral. It was difficult when his shoulders moved beneath your arms and his hands stayed firm under your legs.

“Still good?” he asked.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m responsible.”

“You’re showing off.”

“Also that.”

You laughed, and his grip tightened for half a second before he lowered you carefully back to the grass. When your feet touched down, he didn’t immediately move away. Neither did you.

Chaewon coughed behind you. “So educational.”

You turned and snatched your clipboard from her hands.

By the time campers arrived the next morning, the staff had fallen into a loose rhythm. 

You also learned that Changbin could not say no when someone asked for help. That became obvious before lunch on the first camper day.

He carried luggage. Then more luggage. Then a stack of bunk mattresses someone wanted moved. Then water jugs. Then a box of sports jerseys. Then he tried to help Jisoo carry soil to the garden beds and almost walked straight into Director Hong.

“Changbin,” she said.

He froze with a bag of soil against his chest. “Yes?”

“Have you eaten?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. She raised her eyebrows.

You walked over and took the clipboard tucked under his arm. “I’ll finish check-ins for athletics. Go eat.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sweating through your shirt and you just tried to put gardening soil in the sports shed.”

He looked down at the bag.

Jisoo gently took it from him. “This one’s mine.”

Changbin rubbed the back of his neck. “Right.”

You pointed toward the mess hall. “Food.”

He smiled, sheepish. “You’re kind of scary.”

“I’m practicing for my future career.”

He leaned closer as he passed. “It’s working.”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

The campers turned Camp SKZ into exactly what you had expected and nothing like you had imagined.

They arrived shy, loud, tearful, excited, sticky, sunburned, already missing home, already making friends, already losing water bottles. By the end of the first day, you had learned that a seven-year-old could cry over the wrong bunk with full-body devastation, a nine-year-old could ask forty-three questions about snakes without breathing, and a twelve-year-old could clock adult tension with terrifying accuracy.

Her name was Aria. She was in Cabin Five, wore friendship bracelets up both arms, and had the steady gaze of someone who missed nothing.

She found you on the second day while you were helping pass out orange slices after relay races.

“Do you like Counselor Changbin?”

You dropped an orange slice. “What?”

Aria looked over at Changbin, who was crouched by the water cooler helping a younger camper tie his shoe. “Because he likes you.”

You crouched to pick up the orange. “You should eat more fruit.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re very direct.”

“My mom says that.”

“She’s right.”

Aria took an orange slice from the bowl and narrowed her eyes. “He gets smiley when you walk over.”

“I think he’s just friendly, Aria.”

“No, Counselor Felix is friendly. Counselor Changbin is smiley.”

She walked away before you could recover. Across the field, Changbin looked up and caught your eye and smiled while waving.

Damn it.

The first two weeks moved in heat, noise, and routine.

You spent most days moving wherever you were needed. You helped Milo, a quiet camper who hated being away from home, find a book in Nari’s reading corner. You sat with Theo after he scraped his knee and insisted he could see bone. You mediated a fight between two girls who both wanted to be “the moon” in Hyunjin’s talent show backdrop. And you helped Felix talk a younger camper through the devastation of spilling flour everywhere.

Changbin’s athletics area quickly became one of the busiest parts of camp. Kids liked him because he made everything feel possible. He gave them choices. He let them try again. He celebrated effort without making it sound fake.

He was also extremely competitive.

You learned this during the first staff game night, when Jisung suggested charades and Changbin treated it like an Olympic event.

“No, no, no,” he said, leaning over the table as Chan pulled a slip from the bowl. “We need categories. We need a system.”

“It’s charades,” you said.

“It's a competition.”

“It’s people pretending to be lawn mowers.”

“And we should win by being the best lawn mowers.”

“You almost made Felix cry because he guessed pancake instead of waffle.”

Changbin turned to Felix. “I apologized.”

Felix smiled gently. “You did.”

You and Changbin kept ending up together after that. Sometimes it was staff scheduling. Sometimes it was Chaewon’s interference. Sometimes it was the campers, who started treating you like a matched set after Color War planning began. Sometimes it was just you finding him across the mess hall without meaning to, or him appearing beside you with an extra water bottle because you had forgotten yours again.

He was kind in ways that didn’t ask for attention.

His body was easy to notice. Everyone noticed it. The arms, the shoulders, the thighs, the way his staff shirt pulled across his chest when he lifted something heavy without thinking.

But the rest of him was harder to ignore.

By week three, Color War began.

Director Hong announced it at breakfast, and the mess hall exploded. Campers cheered, counselors groaned, Jisung stood on a bench until Chan told him to get down, and Seungmin immediately demanded rules in writing so he could find loopholes.

The teams were divided after lunch. Chan and Minji led Green. Yunjin and Felix led Blue. Minho and Nari led Purple. Hyunjin and Hanni led Yellow. Seungmin and Jisoo led Red.

You and Changbin got Orange.

Jisung and Jeongin were in charge of scorekeeping, which everyone was okay with.

“Why don’t I get a team?” Jisung demanded.

“Because last year you taught your team psychological warfare,” Chan said.

“It worked.”

“A camper cried because you told him Blue had eyes everywhere.”

“That was unrelated.”

“It was very related,” Jeongin said, pressing his lips together.

Orange team met under the shade of a pine tree after breakfast. You had twelve campers, including Milo, Theo, Aria, and two sisters who immediately asked if they could be co-captains.

Changbin clapped his hands once. “Okay. Team name ideas.”

“Orange Crushers,” Theo said.

“Fire Tigers,” one of the sisters offered.

“Cheese,” Milo said.

Everyone looked at him.

He shrugged. “Orange cheese.”

Changbin nodded seriously. “Strong option.”

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing.

Changbin crouched in front of the group. “What about Fire Foxes?”

Milo raised his hand slowly. “Can foxes be scared?”

“Sure,” you said. “Brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared.”

Milo nodded. “Then yes.”

So orange became the Fire Foxes.

Color War lasted three days and nearly ended several friendships.

There were relay races, canoe races, trivia, tug-of-war, obstacle courses, banner painting, skit battles, water balloon tosses, and one very serious marshmallow tower competition. Changbin treated every event like the championship match of his life, but he was never harsh with the kids. He got loud, encouraging, and ridiculous. He let Theo paint orange stripes across his cheeks, and carried Milo on his shoulders during the chant competition when Milo got too nervous to stand in front.

You tried to pretend it didn’t affect you.

The tug-of-war was the worst though.

Orange faced Blue in the final round. Yunjin stood on the opposite side with Felix and their team, looking far too confident. Changbin positioned the Fire Foxes along the rope, checking their hands and feet.

“Lean back,” he told them. “Use your legs. Listen to each other. Don’t yank early.”

Theo bounced in place. “Can we yell?”

“Absolutely.”

You stood beside Changbin at the back of the line. “You’re more excited than they are.”

“I love tug-of-war.”

“I can tell.”

“We’re going to win.”

“You know they’re children, right?”

“Our children.”

You looked at him sharply.

He didn’t seem to realize what he had said until a second later. His ears turned red.

You smiled slowly. “Our children?”

“Team children.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You made it weird.”

Jeongin blew the whistle, and the rope snapped tight.

The Fire Foxes screamed immediately, some pulling in sync, some just making noise. Changbin planted his feet behind the last camper and shouted encouragement over their heads.

“Lean back! Good! Good, Milo, keep going! Theo, feet down! There you go!”

You shouted with him, laughing when Felix’s team began chanting “Blue! Blue! Blue!” across the line.

“Orange!” Changbin yelled.

“Orange!” the kids answered.

The flag in the center wavered. For a moment, Blue pulled ahead. Then Milo, face red with effort, yelled, “Fire Foxes unite!” The entire Orange team screamed and pulled.

The flag crossed the line. Orange won.

The kids lost their minds. Theo threw himself at Changbin’s waist. Aria grabbed your hand and jumped up and down. Milo smiled so widely it made your chest hurt.

Changbin looked at you over the chaos, face bright with sweat and orange face paint. “We won,” he said.

You laughed. “We did.”

He held up his hand. You high-fived him, but he caught your fingers for half a second before letting go. It was quick—probably nothing. But your heart treated it like something.

Week four was when everyone started to wear down.

The first burst of summer excitement had softened into exhaustion. Campers were homesick again in smaller, quieter ways. Counselors snapped at each other more easily. The heat pressed over the camp every afternoon until even Jisung ran out of energy.

Changbin began overdoing it again.

You saw it before anyone else did. He stayed late to fix the shed door. He covered Jeongin’s team games when Jeongin got a headache. He carried supplies to the waterfront. He helped Chan with night rounds. He ran athletics all morning, then joined canoe drills because Yunjin needed another adult.

Then the accident happened.

Minho led a nature hike with Cabin Four and Cabin Five, and you joined because Milo had been anxious that morning and asked if you were coming. Changbin came because the trail dipped near the creek and Director Hong wanted another counselor there. Jisung came because he claimed hikes needed a morale boost, which Minho argued against until Chan said it might help keep the campers entertained.

It was warm but not miserable under the trees. The campers moved in uneven clusters, stopping to look at mushrooms, interesting rocks, and one beetle that caused all the girls to scream. Jisoo identified plants along the way while Minho reminded everyone not to touch anything without asking.

Milo walked beside you near the back. “You think there are bears?” he asked.

“No.”

“You said that fast.”

“Because I feel confident.”

“What if there’s one bear?”

“Then Changbin will ask it to join tug-of-war.”

Milo looked ahead at Changbin, who was helping Theo cross a muddy patch. “He would win.”

“Probably.”

You heard Changbin laugh ahead of you, like he had caught part of it.

The trail narrowed after the creek. Minho led the group down a slope where roots crossed the dirt in thick lines. He warned everyone to go slowly. And for once, everyone listened.

Almost everyone.

Theo slipped first. His sneaker slid on loose dirt, and he grabbed at the closest thing to him, which happened to be your arm. You caught him before he fell fully, but the sudden pull knocked your weight sideways. Your foot landed wrong against a root, and pain shot through your ankle hard enough to make your vision flash.

You sat down fast, gripping Theo’s shoulder to keep him upright.

Changbin was there in seconds. “I’ve got him,” he said, steadying Theo.

Theo’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!”

You forced yourself to breathe through the pain. “Hey, look at me. You’re okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re hurt!”

“Yeah, but I’m not mad. Accidents happen.”

Minho crouched by your foot, careful as he checked the ankle. His face stayed calm, but his jaw tightened slightly. “Can you stand?” he asked.

You tried.Pain flared immediately.

“Nope,” you said, sitting back down. “Absolutely not.”

Jisung hovered behind him with wide eyes. “Do we need the emergency golf cart?”

Minho looked at the narrow trail. Jisung looked too. “Right,” he said. “No golf cart.”

Changbin crouched in front of you. “I’ll carry you.”

You looked at him. “It’s downhill.”

“I know.”

“That makes it harder.”

“I know.”

“You’re tired.”

His expression changed, just a little. “I can do it,” he said.

“Bin.”

The campers had gone quiet, all watching.

Changbin lowered his voice. “Let me help you.”

Your throat tightened at the softness of it.

You sighed and then reluctantly nodded.

He turned and crouched. You climbed onto his back carefully, trying not to jostle your ankle. His hands slid under your thighs, secure and warm. He stood slowly, testing your weight before taking the first step.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m conscious.”

“That’s one thing.”

“My pride is dead.”

“We’ll hold a service.”

You laughed despite the pain, forehead nearly brushing the back of his shoulder.

Minho led the group slowly. Jisung walked with the campers, distracting them with a story about the time he claimed to have been saved by a herd of deer.

Changbin moved carefully down the trail. Every step was controlled. You could feel the effort in his body, the way his back shifted beneath your chest, the way his breath deepened as the path dipped and turned. He warned you before uneven patches and tightened his grip when the ground got loose.

“You still okay?” he asked after a few minutes.

“You’re asking a lot of questions again.”

“You’re injured on my back. I’m allowed extra questions.”

“You love extra questions.”

He laughed, breathless this time. “Maybe.”

You rested your cheek near his shoulder and stopped teasing.

By the time you reached the infirmary, your ankle was swollen, Theo was crying again, Milo had handed you a crushed granola bar from his pocket, and Changbin’s shirt was damp with sweat.

Nurse Park checked your ankle and declared it a mild sprain. Ice, rest, elevation, no hiking, and limited activity for a few days.

Theo stood by the doorway, face miserable. You waved him over and he came slowly.

“I really am sorry,” he said.

“I know,” you said. “And I really am okay.”

“You’re not going to leave camp?”

“No.”

His shoulders relaxed.

Changbin stood near the foot of the cot, arms crossed, eyes still on your ankle.

You looked at him. “You okay?”

His gaze flicked up. He blinked. “Me?”

“You carried me down half a trail.”

“I’m fine.”

You tilted your head.

He sighed. “I’m sweaty and I want water.”

“See? Honesty. Growth.”

He smiled.

After that, the camp became unbearable because everyone had heard how Changbin carried you out of the woods.

Everyone.

By dinner, Jisung had already told three dramatic versions of the story. In one, Changbin had sprinted through the trees with you in his arms. In another, he had fought off a raccoon. In the third, he had lifted a fallen tree.

“There was no raccoon,” you said, sitting at the staff table with your ankle propped on an extra chair.

Jisung ignored you. “The raccoon had a knife.”

Minho set his tray down. “There was no racoon.”

“You weren’t looking.”

“I was leading the hike.”

“Exactly. Your back was turned. Raccoon opportunity.”

Changbin sat across from you, still looking tired, still looking pleased every time someone mentioned the carry even though he tried to hide it.

But underneath the jokes, something had changed.

Changbin stayed close. He walked you to meals. He carried your activity binder even when you told him not to. He sat with you during quieter parts of the day when your ankle had to stay elevated. He was careful not to hover in a way that made you feel helpless, but he noticed every wince, every shift, every time you tried to stand too quickly.

The final week came too fast.

Your ankle healed. The talent show took over the lodge. Hyunjin became intense about costumes, Hanni ran dance rehearsals until the campers begged for water breaks, Seungmin somehow got an entire group of ten-year-olds to sing on pitch, and Jisung hosted with enough chaotic confidence that everyone worried until it actually worked. Theo forgot his line during rehearsal, and Changbin crouched near the edge of the stage, gently telling him to say what he meant instead of worrying about perfect words.

On the final performance night, Theo did exactly that.

“Camp is scary at first,” he said, voice shaking into the microphone. “But then it gets less scary because people help you.”

Half the staff cried, Jisung and Felix being the loudest.

The next day, families began arriving after breakfast. Campers who had spent six weeks claiming they were ready to go home suddenly clung to counselors like they were being sent across the ocean. Parents collected luggage, crafts, damp towels, missing socks, and stories their children told too loudly.

Milo found you near the cabins with his backpack on and his eyes wet.

“You’re leaving too?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” you said.

He nodded, looking down. You crouched carefully in front of him. “You did really well this summer.”

“I cried a lot.”

“But you also tried a lot.”

He thought about that. Then he pulled something from his backpack and handed it to you. It was a folded piece of paper, soft at the edges from being carried around.

You opened it after he hugged you before running off to find his parents. It was a drawing of you, Changbin, Milo, and a fox standing under a tree. Above it, in uneven letters, he had written:

CAMP WAS THE BEST!

You folded the paper again and pressed it against your chest.

After the families left, the camp felt strange.

The staff gathered in the mess hall for one last dinner, though no one was as loud as usual. People looked tired and emotional, picking at pasta, trading stories, pretending the end of camp wasn’t sitting right there beside them.

Later, as the sun started lowering behind the trees, Changbin found you outside Cabin Three.

He sat beside you, knees touching yours. You watched the empty field. The tire stacks were put away. The banners had been taken down. The volleyball net sagged slightly in the middle.

After a while, Changbin said, “Do you want to get out of here for a bit?”

You turned to him.

“There’s a place,” he said. “Past the ridge. Smaller lake. Quiet. Minho showed me during staff week.”

“You’re inviting me back into the woods.”

“I promise not to let you fall.”

“You said that like someone with a hero complex.”

“I have a mild hero complex.”

“It’s not mild and you know it.”

He smiled. “Come with me anyway.”

You should have said no. There was packing to do. Cabins to sweep. Forms to finish. A duffel bag on your bunk, still half-empty because you kept pretending tomorrow was not happening.

But the camp was too quiet, and Changbin was looking at you like the summer was not finished with either of you yet.

“Fine,” you said. “But if I sprain anything else, I’m billing you.”

“I accept the terms and conditions.”

The trail to the hidden lake was narrower than the others, tucked behind the older cabins and past a low ridge where the trees grew closer together. Changbin walked beside you, slowing when the ground got uneven even though your ankle had healed.

You noticed. He noticed you noticing.

“I’m not hovering,” he said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

You smiled. “Maybe.”

The farther you walked, the quieter the camp became behind you. Then the trail dipped, and opened suddenly. The lake sat between the trees, smaller than the main one and completely still near the shore. The water caught the late sunlight in warm strips. A narrow wooden dock stretched out from the bank, weathered and uneven, the planks glowing from the heat of the day.

You walked to the end and looked out. “Damn,” you said quietly.

Changbin stood beside you. “Yeah.”

“You hid this all summer?”

“I didn’t hide it.”

“You didn’t mention it.”

“I was waiting.”

“For what?”

He looked at you. “For the right time.”

You turned back toward the water because it was safer than looking at him. “That was smooth.”

“I can be smooth.”

A breeze crossed the lake, moving over your skin. The sun was lower now, gold touching his face and shoulders. He looked tired from the summer, hair a little messy, shirt wrinkled, small scratches on his forearms from camp work. He also looked calm in a way you had not seen often. No campers to watch. No equipment to carry. No schedule to chase.

Just him. Just you.

Changbin stepped closer. “I wanted to kiss you after Color War,” he said suddenly.

Your pulse jumped. You looked at him, stunned. “After tug-of-war?”

“Yeah.”

“When you said our children?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I was hoping you forgot that.”

“Not a chance.”

“I wanted to kiss you then,” he said, opening his eyes again. “And after the campfire. And pretty much every minute since I met you.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s a lot of almost kissing.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours first, asking without words. You let him take it. “I didn’t want to mess up camp,” he said. “Or make things awkward. Or make you feel like you had to let me down gently and then still eat breakfast across from me all summer.”

You smiled despite yourself. “That would’ve been horrible.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re very considerate.”

His thumb moved over your knuckles. You looked down at your joined hands, then back at him. “For the record, I wanted you to kiss me too.”

His expression changed slowly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

You pretended to think. “ Since staff week.”

He stared at you. “Staff week?”

“You carried coolers.”

“That’s all it took?”

You shrugged. “You had arms.”

He laughed, surprised and bright.

And then you tugged him closer by the hand. His smile faded as he leaned in.

The first kiss was softer than you expected.

Careful. Warm. Slow enough that you felt the restraint in it. His hand came up to your cheek, thumb settling near your jaw, and your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. 

You pulled him closer, and the kiss changed. His other hand found your waist. Yours slid up to his shoulder, then the back of his neck, damp curls brushing your fingers. He made a low sound against your mouth, and every almost from the past six weeks pressed into the space between you.

When you broke apart, his forehead rested against yours. “Fuck,” he whispered.

You laughed softly, breathless. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I’m trying to be normal.”

“How’s that going?”

“Bad.”

His hand tightened at your waist, and your stomach dipped.

The lake moved quietly beside the dock. You looked toward it and Changbin followed your gaze.

“No,” you said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.”

“I was thinking the water looks nice.”

“You were thinking skinny dipping.”

His mouth twitched. “I can think two things.”

You stared at him for a second. Then you stepped back and pulled your shirt over your head.

Changbin froze.

You dropped the shirt onto the dock. “Are you coming or not?”

He blinked once. “I’m coming alright.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. You brought me to a secret lake at sunset after six weeks of almost kissing.”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“That is, unfortunately, attractive.”

He laughed and pulled his own shirt over his head. You tried not to stare, but let’s be real—that was impossible.

The summer had shown you enough of him to be dangerous. Sleeveless shirts. Swim days. Athletics demonstrations. His arms around coolers, ropes, paddles, sandbags. But this was different. Bare chest, strong shoulders, hard abdomen, water-bright light touching his skin. He noticed your eyes move over him, and the pleased look on his face made you want to shove him into the lake.

“Yeah?”

“You have been visually aggressive all summer, sir.”

“Visually aggressive?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not a real phrase.”

“It is now.”

You unbuttoned your shorts before you lost your nerve, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them. Changbin’s eyes dropped, then lifted quickly back to your face like he was trying to be respectful and failing in real time.

You smiled. “Yeah?”

“I’m responding.”

“Cute.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me cute right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying very hard not to embarrass myself.”

You stepped to the edge of the dock in your bra and underwear. “Try harder.”

Then you jumped.

The water was colder than you expected, closing over your head in a rush that shocked the heat right out of your skin. You came up gasping, pushing hair out of your face as Changbin laughed from the dock.

“That was brave,” he called.

“That was stupid. Get in.”

He jumped in beside you, sending up a splash that hit your face.

“Asshole,” you said, wiping water from your eyes.

He surfaced close, grinning. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No.”

The water settles around you, cool against your skin. You both swim for a while reliving the summer and moving through the lake as the sun lowered toward the trees. It felt unreal after weeks of noise and heat and responsibility.

By the time you climbed back onto the dock, both of you were soaked and breathless, your skin prickling in the evening air. The wooden planks were still warm from the sun. You sat near the edge, water dripping from your hair, and watched Changbin pull himself up after you.

He looked at you like he had run out of reasons to wait, pushing you down gently.

Your back met the dock a moment later, his body over yours, one hand braced beside your head. He kissed you deep, slow, his weight careful but present. Your legs parted for him without thinking, and he settled between them with a quiet groan.

The world narrowed to warm wood beneath you, cool lake water on your skin, and Changbin’s mouth moving over yours like he had been waiting all summer.

His fingers brushed your wet hair away from your face. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough.

You looked up at him, at the damp curls falling over his forehead, at the restraint in his jaw, at the way his chest moved with every breath.

You pulled him down again. “Don’t stop.”

Changbin’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your soaked panties, and he didn’t ask—not with words. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and searching in the fading golden light, and you lifted your hips in answer.

“There you go,” he murmured, dragging the wet cotton down your thighs. The fabric fought him a little, clinging to your skin, and he laughed under his breath. “These are really on there. You trying to keep them, or…?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “Shut up and take them off, Bin.”

“Bossy.” He grinned, that crooked, infuriating grin you’ve been watching all summer across campfires and mess hall tables. “I like it.”

Your panties came free with a wet, heavy sound when he tossed them aside. You were bare now, your cunt exposed to the evening air, and the vulnerability of it made your stomach flip. But Changbin didn’t dive in. He sat back on his heels, his own boxer briefs dark with lake water and pulled down just enough to free the thick, flushed length of his cock. His hand moved on it absentmindedly—a slow, lazy stroke from base to tip—while he just looked at you.

“What?” you asked, and your voice came out a little thin.

“Nothing.” His thumb circled the head, smearing the slickness gathering there. “Just thinking about how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Spread out on this dock. All summer I’ve been fucking losing my mind.”

Your laugh was breathy and a little nervous. “You hid it well.”

“Did I?” His grip tightened on himself, a quick, rough pump that made his abs tense. “Because I was jacking off in the staff showers every night thinking about your mouth. So maybe I didn’t hide it that well.”

The confession landed in your gut like a hot stone. You felt your cunt clench around nothing, and Changbin noticed. His eyes dropped to the wet gleam between your thighs, and his tongue swept across his bottom lip.

“I need to taste you,” he said. “I’ve been needing to taste you since the first week of camp.” He had already lowered himself onto his stomach, the dock creaking under his weight. His shoulders pushed your thighs apart, and the heat of his breath ghosted over your cunt. “I’m done being patient.”

His tongue found you in one long, flat stroke from your entrance to your clit.

Your back arched off the wood. A sound punched out of you—half moan, half gasp—and your hand flew down to grip his hair, still damp from the lake, soft and thick between your fingers.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Oh, fuck.”

Changbin hummed against your cunt, and the vibration ricocheted through your whole body. His tongue circled your clit in a slow, deliberate figure-eight, and then he sucked—hard enough to make your thighs snap toward his ears.

He just laughed. “So sensitive,” he said, pulling back just enough to speak. His lips were glossy with you. “I’ve barely started.”

“Then fucking start.”

His eyebrow lifted. “What did I just say about being bossy?”

But he did start. He buried his face between your legs, his tongue pushing inside you, curling and stroking, and his nose pressing against your clit with every forward movement. He wasn’t neat about it. He wasn’t delicate. He ate your pussy like he was trying to climb inside you, and the wet, obscene sounds of it—the lapping, the sucking, the groan he made when you tugged his hair—echoed across the empty lake.

“You taste so fucking good,” he said, the words muffled against your flesh. “Better than I imagined. And I imagined a lot.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn't. All you could do was feel: the slick heat of his mouth, the persistent pressure on your clit, the way his cheeks brushed your inner thighs with every shift of his jaw. Your hips started to move, rocking against his face, and he let you. He groaned and opened his mouth wider, tongue flattening so you could grind against it.

“Yeah,” he panted, pulling back for air. “Use my face. Fuck, that’s hot. That’s so fucking hot.”

His hand moved on his cock again, faster now. You could hear it—the wet slap of skin on skin—and when you lifted your head to look, the sight nearly undid you. Changbin was kneeling between your legs, one hand wrapped around his thick, leaking cock, the other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. His eyes were fixed on your cunt.

“Do you know what you look like right now?” he asked, and his voice wrecked. “All spread open and dripping. Your clit all fucking swollen. I can see it begging for me.”

“Then stop talking and—”

He didn’t let you finish. His mouth closed over your clit and his fingers pushed inside you—two of them, curving up, finding the spot that made your vision go white.

The sound that came out of you was inhuman.

“That’s it,” Changbin said, fucking you with his fingers now, slow and deep. “That’s the spot, isn’t it? Right there? Your pussy is clenching so hard around my fingers. You’re so fucking tight.”

“Bin—”

“I can feel it. I can feel how close you are. Don’t hold back. Don’t you fucking dare hold back.”

You weren't holding back. You were falling apart. The pressure built low in your belly, different from anything you’d felt before—heavier, more insistent. It wasn’t the familiar climb toward orgasm. It was something new, something that almost scared you.

Changbin’s mouth was relentless on your clit. His fingers pumped faster, crooking on every thrust, and his other hand had abandoned his cock now—both hands on you, spreading you open, holding you in place.

“I want you to come,” he said against your cunt. “I want you to come so hard you forget your own name. I want to feel it. I want to taste it. Give it to me.”

The pressure crested. Your whole body locked up. Your thighs clamped around his head. A scream tore out of your throat—loud enough to scatter birds from the trees on the far shore—and then you were gushing. Liquid sprayed from your cunt, soaking Changbin’s face, his chest, the dock beneath you. He didn’t pull away. He groaned, low and satisfied, and kept his mouth on you through the whole thing, drinking you down as you squirt all over him.

“Holy fuck,” you gasped, when you could finally breathe again. Your legs were shaking. Your whole body was shaking. “What the—what was—?”

Changbin sat back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was dripping. His hair plastered to his forehead. He looked absolutely wrecked, and absolutely delighted.

“You just squirted,” he said, like he was telling you the weather. “All over my face. All over this dock.”

Heat flooded your cheeks. You clapped a hand over your face. “Oh my God.”

“Don’t do that.” He pulled your hand away, and pinned it to the dock beside your head. “Don’t hide from me. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

“I didn’t—I’ve never—”

“I know.” His grin was sharp and filthy. “I could tell. You got so tight around my fingers right before, and then you made this sound—this little whimper, like you didn’t know what was happening to your body—and then you fucking soaked me. Look at me. I’m covered in you.”

You looked. His chest shined with your wetness. His face was still slick with it. And his cock—God, his cock—was so hard it looked painful, bobbing against his stomach, the tip an angry, desperate red.

“I’m embarrassed,” you admitted, and your voice cracked on the word.

Changbin’s expression softened for half a second. Then it sharpened again, that predatory edge returning. “Being embarrassed makes it even hotter. You know that? Knowing I’m the first person to make you do that. Knowing I made your body do something you didn’t know it could do.”

He’s stroked himself again, faster now, his grip tight. The slick sound of it filled the space between you.

“I could come just from watching you,” he said. “Just looking at your pussy right now. It’s so wet. So pink and puffy and wet. I want to fuck you so bad I can’t think straight.”

“Then fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. “Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Changbin. I need your cock. I’ve been needing it all summer.”

Something snapped in him. He moved fast—faster than you expected—gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest. You folded in half beneath him, and the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance, hot and blunt and perfect.

“Slow,” he said, but he said it to himself, not to you. “I’m gonna go slow. I’m gonna be gentle. I’m gonna—”

The head started pushing in.

You both gasped.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Fuck, you’re—you’re so—I can’t—”

“Bin.”

“Just—just give me a second.” He was trembling. His arms were shaking where they bracketed your shoulders, and his forehead dropped to yours. “You’re so fucking tight around me. If I move, I’m gonna come.”

You clenched around him deliberately.

His eyes flew open. “Did you just—?”

“Maybe.” You clenched again. “What are you going to do about it?”

The sound he made was somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

He pushed deeper—slowly, so slowly—and you felt every inch of him. The stretch was intense, almost too much, and you grabbed at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He hissed, but didn't stop.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Yeah. Yeah, just—keep going.”

“I’ve got you.” He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He bottomed out, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You were so full, so impossibly full, and you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the heat of him, the pulse of his heartbeat in his cock.

“You feel that?” he asked. “You feel how deep I am?”

“Yes.”

“I’m all the way inside you. Every inch. You’re taking every fucking inch of me.”

He pulled back, just a little, and thrust in again. A slow, rolling grind that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. Your eyes fluttered shut. Your mouth fell open.

“Look at me,” he said. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

You forced your eyes open. His face was inches from yours, sweat-damp and intense, his eyes burning. He was beautiful like this—all that compact muscle coiled with the effort of holding back, his jaw tight, his lips parted.

“There you are,” he murmured. “There’s my girl.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest. You reached up and pulled his mouth to yours.

The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, more teeth and tongue than anything else. He fucked into you slowly while he kissed you, and the rhythm of it built something hot and tight in your belly again. His tongue slid against yours. His cock slid against your walls. Everything was wet and hot and perfect.

“You’re so deep,” you gasped against his mouth. “You’re so fucking deep, Bin.”

“Yeah? You like that?”

“I love it. I love your cock. I love how it fills me up.”

He groaned, his hips jerking harder. “Keep talking. Don’t stop talking.”

“I’ve wanted this so bad. All summer. Watching you lead, watching you swim, watching you laugh with the kids. I wanted you to bend me over the arts and crafts table and fuck me stupid.”

“The arts and crafts table?” He laughed, breathless. “That’s where you wanted it?”

“I wanted it everywhere. The mess hall. The bunk beds. The fucking canoe shed.”

“The canoe shed? That place smells like mildew.”

“I don’t care.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, and his pace picked up. The slow, rolling thrusts became something more urgent. His hips snapped against you, and the dock creaked beneath you both, and the sound of your bodies meeting—wet and rhythmic—filled the evening air.

“I’m not gonna last,” he said, the words ragged. “Not like this. Not with you talking like that.”

“Then don’t last. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

But he did stop. He pulled out—completely—and you made a sound of protest that he silenced with a hand on your stomach.

“Turn over,” he said.

“What?”

“Turn over. I want to see you from behind. I want to watch your ass while I fuck you.”

You scrambled to obey, rolling onto your stomach. The dock was hard against your knees, but you didn’t care. Changbin’s hands found your hips, gripped them tight, and he pulled you up onto all fours.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you. Look at this perfect ass. I’m gonna die. I’m literally going to die.”

“Please don’t die before you finish fucking me.”

“Fair point.”

He pushed back in, and the angle was different like this—deeper, somehow, hitting a spot that made your arms give out. Your chest dropped to the dock, your ass still in the air, and Changbin groaned.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s it. Face down, ass up. Take my fucking cock.”

He wasn’t holding back anymore. His hips slammed against you, hard and fast, and the sound of it—the wet slap of skin on skin, the creak of the dock, his low grunts and your high whimpers—was obscene. It was the filthiest thing you’d ever heard.

“You hear that?” he asked, his voice was wrecked. “You hear how wet your pussy is? How good you’re taking me?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only moan.

“That’s what I thought. You can’t even talk, can you? Too full of my cock to say a word.”

He reached around you, his fingers finding your clit, and rubbed tight circles against it. You bucked back against him. Your thighs shaking. Your whole body shaking.

“You gonna come again? You gonna come on my cock this time?”

“Yes,” you managed. “Yes, yes, fuck, yes —”

“Do it. Come on my cock. I want to feel it. I want to feel your pussy squeeze every drop out of me.”

It hit you like a wave. A real one, not the overwrought kind—violent, sudden, stealing your breath. Your cunt clamped down on his cock, and you screamed, and Changbin shouted something—your name, maybe, or just a string of curses—and his rhythm broke.

He pulled out fast, hand flying over his cock, and you felt the first hot splash of his cum against your spine. He groaned, stroking himself through it, painting your back and ass. It went on and on, pulse after pulse, until you were dripping with him.

The dock creaked as he collapsed beside you, both of you panting, both of you covered in sweat and lake water and each other.

“Holy shit,” he said finally.

You turned your head to look at him. “Yeah.”

“You squirted.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“I’m going to mention it again. Multiple times. Probably for the rest of my life.” He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. “This is the best last day of camp ever.”

You laughed, and the sound was hoarse and broken and happy.

Changbin grinned before it began to fade, just a little, replaced by something more serious. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I meant what I said. About wanting you all summer.” He reached out and tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “This wasn’t just...I mean, it was hot. It was really fucking hot. But it wasn’t just that. For me.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest. “It wasn’t just that for me, either.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned in then and kissed you softer than before.

Afterward, the sky darkened to a deep blue over the trees.

You lay on the dock wrapped in Changbin’s open shirt, your own clothes scattered nearby and your hair still damp against your neck. The wood beneath you had lost some of its warmth, but Changbin was close enough that you didn’t feel cold. His arm rested under your head, and his fingers moved slowly over your side in quiet, absent patterns.

The walk back to camp was darker and slower. Changbin held your hand the whole way, partly because the trail was uneven, partly because neither of you wanted to stop touching. Crickets hummed in the grass, and the camp lights came into view through the trees one by one.

Tomorrow would be full of packing, sweeping cabins, loading cars, promising to text, and trying not to cry in the parking lot. Tomorrow would pull everyone back toward normal life. University. Jobs. Apartments. Schedules that did not include campfire songs and sunscreen checks.

But tonight, Camp SKZ was still yours.

Changbin stopped outside your cabin, turning to face you.

The porch light washed over his face, softening the tired lines around his eyes. His hair was still damp, and his shirt was wrinkled. He looked like summer had left its fingerprints all over him.

He leaned down, and you met him halfway. The kiss was gentle. Slow. Not careful because he was unsure, but careful because it mattered. His hand settled at your waist, warm through your shirt, and you held onto him for a few seconds longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his smile was small and private. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

“You better. We have cabins to clean.”

“Romantic.”

“Welcome to real life.”

He kissed you once more, quick and sweet. “I still want it.”

Your chest warmed. “Me too.”

You went inside after that, closing the cabin door quietly behind you. And outside, the camp settled deeper into the night.

𑣲 EVENT TAGLIST:

※ Bang Chan x Reader (f): Single Parents AU, RomCom, Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances, Mutual Pining, S2L, Tooth-rotting fluff a.k.a wholesomeness galore

※ Reader discretion advised — Themes of loss, grief, and separation; teenage/parental struggles, will cause too much kicking feet and screaming, explicit sexual content.

CONTENT ➥ Polaroid I: The Day You Moved In ➥ Polaroid II: The Day I Babysat for You ➥ Polaroid III: The Day of the Caderpocalypse

「© 2024-25, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚗

Super chill Saturday morning in progress on the quiet, pine-lined street. Sun shining, birds chirping, squirrels squirreling… 

And a tortoiseshell cat stalking them by the kitchen window like a sharpshooter.

“They know you don’t intend to be friends with them, Missha,” you picked up the sassmeister and gently spanked her fluffy thighs, guiding her towards the very heated Call of Whatever game taking place in the living room. “Look, there are many eligible bachelors for you over there!”

The super chill part was a massive understatement, of course. When Ryder started high school, you had invited his friends over for breakfast one time, and three years later, Saturday Pancakes was still going strong with the exact same set of kids. No, sir, you were NOT going to acknowledge these rascals were about to be of age in the eyes of the law very soon. They were teething just yesterday, when the FUCK did they even start applying to colleges?

Somebody make time stop ASAP.

“Oh, shit!”

“RYDER, LANGUAGE!!!” you growled, pointing the detergent-covered spatula at him. 

When you had ‘the talk’ with your son, your first words were basically threatening to disown him if he got a girl pregnant at least before college graduation. While your parents did not approve of the emotional blackmail with their snotty tsks, you were hellbent on not having some girl live through the same fate you did. No one was ever ready for the responsibility of a child at such a young age. What responsibility when you’re a child yourself? Of course it wouldn’t work out if you got married just because you gave birth out of wedlock. 

Nevertheless, life had a way of making up for what seemed like the biggest fuckups at the time. You’d been blessed with a wonderful boy who might have matured a bit too early. Although it used to give you the worst case of cuteness aggression when he said stuff like “I’m the man of the house,” he was still eight when he first said that. Ten years later, however, nothing much had changed, really. Still a menace. Still so protective of you. Still your reason to live. On his way to becoming a wonderful man.

“NOPE, no becoming a man till you’re 30, brat, sit your ass down,” you mumbled under your breath, scrubbing the spatula harder like it offended your entire lineage. 

You would have loved to share your heart with one more person, of course, but you were getting a bit sick of your blind dates’ reaction to your motherhood. As if you were telling them you had a litter of eight. It wasn’t like you had a vast selection to pick from in a town as small as this, either. Anyone would eventually give up, and so did you, not that you were dying to trap someone in the first place. Your nuclear family of two finally expanded when you adopted Missha five years ago, and that was pretty much your life now. Uneventful, definitely chaotic, but at least happy. 

Genuinely happy.

You heard some commotion outside, growing even louder than the one in your living room. So much so that even the boys hit pause on their excessively stressful digital warfare and crowded the kitchen window.

“What the hell is happening over there?” you lowered your head to get a better view. 

There was a moving van parked by the house across the street, which had been on the market since January. A man was standing at the front door, talking to a small crowd made up of the entire single population of the neighborhood as well as a few moms. They were trampling each other to welcome this extremely good-looking new resident, and he was politely nodding at each of them, though slightly scared.

“Noooice, Khaleesi, you finally got your match,” Trevor smirked once he spotted the man among the trees. “We approve.”

“Who the fu—?”

You shot an instant death glare at Ryder, your eyes psychotically widened.

“Fine, I’ll keep it PG,” he sighed. “Who the heck are you to approve, my guy?”

“What? She’s our mom, too.” 

“I think the goshdarn not!”

“It doesn’t have the intended effect when you have the kids mode on, FYI,” Trevor patted Ryder’s back, then turned to you with the most up-to-no-good smile he could flash. “Go say hi.”

“EW, NO!” you immediately protested.

“Why the goshdarn not?!”

Because that would be desperate? Even you were judging the crowd about to swoon at that doorstep; who the fuck knows what people would think of you if they saw you among those groupies. Christ!

“It’s not something you can understand unless you’re a divorced woman, little man,” you pointed your Saturday regulars in the direction of their duffel bags. “Go get your butts ready. I’ll drive you to practice.”

Twelfth time that day…

Chris was going to have to replace the front door at this rate because people have been knocking on it all day to introduce themselves. With no regard to decorum, at that. Yes, it was hell degrees outside, and his personal uniforms consisted of tank tops and shorts, too. Nevertheless, with kids living under this roof, it was hard not to get uncomfortable when complete strangers showed up at his doorstep in nothing but swimwear, so revealing that they might as well have been naked. 

“Daddy, it’s Singing Giraffe time!” 

Two girls clung to their father’s legs as he was in the middle of getting acquainted with yet another neighbor.

“Oh, you have… kids,” the blonde who looked like the latest Playboy centerfold grimaced. “Is their mother home? I’d like to say hi.”

Smooth, Chris internally scoffed while the twins glared at the woman. Before he could produce an answer, however…

“Why? Are you going to ask us to go away because we don’t have a mom?” Harper hijacked the mic.

“Girls!”

“Oh, it’s alright! Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” the clearly early-twenty-something laughed way too loudly. “So you’re… single, huh?”

“Daddy, what does single mean?” Piper looked up with gigantic eyes.

“It means go upstairs and get ready for bed,” Chris led his girls inside. “Say bye to Lisa.”

“Bye, Lisa,” they deadpanned in unison, and Piper added with no sense of self-control.

“Your boobies are out, Lisa. That’s not very nice.”

Chris was absolutely mortified, and if the ground had any plans of splitting open and swallowing him whole, right now would be ideal. 

“I am… so sorry,” he bowed his head in embarrassment. 

“It’s fine. Really,” Lisa giggled, subtly touching Chris’s arm. “I’ll see you around then, Daddy.”

Yup, Chris might have been guilty of enjoying a certain address back in his glory days, but ever since the day he learned he was going to be a father, it was now just… Well, it was no longer something he wanted to hear from girls barely above the legal drinking age. He mustered his very last drop of energy to drag himself to the twins’ room, but before he could take two steps, he heard yet another knock behind him.

“I swear to fucking GOD I’m getting a ‘Closed’ sign tomorrow,” he marched back to the front door and harshly opened it. “WHAT?!”

“Chill, man. I was just going to ask if you’ve seen a cat around,” a boy in his late teens stared him down, then gestured something like a rock in the air. “A small tortie, about this big, yellow collar around her neck?”

“Oh, I’m… so sorry, I thought you were… No, I haven’t seen any cats around, unfortunately,” he shook his head. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

“Thanks,” the boy bolted as quickly as he had appeared. 

Instead of going inside, Chris heaved a deep sigh and walked out, plopping on the porch swing for a moment’s peace. What a day. Yes, he had chosen this town himself because he’d heard great things about its people, but he certainly wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome. He couldn’t even get to unpacking, let alone finishing it.

The pine-lined street was finally calm. He was trying his best to resist the lullaby of crickets chirping and waves crashing in the distance, but when the warm night breeze started rocking him to sleep, he just gave in. Just five minutes. But he needed to put the girls to bed first. But five minutes. No, he needed to get up right now. But five—

“OW!”

A phantom punch in his stomach made him cough his lungs out. Ready to knock down some raccoon that manifested out of thin air, Chris immediately assumed a fighting stance. Well, at least he tried to, but that sleep paralysis demon weight wouldn’t budge an inch, sinking its claws deeper into his favorite sleeveless shirt to stay in place. 

A cat.

“Oh, wow, you’re beautiful,” he scratched under her chin, “even though you scared the bejesus out of me just now.”

When he turned the collar charm around, he saw a phone number engraved in there with a little message that said ‘I’m lost. Please call.’

“Smart. Maybe I should get one of these for my girls, too, yeah?” he giggled to himself and sat up. 

The cat got super comfortable in her new location, kneaded some biscuits, and curled up into a croissant to sleep. Fondly smiling at the little furball, Chris spent quite a while petting her. He couldn’t help but wonder if this marble cake was sent by some divine power because it seemed to have some freakish healing powers. The more she happily purred in his lap, the more he felt this block of lead weighing him down for years on end… 

…shrinking.

“HARPER! DADDY GOT A CAT!”

The scream of severe cuteness aggression startled the new couple on the swing to death, effectively concluding the peace-and-quiet time. As the cat tried to hide away inside his shirt, Chris very carefully pulled her out, earning himself a few scratches as souvenir tattoos.

“Shh, easy,” he pacified his girls. “She’s not ours, baby. Be very, very gentle, okay?”

As the twins were petting the cat like they were entrusted with delicate china, Chris reached for his phone and dialed the number on the collar, admittedly a bit reluctantly.

“Hi, is this the human of… Missha?”

The window between returning from your carpool duties and Ryder coming home like a miniature Hulk was all the time you had to tend to work affairs on Saturdays. The stampede danger was finally eliminated with the crowd dispersed. You could hear yourself think again.

“Oh my god, like, you’re so cuuute! Is your dad home?”

Why would you jinx yourself like that? Just why?

You looked through the kitchen window to spot the source of the shriek that disturbed Missha. Someone was calling on your new neighbor again, but instead of him, there were twin girls at the door, looking visibly annoyed.

“Yes,” the one in sun-patterned pajamas answered, though with the exasperation of a woman who had been through five divorces.

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

“But why not?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“My name is Lisa. Now can I see your dad?”

“Girl, you just do not get father-infant daughter relationships at all, do you?” you contorted your face in cringe, sipping on the coffee you had started brewing before leaving home.

“You don’t even know our names!” the one in the moon-patterned pajamas yelled this time.

“Okay, what are your names then?”

“Daddy says plastic is harmful. You can’t come in.”

SLAM!

“Jesus christ, is that what he teaches these girls?!” you tsked to yourself, then settled down at the kitchen table to get to work. 

You thought you had a solid few hours to complete the day’s checklist, but alas… You could recall blinking at some point, then all of a sudden, it was nighttime. If it weren’t for Ryder’s majestic entrance, you weren’t even going to realize it was dinner time already.

“Hey, Mom! I’m hitting the shower. I’ll be right down,” he stormed in and immediately dashed towards the stairs.

“Ryder, door first,” you called out to him to close it, your eyes still on the screen.

But no clank was heard. 

“Ryder!”

Not a peep. 

“I swear to fucking god. Every time,” you grunted to yourself and closed the door on His Majesty’s behalf. Considering the immense pain right below your right shoulder blade, it was probably time you called it a day anyway. 

Per the commandments of your household, the cuntress had to have her meals first. You refilled Missha’s bowl, which she could normally hear from ten miles away and teleport herself to the kitchen, but the entire house was completely still. You scoured each room, looked inside all the cracks large enough for her to pour herself through, but…

“RYDER, GET DOWN HERE! MISSHA’S GONE!!!”

You took the left side of the street while he took the right, but the door-to-door search yielded no results. Damn this girl’s camouflage coat that made her blend into any backdrop. You started to freak out even harder when you returned home empty-handed. It was dark out; who knows what the hell kind of wild animals were out there. The street wasn’t super well-lit, either. What if a passing car didn’t have its headlights on?

“What’s the protocol for lost cats? DO WE CALL THE POLICE?!” you started frantically pacing in the kitchen. 

“First, we calm down,” Ryder held your shoulders and sat you down on a chair. “I’ll go grab my computer, and we’ll look into this, okay? I promise we’ll find her.”

You were taking deep breaths, which, apparently, was a total bullshit recommendation being perpetuated. It had zero impact on calming you down. Your hands were still trembling, and you were nervously shaking your legs under the table. 

You almost knocked over the entire table when you lunged at your phone to pick up the call from an unknown number.

“Hi, is this the human of… Missha?”

“YES!” you screamed, already grabbing your car keys and heading out. “Could you give me your address, please? I’ll be right over.”

“Uh… I was going to offer to bring her home, but sure,” the man on the phone answered. “1546 Ocean Drive.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, then slowly turned around to look at your door with 1545 written next to it. When you narrowed your eyes and stared into the darkness, the only thing you could make out was some white shirt of sorts thanks to the streetlights ricocheting off of it. 

“Are you the dude on the porch right now?” 

He turned to his left to spot someone on the phone and eventually saw you standing by the front door.

“Oh, hi!” he waved at you as a makeshift location pin. “Yes, I w—”

You immediately hung up and booked it towards the white shirt guy. The approaching stomps were growing so loud that even Missha’s fur was standing on end out of fear. 

“THERE YOU ARE!” you hugged the crap out of the poor animal. “You scared the bejesus out of me. Don’t run away like that again!” 

The man looked at you with something akin to surprise in his eyes, then flashed a bright smile. 

“I am so sorry. She gets really feisty when she’s stressed. I hope she didn’t scratch too deep,” you addressed your lord and savior at long last.

“Feisty?” he cocked a brow. “She’s been sleeping on my lap the whole time.” 

“Girl, did you have something against me all along?” you gasped at Missha’s betrayal. 

“Can’t we please keep her, Daddy?”

Only then did you realize that you weren’t alone on that porch. The twins, and frankly the best roastmasters you’d ever seen, were pulling on their father’s hands, with eyes so huge that you had half a mind to offer joint custody to these girls.

“They’ve been begging for a cat forever,” he scratched his nape.

“But she’s my little girl,” you kneeled at their eye level. “You would be very sad if someone took away your daddy, too, right?”

They nodded in unison, still pouting.

“What are your names?” you asked with a smile. 

They looked at their father for permission. When they received the approving nod, they graced you with an answer.

“I’m Piper.”

“I’m Harper.” 

“Nice to meet you, Piper and Harper. I’m Missha’s mom,” you shook each of their tiny hands.

“Are you a teacher, too, Missha’s mom?”

“I own a bookstore,” you replied. “Do you like books?”

“Daddy reads Singing Giraffe to us every night.”

“Daddy might need an update on his repertoire,” you looked him up and down, then pointed at your house. “Tell you what. If your dad gives permission, would you like to be Missha’s new friends?”

“PLEASE DADDY, CAN WE?!”

“Only if I can be her friend, too. I mean, we already got a situationship going on, so…” the man set forth his sole condition. “But NOT if you don’t go to bed right now!” 

“Good night, Missha’s mom!” the twins bolted inside right away.

You waved them goodbye, unable to control your endeared laughter. They reminded you of the day you learned Ryder’s gender all of a sudden. If the doctor said ‘It’s a girl’ then, would this be your reality by any chance?

“Welcome to the neighborhood, by the way,” you extended your hand to the man still staring at you with a smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t drop by earlier. Your front porch was like a meet and greet.”

“Chris,” he warmly shook your hand. “I apologize for the scene. The neighborhood is a little… friendly.”

“What an interesting spelling for DILF hunter,” you uttered with a completely straight face. Even though he burst out laughing, he seemed a bit flustered.

“Is it… that obvious that I’m single?” 

“Hmm,” you squinted and started checking out the surroundings. “Sedan in the driveway, zero plants on the front porch, your wife would have killed you already if she saw the porch this muddy, so yeah, you’re basically glowing in the dark.”

“Wow, you’re good,” he let out a heartfelt laugh.

That sound reached your ears, and you felt something flutter in your chest. Something familiar, but not quite. Something you seemed to have long forgotten.

Still on the tip of your tongue somehow.

“Good night, Chris,” you excused yourself. “Thank you once again.”

“Anytime,” he nodded, smile still intact.

Once your door closed in the distance, Chris finally went inside to take the stage for his daily Singing Giraffe performance. Unlike any other evening, however, the girls seemed to be extra alert this time, whispering stuff to each other in absolute glee.

“What are you giggling about so much?” he asked as he took his seat by the bed.

“Daddy?” Harper clung to his arm.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Missha has a mom.”

“Yes, she does.”

“Can’t she be our mom, too?”

Of course, she didn’t mean any ill by that; they were just tiny, pure souls. They had no way of knowing how crushing it was for one parent to hear this when they were trying so hard to be both. 

Knowing full well they were never going to be a match for the missing half. 

“I don’t think she’d want that, baby,” he caressed his girl’s curls that were identical to his. “Shall we continue Singing Giraffe now?”

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to read Singing Giraffe to twins with Chris.

「© 2023-26, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I asked you who your Comfortopher is, and you said you wanted the DILF dude, so here he is. Time to make your metaphorical ovaries explode.

Welcome to Summerland!🏝️

Summerland is part of an emotive project Mari and I started alllll the way back during Rockstar era, and it's finally seeing the light of day. It's the "happiness" installment of the collection, so I'm legally obligated to put a cw here:

CAUTION: DISGUSTING AMOUNTS OF TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF AHEAD!

Bring out your polaroid cameras and enjoy this wholesome journey that has no other purpose than giving you the warm and fuzzies. Let me know what you think! ^^

P.S: Missha is my goddaughter, and she is as unamused irl as she is in the story.

📋 Permanent taglist (Form here if you wish to join): @straywrds @lee-omens-fics @skzfelixlove @surreallyst-void @krayzieestay @tirena1 @idiotmaterial @hwangjoanna @vvamp3 @tsunderelino @stayjinnie @dessianna1 @palindrome969 @unimportantweirdo @vixensss @homelessmeowmeow @birdiebangsworld @biribarabiribbaem @compersian @wobblewobble822 @pixie-felix @deaddovesandstraykids @wanna-plan-world-domination @ariaaleelynn @littlestcheese @91dreams91things @whatifthisaintreal @akindaflora @ebnabi @hyunjinsicecream @lvnanazz @pinkflowerdream @binniewalrus @agalitzine

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚗

Super chill Saturday morning in progress on the quiet, pine-lined street. Sun shining, birds chirping, squirrels squirreling… 

And a tortoiseshell cat stalking them by the kitchen window like a sharpshooter.

“They know you don’t intend to be friends with them, Missha,” you picked up the sassmeister and gently spanked her fluffy thighs, guiding her towards the very heated Call of Whatever game taking place in the living room. “Look, there are many eligible bachelors for you over there!”

The super chill part was a massive understatement, of course. When Ryder started high school, you had invited his friends over for breakfast one time, and three years later, Saturday Pancakes was still going strong with the exact same set of kids. No, sir, you were NOT going to acknowledge these rascals were about to be of age in the eyes of the law very soon. They were teething just yesterday, when the FUCK did they even start applying to colleges?

Somebody make time stop ASAP.

“Oh, shit!”

“RYDER, LANGUAGE!!!” you growled, pointing the detergent-covered spatula at him. 

When you had ‘the talk’ with your son, your first words were basically threatening to disown him if he got a girl pregnant at least before college graduation. While your parents did not approve of the emotional blackmail with their snotty tsks, you were hellbent on not having some girl live through the same fate you did. No one was ever ready for the responsibility of a child at such a young age. What responsibility when you’re a child yourself? Of course it wouldn’t work out if you got married just because you gave birth out of wedlock. 

Nevertheless, life had a way of making up for what seemed like the biggest fuckups at the time. You’d been blessed with a wonderful boy who might have matured a bit too early. Although it used to give you the worst case of cuteness aggression when he said stuff like “I’m the man of the house,” he was still eight when he first said that. Ten years later, however, nothing much had changed, really. Still a menace. Still so protective of you. Still your reason to live. On his way to becoming a wonderful man.

“NOPE, no becoming a man till you’re 30, brat, sit your ass down,” you mumbled under your breath, scrubbing the spatula harder like it offended your entire lineage. 

You would have loved to share your heart with one more person, of course, but you were getting a bit sick of your blind dates’ reaction to your motherhood. As if you were telling them you had a litter of eight. It wasn’t like you had a vast selection to pick from in a town as small as this, either. Anyone would eventually give up, and so did you, not that you were dying to trap someone in the first place. Your nuclear family of two finally expanded when you adopted Missha five years ago, and that was pretty much your life now. Uneventful, definitely chaotic, but at least happy. 

Genuinely happy.

You heard some commotion outside, growing even louder than the one in your living room. So much so that even the boys hit pause on their excessively stressful digital warfare and crowded the kitchen window.

“What the hell is happening over there?” you lowered your head to get a better view. 

There was a moving van parked by the house across the street, which had been on the market since January. A man was standing at the front door, talking to a small crowd made up of the entire single population of the neighborhood as well as a few moms. They were trampling each other to welcome this extremely good-looking new resident, and he was politely nodding at each of them, though slightly scared.

“Noooice, Khaleesi, you finally got your match,” Trevor smirked once he spotted the man among the trees. “We approve.”

“Who the fu—?”

You shot an instant death glare at Ryder, your eyes psychotically widened.

“Fine, I’ll keep it PG,” he sighed. “Who the heck are you to approve, my guy?”

“What? She’s our mom, too.” 

“I think the goshdarn not!”

“It doesn’t have the intended effect when you have the kids mode on, FYI,” Trevor patted Ryder’s back, then turned to you with the most up-to-no-good smile he could flash. “Go say hi.”

“EW, NO!” you immediately protested.

“Why the goshdarn not?!”

Because that would be desperate? Even you were judging the crowd about to swoon at that doorstep; who the fuck knows what people would think of you if they saw you among those groupies. Christ!

“It’s not something you can understand unless you’re a divorced woman, little man,” you pointed your Saturday regulars in the direction of their duffel bags. “Go get your butts ready. I’ll drive you to practice.”

Twelfth time that day…

Chris was going to have to replace the front door at this rate because people have been knocking on it all day to introduce themselves. With no regard to decorum, at that. Yes, it was hell degrees outside, and his personal uniforms consisted of tank tops and shorts, too. Nevertheless, with kids living under this roof, it was hard not to get uncomfortable when complete strangers showed up at his doorstep in nothing but swimwear, so revealing that they might as well have been naked. 

“Daddy, it’s Singing Giraffe time!” 

Two girls clung to their father’s legs as he was in the middle of getting acquainted with yet another neighbor.

“Oh, you have… kids,” the blonde who looked like the latest Playboy centerfold grimaced. “Is their mother home? I’d like to say hi.”

Smooth, Chris internally scoffed while the twins glared at the woman. Before he could produce an answer, however…

“Why? Are you going to ask us to go away because we don’t have a mom?” Harper hijacked the mic.

“Girls!”

“Oh, it’s alright! Kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” the clearly early-twenty-something laughed way too loudly. “So you’re… single, huh?”

“Daddy, what does single mean?” Piper looked up with gigantic eyes.

“It means go upstairs and get ready for bed,” Chris led his girls inside. “Say bye to Lisa.”

“Bye, Lisa,” they deadpanned in unison, and Piper added with no sense of self-control.

“Your boobies are out, Lisa. That’s not very nice.”

Chris was absolutely mortified, and if the ground had any plans of splitting open and swallowing him whole, right now would be ideal. 

“I am… so sorry,” he bowed his head in embarrassment. 

“It’s fine. Really,” Lisa giggled, subtly touching Chris’s arm. “I’ll see you around then, Daddy.”

Yup, Chris might have been guilty of enjoying a certain address back in his glory days, but ever since the day he learned he was going to be a father, it was now just… Well, it was no longer something he wanted to hear from girls barely above the legal drinking age. He mustered his very last drop of energy to drag himself to the twins’ room, but before he could take two steps, he heard yet another knock behind him.

“I swear to fucking GOD I’m getting a ‘Closed’ sign tomorrow,” he marched back to the front door and harshly opened it. “WHAT?!”

“Chill, man. I was just going to ask if you’ve seen a cat around,” a boy in his late teens stared him down, then gestured something like a rock in the air. “A small tortie, about this big, yellow collar around her neck?”

“Oh, I’m… so sorry, I thought you were… No, I haven’t seen any cats around, unfortunately,” he shook his head. “I’ll be on the lookout.”

“Thanks,” the boy bolted as quickly as he had appeared. 

Instead of going inside, Chris heaved a deep sigh and walked out, plopping on the porch swing for a moment’s peace. What a day. Yes, he had chosen this town himself because he’d heard great things about its people, but he certainly wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome. He couldn’t even get to unpacking, let alone finishing it.

The pine-lined street was finally calm. He was trying his best to resist the lullaby of crickets chirping and waves crashing in the distance, but when the warm night breeze started rocking him to sleep, he just gave in. Just five minutes. But he needed to put the girls to bed first. But five minutes. No, he needed to get up right now. But five—

“OW!”

A phantom punch in his stomach made him cough his lungs out. Ready to knock down some raccoon that manifested out of thin air, Chris immediately assumed a fighting stance. Well, at least he tried to, but that sleep paralysis demon weight wouldn’t budge an inch, sinking its claws deeper into his favorite sleeveless shirt to stay in place. 

A cat.

“Oh, wow, you’re beautiful,” he scratched under her chin, “even though you scared the bejesus out of me just now.”

When he turned the collar charm around, he saw a phone number engraved in there with a little message that said ‘I’m lost. Please call.’

“Smart. Maybe I should get one of these for my girls, too, yeah?” he giggled to himself and sat up. 

The cat got super comfortable in her new location, kneaded some biscuits, and curled up into a croissant to sleep. Fondly smiling at the little furball, Chris spent quite a while petting her. He couldn’t help but wonder if this marble cake was sent by some divine power because it seemed to have some freakish healing powers. The more she happily purred in his lap, the more he felt this block of lead weighing him down for years on end… 

…shrinking.

“HARPER! DADDY GOT A CAT!”

The scream of severe cuteness aggression startled the new couple on the swing to death, effectively concluding the peace-and-quiet time. As the cat tried to hide away inside his shirt, Chris very carefully pulled her out, earning himself a few scratches as souvenir tattoos.

“Shh, easy,” he pacified his girls. “She’s not ours, baby. Be very, very gentle, okay?”

As the twins were petting the cat like they were entrusted with delicate china, Chris reached for his phone and dialed the number on the collar, admittedly a bit reluctantly.

“Hi, is this the human of… Missha?”

The window between returning from your carpool duties and Ryder coming home like a miniature Hulk was all the time you had to tend to work affairs on Saturdays. The stampede danger was finally eliminated with the crowd dispersed. You could hear yourself think again.

“Oh my god, like, you’re so cuuute! Is your dad home?”

Why would you jinx yourself like that? Just why?

You looked through the kitchen window to spot the source of the shriek that disturbed Missha. Someone was calling on your new neighbor again, but instead of him, there were twin girls at the door, looking visibly annoyed.

“Yes,” the one in sun-patterned pajamas answered, though with the exasperation of a woman who had been through five divorces.

“Can I see him?”

“No.”

“But why not?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“My name is Lisa. Now can I see your dad?”

“Girl, you just do not get father-infant daughter relationships at all, do you?” you contorted your face in cringe, sipping on the coffee you had started brewing before leaving home.

“You don’t even know our names!” the one in the moon-patterned pajamas yelled this time.

“Okay, what are your names then?”

“Daddy says plastic is harmful. You can’t come in.”

SLAM!

“Jesus christ, is that what he teaches these girls?!” you tsked to yourself, then settled down at the kitchen table to get to work. 

You thought you had a solid few hours to complete the day’s checklist, but alas… You could recall blinking at some point, then all of a sudden, it was nighttime. If it weren’t for Ryder’s majestic entrance, you weren’t even going to realize it was dinner time already.

“Hey, Mom! I’m hitting the shower. I’ll be right down,” he stormed in and immediately dashed towards the stairs.

“Ryder, door first,” you called out to him to close it, your eyes still on the screen.

But no clank was heard. 

“Ryder!”

Not a peep. 

“I swear to fucking god. Every time,” you grunted to yourself and closed the door on His Majesty’s behalf. Considering the immense pain right below your right shoulder blade, it was probably time you called it a day anyway. 

Per the commandments of your household, the cuntress had to have her meals first. You refilled Missha’s bowl, which she could normally hear from ten miles away and teleport herself to the kitchen, but the entire house was completely still. You scoured each room, looked inside all the cracks large enough for her to pour herself through, but…

“RYDER, GET DOWN HERE! MISSHA’S GONE!!!”

You took the left side of the street while he took the right, but the door-to-door search yielded no results. Damn this girl’s camouflage coat that made her blend into any backdrop. You started to freak out even harder when you returned home empty-handed. It was dark out; who knows what the hell kind of wild animals were out there. The street wasn’t super well-lit, either. What if a passing car didn’t have its headlights on?

“What’s the protocol for lost cats? DO WE CALL THE POLICE?!” you started frantically pacing in the kitchen. 

“First, we calm down,” Ryder held your shoulders and sat you down on a chair. “I’ll go grab my computer, and we’ll look into this, okay? I promise we’ll find her.”

You were taking deep breaths, which, apparently, was a total bullshit recommendation being perpetuated. It had zero impact on calming you down. Your hands were still trembling, and you were nervously shaking your legs under the table. 

You almost knocked over the entire table when you lunged at your phone to pick up the call from an unknown number.

“Hi, is this the human of… Missha?”

“YES!” you screamed, already grabbing your car keys and heading out. “Could you give me your address, please? I’ll be right over.”

“Uh… I was going to offer to bring her home, but sure,” the man on the phone answered. “1546 Ocean Drive.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, then slowly turned around to look at your door with 1545 written next to it. When you narrowed your eyes and stared into the darkness, the only thing you could make out was some white shirt of sorts thanks to the streetlights ricocheting off of it. 

“Are you the dude on the porch right now?” 

He turned to his left to spot someone on the phone and eventually saw you standing by the front door.

“Oh, hi!” he waved at you as a makeshift location pin. “Yes, I w—”

You immediately hung up and booked it towards the white shirt guy. The approaching stomps were growing so loud that even Missha’s fur was standing on end out of fear. 

“THERE YOU ARE!” you hugged the crap out of the poor animal. “You scared the bejesus out of me. Don’t run away like that again!” 

The man looked at you with something akin to surprise in his eyes, then flashed a bright smile. 

“I am so sorry. She gets really feisty when she’s stressed. I hope she didn’t scratch too deep,” you addressed your lord and savior at long last.

“Feisty?” he cocked a brow. “She’s been sleeping on my lap the whole time.” 

“Girl, did you have something against me all along?” you gasped at Missha’s betrayal. 

“Can’t we please keep her, Daddy?”

Only then did you realize that you weren’t alone on that porch. The twins, and frankly the best roastmasters you’d ever seen, were pulling on their father’s hands, with eyes so huge that you had half a mind to offer joint custody to these girls.

“They’ve been begging for a cat forever,” he scratched his nape.

“But she’s my little girl,” you kneeled at their eye level. “You would be very sad if someone took away your daddy, too, right?”

They nodded in unison, still pouting.

“What are your names?” you asked with a smile. 

They looked at their father for permission. When they received the approving nod, they graced you with an answer.

“I’m Piper.”

“I’m Harper.” 

“Nice to meet you, Piper and Harper. I’m Missha’s mom,” you shook each of their tiny hands.

“Are you a teacher, too, Missha’s mom?”

“I own a bookstore,” you replied. “Do you like books?”

“Daddy reads Singing Giraffe to us every night.”

“Daddy might need an update on his repertoire,” you looked him up and down, then pointed at your house. “Tell you what. If your dad gives permission, would you like to be Missha’s new friends?”

“PLEASE DADDY, CAN WE?!”

“Only if I can be her friend, too. I mean, we already got a situationship going on, so…” the man set forth his sole condition. “But NOT if you don’t go to bed right now!” 

“Good night, Missha’s mom!” the twins bolted inside right away.

You waved them goodbye, unable to control your endeared laughter. They reminded you of the day you learned Ryder’s gender all of a sudden. If the doctor said ‘It’s a girl’ then, would this be your reality by any chance?

“Welcome to the neighborhood, by the way,” you extended your hand to the man still staring at you with a smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t drop by earlier. Your front porch was like a meet and greet.”

“Chris,” he warmly shook your hand. “I apologize for the scene. The neighborhood is a little… friendly.”

“What an interesting spelling for DILF hunter,” you uttered with a completely straight face. Even though he burst out laughing, he seemed a bit flustered.

“Is it… that obvious that I’m single?” 

“Hmm,” you squinted and started checking out the surroundings. “Sedan in the driveway, zero plants on the front porch, your wife would have killed you already if she saw the porch this muddy, so yeah, you’re basically glowing in the dark.”

“Wow, you’re good,” he let out a heartfelt laugh.

That sound reached your ears, and you felt something flutter in your chest. Something familiar, but not quite. Something you seemed to have long forgotten.

Still on the tip of your tongue somehow.

“Good night, Chris,” you excused yourself. “Thank you once again.”

“Anytime,” he nodded, smile still intact.

Once your door closed in the distance, Chris finally went inside to take the stage for his daily Singing Giraffe performance. Unlike any other evening, however, the girls seemed to be extra alert this time, whispering stuff to each other in absolute glee.

“What are you giggling about so much?” he asked as he took his seat by the bed.

“Daddy?” Harper clung to his arm.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Missha has a mom.”

“Yes, she does.”

“Can’t she be our mom, too?”

Of course, she didn’t mean any ill by that; they were just tiny, pure souls. They had no way of knowing how crushing it was for one parent to hear this when they were trying so hard to be both. 

Knowing full well they were never going to be a match for the missing half. 

“I don’t think she’d want that, baby,” he caressed his girl’s curls that were identical to his. “Shall we continue Singing Giraffe now?”

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to read Singing Giraffe to twins with Chris.

「© 2023-26, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I asked you who your Comfortopher is, and you said you wanted the DILF dude, so here he is. Time to make your metaphorical ovaries explode.

Welcome to Summerland!🏝️

Summerland is part of an emotive project Mari and I started alllll the way back during Rockstar era, and it's finally seeing the light of day. It's the "happiness" installment of the collection, so I'm legally obligated to put a cw here:

CAUTION: DISGUSTING AMOUNTS OF TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF AHEAD!

Bring out your polaroid cameras and enjoy this wholesome journey that has no other purpose than giving you the warm and fuzzies. Let me know what you think! ^^

P.S: Missha is my goddaughter, and she is as unamused irl as she is in the story.

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