#Connected Car Tech
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Citroen eC3 Shine Review: Features and Performance Insights
₹13.2 Lakh Powertrain and Battery Performance and Efficiency Motor: The 41.92 kW Permanent Magnet Synchronous Motor delivers a modest 56.22 bhp and 143 Nm of torque. This setup is designed for city driving, with enough torque for quick starts at low speeds. However, it may lack the punch for high-speed overtaking. Acceleration: A 0-60 km/h time of 6.8 seconds highlights its agility in…
#320 km Range EV#Affordable Electric Car#Budget EV#Citroen eC3 Price Segment#Citroen eC3 Shine#Citroen eC3 Specs#Citroen Electric Car#Compact Electric Vehicle#Compact EV#Connected Car Tech#Eco-Friendly Car#Electric Hatchback#Electric Hatchback Design#Electric Hatchback India#Electric Vehicle Review#Entry-Level Electric Vehicle#EV Battery Warranty#EV Charging#EV Features#EV for City Commutes#EV Performance#EV Safety Features#Global NCAP Rating#MyCitroen Connect#Urban EV
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Clarion city connection D005 (1985)
#clarion#city connection#cleaned#car radio#80s#1980s#empire state building#car stereo#auto radio#vintage tech#old tech#old stereo#graphic equalizer#cassette#car#audio
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i honestly don't understand tech enthusiasts like why on earth would you want your front door lock linked to your phone. it doesn't even save time like having to get your phone and open an app and press a button would take basically the same time as manually unlocking the door with a key, so what's the point??? looking cool?? getting locked outside when the internet doesn't work or the app crashes?????
#not even just that but like#why would you want your FRIDGE to connect to the internet#isn't a phone and a computer and a smart tv and an alexa or whatever they're called enough internet for you??#and bank cards and car keys and your home's whole alarm system#why would you want your entire life into one device that can be easily broken or stolen#stella is a boomer#i'm making this a new tag for anti tech i'm TIRED
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A guy in my town wound up on the news because he drove his tesla in the rain (not even heavy rain, just wet enough for there to be puddles) and the battery compartment flooded and they told it would be a £12,000 repair bill.
When he asked why regular rain would damage the car so thoroughly they basically implied that teslas weren't fit for sale in Scotland because it rains here......
It amazes me how many teslas I see out and about. Like you guys bought one for real? On god? No joke?????
#there's suddenly been a load of teslas appear in my town#and every time I see those stupid flat flush handles#I remember those anecdotes about how all the people that work in smart tech do not ever own smart tech#and have the least tech filled cars and homes they can manage#why the fuck would you rely on a connection between your phone and your car to even let you get in and turn the damn thing on#in fact I don't even understand how they're road legal when they have so many failure during an accident opportunities
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Headunit With Carplay For Daewoo Matiz/ Chevrolet Spark/ Beat | 2010 | 9inch
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Headunit With Carplay For Daewoo Matiz/ Chevrolet Spark/ Beat | 2010 | 9inch
#Head Unit#CarPlay#Daewoo Matiz#Chevrolet Spark#Chevrolet Beat#2010 Model#9-Inch Display#Car Stereo#Touchscreen Receiver#Multimedia System#Bluetooth Connectivity#In-Car Navigation#Smartphone Integration#Premium Audio#Vehicle Upgrade#Easy Installation#Modern Tech.
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Why Electric Pickup Trucks Are Gaining Popularity
The automotive world is witnessing a significant shift, and one of the most interesting developments in recent years has been the rise of electric pickup trucks. As environmental awareness continues to grow, consumers are looking for alternatives that deliver both performance and sustainability. This change in mindset, coupled with advancements in battery technology, has made electric pickup…
#ADAS#advanced transport#AI cars#autonomous tech#autonomous vehicles#carbon emissions#city car#city driving#Clean Energy#clean transport#connected cars#Eco-Friendly Cars#eco-technology#electric cars#electric SUV#electric transport#electric vehicles#emission reduction#energy efficiency#EVs#fuel efficiency#future of transport#green cities#hybrid cars#low emissions#modern cities#pollution reduction#ride-sharing#safety features#self-driving
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How Virtual Reality Is Transforming The Engineering Industry?
Virtual Reality (VR) has evolved beyond gaming (https://dressadifference.wordpress.com/2023/12/02/virtual-reality-redefined-gaming-industry/ ), and healthcare (https://dressadifference.wordpress.com/2023/12/05/how-virtual-reality-transforming-health-care-industry/ ), carving a path of innovation in the engineering industry as well. Virtual Reality (VR) in the engineering industry has shown…
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#Artificial Intelligence#Biomedical#Digital Age#Digital Evolution#Digital Future#Engineering Industry#Information Technology#Its#Machinery#Mechanical Engineering#Revenue#Robotics#Tech#Tech Advancement#Tech Awareness#Tech Connect#tech love#Tech News#Tech Transformation#Technology#Virtual Reality#VR applications#VR cars#VR in engineering#VR technology
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Yandere Sugar Daddy
Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's very nouveau riche. Who has the wealth of the elites but none of their good breeding.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's awfully young for someone so wealthy. Barely out of college when his tech startup went public and the cash started pouring in.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is still painfully awkward around women.
Being a rich man in a big city means there's no shortage of models and influencers vying for his attention. And Yandere! Sugar Daddy never fails to get flustered when they're introduced to him.
Long legs, perfect skin, tiny ski slope noses... They're the kind of girls who wouldn't give him the time of day back in college and suddenly they're running their hands up his chest and whispering that he's just so clever, so accomplished. What guy wouldn't fall for it?
But he can never keep them around for long.
Their interest slowly dies out when he starts rambling about software development and production scale and AI integration. Money is a great motivator but all his girlfriends seem to leave for greener pastures. For millionaires with better social skills and better taste.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ran into you entirely on accident. The club was too loud, the girls too pretty, the alcohol too rich. He slipped out of VIP and into the street, pressing his forehead against the cool brick and trying not to spew on the new designer shoes his ex persuaded him to get.
And that was when you came into his life. Cool hands on his shoulder and a voice telling him to take a deep breath and drink some of your water.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks up at you through his lashes, his face flushed from too much booze and being too near you. He can't fathom it. A girl helping him not because of his cash or connections, but because they're actually a kind person.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your hand when you turn to go. Your friends are calling to you to stop messing around with random drunks and he manages to slip you his business card, begging you to call him so he can thank you properly.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wakes up with a killer hangover and your face burned into his eyelids. Who feels his heart jump when he opens his phone and sees a text from you.
Hope your night got better - y/n
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who immediately zooms in on your profile picture. A candid shot but it still makes him blush. Before the morning is over, he's already tracked down your social media.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who pores over every inch of your life. Your job, your studies, your friends...
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who retypes his message at least a dozen times before he finally responds to you. Who invites you to the most exclusive restaurant in the city as a thank you.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who picks you up in the most expensive car he owns. Who smiles a little at the careful way you close the door and buckle your seat belt. You're just as uncomfortable around luxury as he was.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn't expect much from the date. He's learned not to go on tangents about technology and work, but without it he feels lost.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you're more than capable of carrying a conversation. You're energetic and funny and interested in what he has to say. He feels himself opening up to you and before long, he's deep into a rant about data safety and you actually listen to him.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you compliment him. Like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ends the night with a lipstick stain on his cheek and a big, goofy grin on his face.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who calls you the second he wakes up and invites you to spend the afternoon learning to horse ride.
And when you tell him you have work, he just laughs and tells you he'll triple whatever you're getting paid for the day. You nearly faint when he keeps his word and sends you a deposit worth more than your monthly cheque.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wants to call you his girlfriend more than anything. His girl. He loves the way it sounds.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who tags along when you go grocery shopping and whips out his card to pay for it all when your back is turned.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who sends you a huge bouquet every week because you once mentioned liking lillies.
And the closer you get, the more time you spend kissing him and curling up in his bed, the more he spends on you.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who uses spring break to take you on a tour of the Mediterranean. Who rents out entire villas and chateaus to impress you.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who has your birthday dress custom made by an actual high fashion house. Who zips you up and kisses your neck and says he's never met a more beautiful girl.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who spends shareholder meetings daydreaming about you. Who has to pinch himself to stay focused.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's helpless to stop himself falling for you. You're so real, so empty of pretence and greed.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who showers you with all the wealth he has and is blind to how uncomfortable it makes you.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks at you with a vacant smile when you try and break things off. Who pulls out his phone and sends you a deposit with so many zeros you have to rub your eyes to make sure you're seeing it right. Who asks if that's enough for more of your time or if he should double it.
Do you want a new car? An apartment? He'll give you anything, anything in the world.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks like a kicked dog when you say you don't want any of it. You hate feeling indebted to him. You hate feeling like some vapid trophy wife. You hate living off his charity.
He can't understand it. You could work for decades and not afford even a quarter of what he can give you. Is he so unpleasant, so unlovable, that you're wiling to turn your back of a life of luxury?
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who comes up behind you and slams the door shut when you try to leave.
You've always seen him as a nice guy, someone awkward and gentle. But the look in his eyes now makes you question all of it.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy whose voice is a low, broken rasp. He sounds on the verge of tears and on the verge of fury all at once.
You think you can just leave after everything you've been through together? After the fortune he spent trying to make you happy?
No way baby.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your wrist and yanks you up against him.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who laughs when you threaten to scream. Luxury penthouse, remember? Totally sound proofed. Totally private. No one gets in or out without his permission.
It's just you and him, like it should have been from the beginning.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who squeezes your wrist hard enough to hurt. Who kisses you so rough you cut your lips on your teeth.
Yandere! Sugar Daddy who yanks at the pretty dress that he bought you. You want to be an ungrateful bitch? You want to throw his kindness back in his face? Oh, he's going to teach you a lesson.
You fucking owe him.
And he's going to use your body until that debt is paid.
#Shoutout to the anon who requested this#I want a man to pay for my groceries too#Yandere#Yandere x Reader#yandere x you#yandere scenarios#yandere drabbles#yandere imagines#yandere oc x you#Reader insert#Yandere Sugar Daddy#Fem reader
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Car Prince Harry used for dates with Meghan up for sale… as fans joke connection to couple could ‘devalue’ luxury motor | In Trend Today
Car Prince Harry used for dates with Meghan up for sale… as fans joke connection to couple could ‘devalue’ luxury motor Read Full Text or Full Article on MAG NEWS
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#Car Prince Harry used for dates with Meghan up for sale… as fans joke connection to couple could ‘devalue’ luxury motor#Celebrities#Money#Motors#Politics#ShowBiz#Sport#Tech#UK#US#World
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“You look good.” Ony states as he studies the false lashes that sits on top of your eyelids. His tatted hand reaches out to grab your chin. Silently, he tilts your head right and then left. He slowly nods his head in approval while continuing to examine the extensions. You had mentioned getting a more dramatic set this go round, and truthfully he was a bit nervous, he thought he would have to pretend to like them. But, to his shock, the dramatic fluff fit your face perfectly.
“Thank you, baby.” You find yourself fawning at both his compliment and being under his watch. You absolutely loved having all of your boyfriend’s attention, no matter the situation.
You lean closer towards him, the two of you meet in the middle where your lips connect to. Ony never liked quick kisses. He preferred to take his time gliding his tongue into your mouth, and sucking on your tongue. You were used to his antics at this point, and decided to just let him do as he pleased.
When he finally decides that he’s had enough, he pulls away from you. His eyes dart down to your lips before trailing back up to your eyes. He gives you a knowing smile when he sees the needy look you’re giving him.
“You aight?” He asks. He lets go of your chin, and adjusts himself in the driver seat. You nod at his question. Ony smacks his teeth at that. “Words, bae.”
“I’m okay.” You confirm.
He waits until you’ve buckled your seatbelt to pull out of your lash tech’s driveway. The familiar whine from his hellcat runs through your ears before he turns the music up. He hands you his phone, in a routinely fashion you open his apple music and begin searching for a song.
You choose a song you knew for a fact the both of you enjoyed singing.
You let the song play out before turning the radio down. “Where are we going?” You ask curiously.
“Imma drop you off at the crib, ‘nd then I have some plays to go make.” He explains.
Instantly, your attitude changed. You were no longer smiling. Instead, there was a pout on your lips while you gazed at him offendedly. Your arms found their way crossed against your chest before you even realized you were doing it.
Ony glances at you out of the side of his eye. Seeing you pouting and crossing your arms makes him sigh. “Don’t start.” He warns you.
“Why can’t I come with you? You usually let me come.” You ask in irritation.
“Cause I don’t want you to. Simple.” Ony responds with a lousy shoulder shrug. The stoplight turns green and his car grumbles as he accelerates.
You had this horrible habit of accusing. In your defense, the way you looked at things is like: my boyfriend is tall, dark, and handsome. If I’m attracted to him of course other women will be also. And so you found yourself accusing him of things constantly, sometimes without even meaning to.
“A girl must be there.” The words flew out of your mouth quicker than you could stop them. Ony had told you time and time again to stop accusing him, claiming that it’s both draining and annoying. You just couldn’t help it.
“Here you go.” He sighs. Instead of giving you an answer he just turns the radio up, blasting out any chance for you to keep your accusations going.
Your arms stay folded for the remainder of the drive. You childishly look out of the window the entire time, not once sparing your boyfriend a glance.
The millisecond he puts his car in park in his designated parking spot outside your loft complex, you practically hop out of his car. You don’t purposely slam his car door, you had used more strength than you intended to truthfully. Ony didn’t play about his car. The thousands of dollars he has spent adding modifications to it only backs up his claim. You knew just from that action you were going to be in deeper trouble.
The sound of your pink tory burch sandals clacking against the pavement, your numerous bracelets hitting against each other played in your ears as you tried to collect your thoughts. You didn’t hear his heavy footsteps trailing behind you which is both a good and bad thing.
You’re in the elevator when your phone lights up, displaying your lover’s contact. Your heart thumps in your chest a little faster as you contemplate answering it. With a shaky exhale, you answer.
“Hello?” You could hear the sound of his car switching gears and the clicking of his signal stick.
“What did I tell you about slammin’ my door?” He’s composed, which only makes you more anxious.
You bite down on your lip at his question. You look around the empty elevator as you try to come up with an explanation that was good enough. You were acting childish but you just felt undeniably angry at him for not even offering you an invitation.
“You made me mad.” Your voice is lighter and apprehensive.
You could hear Ony kissing his teeth at your admission. “Why do you not understand that what I do ain’t a fuckin’ game, mama? This shit aint sparkles and rainbows. I’m mad at myself for even exposing you to this shit. This typa shit ain’t for you.” You’re his babydoll. Pink, glitter, soft scents, doe eyes, and pouty lips. Violence doesn’t fit in your criteria, it just isn’t you. How polar you two are is what drew Ony to you to begin with.
The elevator dinged and slowly opened its doors. You step out, your grip on your phone tightening as you rationalize his words. There’s a frown on your lips that you’re positive Ony would have plucked away if he was standing beside you. His explanation made sense, and deep down you knew you had no business mingling with a crowd like that. Hell, you had no business mingling with Ony.
“But, I’m grown,” You whine. “I should be able to choose where I want to go and what I want to do.” You’re putting up a weak argument against him. The both of you knew it too.
“Yeah but that ain’t you.” He reminds you. “Running the streets with me ain’t safe. And your safety is the most important thing t’me.”
You hum at his words while you bring your hello kitty printed key up to the doorknob. You still vividly remember the day Ony surprised you with it. You guys had been together for some months, and were beginning to discuss hypothetical ‘what if we lived together’ scenarios. A few days later Ony had gave you a solid black box with a light pink hello kitty key in the inside. That was the start of something incredible.
“My baby’s so stubborn.” Ony could hear the sound of the front door slamming shut. Your sandals and shuffling played through his speakers, he had told you to pick your feet up when you walked, and like always, what he said went through one ear and out the other.
“‘M notttt.” You whine.
“Yes you are. But it’s okay, baby. Daddy’s got somethin’ for that attitude you had earlier.” He promises you.
You have to pause in your tracks. Instantly, there’s throbbing in between your legs. A surge of horniness courses through your body. This is how the game between you two went. You would pick at him for something—anything, just so you could act out, and so that he could put you right back in your place.
“You don’t sound mad with me anymore though?”You frown.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not gonna set you straight for acting out like that. I’m bout to pull up tho, imma text you when I’m free. Love you, mama.”
“I love you, baby.” You say before hearing the call end.
There’s butterflies swarming in the pits of your stomach as you try to imagine what he could possibly be planning. When Ony made promises like that, he made sure to keep them. He’s a man of his word and never switches it up.
#prettiedup ♡#prettiedup’s aot fics .ᐟ ony#onyankapon#onyankopon x black y/n#ony x black reader#onyankopon x reader#aot onyankopon
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Tata Punch EV Empowered S: A Compact SUV for Urban Commuters
₹13.29Lakh The Tata Punch EV Empowered S is a significant addition to India’s burgeoning electric vehicle market, positioned as a compact SUV offering a mix of modern technology, performance, and comfort. Here’s a detailed breakdown of its features, strengths, and areas for improvement: Performance and Drivability Powertrain: Motor: A Permanent Magnet Synchronous Motor delivers 60 kW (80.46…
#25 kWh battery#315 km range#5-Star Bharat NCAP#Affordable EV#ALFA Platform#Apple CarPlay#compact electric SUV#Compact SUV#Connected Car#Electric vehicle#Empowered S#EV Performance#Fast charging#HARMAN Infotainment#Indian Market#regenerative braking#safety features#Tata Motors#Tata Punch EV#Tech-Savvy Buyers.#Urban Commuter#urban mobility#Wireless Android Auto
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Alastor | Stolas | Vox [Comfort]
In which the two of you bump into your abusive ex who just arrived in hell.
You and Alastor always went on walks through hell together, since you enjoyed exploring the outdoors and he enjoyed people watching
Normally things were relatively peaceful, most, if not everyone, knew the radio demon down to every detail, and avoided him at a mere glimpse
He enjoyed telling you about things that reminded him of his past, or encounters he'd had just down the street, while you listened and observed with awe
Unfortunately, your usually peaceful walk was rudely interrupted by an obnoxious shout in your direction
There was someone who looked severely out of place, likely having just fallen, stumbling towards you with a seething grin
Alastor was already annoyed the moment anyone interrupted him, but even more so at the fact that this individual was shouting obscenities at his darling
Nevertheless, he stood stoic by your side, only glancing down at the shorter individual with an animalistic twitch in his eyes
" Can't you hear me, fucking bitch! You're the slut who put me down her- "
Once your hand gripped onto Alastor's wrist, tugging him, the man's head was sliced clean off, smashing into a building across the street and leaving a visceral splatter
Alastor was already removing his wrist from your hand to wipe the blood from his cane with a handkerchief
Once the body hit the ground with a thud, he had his arm around your waist and lifted you over it, continuing his walk as if nothing had occurred
" And that impeccable diner over there! I just have to take you, it reminds me of my many evenings after the late shows! "
Stolas had heard enough about the life you lived on earth, each momentous day and each sad tale that made up your story
He knew he was never able to protect you up there, and vows to do so now that you are by his side in the afterlife, offering an eternity of protection
Inevitably, he understood some people who had hurt you would eventually find themselves down here, and that some may try to hurt you, so he refused to let you wander alone for too long
It didn't even have to be him, so long as someone he knew could protect you was nearby
Unfortunately, the first to find you was the worst possible individual
The one who had raised their hand so many times to you, and left you with scars Stolas wished he could erase along with every worry
It was one of your date nights, visiting some upper class restaurant after having washed a romance in theatres
You were both dressed to the nines, laughing in one another's company and waiting for the cab you'd called since you'd finished sooner than expected
The both of you climbed in, only for the doors to instantly lock, tearing off without any word or signal from either of you
Stolas laughed it off for a moment, asking the driver if he already knew your destination, though he stopped when he noticed your eyes locked onto the rearview mirror
" Already moving on to someone else? Think I'm not good enough for you? "
The voice was calm but eerie, aimed directly as you
You looked horrified, and Stolas' heart raced as he connected the pieces together
One moment, the car was racing down the road, and the next, you were in the royalty's arms being carried away from a totalled car burning up in flames
You'd only blinked your eyes
Stolas held you tighter that evening, and refused to let go for weeks after
Vox was an extremely busy person
So unfortunately your intimate time together was rare
Despite that, Vox always invited you into his studio with him while he worked, so at least you'd be near one another and he could know you were safe
I mean, you were always safe so long as he could reach you, and modern tech was everywhere in hell nowadays
But he was extra protective since he'd learnt your ex had entered hell
Had he told you? No. Did he feel guilty about it? Yes.
But he just didn't want you to have to worry, and seeing you happily working away at a new project or hobby without a care in the world was just so, so...precious
Eventually he knew he would have to crack the news, but he hadn't anticipated your ex would find you so soon
It was a late night in the studio, with Vox overlooking several large screens as countless information transferred to and from his own database, analysing every media and algorithm
You were behind him, sat in a leather armchair, reading one of the many books that lined the book shelf he kept around as decoration
People came in and out of the floor through an elevator, though as the time got later, the frequency dwindled down severely
When it dinged for the first time that hour, neither of you were too bothered, Vox continuing without a flinch and you looking up for just a moment
Your gaze never went back to your book, though, stuck on the face that had a hateful sneer aimed straight at you
The phone in your pocket dinged with an alert, something about your heart rate increasing drastically in too short a time, and the information registered into Vox in milliseconds
" Finally, I fucking found you! "
One step out of the elevator, and the door clamped shut around their second leg with a loud crack, forcing your ex down onto one knee
Vox only turned to you, ignoring the wailing figure
" Oh man I really should have told you they were here! You can yell at me after. "
The suited man then walked towards your ex as the doors slowly released, kneeling down in front of him with a cackle
" Pathetic. Freak. "
Vox kicked them back into the elevator, and you heard the thing drop at high speeds back down the skyscraper
Security would handle the mess
Author's Note - I wanted to write for some of my favs to get us started off, and went for a prompt I see pretty often. If you like what I do, please consider sending in a request 🖤
#koko writez#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#hazbin hotel x reader#helluva boss x reader#alastor#alastor x reader#stolas#stolas x reader#vox#vox x reader#x reader#reader insert
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PAC : Letter from your pregnant self. (18+)
Mama said it was ok ... mama said it was quite alright .
BUNDLE READINGS.
FUTURE LOVE + SEX DOUALA = 40$ (2for1)
✨ Down to My Core ✨
This Christmas, gift yourself clarity—a soulful journey to uncover your truth and step into the new year ready to rise. 🌙
CHARACTER UPDAPTE + LORE DUMP = 40$ (2for1)
🔥 Fire to the Moon 🔥
This Christmas, gift yourself the truth—a journey through soul ties, sexual desires, and cosmic connections. Uncover a new love story written in your stars and step into the new year with clarity and faith in love 🌙✨
PILE 1
It was supposed to be you pregnant but you came through in the hospital the evening after giving birth. You are actually talking to your baby girl.
‘’ Damn I thought it was early menopause. You should have seen my face when the doctor came back in the room after putting way too much finger in my hole. Honestly I should have guessed it when the nurse and the medical tech looked at each other with smirk while my husband and I were going crazy over my future illness. I hope you don’t hate me as I am holding you in my arms. I can’t help but admire you. I gave up on the idea of having my dream baby girl a long time ago. I know it is not fair I should have fought for you but I could not let the emptiness get to me. You know I have to be a mother to your big brothers. LOL! I remember their disgusted and concerned faces when I told them I was pregnant again. ‘’ Mama you are still doing the nasty’’ that’s what (the name of your second boy) said. Honestly I am not sure what I was expecting from anyone. The first thought that came to my mind is the fact that I am only in my mid 30. What the heck, for sure I love riding it. Actually been loving riding it. Since forever. He is the first man I ever trusted … the only I ever gave my heart. It was my first time after a very awful experience but I probably will never tell you about it but I will forever protect you against all thoses abusers out here. Ain’t no way they are touching my daughter but your dad … he’s different. I am so happy I chose the right man to have my babies with. The way he looks at me with so much longing in eyes, the soft touch, waking me up everyday by getting your siblings ready and making my coffee so I can have some time for myself. The way he literally dedicated a whole wall in our house for pictures of our wedding like he doesn't already have 3 pictures of me and the kids on his desk at work, like he doesn't have a picture of us in his wallet and in his car. Sometimes I pinch myself when I cook and I look at my husband playing with my kids, being affectionate and their safe place because it was never like that. I never grew up like that. I used to wish on my lucky stars that I make it out of my abusive household and now I am thriving in an overabundant and loving household. Is not always easy because your dad has a demanding job but he will NEVER but none of y’all second. It doesn't matter if he is busy in a meeting or overseas, he always calls, answers texts, sends gifts, even writes letters. He always fixes his schedule to be at your siblings' competition. Honestly I am scared of the length he is ready to go for you. Actually all of them are ready to go to crazy length for you. Nah I am serious he organized the baby shower in a luxurious resort. The gender reveal happened on a helicopter ride before taking me to a 5 star hotel and showering me with gifts. Your siblings are always telling me to sit down, that they can do it, that I need to keep my energy and that they need to protect me . Damm… last time I checked I am the parent but I didn't talk back. Because miss girl you were not an easy pregnancy. High blood pressure, back pain, extreme moodiness and early labor. Like girls we get it … you were in a hurry to come to your palace but you did not have to do my body like that. Or maybe you punish me because I decided that I was infertile after a couple years with no success. I let you go. Stop fighting for you. You and your little button noise, smooth forehead, full head of hair and pouty lips are more than worth it. This pregnancy did not feel real at first. I did not want to believe it. I was sure that it was a mistake or my blessing was going to be taken from me. Yeah… you trigger my old survival instinct. Thank God for you dad, holding my hand, telling me that everything is going to be ok and allowing me to take my time accepting my truth. Validating how I feel because by the second semester I was more than overjoyed and confident. You are mine, my blessings and worth every ounce of goodness coming ... my precious miraculous babygirl.
XOXO
Your mama’’
So many nasty messages came through but y'all … I know you would never talk like that to your baby.
The baby was created a random day after a cuddle fuck (for many anal cuddle fuck). After putting the kids to sleep, doing your night routine with your husband and cleaning the room (you don’t joke about that re-start routine because otherwise the mornings are way too chaotic in the morning) you bring yourself to the bed and decide to seduce your man with kisses and caress. Honestly it does not take a lot for your husband to be seduced by you. He and I love the fact that you still try to make marriage feel sexy with the booty shorts, sometimes having your makeup done, other times you go all out and have lunch at his work to tease him. You are litteraly his sexual fantasy like even when y’all are going to be more mature he's not going to look at younger girls (some people in this pile are scared that their husband will entertain younger girls. Never babe they are HOOK on you. Not just love or respect for the mother of their child. You have the pusy power over that mind. All he sees is you!). After a sweaty, loving but still rough session little miss finally came to you.
You guys are going to have an amazing sex life with your husband don’t worry your kids are never going to know (y’all get down. Y’all don’t mind calling the nanny to have ‘’sex weekend’’). In the adult world the way y’all look at each other, joke with each … you guys chemistry (y’all just look the fuck good together) people know you fucking fucking.
Also if you read : PAC : Your dream reality, there's also glimpse of the same future channeled.
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PILE 2
‘’ Bitch WTF ! You know what life got me fucked up in all type of way. Almost like God wanting to make a joke out of me. As I am speaking, I am sitting in this comfy couch in my living living in my house, fat as fuck, mean mugging my husband. You heard me right. HUSBAND ! I don’t even know when that shit happens. Like when did I fell in love. I mean I was never against love but think about it. Living in your dream house, enjoying yourself and you are waking up turning to your side and you see a big fat head. Let me tell you, it is not between your thighs. Nah is cuddling and calling you ‘’honey’’. EW GET THE FUCK OFF ME. It was supposed to be only a FWB but you know how men move when they have a taste of this punani. They be hearing colors, seeing starts and talking in tongues , thinking I can heal their attachment issues. Ok let me give credit where it is due … he was actually different. He made me do things I don’t usually do like talking about my feelings, eating 3 times a day and being affectionate. I swear I never gave as many hug as I did with him. LOL ! From all the billion penises on this planet I had to fall in love with the clingy one. He loves hugging me, kissing me … just being stuck on me. Before I knew it I had a ring on my finger. I even kissed him in front of my damm family. Like I am a bad bitch, a cold ass bitch, a cool hoe not basic lucy that’s all love and light. Guess he was so good to me that I said ‘’Yes I do’’. That I could forgive. I could understand the house, the ring, the love and partnership but the baby … the baby. THE DAMM FUCKING BABY. You know what is going to do to my dream body and my mom is talking about a second one. Babe hell nah to the nah nah. This hourglass figure is not going to waste. Somewhere I guess it is my fault … Ok … So what shoot me … I LOVE SEX. I LOVE WHEN HE HITS RAW. Is that so wrong? I hate birth control… bitch my opp frl. ALways trying to give me acne or making me fat. What about him and his breeding kink ? Don’t look at me like that. I always liked it rough and nasty but … the consequence. I did not think … Bitch I am only a girl. I am a teeneager in her late twenties. Like somebody called Dr.Phil … I am losing it ! I guess I would have been more careful but there’s something about having my hair pulled, my body bound, my pussy being overstimulated and having his big dick pounding into me while we are listening to chase the Atlantic that’s going to do it every time. Let me tell you something … this man is obsessed with my body. I was scared … you know, we always had body dysmorphia but I think my husband healed me. He can’t take his hand off me. LIKE CAN’T ! I can’t not be in a room with only him (funny since y’all living together …) always slapping my fat ass. Sneaky his hand in my full breast. That one time I was in bikini waddle around I genuinely think he was going to fuck me in the pool while the neighbor were in their backyard. We all know how vocal I am and how rough he is. Confession I still like it fucking rough ... Actually I like it rougher. I am officially insane. There must be something wrong with me. One minute I am like ‘’aww my baby is going to be an awesome dad’’ and the very next fucking though be like ‘’ I want him choke me and force himself into me’’ and it be a front of people. Fucking embarrassing. This pregnancy hormone made me waddle around like a horny sick teenager. Anyway let me go … I was teasing him earlier. You know how bratty I can get. But now I want it ! Bye babe … I need to hop on my ride.
XOXO
Your homegirl''
I swear pile 2, y’all so fucking cute. Y’all may be the youngest of your family or friend group. Like nobody even though you would get married or even have kids. Like you don’t hate kids but you love scaring them and every time one cries you laugh. Second, y'all love to yell at men. Every time you see a man, attitude is 100%. You are so spoiled and you don’t want to share. So the thought of having to share even a spoon with even your fav muncher is weird. You guys are the personification of the sound: ‘’ WHY WOULD A MEN BE HERE ? WHY WOULD A MEN BE HERE ?’’. You guys are also the personification of women dominating male fields. You be hating on men but still fuck them because that’s all they worth (LOL GO QUEEN !). You look the fuck good and don’t play abut your beauty regiment and sleep.
You love your husband and you are in love with your baby but affection is not something that comes easy to you. That doesn't mean you are mean, you just show love in different ways. You more an act of service (I can’t with y’all… I just heard ‘’ Good head should be enough to show I care … Don’t be greedy. Beggar cannot be choosy’’ No because PERIDOT) like cleaning, cooking, organizing, showing support, being dependable or gift giving. You always find him the best gift.
All this to say you play though but there is a big teddy bear inside of you that is sooo happy by the way your life took a twist but fucking confuse at the same time. Sometimes you wake confused like the girl in 17 turning 30 movie. Not that you hate your life actually you love it but WTF.
I am hearing ‘’ Rue… when was this ?’’.
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PILE 3
‘’ LOL…Let’s thank God for the bathroom at the restaurant. Honestly I don't even know how we sneak in together and nobody said anything. I lowkey think the server had our back because when I finally came back after sending my husband out before me to act as normal as possible. The server brought the bill with a smirk and my baby tipped him big. Honestly I don’t regret it. He could not resist the sight of me since my makeup was perfectly done, hair blown out in perfect curls, smelling Bararat Rouge, short black dress tight on my snatch body (thank God for the workout routine I follow religiously). Honestly I am surprised he waited that long … I kind of did need to push him the fuck off me, multiple time while we were getting ready. Now I understand Bella and Edward because honeymoon energy makes you want to do it EVERY TIME AND ANYTIME. Like how am I supposed to ignore my man when he looks all good in his suits after he paid for the whole trip and booked this exclusive restaurant in Paris just a front of the Eiffel tower and he gave me red bottoms earlier this evening. Fuck even when we are together he keeps tricking on me. Now here we are, gel on my stomach, belly round and big and my hand in his. Swear I never saw such a big and tall guy, literally a giant being so excited like a literal kid on Christmas morning over the new addition in the family. I told him to wait before he got the name of the baby tatted because you never know what could happen (God forbid …). I never saw him in such distress when I said this. His eyes floated with tears, he hugged me tighter, kissed my neck and whispered: ‘’ You don’t think we deserve this happiness ? or maybe you regret having this with me’’. I hug him and cry. That is my self doubt … God does my self doubt and his abandonment issue always makes us cry in each other's arms in the most gut wrenching way. Fuck self doubt … I am prepared , my doctor got our back, my baby is healthy and I am going have my fucking happy ending. I want it all, I deserve it all and I am having it all.
XOXO
Your Fav Sugar Mama''
You guys have moneyyyy. Like yes your man has money but babe you are very much giving boss babe. You probably have or are working towards having a very demanding degree. Let me tell you something … whatever field you try to get into (I think it's very competitive) you are/will be dominating.
Also this letter was completely off intuition … I did not pull any cards but don’t worry let’s get to the extra messages.
Funny enough y’all may be fucking like beast in mating season before pregnancy but after that everything is going to die down. I think both of y'all have a soft exhibition kink because y’all really don’t care who hears you or sees you. While you are pregnant he is still very loving and he still think you are stunning but y’all prefer missionary, love making, cuddle fuck, being in the bed, doing it on the couch. I see a lot of loving gaze coming from them. Like they look at you like you are the walking definition of love. So much tenderness and longing just by the way they look at you. Also they change the tone of their voice when speaking to you. Is never loud even when they are mad. When they know they are about to get mad, they sit down, take a breath and speak. Is like a routine . NEVER NEVER want to scare you or hurt you. He really is a gentle giant. When it comes to YOU. Only for you. Also if I stick to my vision, you are definitely the one that decorated the apartment. I am getting a condo, penthouse or luxurious apartment in a busy city for your house.
They are going to be even more possessive when you are pregnant. Babe that pregnancy glow is going to do wonders for your skin. You look the fuck good. Hair is long and healthy plus is shiny. Breast sitting pretty and is full. Hips wider and the way you walk is having everyone hooked. Some of y’all have a heel addiction and you are not going to give up heels just because of a baby and that is going to make you look extra sexy. Every time you are going to try to film yourself for fun or to post, they are going to make their presence known. Also every time y’all outside, they always have a hand on your stomach. Damn y’all already pregnant with his seed… what more does he want from you. Like sir … your territory is already marked. You're going to love every moment of it. Cheesy like a kid because your man is even more obsessed with you.
You are going to leave work much earlier. Not because of any health issue. From what I am understanding, y’all never took a break. Always school, work, internship, engagement, big girl job, moving in and marriage. Like is time for you to take moment and just live for the fuck of it.
At some point y’all may not have sex. Because your man does not want to hurt you. You may actually take it well because you feel like it is going to build a big sexual anticipation for next time. So y’all are having your own version of No Nut November.
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PILE 4
‘’ Damm I never felt so powerful. Maybe people are gatekeeping pregnancy because they don’t want you to feel this good. Nah I am kidding. First trimester dragged me around and snatched my wig. I spend more time hugging the toilet bowl than my Baby. The headache and extremely sensitive tits, let’s not forget the hair thinning. Anyways the power I have over my Baby is insane. I am not talking about ‘’yeah is for the baby’’. Nah is like the man is hypnotized by my every move. I could tell him to jump off the roof and I am convinced with enough flirting tactics he will do it. He does it all for me before I even ask sometime before I even think about it, he already did it. He is serious about our baby's future, opening a savings account. For the baby shower, when everyone left he told me he brought our baby investment stocking. He already put money away for his car and university loan. He already looked at a private elementary school and we might hire a cook. I have never been much of a chef but he wants our kid to have it all. The tutor, the chef, the trust fund … oh my baby boy is about to be born on a diamond plate. The way I am treated is almost like I am carrying the next world prophet. I can't wear leggings, my heels need to be a certain inch, camera are on, all time because my Baby needs to be checking that I am always safe. Don’t want me to fall down the stairs or faint in the shower which actually happened . That’s why I can’t get mad at him when his crazy protective side comes out because the end of our journey almost came too quickly. I have a chauffeur and 24/7 maid. Fuck I am birthing the next royalty. What’s wilder is I feel fucking sexy pregnant ? I can spend hours looking at myself in intricate lingerie. Everything is right and the weight gain looks the fucking good on me. I look womanly. Idk … all my life I've been quite petite. Always looking younger than my age. I always wanted to put on some weight but people around always told me to embrace since so many try to be skinny but sitting down in my black lace robe while getting ready in the morning reinforced my need for weight. My tits are firmer and fuller, hips are wider and my butt has a gorgeous hump to it. I love the feeling of having my thigh touching. What’s even more insane is my crazy dom husband love when I am taking charge in the bedroom. He loves it when I wake him with a handjob while speaking of my rule in my soft voice. I always knew my voice had power over him, the man almost bust a nut in his sweat the first time I called him. Now he worships me, he can spend hours eating on my clit, sucking on my thighs and playing on my tits. The other day he was heavily leaking precum while giving clit orgasm after orgasm while I was getting ready for my day. Begging me to put the tip in and sometimes I say ‘’no’’ just to see his reaction and the man whimpered and begged. LOL ! What’s less funny is that my mom decided to become more of hater than she already is. I took my distance from her, my husband hates when I talk to her because I always end up crying but she found out that I had a baby shower. She burst screaming in my house. Everything got handle and my husband did take legal charge but fuck … I just want my mother rn. Once again she let me down.
XOXO
Yours Truly''
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#tarot#tarot reading#tarotcommunity#tarot cards#18+ tarot#divination#pac#pick a card#pick a picture#pick a pile#divine timing#divine guidance#mother#mommy#future spouse tarot#future spouse#future lover#free readings#free tarot readings#free tarot#intuitive guidance#intuitive readings#intuition
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Full Throttle (ii)
pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 16.7K (dont look at me)genre: humor, fluff, angst, smut (?) au: f1 au (i am sorry i am a nerd abt this) rating: m (MINORS DNI)warnings: SLOW BURNNN. mentions of injuries, car crashes // unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), some nipple-play, vaguely (?) rough (?) sex, begging
PREQUELS: would highly recommend reading On the Record and Off the Record to gain some context into the relationship! This fic starts directly after the end of Off the Record
a/n: ok pt 2 here we gooooo! to kae @ylangelegy , who hasn't read the ending of this because they wanted to be surprised. i love you, im sorry, i love you // to alta @haologram , who hyped me up so much and made me feel so much better about my writing // thank you to lola @monamipencil and haneul @chanranghaeys for beta-reading! // and finally, an ENORMOUS thank you to jupiter @cheolism for the banner!
read part 1 here.
FORMULA 1 PIRELLI GRAN PREMIO D’ITALIA 2024 Track: Autodromo Nazionale Monza
Monza, the Temple of Speed. The track that had seen countless legends, where every tire mark told a story of glory and heartache. The crowd—the tifosi—roared like a living entity, their chants filling the air, demanding greatness from Ferrari’s finest. It wasn’t just a race here, it was a pilgrimage. The heat of Italy in late summer mixed with the electric atmosphere of a home Grand Prix, and Jeonghan could feel it all—the energy, the expectation, the weight of a thousand eyes on him.
The Autodromo Nazionale Monza was a track built on speed, but more than that, it was a track built on history. The sweeping curves, the long straights, the iconic Parabolica that would make or break a driver—it was a place where only the brave thrived, and only the strongest survived. Jeonghan knew the stakes: it wasn’t enough to be fast, not when you were wearing Ferrari red. He had to win, not just for himself, but for the tifosi, who saw him as their golden boy. He had to deliver.
As the weekend progressed, he couldn’t escape the growing weight on his shoulders. His performance was scrutinized with every passing second. In the pits, the team’s eyes were on him, hoping for that perfect lap. The techs, the engineers, the strategists—all working in harmony, hoping that Jeonghan would be the one to pull them across the finish line, but in the back of his mind, Jeonghan kept hearing the unspoken truth: nothing less than pole would suffice. Anything less was a failure.
He felt his pulse quicken as the qualifying session wore on, his concentration laser-sharp, every move calculated. But the tire strategy wasn’t perfect, and as the final moments ticked down, the truth settled over him like a cloud of doom. He was not going to make Q3. Neither was Soonyoung. The agony of it slammed into him like a punch to the gut.
The Ferrari garage was quiet, save for the hum of the engines being powered down. Soonyoung clapped him on the shoulder, a small gesture, but Jeonghan could see the frustration in his eyes, the mirror of his own defeat. The disappointment felt like a heavy weight on Jeonghan’s chest, suffocating, and he couldn’t shake it off. He couldn’t even look at the team, let alone the tifosi waiting outside.
The mood around the paddock was tense as Jeonghan left the garage, still in his race suit. The world felt unreal, as though it were in slow motion. He couldn’t escape it. The tifosi would be waiting to cheer their heroes, but today, he hadn’t been the hero they wanted. He was just another failure in a sea of victories that had come before him. He needed to escape it, to clear his mind.
It was then, as he walked toward his motorhome, that he felt it—a small, electric connection. Your hand brushed against his.
He froze.
Your presence was like a balm, soothing the sharp sting of defeat, but it also distracted him. The familiar, intoxicating scent of your shampoo, something floral and faintly sweet, hit him like a memory, and his heart skipped a beat. That scent, mixed with the lingering tension of the day, flooded his senses. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t form words. All he could think about was that fleeting moment—so close—and the ridiculous notion that he had never noticed how desperately he wanted to be closer to you.
You didn’t stop walking either, your movements fluid, confident. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed you, the way the tension built with every step.
Without a word, you both continued on, the space between you shrinking until you finally spoke. Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something that told him you understood more than he let on.
“Tough luck out there,” you said, a hint of sympathy in your tone.
The words were simple, but they hit harder than he expected. His chest tightened as he swallowed. “It’s... whatever,” he muttered, trying to brush it off. He didn’t have the energy to care.
You glanced at his fist, clenched so tightly it was almost painful to watch. “Doesn’t seem like ‘whatever’ to me,” you countered, raising an eyebrow, your words cutting through the fog in his mind.
He let out a small, mirthless chuckle. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice more convincing than he felt. But even as he said it, he knew. He wouldn’t be fine—not until he had redeemed himself, not until he could prove to the world that he was still Ferrari’s shining star. He had to be.
But for now, there was a fleeting connection between the two of you, and it was the only thing that made his heart skip, even if just for a moment.
The race was an uphill battle from the start, as expected. Jeonghan’s starting position was far from ideal, and the track ahead was a maze of cars, each one blocking his path, each one a reminder of the high stakes. The pressure weighed on him heavily, like an invisible force that squeezed the air from his lungs. It wasn’t just about the race, it was about redemption. The tifosi—his tifosi—filled his mind with a deafening chant, a roar of expectation, as if they were willing victory into existence. The weight of their adoration and their demand for perfection followed him, a constant reminder of the legacy he carried.
But Jeonghan had never been one to back down. The track felt like an extension of himself, the tires gripping, the engine vibrating beneath him, urging him to push. Even with traffic clogging his way, he found openings. He fought for every inch of track, his movements sharp, instinctive, like a surgeon making precise cuts. Overtaking felt almost effortless—his car slipping through gaps with the grace of a dancer. He was fluid, controlled, never losing sight of the goal.
As the laps unfolded, his nerves sharpened, but so did his focus. The aggressive strategy that had been laid out for him was beginning to pay off. He was making up ground, inching forward, climbing the ladder of positions one battle at a time. The thought of the tifosi cheering, of their voices blending into one thunderous symphony, drove him. They believed in him. He had to deliver. His mind cleared. He no longer heard the roaring crowds, the whirling thoughts of doubt. All that mattered was the track, the tires, and the roar of the engine beneath him. The conditions became his advantage—he thrived in this chaos.
Through the speed-trap corners, Jeonghan carved his way through the field. The world outside the cockpit blurred into a haze, his focus narrowing into sharp precision. He saw every gap, every opportunity, and he seized them without hesitation. The rain had turned the race into a dance of risk and control, and Jeonghan was leading the waltz.
Crossing the finish line first, Jeonghan allowed himself a single moment of release. The victory wasn’t just for him—it was for Ferrari, for the tifosi, for everything that had been building in his chest since the first day he’d strapped into the car. He had done it. He had delivered.
The roar of the crowd felt like an affirmation of his own heart, beating in time with the cheers of thousands. In that moment, the weight lifted off him, replaced by an overwhelming surge of satisfaction and relief. He had proven himself once again, and it was more sweet than any victory lap could ever capture. The tifosi were wild, their cheers ringing through the air, a thunderous confirmation of what Jeonghan had already known in his heart: this was his race. This was his victory.
After the podium celebrations, the champagne-soaked cheers, and the endless barrage of media questions, Jeonghan finally managed to steal a moment of solitude. His body was spent, muscles aching, his throat raw from the adrenaline-fueled roar that had escaped him as he crossed the finish line. And yet, his mind wasn’t on the race anymore. Not on the points, not on the tifosi.
It was on you.
The fleeting brush of your hand earlier lingered like a phantom touch, a warmth that refused to fade even as the hours passed. The memory of your scent—the subtle floral notes of your shampoo—clung to him, more grounding than the overwhelming chaos of the Monza circuit.
He walked toward his motorhome, each step feeling heavier now that the adrenaline had begun to wane. The din of the paddock was fading, replaced by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears. The glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows, and as he turned the corner, there you were. Waiting for him. Leaning casually against the side of his motorhome, your arms crossed and a knowing smirk dancing on your lips. His footsteps slowed as his eyes locked onto yours, the soft gleam of your smile both a challenge and an invitation.
“You’re late,” you teased, tilting your head in mock disapproval.
Jeonghan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. “Didn’t realize I was on a schedule.”
“You’re always on a schedule,” you shot back, your tone light but your gaze sharp. “Besides, I thought you’d be faster off track too.”
His smirk deepened as he stopped in front of you, close enough that the scent of champagne and adrenaline clung to him. “Big words for someone who’s hanging around my motorhome.”
“Big win for someone who barely made it out of Q2,” you quipped, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.
Jeonghan’s chuckle was low, almost indulgent. “Touché.”
There was a moment of silence, the din of the paddock fading into a distant hum. His eyes traced your face, noting the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheekbones, the way you seemed perfectly at ease under his scrutiny. That unnerved him more than he cared to admit. You’d always been too good at staying cool, keeping him on edge.
“So,” he finally said, leaning casually against the doorframe, “where’s your article? Shouldn’t it be out by now?”
You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh, you think I’m done? I’m holding out for an exclusive.”
Jeonghan’s grin widened, his ego soaking up your words. “An exclusive? From the tifosi’s god?”
Your laugh was soft, teasing, and it sent a warmth through his chest that rivaled the rush of the race. “Your words, not mine.”
“You want a headline that bad?” His voice dropped, his tone dipping into something darker, something that made the air between you shift.
“Maybe,” you replied, your voice steady despite the way he was looking at you now—like he was ready to devour you whole. “But you’d have to give me something worth writing about.”
It was playful, the banter you always shared, but there was something crackling beneath the surface tonight, an electricity neither of you could ignore. Jeonghan stepped closer, his presence swallowing the space between you. You shifted back instinctively, your spine meeting the cool surface of the motorhome door.
“You always have something to say, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, intimate.
“Someone has to keep you grounded,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly as his hand braced against the door beside your head, caging you in. His other hand hovered near your hip, close enough to make you hyper-aware of the heat radiating off him.
“Grounded?” he repeated, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “You’re doing a great job of that.”
Your heart was pounding now, the proximity, the tension—it was overwhelming. “Jeonghan,” you started, your voice quieter, more measured, “this… this isn’t professional.”
“Fuck being professional,” he said, the words slipping out like a confession. Before you could respond, his fingers tilted your jaw, firm but not rough, guiding you to look up at him.
And then his lips were on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was as fierce as it was unrelenting. It wasn’t sweet or tentative—it was raw, all the tension and frustration that had built up between you spilling over in a single, consuming moment. His hand slid to the nape of your neck, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you might pull away.
But you didn’t. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands finding the front of his race suit, clutching the material as if to steady yourself. The world around you blurred into nothing; there was only the warmth of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he kissed like he was claiming something he’d wanted for far too long.
Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something—confirmation, permission, anything. Whatever he found made him grin, wicked and hungry. Without a word, he reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a sharp motion. The door swung wide, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you inside.
The door clicked shut behind you, plunging you both into the dim interior of the motorhome. Jeonghan's hands were everywhere at once, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair. His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, as if he couldn't bear to be separated from you for even a moment.
You stumbled backward, your legs hitting the edge of the small couch. Jeonghan followed, never breaking contact, until you were lying beneath him, the leather cool against your heated skin. His weight pressed you down, a delicious pressure that made your head spin.
"God, I've wanted this for so long," he breathed against your neck, his words punctuated by hot, open-mouthed kisses that trailed down to your collarbone.
You arched into him, your hands fumbling with the zipper of his race suit. Your fingers trembled slightly as you tugged it down and yanked off his fireproofs, revealing more of his sweat-slicked skin. Jeonghan groaned against your throat as your hands slipped inside, exploring the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen.
"How long?" you managed to ask between ragged breaths, curiosity mingling with desire.
Jeonghan lifted his head, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. "Since the first time you interviewed me," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "The way you challenged me, saw right through my bullshit... I knew I was in trouble."
The confession sent a thrill through you, and you pulled him down for another searing kiss. Your tongues danced as his hands roamed your body, pushing up your shirt to caress the soft skin beneath. You gasped into his mouth as his thumb brushed the underside of your breast.
Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as you deepened the kiss. Jeonghan groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your thigh, hitching it up around his waist.
“So what you’re saying,” you whispered, grinding your clothed cunt against him. “Is that you’ve been obsessed with me as long as I have with you.”
He drops his head and groans, hot and heavy, against your throat. “You’re telling me we could have been doing this for three years?”
You pull him back to your lips by his hair, relishing the way he hisses at your touch. “If only you’d put your money where your mouth is, pretty boy.”
At that, he props himself up above you, grinning like the cat that got the canary. “I knew you called me pretty in Japan!”
You desperately claw at his shoulders in an attempt to bring his mouth back to yours. After three years of cat and mouse, you do believe you’re entitled to it. “Jeonghan, I swear to everything that is holy-”
“Say it.” His necklace hangs in front of you, glinting in the dim light of the motorhome. You have half a mind to crane your neck and take it with your teeth. But instead, you choose to stare up at him in mock confusion, fingers dancing at the nape of his neck.
“Say what?”
His answering laugh mocks you a little, and he leans down to gently bite your earlobe. When he speaks, it’s low and deep. “Say I’m pretty. I know you think it when you’re drunk.”
You shiver at the sensation of his teeth grazing your ear, heat pooling in your core. His words make you flush, remembering all the times you'd drunkenly gushed about him to your friends. You'd always been careful to keep things professional in person, but apparently some of your true feelings had slipped out.
"And how would you know what I think when I'm drunk?" you challenge, trying to regain some control.
Jeonghan chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You're not the only one with sources in the paddock, sweetheart."
The pet name sends another thrill through you. You decide to give him what he wants, if only to move things along. "Fine," you breathe, trailing your fingers down his chest. "You're pretty, Jeonghan. Gorgeous, actually. Happy now?"
His grin is triumphant as he captures your lips again, the kiss deep and consuming. "Ecstatic, darling," he murmurs against your mouth.
Your hands roam his body, tracing the lean muscles of his back, feeling them flex under your touch. Jeonghan's fingers dance along your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He breaks the kiss to nip at your jaw, then your neck, drawing a soft moan from your lips.
"You know," he says between kisses, his voice low and husky, "I've imagined this so many times. On the couch in the media room, in the garage, during those long interviews..."
You gasp as he finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. "Is that why you always fidget so much during our talks?"
He chuckles against your skin. "Guilty as charged."
Your hands find the waistband of his fireproofs, , but as one hand curls around your jaw, the other stops you.
“You first,” he breathes, sitting back on his knees to gently urge you out of your shirt.
You lift your arms, allowing him to peel your shirt off slowly, his eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. The cool air of the motorhome raises goosebumps on your flesh, but Jeonghan's heated gaze makes you feel like you're burning up.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the lace edge of your bra. "Even better than I imagined."
You reach up to pull him back down to you, craving the warmth of his body against yours. As your lips meet again, his hands roam your sides, mapping out every curve and dip. You arch into his touch, desperate for more.
His hands brush over your clothed nipple, and you inhale sharply. The sound makes Jeonghan raise his head, a faint smirk dancing across his lips. “Sensitive, are we?” He coos, hands drawing shapes against the swell of your breasts until goosebumps erupt on your flesh.
Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you though the thin fabric of your bra. “Jeonghan,” you breathe, half-warning, half-plea.
His smirk widens as he lowers his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Yes, sweetheart?" He murmurs against your skin. His lips trail lower, ghosting over the lacework.
You arch your back, silently begging for more. Jeonghan obliges, his tongue darting out to trace the lace edge of your bra. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close.
With deft fingers, he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. You lift slightly, allowing him to slide it off. His eyes darken as he takes you in. You moan wantonly, arching your back in an effort to touch you - somewhere, anywhere.
“Jeonghan, please-”
A singular finger traces the curve of your waist up to your collarbone. He hums as you squirm. “Look at you,” he murmurs. You shriek as he pinches your waist. “You act so big in the paddock, and here you are, begging for me to touch you.”
It enrages you a little, how easily he takes you apart. Hell, he’s barely even touched you and you’re already rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any amount of friction.
"Jeonghan, please," you gasp, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Everything?
He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch. "Tell me what you want," he says, his voice low and commanding.
You swallow hard, and the heat pooling between your legs feels hot enough to burn. “Y-your-”
“My what, baby?” His words are punctuated by hot, open mouthed kisses against your collarbones. He pointedly ignores your nipples, a thought that makes you whine. “Speak up.”
“Your mouth, Jeonghan,” you finally get out, hissing when his teeth find purchase on the skin of your neck.
“Yeah? Where, baby?” His hands fit themselves against the curve of your waist. “Here?”
“N-no,” you hate it, the way Jeonghan turns you into a whimpering mess. You shiver as his hands trail up your body.
“Hm…how about…here?” His thumbs brush against the underside of your breast again, and you arch your back, desperate and aching for him.
“Higher,” you breathe, mesmerized by the way his fingers dance up your body, by the way his eyes never leave yours.
“Here, baby?” His fingers tweak an already-hard nipple, and you gasp.
“Yes, please-”
“Say I’m a good driver, sweetheart, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Your eyes snap open, narrowing at him in disbelief. Even now, with you half-naked and writhing beneath him, he can't help but tease. "You're kidding, right?"
Jeonghan's grin is wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not at all. Come on, darling. Just a few little words."
You bite your lip, torn between your pride and your desperate need for his touch. His thumb circles your nipple lazily, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Finally, you cave. "Fine," you breathe. "You're a good driver, Jeonghan. The best, even. Now please—"
Before you can finish, his mouth is on your breast, hot and wet. You cry out, arching into him as his tongue swirls around your nipple. His hand kneads your other breast, fingers teasing your other nipple.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close as he lavishes attention on your breasts. Jeonghan's tongue and teeth work in tandem, drawing gasps and moans from your lips. The sensations are overwhelming, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.
"God, Jeonghan," you breathe, your head falling back against the couch cushions.
He hums against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand trails down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging for more.
Jeonghan lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire as they meet yours. "Tell me you want this," he says, his voice husky and low. "I need to hear you say it."
You nod frantically, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you breathe, your voice filled with need. "I want this. I want you, Jeonghan."
His eyes darken further at your words, a low growl escaping his throat. In one swift motion, he unbuttons your pants and slides them down your legs, taking your underwear with them. You kick them off eagerly, now fully bare beneath him.
Jeonghan's gaze rakes over your body, hungry and appreciative. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his hands skimming up your thighs. "So fucking beautiful."
You reach for him, tugging at the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. "Your turn," you say, your voice breathy with anticipation.
He grins, standing to shuck off the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widen as he reveals himself fully, drinking in the sight of his toned body. Jeonghan's grin widened as he caught you staring. "Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and husky.
You nod, unable to form words as your eyes roam his body. The lean muscles of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hipbones, the impressive length of his cock standing proud against his stomach - it was all even better than you'd imagined.
He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?"
That snapped you out of your daze. "Shut up and get back here," you growl, reaching for him.
Jeonghan obliges, lowering himself back onto the couch and covering your body with his. You gasp at the feeling of skin on skin, the heat of his body against yours. His lips find yours in a searing kiss as his hands explore every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers finally brush against your core, you gasp into his mouth, your hips bucking involuntarily.
“So wet,” he murmurs against your lips. “All for me?”
"Yes," you breathe, your hips rolling against his hand. "All for you."
Jeonghan's fingers explore your folds, teasing and mapping out every sensitive spot. When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan loudly, your back arching off the couch. He sets a slow, torturous pace, curling his finger just right to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars.
"More," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders. "Please, Jeonghan."
He obliges, adding a second finger and increasing his pace. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight, precise movements that have you writhing beneath him. You can feel the tension building in your core, a coiling heat that threatens to consume you. Your hands scramble for purchase against his shoulders – you’re too drunk on lust to recognize if you’re pushing him away because it’s too much or pulling him closer because it’s not nearly enough.
"That's it, baby," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and encouraging. "Let go for me.”
His words push you over the edge, and you come with a cry, your body arching off the couch as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping their relentless rhythm until you're trembling and oversensitive.
As you come down from your high, Jeonghan peppers soft kisses along your jaw and neck. "Beautiful," he murmurs against your skin. "You're so beautiful when you let go."
You're still catching your breath when you feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh. Your hand snakes between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. Jeonghan hisses at the contact, his hips jerking involuntarily.
"Fuck," he groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
"Show me," you breathe, thumb brushing over the tip of his pre-cum slick cock. You relish the way he shudders against you. “Show me everything you imagined, pretty boy.”
He preens a little at your teasing words, arms shaking with the exertion of keeping himself above you. “Yeah?” he purrs, hips bucking to the tempo of your hand. “You wanna see, sweetheart?”
You barely have the time to nod before he’s sweeping his arms under your thighs and sitting back against the couch, setting you on top of him. Your wet heat is inches from his weeping cock, and you give him an experimental roll of your hips. The friction is delicious, and you bite your lips at the way his head rolls back.
You take advantage of his position and press hot kisses against his neck as he squirms below you.
“This is what you wanted, baby?” you whisper against his ear, biting gently. He shudders, one arm circling your waist and the other finding purchase in your hair. “You wanted me on top? Me in control?”
He laughs breathlessly at that, hips grinding against yours with such fervour that you almost succumb right then and there. “You might be on top, sweetheart,” he hisses as you position yourself above him, one hand circling his length. “But I’m the one in char-”
He cuts himself off with a strangled moan as you sink down until your hips are flush to his. “Hmmm?” You hum sweetly against his throat, exhaling at the sheer size of him inside you. “What was that?”
“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back against the couch as his hands trail down to rest on the curve of your ass. “Move, please, sweetheart.”
“Tell me how much you love my writing.” The words leave you in a rush, the sight of him panting for you almost too heady to ignore. You hadn’t planned on teasing him, but his earlier words had lit a fire in your core that would only be doused once you flipped the script on him.
His head is still on the back of the couch as he barks out a laugh. “You’re a fucking menace,” he murmurs, pinching your waist. “Now, move.”
“No.” It takes every bone in your body to stay absolutely still. You can feel him, thick and throbbing, and the thought of it makes you almost forgo this insanity to ride him into oblivion.
His eyes meet yours, and he raises his eyebrows in mock outrage. “Are you serious?” He punctuates his words by dragging a hand down your body, fingers finding your clit and pressing until you jerk away from him. It’s a futile attempt though, because his other hand is still fisted in your hair, and he uses it as leverage to hold you against him, powerless against his ministrations.
With a shaking hand, your press against his wrist until his fingers stop moving in circles around your clit. “C-come on,” you tease breathlessly, using your other hand to thread through his sweat-soaked hair and yanking until he bares his throat to you with a groan. “Play nice, pretty boy. Tell me how much you love my writing.”
He groans again as you lick a stripe up his throat, the hand in your hair loosening as his resolve weakens. “Y-you don’t play fair,” he moans, legs shaking with the exertion of keeping still, of playing your little game of cat and mouse.
“Neither do you,” you whisper, your words paired with a tweak to his nipple that has him gasping and arching his back.
“Fuck!” He cries out, curling forward until his chin rests against your ribs and he’s staring up at you. “Y-your writing is perfect.”
He’s rewarded with another gentle tug on his hair and a firm, “keep going.”
“S-so perfect and wonderful, I – fuck, baby please – read every word th-three times,” he’s almost whimpering now, looking up at you with so much desire that you decide it’s time to reward him for being so pliant, so good for you. “You-you’re the best writer in the whole paddock, fuck, yes, thank yo-”
You decide to put him out of his misery, preening at his praise, you start with an experimental grind against his hips, and watch with glee as he almost melts back against the couch. You decide to take advantage of the situation for a little while longer, rocking your hips faster as his lips find your nipple.
“Who’s in charge?” you coo, fingers gripping his hair a little tighter. He draws back to give you a quick smirk. They don’t call him the fastest on the grid for nothing – one second, you feel like you’re in complete control, and the next, he’s lifting you off of him with surprising ease. Your chest meets the couch before you can even form a single thought, and Jeonghan gathers up your wrists in one of his hands.
“You really thought,” he hisses as he re-enters your aching pussy. “You were in charge, sweetheart?”
The new angle allows him to sink even deeper inside you, drawing a low moan from your lips.
"You were saying?" he purrs, chest pressed against your back, his breath hot on your neck as he sets a punishing pace. Each thrust drives the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and whimpering beneath him.
"You thought you could tease me like that and get away with it?" he groans, his free hand gripping your hip tightly. "Thought you could make me beg?"
You can only moan in response, overwhelmed by the sensation of him pounding into you relentlessly. The couch creaks beneath you dangerously.
"Answer me," Jeonghan demands, slowing his pace torturously.
"J-Jeonghan," you manage to stammer, your voice muffled against the cushions.
He leans over you, his chest pressed against your back as he whispers in your ear. "What was that, sweetheart? I couldn't quite hear you."
You turn your head, meeting his intense gaze over your shoulder. "Please," you whimper.
“Please what?” He demands.
"Please," you gasp, struggling to form coherent thoughts as Jeonghan's hips continue their torturously slow pace. "Please, I need more."
His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "More what, baby? Use your words. You’re so good with words, aren’t you?"
You whine in frustration, trying to push back against him, seeking the friction you desperately crave. But his grip on your hip is firm, holding you in place.
"Fuck me," you finally manage to choke out. "Please, Jeonghan, fuck me harder."
"There we go," he purrs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Was that so hard?"
Before you can retort, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your fingers clawing at the couch cushions.
Jeonghan sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you further into the couch cushions. The hand not holding your wrists snakes around to find your clit, rubbing tight circles that have you seeing stars.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Jeonghan groans, his breath hot against your neck. "So tight, so perfect for me."
You moan at his words, feeling the familiar coil of heat building in your core. "J-Jeonghan," you whimper, "I'm close..."
"That's it, baby," he encourages, his fingers working faster against your clit. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
Every part of your body is on fire, from the way Jeonghan's hips press against yours to the way his fingers expertly stroke your clit.
You come with a cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your inner walls clench around him, drawing a deep groan from Jeonghan.
He doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another. You're oversensitive, every nerve ending on fire, but the pleasure is too intense to resist.
"God, you're perfect," Jeonghan pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "So fucking perfect."
You feel his thrusts becoming more desperate, his breathing ragged against your neck. "Come on, Jeonghan," you manage to gasp out.
"Come for me," you urge him, clenching around him deliberately.
With a guttural groan, Jeonghan's hips stutter and he comes, spilling inside you as his body shudders with release. The feeling of him pulsing within you sends you over the edge again, and you cry out, trembling beneath him.
For a long moment, the only sound in the motorhome is your combined heavy breathing. Jeonghan releases your wrists and gently pulls out, causing you both to wince at the sensitivity.
Jeonghan collapses onto the couch beside you, his body warm and solid as he pulls you into his arms. The weight of him, the feeling of his heartbeat drumming against your cheek, is grounding. You curl into his chest, letting the rise and fall of his breathing lull you into a rare moment of stillness. His fingers trace lazy patterns across your back, the movements unhurried, almost absentminded, as if he can’t bear to stop touching you just yet.
“Well,” he says finally, his voice rough and lower than usual, laced with satisfaction. “I think that was worth the wait.”
You huff a laugh, the sound barely audible over the soft thrum of life outside the motorhome. “Of course you do,” you mutter, your cheek pressed against the hard planes of his chest, which smells faintly of sweat, champagne, and something uniquely Jeonghan.
His fingers pause their tracing for a moment, as though considering his next move, before starting again, this time slower and more deliberate. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his tone teasing, though softer now, quieter, like the vulnerability from before hadn’t completely left. “You’ve been thinking about this as much as I have.”
You tilt your head up, catching the faint glow of the ceiling light reflected in his eyes. They’re darker now, warmer, but still full of that infuriating smugness. Your lips twitch in defiance as you fight the urge to smile. “What makes you so sure I was thinking about it at all?”
Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, a lock of hair falling across his forehead in a way that’s unfairly distracting. His grin is sharp and unrelenting. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“Am not,” you fire back, though your tone lacks any real conviction. The way his fingers continue their soft, languid exploration of your back doesn’t help.
“Okay,” he says, clearly enjoying himself as he leans his head back against the couch. “So when you cornered me after qualifying that one time in Japan two years ago, that wasn’t because you couldn’t stop staring at me in my race suit?”
You gape at him, your body jerking upright just enough to glare at him properly. “I cornered you because I wanted a quote, you egomaniac.” You punctuate the accusation with a half-hearted swat at his arm.
He catches your wrist easily, his grip firm but gentle, and intertwines his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand against yours is distracting, and it takes all your willpower not to lose focus. “Oh, you got a quote, all right,” he counters, his laughter bubbling up like he’s savoring every second of your indignation. “Admit it—you’ve been counting the days.”
You roll your eyes, the movement dramatic, though the warmth blooming in your chest betrays you. “And if I was?”
Jeonghan’s grin softens at your words, the sharp edges smoothing out into something quieter, something vulnerable. He lifts a hand to your face, his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. “Then I’d say it was worth the wait,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate.
The air between you shifts, heavier now, the teasing replaced by something else entirely. His gaze locks on yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades—the low hum of the paddock outside, the faint creak of the motorhome settling. All that exists is him, his hand still resting near your face, and the weight of his words hanging between you.
Your throat feels tight, and you clear it quickly, trying to shake off the spell he’s cast over you. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, shifting slightly to put some distance between you.
“Too late,” he replies with a ghost of a smirk, leaning back lazily against the couch. His arm stretches along the back of the cushions, the casual sprawl of his posture somehow making him seem even more confident. Then, with an easy grace that feels entirely unfair, he leans forward and plucks something from the coffee table. “By the way, your article? It’s still late.”
You blink at him, incredulous, before groaning and burying your face in your hands. “Now you care about professionalism?”
Jeonghan shrugs, holding out his hand as if offering you an invisible microphone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exclusive with the winner of Monza? Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
You peek at him through your fingers, shaking your head with a laugh that’s half exasperation, half affection. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he counters, his voice softening again as he leans forward to press a kiss to your temple. His lips linger there, warm and reassuring, before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. “But I’ll let you pretend for a little while.”
Jeonghan’s arms tighten around you as the laughter fades into a comfortable quiet. The warmth of his hand on your back and the steady rhythm of his breathing are grounding, but your thoughts won’t stop spinning. You tilt your head up to look at him, searching his expression for something you can’t quite name.
“What?” he asks softly, his tone warm but teasing. His fingers brush over the curve of your shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
“What… what are we now?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw.
Jeonghan’s gaze doesn’t waver. His thumb brushes your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. “We’re whatever you want to be, sweetheart,” he says simply, his voice low and full of something too deep to name.
You feel your heart stutter, the weight of his words sinking into you. “Can we…” You hesitate, the vulnerability of the moment making your voice falter. “Can we take it slow?”
For a second, he just blinks at you, and then the corners of his mouth lift into that infuriatingly familiar smirk. “Take it slow? After you just made me beg?” He chuckles, the sound soft but undeniably teasing. “You’re full of surprises.”
Your face heats instantly, and you swat at his shoulder, your embarrassment overridden by his smugness. “Shut up.”
Jeonghan catches your wrist before you can retreat, his laughter fading as he shifts closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m kidding,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. The mischief in his eyes melts into something gentler, something that makes your breath catch. “I’ll wait as long as you want.”
You glance at him, your walls crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “It’s just…” You trail off, trying to find the right words, the weight of reality settling in around you. “Our careers, the season… It’s a lot. I don’t want to mess this up, not with everything else happening.”
Jeonghan’s expression softens even further, the teasing flicker in his eyes replaced by understanding. “I get it,” he says quietly. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I’ve waited three years to feel this close to you. What’s forever if it means I get to do it right?”
The words hit you like a punch to the chest, equal parts devastating and beautiful. You close your eyes for a moment, letting them sink in, before leaning forward to press your lips to his—soft, brief, but full of everything you can’t quite bring yourself to say.
When you pull back, Jeonghan’s smile is softer than you’ve ever seen it, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.
“No pressure, though,” he adds after a beat, his teasing tone returning as his grin widens. “Unless you’re writing a follow-up article about me being the world’s most patient man.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest as he laughs, the sound rich and warm. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, but you love me for it,” he counters, his hand sliding back to your hair, cradling you close.
And maybe you do. Maybe you always have.
FORMULA 1 QATAR AIRWAYS AZERBAIJAN GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Baku City Circuit
The streets of Baku were as much a character in the race as any driver—a stunning clash of history and modernity, where medieval walls stood beside glimmering skyscrapers. The track was notorious for its tight corners and long straights, a playground of risk and reward. Jeonghan knew every inch of it like it was an old rival, one he had to best to keep his championship hopes alive.
Qualifying was tight—Jeonghan secured P2, just behind Mingyu. "He’s fast," Jeonghan muttered to you that evening, the weight of the competition clear in his voice. But there was no self-doubt, just the quiet calculation that always preceded his brilliance.
Race day was a spectacle. Jeonghan’s precision through the castle section was breathtaking, and when the opportunity came to pass Mingyu on the long straight during the final stint, he didn’t hesitate. The roar of the tifosi—echoing even in Azerbaijan—followed him as he crossed the line first. The team’s radio had erupted with cheers as Jeonghan crossed the finish line, and when you saw him after the podium ceremony, his champagne-damp hair and triumphant smile had made your heart skip a beat.
Later, after the media frenzy, Jeonghan pulls you aside. "Come on," he says with a conspiratorial grin, grabbing your hand. "You didn’t think I’d let you leave Baku without exploring, did you?"
The cobblestone streets of Baku feel like something out of a postcard. The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the historic Old City. Jeonghan walks beside you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he gestures to the buildings with a sense of wonder that’s rare to see in him.
“How do you know all this?” you ask, genuinely curious as he points out the Maiden Tower and recounts its legends with surprising accuracy.
He grins, tilting his head in that maddeningly charming way. “What, you thought I only studied race strategies? I’ve got layers, sweetheart.” He insists on taking cheesy tourist photos, including one where he pretends to be a knight defending you at the city walls.
“I could be your knight in shining armor,” he teases, holding his imaginary sword aloft.
You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re already Ferrari’s golden boy,” you shoot back, snapping the photo anyway. “Isn’t that enough?”
He’s good at this—whisking you away from the chaos of the paddock and making you forget, even if just for a moment, that the world is watching him.
Now, as you wander the streets of Baku, he’s more relaxed, his usual playful demeanor slipping into something softer. You pause in front of a street vendor selling intricate souvenirs, and Jeonghan picks up a small, hand-carved wooden box.
“For your desk,” he says simply, handing it to you before you can protest.
“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but you take the gift anyway.
“Yeah, but you love me,” he teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders as the two of you continue down the street, the sound of distant music and laughter filling the warm night air.
That night, back at the hotel, Jeonghan skims your article on his phone while sprawled on the couch.
Jeonghan’s Baku Blitz: Closes the Gap to Mingyu with Stunning Victory
His smirk grows wider with every sentence. “Stunning victory, huh? You really know how to make me sound good.”
You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “It was stunning. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Oh, it’s too late for that,” he quips, pulling you into his lap. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the little shout-out to my late-braking move. Makes me wonder how closely you’re watching me.”
“Always,” you admit softly, the truth laced between your words. His grin softens, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.
FORMULA 1 SINGAPORE AIRLINES SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Marina Bay Street Circuit
The Marina Bay Circuit was infamous—its oppressive heat, humidity, and unforgiving corners made it a grueling test of endurance. It was Jeonghan’s least favorite track, something he’d muttered repeatedly during practice.
In qualifying, he delivered a masterclass, securing pole position under the glowing lights that lined the circuit. "See?" he said, leaning casually against his car afterward, sweat still dripping from his brow. "Guess the heat doesn’t bother me as much as I thought." Watching him grin through post-quali interviews, drenched in sweat but radiating confidence, had you practically floating back to your hotel room.
You’ve barely ventured outside the hotel after qualifying, and he texts you cryptically to “stay put.” Now, the air conditioning hums softly as you sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through headlines about his performance. You’re still reading when the door swings open, and Jeonghan strides in, carrying a tray.
“Room service,” he announces with a dramatic flourish, setting it down beside you.
Your eyes widen at the sight of chocolate-covered strawberries and a chilled bottle of champagne. “What’s the occasion?”
He shrugs, popping the cork with practiced ease. “Pole position deserves a celebration. Plus…” He smirks, holding up a strawberry. “I wanted to see you smile.”
You laugh, shaking your head as he moves closer, offering the berry. But when you reach for it, he pulls it back, dragging it over your lips instead, smearing chocolate at the corner of your mouth.
“You missed a spot,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss it away. The sweetness lingers on his lips, and before you know it, he’s pulled you into his lap, the rest of the world forgotten.
The race the next day is less triumphant. A perfectly timed pit stop keeps Jeonghan ahead of the pack for most of the race, but a late safety car allows another driver to close the gap, relegating him to P2. Still, with Mingyu out of the race, Jeonghan’s second-place finish is enough to reclaim the championship lead.
Jeonghan’s expression is unreadable when he reads your latest article:
Heat and Havoc in Singapore: Jeonghan Takes Second as Mingyu Crashes Out
“Well, at least you didn’t call me lucky,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair.
“You weren’t lucky. You earned that result,” you reply, watching his face carefully.
He hums, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Still. Next time, I’d rather win outright.”
FALL BREAK: SEPT 23-OCT 17
The crisp autumn air brushes against your face as you unlock your front door, arms full of groceries. It’s been a quiet few weeks since Singapore, the space between races stretching out like an eternity. You’ve tried to enjoy the pause, but it feels strange—unnatural, even—to be so far removed from the whirlwind of Jeonghan’s life.
Your thoughts drift to him as you drop the keys on the counter. Monaco. Ferrari’s headquarters in Maranello. Both places are worlds away from your little apartment.
You’re unloading a carton of eggs when there’s a knock at the door. Confused, you glance at the clock. It’s too late for deliveries and far too early for your neighbors to come by.
When you open the door, your heart stops.
Jeonghan stands there, his frame relaxed yet somehow magnetic. He’s dressed in a simple leather jacket and jeans, his dark hair catching the golden glow of the setting sun. A bouquet of your favorite flowers is clutched in one hand, their vibrant colors almost as captivating as the smile tugging at his lips.
“Jeonghan?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “What are you—how—”
“Miss me?” he interrupts, stepping inside before you can fully process his presence. He hands you the flowers like it’s the most natural thing in the world, leaning in to press a quick kiss against your lips.
Your breath catches, and you can only stare at him, your mind struggling to keep up.
“You live in Monaco,” you point out, still staring at him. “And work in Italy.”
“I’m aware,” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Of course, I missed you,” you murmur, your cheeks heating.
“Good.” He grins and takes your free hand, tugging you toward the door.
“Wait—where are we going?”
“Out,” he says simply.
You try to protest, gesturing to the groceries still sitting on the counter, but he’s already leading you down the hallway. His excitement is infectious, and you find yourself laughing despite your confusion.
An hour later, you’re standing at the entrance of a sprawling amusement park, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the evening sky.
“You’re serious?” you ask, staring at the carousel spinning lazily in the distance.
“Dead serious,” Jeonghan replies, his tone light as he hands over your ticket. “I figured you could use a night off.”
“I’m not the one traveling the world every other week,” you point out.
“Exactly,” he counters, his smile growing. “I needed to see you smile. And this seemed like a good place to start.”
The night unfolds in a blur of laughter and adrenaline. Jeonghan, surprisingly competitive, insists on winning you a giant stuffed bear at the ring toss, only to fail spectacularly—twice. You tease him mercilessly, your stomach aching from how hard you’re laughing.
When you step off the bumper cars, your cheeks are flushed, and your voice is hoarse from yelling. Jeonghan is no better, his hair sticking up in all directions after you gleefully rammed into him three times in a row.
“I think you’ve got a mean streak,” he says, pretending to nurse an invisible injury.
“Me?” you gasp, feigning innocence. “You literally tried to corner me!”
He doesn’t respond—at least, not verbally. Instead, he grabs your hand again, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you toward the Ferris wheel.
The view from the top is breathtaking. The park stretches out below you, a sea of lights and movement, while the city skyline glimmers in the distance.
Jeonghan is quiet beside you, his gaze fixed on your face instead of the view. You turn to him, suddenly aware of how close he’s sitting.
“What?” you ask softly.
“You’re happy,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I like seeing you like this.”
Before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s slow and deliberate, his hand moving to cradle your jaw as the world around you seems to fall away.
When he pulls back, you’re both smiling.
“This is dangerous,” you tease, though your voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re going to make me think nothing can go wrong.”
“Maybe nothing will,” he replies, his forehead resting gently against yours.
FORMULA 1 PIRELLI UNITED STATES GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Circuit of the Americas
Austin brought a different kind of challenge. The Circuit of the Americas was iconic for its mix of sweeping corners, elevation changes, and a crowd that rivaled the tifosi in their enthusiasm. Jeonghan thrived here, securing P1 in qualifying and delivering a flawless race to claim another victory.
"Two wins in three races," he said that evening, pulling you into his side as you walked into a cowboy-themed bar downtown. "Guess I’m on a roll."
The bar was loud, filled with locals and fans alike, but Jeonghan stood out effortlessly. His cowboy hat tilted just right, a plaid shirt unbuttoned enough to make you wonder how he managed to look like that after hours in a car.
He kept his hand in your back pocket all night, his touch a silent claim when no one was looking. Every time he leaned in to murmur something in your ear, his lips brushed your skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.
"Save a horse, ride a cowboy," he whispered at one point, his grin wicked as he tipped his hat at you.
That was all it took. You dragged him back to the hotel, barely making it through the door before he was on you, the hat ending up on the floor somewhere between the bed and the door.
The article you write the next day earns a rare whistle of approval from Jeonghan:
Cowboy Jeonghan Rides High in Austin, Extends Championship Lead
“I think this might be your best one yet,” he says, setting the phone down as he pulls you into his lap.
“Because I complimented you, or because I called you a cowboy?”
“Both,” he answers, his lips brushing against yours. “You know how much I love it when you’re right.”
And as his hand slides to the small of your back, you can’t help but think this season isn’t just his championship—it’s yours, too.
FORMULA 1 GRAN PREMIO DE LA CIUDAD DE MÉXICO 2024 Track: Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez
The atmosphere at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez crackles with energy even hours after the race ends. The stands have mostly cleared, but the celebratory chaos of the paddock lingers. Jeonghan, fresh off another stellar performance, grins as reporters crowd around him, microphones extended like offerings. His hair is damp with sweat, his race suit tied around his waist as he leans casually against the Ferrari garage.
You watch from a distance, notebook in hand, trying not to let your gaze linger too long. He catches your eye anyway, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s been calling you his “lucky charm” ever since you started waking up in his bed on race mornings, and it’s a moniker he seems to enjoy reminding you of at every opportunity.
"Don't go too far," he says when the interviews wrap up, his voice low as he brushes past you on his way to the motorhome. The warmth of his fingertips grazing your wrist sends a jolt of electricity through you. "We’re celebrating tonight, and you’re not wriggling out of it this time."
You don’t see the ambush coming.
You’re reviewing your notes in the quiet corner of the paddock when your editor finds you. His expression is stern, almost irate, as he approaches. The celebration around you suddenly feels muffled, the weight of his presence pulling you back to reality.
"Finally," he snaps, crossing his arms. "I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days."
"Hey, sorry, it’s been hectic," you start, tucking your notebook under your arm.
He doesn’t let you finish. "Hectic? I gave you the Ferrari all-access months ago. They’re breathing down my neck about where the hell it is. Where’s the draft?"
The question lands like a punch to the gut. You open your mouth, fumbling for an answer, but he’s already barreling forward.
"And don’t think I haven’t noticed your tone shift," he continues, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. "All this newfound niceness toward Jeonghan in your articles. What’s that about, huh? You sleeping with him or something?"
The accusation slices through you, leaving you momentarily stunned.
"That’s not—" you begin, but your voice falters.
"Spare me," he says, waving you off. "I don’t care what’s going on between you two, but I do care about the reputation of this outlet. You’ve built your career on being incisive, unbiased. So get it together, or I’ll find someone who can."
He doesn’t wait for a response, leaving you standing there as the din of the paddock swells around you. The celebration feels distant now, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears.
When Jeonghan finally finds you later that night, you’re a bundle of frayed nerves. The confrontation with your editor replays in your head like a broken record, each word cutting deeper into your carefully constructed sense of self. You sit hunched over your laptop in the corner of the media center, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that match the knot in your chest.
“What, you sleeping with him or something?”
The accusation echoes, burrowing into your mind, where it tangles with your own insecurities. You’ve built your entire career on being sharp, unbiased, and unflinchingly honest. And yet, somewhere along the way, Jeonghan had slipped through your defenses. You can still hear the venom in your editor’s voice, feel the judgment in his eyes. The doubt wasn’t just his anymore—it was yours, too.
Was he right? Had you compromised everything for Jeonghan?
Your hands tremble slightly as you scroll through the notes you’ve been trying to organize for hours, but the words blur together, useless. Guilt presses against your ribs like a vice, mixing with a raw ache of something you’re too scared to name. You’re drowning in your own thoughts, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve let everyone down: your editor, your readers, and most of all, Jeonghan.
When he finally appears, his presence fills the doorway like a shadow cutting through the sterile light. He leans against the doorframe with a casualness you can’t match, arms crossed and head tilted slightly, his damp hair still clinging to his forehead. The sight of him, so familiar and yet suddenly so distant, sends a pang through your chest.
“Working late?” he asks, his voice low but carrying the faint edge of concern.
You look up, startled, and quickly shut your laptop as if that might erase everything weighing on you. “Just...catching up,” you say, forcing a smile that feels as flimsy as the excuse.
Jeonghan doesn’t move, his eyes scanning you with the precision of someone who knows you too well. He doesn’t buy the act—you can tell by the way his brows knit together, a subtle but telling sign of his worry.
“Catching up on what?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone light but probing.
You shrug, trying to sound casual. “Just notes. Articles. The usual.”
His gaze sharpens. “Right. And that’s why you look like you haven’t breathed in hours?”
You glance away, your fingers curling into fists on the tabletop. “I’m fine, Jeonghan. Go enjoy your win. You earned it.”
“And what, leave you like this?” He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, resting his arms on the table. “Not happening.”
The flood of emotions bubbling under your surface threatens to spill over. You want to tell him everything, but the words feel too tangled, too raw.
“I just need to get this done,” you say, your voice tight.
Jeonghan frowns, studying you more closely. "What’s going on? Did something happen?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, sidestepping him. "I just need some space tonight, okay?"
His hand brushes your arm, but you pull away, and the confusion in his eyes makes your stomach twist. "Fine," he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. "If that’s what you want."
Jeonghan wakes up to sunlight filtering through the blinds, but the bed feels empty. The cool sheets where you usually sleep tug at his attention before he fully registers the weight in his chest. Frowning, he rolls over and reaches for his phone on the nightstand, still groggy.
The screen lights up with a mess of notifications: congratulatory texts, memes from Soonyoung, and a dozen links to your latest article. He swipes through the chaos with a faint smile, already anticipating your sharp insights mingled with the familiar affection that’s always laced through your critiques.
Propping himself up against the headboard, Jeonghan opens the piece. At first, the smile lingers—he’s grown to appreciate the balance you strike between honest criticism and admiration. But the further he reads, the slower he scrolls, the words pressing into him like bruises.
His smile fades entirely by the time he reaches the paragraph describing his meltdown in Spain. The words cut too close, dragging him back to that moment in the Aston Martin garage: the oppressive silence, the rain hammering against the roof, and the suffocating realization of yet another missed opportunity.
"Jeonghan’s brilliance is undeniable, but brilliance without consistency leaves championships just out of reach."
The sentence burns itself into his mind. The carefully chosen words feel clinical, detached—so unlike you. He rereads it, hoping to find the warmth he’s come to expect, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Jeonghan tosses his phone onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, disbelief simmering into anger. This wasn’t just an article. This was personal.
The paddock is bustling, teams dismantling their motorhomes to get ready for next weekend. Jeonghan doesn’t bother changing out of his sweats before leaving his room, each step through the maze of hospitality suites and garages fueled by frustration.
When he finally reaches the media center, his chest tightens at the sight of you hunched over your laptop, headphones in, oblivious to his stormy approach. He doesn’t hesitate.
"You want to tell me what the hell that was?" His voice slices through the low hum of conversations around you.
Startled, you pull off your headphones, your eyes widening as you take him in. "Jeonghan—"
"No." He slaps his phone onto the desk in front of you, his movements sharp and deliberate. The article stares back at you, a glaring reminder of the wedge you’ve driven between you. "Don’t ‘Jeonghan’ me. What is this?"
"It’s my job," you say, standing to meet his intensity. The tremor in your voice betrays your composure. "You’ve always said you respected that about me."
"Respect?" His laugh is sharp, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. "You think I respect this?" He gestures to the article like it’s a living thing, something venomous and cruel. "You went for my throat."
"I didn’t go for your throat," you argue, though your voice cracks at the edges. "I wrote the truth."
"The truth?" His hands ball into fists at his sides. "You think I don’t know when you’re pulling punches? You tore me apart for no reason."
"You’ve been avoiding media days. You had a meltdown in Spain," you fire back, your tone rising as your frustration bubbles to the surface. "Those are facts, Jeonghan."
"You didn’t have to highlight them," he counters, his voice quieter but no less cutting. "You know how much this season means to me."
"And do you think this was easy for me?" you ask, tears pricking at your eyes. "Do you think I wanted to write that?"
"Then why did you?" His voice softens, the anger slipping to reveal something raw and vulnerable. "Why would you do that to me?"
"Because I had to!" The words explode out of you, breaking the fragile tension. "Because people already think I’m biased. That I’ve gone soft. That I’m compromised because of you."
The weight of your confession hangs in the air, pressing down on both of you. Jeonghan’s face shifts, the fury giving way to something heavier—hurt, confusion, disappointment.
"I never asked you to compromise anything for me," he says quietly, his voice thick. "I never would."
You look away, your gaze falling to the floor. "I know. But this isn’t just about you. It’s about my career. My integrity."
"And what about us?" he asks, his voice breaking slightly. "Where does that leave us?"
You have no answer, the words lodged in your throat. The silence stretches, broken only by the faint hum of activity outside the room.
Finally, Jeonghan exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I can’t do this right now," he mutters, taking a step back. "I need...I need to get out of here."
Jeonghan finds himself at the bar later that evening, the neon lights washing over him in hazy blues and reds. The whiskey in his glass is halfway gone before Soonyoung slides onto the stool next to him, his arrival quiet but not unnoticed.
"You look like shit," Soonyoung says, his tone light despite the obvious concern in his eyes.
"Thanks," Jeonghan mutters, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
They sit in silence for a moment before Soonyoung breaks it. "Want to talk about it?"
Jeonghan stares at his drink, the ice melting faster than he can keep up with. "I don’t know what we’re doing anymore," he admits, the words coming out heavier than he expected. "Me and her."
Soonyoung hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of his drink. "You two have always been complicated."
Jeonghan huffs out a humorless laugh. "That’s one way to put it."
"But," Soonyoung says, setting his glass down, "you’ve also always figured it out."
Jeonghan doesn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of frustration and longing.
"You’re not going to fix it tonight," Soonyoung continues, his voice quieter now. "But if it matters—and I know it does—you’ll find a way. Just...don’t wait too long, yeah?"
Jeonghan nods slowly, the whiskey burning on its way down. Soonyoung’s words linger, a reminder of what he already knows but isn’t ready to face.
Not yet.
FORMULA 1 LENOVO GRANDE PRÊMIO DE SÃO PAULO 2024 Track: Autódromo José Carlos Pace
The rain is relentless in São Paulo, hammering down on the paddock and turning the atmosphere into a chaotic mess of drenched personnel and frayed nerves. Qualifying has been suspended indefinitely, the downpour rendering the track undriveable, and the mood in the Ferrari garage is grim. The asphalt glistens under the floodlights, reflecting streaks of color from team banners and sponsor logos. It feels like the world is holding its breath.
You’ve never liked rain. It has a way of amplifying what’s already simmering under the surface, and today is no exception. Your heart pounds as you weave through the maze of garages, dodging puddles and sidelong glances from team members. You know exactly where he’ll be—Jeonghan never strays far from the Ferrari setup, even when there’s nothing to do but wait.
Sure enough, there he is. Sitting on the edge of a workbench, his race suit unzipped to his waist and his damp undershirt clinging to his torso. His head is bowed, one hand gripping the edge of the bench while the other pushes wet strands of hair back from his forehead. He looks exhausted—physically, emotionally—but the moment your shoes scuff against the concrete floor, his eyes snap up to meet yours.
You’ve been blowing up his phone all week. Texts, calls, voice notes—all unanswered or met with cold, clipped replies.
"Jeonghan," you start, the sound of your voice barely carrying over the rain pelting the garage roof.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. "What are you doing here?"
The coldness in his tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you force yourself to step closer. "I could ask you the same thing."
His laugh is short, bitter. "Why are you surprised? This is where I always am."
"Don’t do that," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Don’t act like this is normal. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks."
"I haven’t been ignoring you," he snaps, pushing off the bench. He stands tall now, towering over you, his hands resting on his hips. "I’ve been busy."
"Busy?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "You call one-word replies busy? Jeonghan, I’ve been calling and texting nonstop, and you’ve barely said anything to me."
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the distant clatter of tools being packed away. Finally, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair again.
"Maybe I’m tired," he says, his voice quieter but no less sharp. "Maybe I’m sick of pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."
Your heart twists at the admission, but you push it aside. "What’s not fine? Tell me, Jeonghan. Because I don’t understand why you’re shutting me out."
He shakes his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "You don’t understand?" His voice rises, cracking with the weight of his frustration. "How could you not? You tore me apart in that article like I was just another driver. Like I meant nothing to you."
"It’s my job," you argue, but the words sound weak even to your ears.
"Your job?" he repeats, throwing his arms up. "You mean the job where you’re supposed to be unbiased? Yeah, I’ve noticed how ‘unbiased’ you’ve been lately. Especially when it comes to me."
"That’s not fair," you shoot back, taking a step closer. "You know I’ve always tried to be honest—"
"Honest?" He laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. "You call dragging my worst moments into the spotlight honest? You didn’t write about me; you dissected me. Like I was nothing more than a story."
Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let him see how much his words cut. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."
"But you did," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its edge. "And now I don’t even know where we stand."
"We stand..." You falter, your throat tightening. "We stand where we’ve always stood. I care about you, Jeonghan. But this is complicated."
He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "It doesn’t have to be. It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way."
You look away, unable to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand what this means for me. For my career. For the season."
"And what about me?" he presses, his voice breaking. "What about what this means for us?"
The weight of his words hangs between you, heavy and suffocating. You take a shaky step back, the sound of the rain growing louder in the silence. "Maybe I should go," you whisper, turning toward the garage entrance.
"Don’t," he says sharply, and before you can take another step, his hand wraps around your wrist. “Don’t walk away from me.”
You barely have time to register the movement before he’s pulling you back, his other hand cupping your face as his lips crash against yours. The rain spills into the garage, soaking you both as his kiss deepens, desperate and unyielding. His hands slide to your waist, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I won’t give you up," he whispers, his voice raw. "But I need you to choose."
"Jeonghan..." Your voice trembles, but he cuts you off.
"You love me," he says, his hands cupping your face. "Yes or no."
You hesitate, the weight of his question pressing down on you like the storm outside.
"Come on, sweetheart," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don’t make me beg."
"I’m scared," you admit finally, your voice breaking. "Scared of losing myself. Of losing everything I’ve worked for."
He exhales shakily, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Are you willing to lose me to keep writing?"
"I..." The words catch in your throat, the truth slipping through your fingers. "I don’t know."
His hands drop to his sides, and he takes a step back, the distance between you like a chasm. "When you decide," he says quietly, his voice heavy with resignation, "give me a call."
The rain clears just in time for Sunday’s race, and Jeonghan is unstoppable. He weaves through the slick track with the precision and grace that made him a legend, crossing the finish line first and extending his lead in the championship.
But you’re not there to celebrate with him.
You watch from the media center, your chest tight as the cameras capture his triumphant smile. But there’s a hollowness in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken as he scans the crowd for someone who isn’t there.
The post-race interviews blur together, and even as you type up your article, the words feel lifeless. Without him beside you, the hotel room feels cold and sterile, the thrill of the race dulled by the ache in your chest.
The days leading up to the Las Vegas Grand Prix are a haze of press releases and anticipation. Jeonghan is one race away from becoming a world champion, but all you can think about is the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you under the floodlights.
Your editor calls to praise your latest pieces, but the compliments feel hollow. The articles are polished and professional, but they lack the spark you used to feel when writing about him.
You glance at your phone, your thumb hovering over Jeonghan’s name. You haven’t called. Haven’t texted. Haven’t dared to.
Because the truth is, you’re terrified.
Terrified of losing yourself.
But even more terrified of losing him.
FORMULA 1 HEINEKEN SILVER LAS VEGAS GRAND PRIX 2024 Track: Las Vegas Strip Circuit
The sun sets over Las Vegas in a haze of neon and desert dust, the city already buzzing with anticipation for the final race of the season. But in the paddock, the air is electric for all the wrong reasons.
Jeonghan crashes out in Q3.
Your eyes are glued to the screen as Jeonghan’s car slides violently into the barriers, the sharp sound of the impact slicing through the usual hum of commentary. Gasps ripple through the room, but your stomach lurches with something deeper than professional concern.
You’re in the media center when it happens, staring at the screen as his time locks in. The commentators speculate, the other journalists start drafting headlines, but you can’t hear a word of it. Your heart is already in free fall, and you don’t breathe again until he climbs out of the car, his hands held up in frustration as he waves off the medics.
P8. A disastrous result for the race that could make—or break—his championship. It might as well be the end of the world.
The room erupts into murmurs as analysts speculate on strategy and rival team fans cheer, but you barely hear them. Your editor sidles up to your desk, his grin practically gleaming in the fluorescent light.
"Well, well," he says, leaning over your shoulder. "Looks like we’ve got our headline for tomorrow. ‘Jeonghan’s Championship Dream in Tatters.’ Perfect angle to dissect his mistakes, maybe even his cocky attitude catching up with him—"
His words fade into the background as something clicks inside you. Every fiber of your being recoils at the thought of reducing Jeonghan—your Jeonghan—to nothing more than a headline. You love writing, yes, but this? This isn’t writing. This is tearing apart the one person who matters most to you, all for clicks and ad revenue.
Without thinking, you swivel in your chair, fixing your editor with a glare so sharp it silences him mid-sentence. "This is my two weeks’ notice."
He blinks, taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." You stand, grabbing your bag and laptop. "I’m done."
Before he can argue, you’re already out the door, leaving behind the cacophony of keyboards and camera flashes. The paddock is chaos as you weave through the throngs of team personnel and fans, your heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and urgency.
You run.
The Ferrari garage is chaos. Engineers scramble to pack up the car, Jeonghan’s manager barks into his phone, and his publicist looks ready to faint. You push your way through it all, ignoring the glares and the shouted protests.
“He doesn’t want to see anyone right now,” Soonyoung says, stepping in front of you as you approach the motorhome.
“I don’t care,” you snap, shoving past him.
The motorhome is empty.
For a moment, you’re frozen, your chest heaving as you glance around the pristine space. The stillness only amplifies your worry. And then it hits you, like a sudden gust of wind: you know exactly where he is.
You sprint again, your heartbeat pounding louder than the chaos of the paddock behind you. The world blurs into streaks of neon lights, the hum of distant conversations, and the faint roar of engines being powered down for the night. The grandstands loom ahead, their cold metal steps stretching upward like an impossible climb. Each step burns in your legs, your breath coming in shallow gasps, but you don’t let up.
You don’t stop until you see him.
Jeonghan sits alone, halfway up the grandstands, his figure slouched as though the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. The floodlights bathe him in a pale glow, illuminating the soft curve of his profile, his hair catching the light in strands of gold. His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the track below as if searching for answers in the lines he couldn’t master tonight. A half-finished beer dangles loosely from his fingertips, the bottle swaying slightly with every small movement. Beside him, another bottle sits untouched, condensation pooling on the aluminum seat beneath it.
Waiting.
You take the last steps slowly, your chest tightening as your breathing evens out. Up close, his exhaustion is palpable—dark shadows under his eyes, his usual sharp features softened by an unfamiliar vulnerability.
“I knew you’d come,” he says without looking at you, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, but it carries a weight that settles heavily in your chest. He doesn’t even look at you, his gaze still fixed somewhere far ahead, lost in thought.
You hover for a moment before lowering yourself into the seat beside him. The cold aluminum seeps through your jeans, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your own skin after the sprint. Jeonghan doesn’t move, doesn’t turn toward you, and the distance between you feels like a chasm.
“Jeonghan...” you start, your voice hesitant, but he cuts you off with a bitter laugh.
“This is what happens when my lucky charm leaves me,” he mutters, a sad smile curling at the edges of his lips. His tone is light, but it does nothing to hide the ache in his words. He takes a slow sip of his beer, the motion unhurried.
You glance at the track, the sharp turns and straightaways now cloaked in shadows. “It’s not your fault,” you say softly, your hand reaching out to brush his arm. He flinches at the contact, his muscles tense beneath your touch, but he doesn’t pull away.
“P8 doesn’t mean it’s over.”
This time, he turns to look at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The raw vulnerability there makes your chest tighten further. His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head as his gaze drops to the beer bottle in his hand. “This race... it’s everything. If I win, I’m a champion. If I don’t...” He trails off, his words hanging in the air between you.
“I’m scared, Y/N.” His voice cracks, and the sound is almost unbearable. “Scared of all of it. The pressure, the expectations... losing.”
You stare at him, the usually unshakable Jeonghan, the Golden Boy, the Ferrari God, unraveling before you. Your hands move without thinking, cupping his face and tilting his chin so he’s forced to meet your gaze again. His skin is warm beneath your palms, a faint flush from the alcohol—or maybe the stress—lingering across his cheeks.
“Jeonghan,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you close the distance between you. “You love me. Yes or no.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. And then his hands come up to grip your wrists, his touch firm but trembling. “Yes,” he whispers, the word spilling from his lips without hesitation, raw and resolute. His voice shakes, but his eyes hold yours, steady and certain despite the tears brimming there.
A soft smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, your lips brushing against his forehead in a feather-light kiss. “Good,” you whisper, the word carrying a quiet strength. “You’ll always have me.”
His grip on your wrists loosens, his expression shifting to something between confusion and hope. “But your job... your writing?”
“I’m quitting,” you say simply, letting the words hang for a moment. You watch the shock bloom across his face, his eyebrows shooting up as he sits back slightly, pulling your hands with him.
“You’re what?”
You laugh softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek as if to soothe him. “Not writing, idiot,” you tease gently. “I’m still going to write. But I’m not writing for any organization that profits off me tearing the man I love to shreds.”
His lips part, but no words come. He blinks rapidly, trying to process, and you take the opportunity to continue.
“Besides,” you add, your voice lighter now, “Sky Sports has been trying to recruit me for an on-air job for almost a year now.”
He stares at you, his gaze searching your face for any hint of doubt or regret. Finally, his voice comes, soft and uncertain. “You love me?”
The corners of your mouth lift into a playful smile, and you raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you decide to focus on?”
“Y/N,” he says again, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost desperate. His hands move to clasp yours, his fingers lacing through yours as if afraid you’ll slip away. “Do you love me?”
You answer with action, leaning in and capturing his lips in a quick, tender kiss. His breath hitches, his fingers tightening around yours. “Win tomorrow, golden boy,” you whisper, your lips brushing his as you speak. “And I’ll tell you my answer.”
For the first time that night, Jeonghan smiles—a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes and softens the tension in his face. And in that moment, as the world fades to just the two of you under the floodlights, you know he’s already won.
Jeonghan is going to lose.
He’s sure of it.
The car feels like it’s fighting him at every turn, the tires slipping just slightly when he needs them to grip, the brakes locking up when he’s trying to conserve them for the final laps. His body aches from the sheer force of the race—the g-forces on the corners, the strain in his neck, the tension in his hands from gripping the wheel too hard.
The numbers on his dashboard blur together, his mind a muddled mess of strategies, tire temps, and sector times. He’s made up four places since the chaotic start and sits in P4 now, but every gain feels like a herculean effort. Every corner feels like it could be his last.
He slams the steering wheel in frustration as he exits another turn slower than he should, the car wobbling slightly under him. “This isn’t working,” he growls into the radio, his voice clipped and strained.
His engineer’s calm voice filters through the crackling static. “We know, Jeonghan. Stay focused. We believe in you.”
Jeonghan clenches his teeth, a biting retort forming on his tongue, but before he can spit it out, the radio crackles again.
“Your girl is here. In the garage. She’s watching.”
“What the fuck?” The words come out before he can stop them, his tone incredulous.
“Soonyoung wanted to surprise you,” his engineer explains, and Jeonghan can practically hear the grin in his voice.
His mind stutters to a halt, and for a moment, all the noise fades—the engine’s roar, the tires screeching against the asphalt, even the deafening wind rushing past his helmet. He blinks, the image of you sitting in the garage flashing in his mind, your presence there grounding him in a way nothing else can.
And then, like a light cutting through the fog, your words echo in his head. “Win tomorrow, and I’ll tell you my answer.”
His grip on the wheel tightens, his breath steadies, and something in him clicks. It’s not just the car anymore—it’s him. His mind, his body, the machine—they all fall into alignment like pieces of a puzzle.
“Copy,” he says into the radio, his voice calm now. The frustration is gone, replaced by a steely determination.
Lap 50. Jeonghan is chasing down P3, the gap shrinking corner by corner. His tires scream in protest as he takes each turn with precision, braking just a fraction later, accelerating just a fraction earlier. The car isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. He’s making it work.
As he dives into the braking zone at Turn 7, the car in front of him falters, locking up slightly. Jeonghan seizes the opportunity, darting to the inside line and slipping past with a calculated aggression that leaves no room for error.
P3.
Lap 53. The leader pack is within sight now—Mingyu in P1, his closest rival, and Seungcheol in P2, a surprising dark horse this season. The three of them have danced this dance all season, but tonight feels different. Tonight, everything is on the line.
Lap 55. Seungcheol’s car begins to falter, his tires degrading as he struggles to maintain pace. Jeonghan hovers in his slipstream, biding his time.
On the main straight, he pulls to the outside, pushing his car to its limits. The engine roars as he edges past Seungcheol, the two of them side by side into the braking zone. Jeonghan holds his line, his heart pounding as he feels the car stick.
P2.
Lap 58. Mingyu is just ahead, the gap less than a second now. Jeonghan can feel the strain in his body, his hands cramping from the sheer effort, but he doesn’t let up. Every ounce of energy he has left is poured into these final laps.
Lap 59. DRS is open, the rear wing flattening to reduce drag as Jeonghan closes the gap on the straight. Mingyu defends aggressively, forcing Jeonghan to the outside.
They enter Turn 10 side by side, the apex inches away. Jeonghan holds his breath, his tires brushing the curbs as he edges ahead. But Mingyu doesn’t back down, his car pushing right up to Jeonghan’s rear wing as they exit the turn.
Lap 60. The final lap. It’s a battle of wills now, neither of them giving an inch. Jeonghan’s heart feels like it’s about to burst, the sweat dripping down his face soaking into the padding of his helmet.
The final corner looms ahead, and Jeonghan knows this is it. Mingyu is on his inside, the two of them neck and neck as they approach the braking zone.
Jeonghan brakes just a millisecond later, his car sliding slightly as he takes the tighter line. He holds his breath, willing the car to stay steady, and then he’s through.
The checkered flag waves, the two cars crossing the line almost simultaneously.
Jeonghan’s chest heaves as he slumps back in his seat, his mind a blur of exhaustion and adrenaline. He doesn’t know if he’s won or lost—everything was too close, too fast.
The radio crackles to life, and for a moment, all he hears is chaos—shouting, cheering, voices overlapping in a cacophony of noise.
And then, cutting through it all, your voice rings out.
“YOON JEONGHAN, TWO-TIME WORLD CHAMPION!”
The words hit him like a lightning bolt, and a yell tears from his throat, loud and raw and triumphant. He punches the air, his entire body trembling with emotion as he lets out another scream, so loud he’s sure the neighboring cars can hear him.
He’s done it.
Through the static of the radio, he hears your laughter, bright and unrestrained, and it’s the only sound that matters.
Jeonghan rolls into Parc Fermé with deliberate precision, the sound of his engine fading into silence as he pulls to a stop. His hands are shaking, his knuckles pale from the grip he’s maintained for the last grueling laps. The cockpit feels stifling, and yet he lingers for a second longer, the enormity of what’s just happened crashing over him like a wave.
He’s done it.
The realization leaves him breathless. His fingers fumble with the steering wheel as he pulls it free, his movements automatic even as his mind spirals. Around him, the world is chaos. Fans scream from the stands, the floodlights of Las Vegas painting the scene in stark gold and shadows. Through the static in his earpiece, his engineer’s voice is still ringing with elation, and he hears indistinct shouting from his crew, but it all blends into a distant roar.
All Jeonghan can think about is you.
He climbs out of the car, bracing his foot on the halo as he pushes himself upright. For a brief moment, he stands tall atop the machine, his body vibrating with adrenaline. His fists shoot into the air, and he lets out a triumphant yell, a sound ripped from deep within his chest. The Ferrari crew erupts in response, a sea of red swarming toward him, shouting his name, their arms outstretched in celebration.
But Jeonghan’s eyes are already searching, scanning the barriers beyond the chaos, darting from one face to another. He’s not looking for his engineers or the cameras or even his teammates. He’s looking for you.
And then he sees you.
You’re there, pressed against the barricade, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your face is wet—tears streaming freely—but your smile is brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It’s disbelieving, joyous, and so achingly familiar that his breath catches in his throat.
In that moment, everything else fades away. The cheers of his team, the flashing cameras, the rules about protocol—none of it exists anymore.
Jeonghan jumps down from the car, tossing the wheel to a waiting mechanic, and tears at his helmet strap. The world around him is a blur of movement and noise—his team surging forward, the cameras flashing, the announcer’s voice booming overhead—but none of it registers. His helmet comes off with a sharp tug, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he grips the sleek surface in one hand and bolts toward you.
He’s moving before he realizes it, his boots pounding against the pavement as he cuts through the throng of people. The barricade draws closer, and the sight of you—your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling shoulders—grounds him in a way nothing else could.
When he reaches you, he doesn’t stop.
His hands find you immediately. One curls around your neck, his palm warm and steady against your skin, while the other cups your face, his thumb brushing away the tears tracing paths down your cheek. His chest is still heaving, his breath ragged from the exertion of the race, but his touch is impossibly tender.
Your lips part, and your voice comes out in a trembling whisper, just loud enough for him to hear over the chaos. “Congratulations, pretty boy.”
It’s like the world holds its breath. For one fleeting second, it’s just the two of you. The noise of the paddock fades, the flashing lights dim, and all that remains is the quiet intimacy of your words.
Jeonghan’s lips curve into a smile so pure, so unrestrained, that it feels like sunlight breaking through a storm. “You love me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. His forehead dips to rest against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Yes or—”
You don’t let him finish.
Your arms shoot out, locking around his neck as you pull him down into a kiss. It’s desperate and dizzying, a culmination of everything left unsaid. Jeonghan freezes for the briefest of moments, his eyes widening, before melting into you entirely. His lips move against yours, soft but insistent, and the hand on your neck slides up to thread through your hair, holding you close as if you might disappear.
“Yes,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice breaking. Your hands fist in the front of his race suit, anchoring yourself as you press your forehead to his. “Yes. I love you.”
The barriers around you tremble as the Ferrari crew erupts in celebration, their cheers deafening. Jeonghan barely registers it. His fist shoots into the air, his lips still brushing against yours as he laughs—a sound full of pure, unrestrained joy.
“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmurs, his voice shaking with a mix of awe and certainty.
And when you smile back at him, it’s brighter than the floodlights, warmer than the victory.
EPILOGUE
FORMULA 1 ROLEX AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX 2024Track: Albert Park Grand Prix Circuit
The air at Albert Park hums with the kind of energy that only a new season can bring. The stands are packed, a sea of flags waving for drivers and teams, and the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint tang of engine oil. It’s not quite spring yet, but the Melbourne sun still beats down relentlessly, leaving Jeonghan’s fireproofs clinging uncomfortably to his skin as he strides out of the Ferrari garage.
His mind buzzes with the aftermath of qualifying—P2 isn’t pole, but it’s close enough to feel like a promise. Yet, beneath the satisfaction, there’s the familiar tug of nerves that always follows a strong start. Tomorrow is what counts.
His publicist catches up to him, clipboard in hand. “Sky Sports first,” she says, her tone clipped but not unkind.
Jeonghan barely suppresses a groan, already knowing what awaits him. He doesn’t mind media—not entirely—but right now, his thoughts are miles away from answering questions about his out lap or tire degradation.
He rounds the corner into the media pen, where cameras are trained on bright logos and polished smiles. But his eyes find you immediately, waiting just behind the barricade, a microphone in hand, your hair catching the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.
You’re a vision.
He slows as he approaches, his publicist muttering instructions he doesn’t bother to hear. Your eyes catch his, and a secret smile spreads across your lips. He mirrors it, his heart lifting in a way that has nothing to do with his qualifying position.
Jeonghan leans against the barricade, his hands braced on the metal. It’s casual, nonchalant—a stark contrast to the spark simmering beneath the surface. As the questions begin, his fingers shift, brushing yours. The touch is featherlight, a soft sweep of skin against skin, but it’s enough to make his chest tighten.
The lanyard around your neck gleams in the sunlight, a stark reminder of how much had changed—and how much hadn’t. You’re still you.
And you’re wearing it.
The chain glints faintly against your skin, the two charms catching the light with each movement. One is the microphone, delicate and detailed, perfectly crafted. The other is his initial: J. Small, simple, yet undeniably his.
(You’d teased him endlessly when he gave it to you at Christmas. “Modest as always, aren’t you?” you’d laughed.
“Of course,” he’d replied, his voice low and teasing as he leaned into your hair. “One charm for your new job, because I’m so proud of you. And one for me, because I’m so amazing.”
“Two-time world champion,” you’d corrected, poking his ribs.
“Two-time world champion,” he’d agreed with a grin, pulling you into his arms.)
“Jeonghan,” you greet, a secret smile tugging at your lips.
The sound of his name on your lips—professional but laced with affection—sends a warmth through him that he doesn’t bother to hide. “Y/N,” he replies, his tone light but his eyes heavy with meaning.
The interview begins, your questions sharp and to the point. Jeonghan answers with his usual ease, the confidence that had earned him his titles. But he’s distracted, his focus flickering between your voice and the way your thumb absently brushes the microphone charm as you speak.
“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who only managed P2,” you tease, tilting your head slightly.
He leans closer, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Just keeping it interesting. Wouldn’t want to win everything too easily.”
You roll your eyes, but the soft laugh that escapes you betrays your amusement.
The banter continues, each exchange laced with an undercurrent of warmth that only the two of you can fully understand. To anyone watching, it’s just another driver and journalist sharing a lighthearted moment. But to Jeonghan, it’s everything.
When the cameras finally cut, the energy between you shifts. He leans over the barricade without hesitation, his hands curling around the edge for balance as he dips his head toward you.
The first kiss is quick, a soft press of lips that feels like a punctuation mark to the conversation.
The second is slower, more deliberate, as if he’s savoring the fact that he can do this now.
The third lingers, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.
“Jeonghan,” you murmur, glancing around with a mix of amusement and exasperation. But your grin is wide, and your cheeks are flushed, and he knows you’re not annoyed in the slightest.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice so low it barely reaches you. His eyes are soft, his expression open in a way that’s reserved only for you.
Your hand finds his wrist, your fingers curling gently around it. “I love you too,” you reply, your voice steady, your gaze unyielding.
For a moment, the world around you fades—the bustling media pen, the hum of conversations, the clicking cameras. All that exists is the space between you, filled with unspoken promises and the quiet certainty of what comes next.
And as Jeonghan straightens, reluctantly stepping back into the whirlwind of his world, he knows he’s carrying a part of you with him—just as you carry a part of him. Always.
a/n: and that, was full throttle. i cannot express to any of you how proud i am of myself for finishing this. i think i spent more time deleting things on this doc than i did writing it and somehow, i fucking love the way this turned out. alta, kae, if you're reading this - thank you. from the bottom of my heart. this story would have never happened had it not been for the two of you motivating me to get this out of my head and onto a doc. you both inspire me every day and i am lucky that i had you on my side for this one.
#seventeen#svt smut#jeonghan smut#svthub#jeonghan x reader#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#keopihausnet#seventeen smut#jeonghan imagines#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#jeonghan x you#svt x you#seventeen x you#jeonghan scenarios#svt scenarios#seventeen scenarios#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan angst#svt fluff#svt angst#seventeen fluff#seventeen angst#jeonghan fanfic#svt fanfic#seventeen fanfic#tara writes#svt: yjh#thediamondlifenetwork
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Your car spies on you and rats you out to insurance companies
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/af97e40d6dc58176b1093b16e02f7b34/025044861de619ad-e9/s540x810/e717124537c4980b0438c9aabd33bc00a4d1b8eb.jpg)
I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (Mar 13) in SAN FRANCISCO with ROBIN SLOAN, then Toronto, NYC, Anaheim, and more!
Another characteristically brilliant Kashmir Hill story for The New York Times reveals another characteristically terrible fact about modern life: your car secretly records fine-grained telemetry about your driving and sells it to data-brokers, who sell it to insurers, who use it as a pretext to gouge you on premiums:
https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/11/technology/carmakers-driver-tracking-insurance.html
Almost every car manufacturer does this: Hyundai, Nissan, Ford, Chrysler, etc etc:
https://www.repairerdrivennews.com/2020/09/09/ford-state-farm-ford-metromile-honda-verisk-among-insurer-oem-telematics-connections/
This is true whether you own or lease the car, and it's separate from the "black box" your insurer might have offered to you in exchange for a discount on your premiums. In other words, even if you say no to the insurer's carrot – a surveillance-based discount – they've got a stick in reserve: buying your nonconsensually harvested data on the open market.
I've always hated that saying, "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," the reason being that it posits decent treatment as a customer reward program, like the little ramekin warm nuts first class passengers get before takeoff. Companies don't treat you well when you pay them. Companies treat you well when they fear the consequences of treating you badly.
Take Apple. The company offers Ios users a one-tap opt-out from commercial surveillance, and more than 96% of users opted out. Presumably, the other 4% were either confused or on Facebook's payroll. Apple – and its army of cultists – insist that this proves that our world's woes can be traced to cheapskate "consumers" who expected to get something for nothing by using advertising-supported products.
But here's the kicker: right after Apple blocked all its rivals from spying on its customers, it began secretly spying on those customers! Apple has a rival surveillance ad network, and even if you opt out of commercial surveillance on your Iphone, Apple still secretly spies on you and uses the data to target you for ads:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar
Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product – provided the company can get away with treating you as the product. Apple can absolutely get away with treating you as the product, because it lacks the historical constraints that prevented Apple – and other companies – from treating you as the product.
As I described in my McLuhan lecture on enshittification, tech firms can be constrained by four forces:
I. Competition
II. Regulation
III. Self-help
IV. Labor
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel
When companies have real competitors – when a sector is composed of dozens or hundreds of roughly evenly matched firms – they have to worry that a maltreated customer might move to a rival. 40 years of antitrust neglect means that corporations were able to buy their way to dominance with predatory mergers and pricing, producing today's inbred, Habsburg capitalism. Apple and Google are a mobile duopoly, Google is a search monopoly, etc. It's not just tech! Every sector looks like this:
https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers
Eliminating competition doesn't just deprive customers of alternatives, it also empowers corporations. Liberated from "wasteful competition," companies in concentrated industries can extract massive profits. Think of how both Apple and Google have "competitively" arrived at the same 30% app tax on app sales and transactions, a rate that's more than 1,000% higher than the transaction fees extracted by the (bloated, price-gouging) credit-card sector:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/07/curatorial-vig/#app-tax
But cartels' power goes beyond the size of their warchest. The real source of a cartel's power is the ease with which a small number of companies can arrive at – and stick to – a common lobbying position. That's where "regulatory capture" comes in: the mobile duopoly has an easier time of capturing its regulators because two companies have an easy time agreeing on how to spend their app-tax billions:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/
Apple – and Google, and Facebook, and your car company – can violate your privacy because they aren't constrained regulation, just as Uber can violate its drivers' labor rights and Amazon can violate your consumer rights. The tech cartels have captured their regulators and convinced them that the law doesn't apply if it's being broken via an app:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes
In other words, Apple can spy on you because it's allowed to spy on you. America's last consumer privacy law was passed in 1988, and it bans video-store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history. Congress has taken no action on consumer privacy since the Reagan years:
https://www.eff.org/tags/video-privacy-protection-act
But tech has some special enshittification-resistant characteristics. The most important of these is interoperability: the fact that computers are universal digital machines that can run any program. HP can design a printer that rejects third-party ink and charge $10,000/gallon for its own colored water, but someone else can write a program that lets you jailbreak your printer so that it accepts any ink cartridge:
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer
Tech companies that contemplated enshittifying their products always had to watch over their shoulders for a rival that might offer a disenshittification tool and use that as a wedge between the company and its customers. If you make your website's ads 20% more obnoxious in anticipation of a 2% increase in gross margins, you have to consider the possibility that 40% of your users will google "how do I block ads?" Because the revenue from a user who blocks ads doesn't stay at 100% of the current levels – it drops to zero, forever (no user ever googles "how do I stop blocking ads?").
The majority of web users are running an ad-blocker:
https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/
Web operators made them an offer ("free website in exchange for unlimited surveillance and unfettered intrusions") and they made a counteroffer ("how about 'nah'?"):
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah
Here's the thing: reverse-engineering an app – or any other IP-encumbered technology – is a legal minefield. Just decompiling an app exposes you to felony prosecution: a five year sentence and a $500k fine for violating Section 1201 of the DMCA. But it's not just the DMCA – modern products are surrounded with high-tech tripwires that allow companies to invoke IP law to prevent competitors from augmenting, recongifuring or adapting their products. When a business says it has "IP," it means that it has arranged its legal affairs to allow it to invoke the power of the state to control its customers, critics and competitors:
https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/
An "app" is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to add an ad-blocker to it. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model" and it's everywhere. When companies don't have to worry about users deploying self-help measures to disenshittify their products, they are freed from the constraint that prevents them indulging the impulse to shift value from their customers to themselves.
Apple owes its existence to interoperability – its ability to clone Microsoft Office's file formats for Pages, Numbers and Keynote, which saved the company in the early 2000s – and ever since, it has devoted its existence to making sure no one ever does to Apple what Apple did to Microsoft:
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay
Regulatory capture cuts both ways: it's not just about powerful corporations being free to flout the law, it's also about their ability to enlist the law to punish competitors that might constrain their plans for exploiting their workers, customers, suppliers or other stakeholders.
The final historical constraint on tech companies was their own workers. Tech has very low union-density, but that's in part because individual tech workers enjoyed so much bargaining power due to their scarcity. This is why their bosses pampered them with whimsical campuses filled with gourmet cafeterias, fancy gyms and free massages: it allowed tech companies to convince tech workers to work like government mules by flattering them that they were partners on a mission to bring the world to its digital future:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/
For tech bosses, this gambit worked well, but failed badly. On the one hand, they were able to get otherwise powerful workers to consent to being "extremely hardcore" by invoking Fobazi Ettarh's spirit of "vocational awe":
https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/
On the other hand, when you motivate your workers by appealing to their sense of mission, the downside is that they feel a sense of mission. That means that when you demand that a tech worker enshittifies something they missed their mother's funeral to deliver, they will experience a profound sense of moral injury and refuse, and that worker's bargaining power means that they can make it stick.
Or at least, it did. In this era of mass tech layoffs, when Google can fire 12,000 workers after a $80b stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years, tech workers are learning that the answer to "I won't do this and you can't make me" is "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out" (AKA "sharpen your blades boys"):
https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/
With competition, regulation, self-help and labor cleared away, tech firms – and firms that have wrapped their products around the pluripotently malleable core of digital tech, including automotive makers – are no longer constrained from enshittifying their products.
And that's why your car manufacturer has chosen to spy on you and sell your private information to data-brokers and anyone else who wants it. Not because you didn't pay for the product, so you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.
Cars are enshittified. The dozens of chips that auto makers have shoveled into their car design are only incidentally related to delivering a better product. The primary use for those chips is autoenshittification – access to legal strictures ("IP") that allows them to block modifications and repairs that would interfere with the unfettered abuse of their own customers:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon
The fact that it's a felony to reverse-engineer and modify a car's software opens the floodgates to all kinds of shitty scams. Remember when Bay Staters were voting on a ballot measure to impose right-to-repair obligations on automakers in Massachusetts? The only reason they needed to have the law intervene to make right-to-repair viable is that Big Car has figured out that if it encrypts its diagnostic messages, it can felonize third-party diagnosis of a car, because decrypting the messages violates the DMCA:
https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/11/drm-cars-will-drive-consumers-crazy
Big Car figured out that VIN locking – DRM for engine components and subassemblies – can felonize the production and the installation of third-party spare parts:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/
The fact that you can't legally modify your car means that automakers can go back to their pre-2008 ways, when they transformed themselves into unregulated banks that incidentally manufactured the cars they sold subprime loans for. Subprime auto loans – over $1t worth! – absolutely relies on the fact that borrowers' cars can be remotely controlled by lenders. Miss a payment and your car's stereo turns itself on and blares threatening messages at top volume, which you can't turn off. Break the lease agreement that says you won't drive your car over the county line and it will immobilize itself. Try to change any of this software and you'll commit a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers
Tesla, naturally, has the most advanced anti-features. Long before BMW tried to rent you your seat-heater and Mercedes tried to sell you a monthly subscription to your accelerator pedal, Teslas were demon-haunted nightmare cars. Miss a Tesla payment and the car will immobilize itself and lock you out until the repo man arrives, then it will blare its horn and back itself out of its parking spot. If you "buy" the right to fully charge your car's battery or use the features it came with, you don't own them – they're repossessed when your car changes hands, meaning you get less money on the used market because your car's next owner has to buy these features all over again:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world
And all this DRM allows your car maker to install spyware that you're not allowed to remove. They really tipped their hand on this when the R2R ballot measure was steaming towards an 80% victory, with wall-to-wall scare ads that revealed that your car collects so much information about you that allowing third parties to access it could lead to your murder (no, really!):
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms
That's why your car spies on you. Because it can. Because the company that made it lacks constraint, be it market-based, legal, technological or its own workforce's ethics.
One common critique of my enshittification hypothesis is that this is "kind of sensible and normal" because "there’s something off in the consumer mindset that we’ve come to believe that the internet should provide us with amazing products, which bring us joy and happiness and we spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return":
https://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-have-great-conversations/
What this criticism misses is that this isn't the companies bargaining to shift some value from us to them. Enshittification happens when a company can seize all that value, without having to bargain, exploiting law and technology and market power over buyers and sellers to unilaterally alter the way the products and services we rely on work.
A company that doesn't have to fear competitors, regulators, jailbreaking or workers' refusal to enshittify its products doesn't have to bargain, it can take. It's the first lesson they teach you in the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure
Your car spying on you isn't down to your belief that your carmaker "should provide you with amazing products, which brings your joy and happiness you spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return." It's not because you didn't pay for the product, so now you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.
The consequences of this spying go much further than mere insurance premium hikes, too. Car telemetry sits at the top of the funnel that the unbelievably sleazy data broker industry uses to collect and sell our data. These are the same companies that sell the fact that you visited an abortion clinic to marketers, bounty hunters, advertisers, or vengeful family members pretending to be one of those:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus
Decades of pro-monopoly policy led to widespread regulatory capture. Corporate cartels use the monopoly profits they extract from us to pay for regulatory inaction, allowing them to extract more profits.
But when it comes to privacy, that period of unchecked corporate power might be coming to an end. The lack of privacy regulation is at the root of so many problems that a pro-privacy movement has an unstoppable constituency working in its favor.
At EFF, we call this "privacy first." Whether you're worried about grifters targeting vulnerable people with conspiracy theories, or teens being targeted with media that harms their mental health, or Americans being spied on by foreign governments, or cops using commercial surveillance data to round up protesters, or your car selling your data to insurance companies, passing that long-overdue privacy legislation would turn off the taps for the data powering all these harms:
https://www.eff.org/wp/privacy-first-better-way-address-online-harms
Traditional economics fails because it thinks about markets without thinking about power. Monopolies lead to more than market power: they produce regulatory capture, power over workers, and state capture, which felonizes competition through IP law. The story that our problems stem from the fact that we just don't spend enough money, or buy the wrong products, only makes sense if you willfully ignore the power that corporations exert over our lives. It's nice to think that you can shop your way out of a monopoly, because that's a lot easier than voting your way out of a monopoly, but no matter how many times you vote with your wallet, the cartels that control the market will always win:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith
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Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars
Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#if you're not paying for the product you're the product#if you're paying for the product you're the product#cars#automotive#enshittification#technofeudalism#autoenshittification#antifeatures#felony contempt of business model#twiddling#right to repair#privacywashing#apple#lexisnexis#insuretech#surveillance#commercial surveillance#privacy first#data brokers#subprime#kash hill#kashmir hill
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