#task: singapore

[sgaasg]

Shane Goh & Associates offers comprehensive company incorporation services in Singapore, ensuring swift processes and full compliance. Our expert team provides support with company secretary tasks, statutory filing, book-keeping, and taxation, making it easier for you to focus on growing your business. Whether you're an entrepreneur, an established SME, or a foreign entity, we have tailored solutions to meet your needs.

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Utterly gone - Lewis Hamilton NSFW

Can be read as part 2 to A smile like that but it's a piece on its own.

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, oral sex mainly.

Wrap it before you tap it.

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't gonna post this, but I think we could all use some soft smutty comfort after the shit show this race was.

a/n.2: Special mention to Lewis adjusting in front of the cameras in the quali press conference

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The suite was quiet when I finally slipped inside, the faint hum of the almost rising city life seeping in from the balcony. I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my heels, feeling every ounce of fatigue settle in.

Singapore always did that—drained you without mercy, and yet, it was beautiful enough to make you forgive it.

Lewis had beaten me back to the room, not that it had surprised after hearing he wouldn’t be making the media round.

Sure enough, I found him in the bathroom, leaning his weight on the counter, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung low around his waist.

His skin gleamed under the warm lights, and his face… tired was a understatement— he could probably sleep for a week straight.

Dark circles under his eyes, the slightest furrow to his brow, as he absentmindedly worked his moisturizer into his skin.

God, how was it possible for him to look so good after almost being dehydrated?

I should probably say something snarky. After all, I had asked for a win, and what did I get?

But I knew better in that moment and honestly watching him rub lotion into his skin with those deft, practiced hands—he was so gentle with himself, it was almost unfair how much I melted at the sight of it.

My eyes trailed down his back, appreciating the little flex of muscle every time his hands moved, before finally pushing off from the door and walking toward him.

The whole thing felt so domestic, so… normal. Like this was our routine after every race weekend. Like I wasn’t still getting used to seeing him like this—bare, unguarded, with no cameras or crowds around.

“Hey,” I greeted, leaning against the counter beside him, my hand brushing his skin. He glanced at me through the mirror, a tired smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, love” he murmured, still focused on his task. I watched the way his fingers traced the lines of his jaw as he applied the cream, and a warmth spread through my chest.

“Not quite what we expected, was it?” I tried, still feeling the mood in the room, my eyes twinkling as I caught his gaze in the mirror.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Guess I owe you a win.”

I gave a mock frown, crossing my arms. “Yeah, you do. But, hey, at least you managed to sneak in that kiss before the race, so maybe I can forgive you.”

He turned to face me now, that infamous grin spreading slowly across his lips. “Couldn’t resist” he said, reaching out to pull me toward him, his arms wrapping around my waist. I let him, his body sinking into me while my body betrayed any pretense of annoyance.

I rolled my eyes. “You know I hate that. Not in front of all the cameras.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and rich, vibrating against my chest. “You liked it, though. Don’t lie.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I quipped, trying to ignore the way his fingers trailed up and down my spine. “But for the record, I also owe you.”

He breathed in almost sighting, leaning in closer, his breath brushing my ear. “I’m knackered, babe.”

I pushed him gently toward the bed, unable to hold back my grin. “Don’t worry, this reward doesn’t require you to lift a single finger.”

I brought the lotion from the counter. Lewis was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slouched, towel still hanging precariously low on his hips.

His eyes tracked my every movement as I made my way over, like he was too tired to speak but too intrigued not to watch.

I stood in front of him, letting the lotion warm in my hands before I gently placed them on his arms. His skin was still damp from the shower, and as I worked the lotion into his forearms, I could feel the exhaustion radiating off him. His muscles, taut and defined, finally relaxing under my touch.

“Thought you said this was my reward,” he muttered, a half-hearted attempt at a banter playing at his lips as he watched me. “Feels more like I’m getting spoiled.”

“Shh,” I said, quirking a brow at him. “Don’t ruin the moment, Hamilton.”

He chuckled softly, but he didn’t argue. Smart man.

I let my hands wander further, rubbing the lotion into his biceps, taking my time. He deserved it.

God knows how much strain he puts his body through during that race, and seeing him like this—vulnerable, letting me take care of him—made my heart do that stupid fluttering thing I still wasn’t used to.

As I moved to his shoulders, massaging the knots and tension out of his neck, he let out a low, contented hum, his head dropping forward just slightly.

“This alright?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. It was in the way he was practically melting under my hands.

“Mmm,” was all he managed to get out, his eyes fluttering shut as I continued my work.

My hands moved to his chest, spreading the lotion across his smooth skin. His breath hitched, just for a second, as my fingers grazed his collarbone.

God, he was beautiful. I tried to keep my thoughts from spiraling, but it was hard not to admire every inch of him—the way his chest rose and fell beneath my touch, the warmth radiating off his skin.

By the time I got to his abs, his eyes were back on me, half-lidded but focused, watching my every move. I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my lips.

“You really know how to spoil a man” he murmured, his voice husky.

I shrugged playfully. “I did promise you something, didn’t I?”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, we just stood there, me between his legs, him looking up at me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.

And maybe I was. At least for that night anyway.

I cupped his face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over the light stubble on his jaw. His beard was a little more grown out than usual, and the roughness beneath my fingers made me smile at much we had grown used to each other.

“Whatever this is between us,” I started, my voice quieter now, my heart pounding harder than I cared to admit, “I’m ready for it, if you are.”

His breath caught in his throat, and for a second, I wondered if I’d said too much. But then he smiled—God, that smile—and it was all I needed.

He pulled me down to meet his lips, soft and slow at first, like he was savoring every second.

When we finally broke apart, there was a look in his eyes—something vulnerable, something real—and it made me laugh softly, because Lewis Hamilton, the man who could keep his cool under any amount of pressure, looked like he was trying to make sure he hadn’t just imagined this whole thing.

“You really are unbelievable” I teased, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip.

He gave me that lazy smile and pulled me closer, his voice low, almost reverent. “And you’re mine.”

And in that moment, I knew it was true.

As I knelt between his legs, my fingers trailing along his soft, warm skin, a single thought crossed my mind: How did I get here?

One minute, I was dodging his cheesy messages, and now the man was sitting there, half-asleep, eyes half-lidded, as vulnerable as I had seen him.

And me? I was utterly gone for him.

But, God, he looked so damn good. Even tired, fresh out of the shower, with his braids slightly damp and that towel sitting low on his hips. The way he sat, like he knew he had all the time in the world, like he could wait for me forever.

We were both worn out after the weekend, the clock read 5.a.m and the man had just lost around 3kgs in under two hours. Yet here I was, determined to give him the kind of reward he wouldn't forget.

Because, if I was being honest with myself, I wanted this as much as he did.

His breath hitched as I ran my hand down his abs, my fingers teasingly hovering near the edge of the towel. He shot me a look—half amused, half daring. His smirk was infuriatingly confident, even now.

I could tell he was fighting exhaustion, but there was no way he was going to let me out of this one.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmured, low and sultry, as though I hadn’t already made up my mind.

I raised an eyebrow, my lips curling into a playful grin. "Oh, I’m not tempting." I let my fingers slip just under the edge of the towel. "I’m delivering."

Before he could get another word in, I tugged the towel loose. It fell open in his lap, and his throat pushed down a gulp as he realized exactly where this was heading.

His breath hitched when my fingers brushed lightly over his soft dick, and I couldn’t help but smirk. “What was that about ‘a heatstroke’ Hamilton?”

He chuckled softly, though it was a little strained, his eyes never leaving mine as I wrapped my hand around him, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Was told to not lift a muscle and be mindful of heavy activities”

“Mm-hmm, don’t worry I’ll take it from here”

As my hand wrapped around his soft dick, I could see the exact moment the cockiness melted off his face. His lips parted, and a shaky breath escaped him as I gave him a slow stroke, feeling him harden in my hand.

My inner voice was screaming with victory. That little smirk? Gone. Reduced to nothing but ragged breaths and soft moans.

I kissed along his length, starting slow, teasing. Because even though I wanted to give him exactly what he craved, I wasn’t about to let him off that easy.

His hips bucked just a little, his eyes fluttered shut for a moment and his lips parting slightly. All reminders of how much he needed this, needed me.

And honestly, I loved every second of it.

My lips grazed his tip, already glistening with pre-cum, and I flicked my tongue against him, tasting him for the first time tonight. The salty-sweetness on my tongue made me hum in satisfaction.

He groaned, his head tilting back as I took him into my mouth, inch by inch, my hand still stroking what my lips couldn’t reach. He was getting harder, thickening in my mouth, and when I peeked up at him, his eyes were half-closed, his face contorted in bliss.

“Fuck, love…” His voice was low and ragged, like he could barely string the words together.

Encouraged by the sound of his pleasure, I picked up the pace, sucking him deeper and harder, my free hand gently massaging his balls.

His breath hitched again, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward, pushing himself further into my throat.

I wasn’t just giving him head; I was savoring him, relishing every reaction he gave me. He wasn’t just a F1 champion right now—he was mine, completely undone by me, and that thought made me chuckle.

His fingers went to back of my neck, his fingers tugging at the soft skin, gently guiding my head as I bobbed up and down on him. His touch wasn’t rough, though—more like he was hanging on for dear life, trying not to lose control.

But I wanted him to lose control. I wanted to be the reason.

It wasn’t long before his body started to tense, his breath coming out in sharp gasps, his grip on my head tightening as I took him deeper, my lips wrapped tightly around his now fully engorged dick.

“Love, I’m—” His voice broke, a guttural moan escaping his lips as I felt his cock pulse in my mouth. And then, with one last thrust, he came.

His warm, slightly fruity-tasting seed spilled into my mouth, and I swallowed him down, feeling the tension leave his body in waves.

I stayed there for a moment, his dick still in my mouth, gently holding him as he came down from the high. When I finally released him, I couldn’t help but leave a soft kiss on the tip, smiling up at him.

For a moment, I just watched him, wondering how I could feel this good about someone else’s pleasure. But it was him. It was Lewis. The man who could make me smile just by walking into a room, the one who posted cheesy Instagram captions just to get a reaction out of me.

His chest was heaving, his head thrown back, and when he finally looked down at me, his expression was somewhere between disbelief and utter satisfaction.

“Jesus” he muttered, still catching his breath.

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand before standing up and leaning in to kiss him softly. He kissed me back with lazy, contented strokes of his lips, tasting himself on me.

“You good there, champ?” I teased, brushing my hand on the skin of his thigh.

He let out a weak chuckle as I stood up, leaving Lewis in a blissful haze, he watched me with those half-lidded, dazed eyes, his lips still parted and a silly smile danced on his lips.

“Just need a quick shower,” I said, my voice lighter now, as I brushed a hand over his damp chest. His skin was warm under my fingers, still slick from the lotion, and for a second, I just wanted to crawl into bed with him right then and there.

Lewis chuckled softly, his hand slipping lazily over mine before letting it go. “Take your time, love. Not going anywhere.”

The playful edge in his voice was replaced by something softer, and it made my heart flip. He didn’t need to say it, but I could hear the unspoken words between us: I’m here to stay.

As I disappeared into the bathroom, I let the water run warm, and my mind wandered back to him, sitting there on the bed, probably still recovering.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world, this routine between us—like we’d been doing it for years instead of months.

Under the warm stream, I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. My mind couldn’t help but flicker back to yesterday, to that moment in the presser where the world had caught him, not-so-discreetly, adjusting himself in his fireproofs.

I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Not in a dirty way… okay, maybe a little dirty. But mostly, I couldn’t stop picturing his hands, the way his muscles tensed.

Like he’d hoped no one would notice. Like I hadn’t already memorized every detail about him, including that not-so-little part he was trying to rearrange.

I’d tried to play it cool, ignoring the way the image stuck with me since, but now that I’d just had him falling apart under my hands, it only made the memory that much more satisfying.

The teasing was fun, but the way he trusted me with parts of himself no one else saw—that was something else.

When I stepped out, towel wrapped around me, I found him exactly where I’d left him.

Only this time, he’d shifted to the middle of the bed, his head resting on the plush pillows, the towel from earlier discarded somewhere, and the duvet pulled over his waist.

He looked so at peace, the kind of peace you only find after you've completely let go. His eyes fluttered open as I crossed the room.

“You know,” I said, sliding into bed beside him, “I wasn’t planning on making you that blissed out.”

He chuckled, his hand immediately finding my waist, pulling me closer. “Didn’t hear any complaints from me.”

I laughed softly, snuggling up to him as his arm wrapped securely around me. My hand found its place on his chest, where I began tracing lazy circles against his skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths beneath my fingertips.

It was quiet for a moment, the kind of comfortable silence where nothing needed to be said.

The world outside didn’t matter. The race result didn’t matter.

It was just us, tangled together in a king-sized bed, far away from the noise of the race, the cameras, the expectations. It felt like we were in our own little bubble, and I didn’t want it to pop.

As his head found its way to my lap, his hair tickling my thighs, I continued my absent-minded tracing on his skin, enjoying the closeness.

His body started to relax even more, sinking into me like he was using me as a pillow.

And then, just when I thought he’d drift off completely, he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, “That was better than a podium.”

I blinked, momentarily confused. “Wait… the head?”

He let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a sleepy smile. “Nah, love. Having you here… as mine. That’s what’s better.”

My breath hitched, and for a second, I wasn’t sure how to respond.

My heart did that stupid thing where it felt too big for my chest, and all I could do was smile like an idiot.

The man could win championships, sure. But moments like this? When it was just us, no pretense, no show—this is where he truly wins me over.

I looked down at him, his eyes closed already, lashes brushing his cheeks, and I brushed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Mhm…” he muttered, already half-asleep. “Love you too.”

And just like that, I was a goner. The words weren’t even fully processed in my mind, but my heart knew.

It always had.

I didn’t even need to say them back. Not yet. He knew. And he’d wait, just like he always did.

As he drifted off, his breathing slow and even, I felt a warmth settle in my chest. I could’ve sworn he was smiling, even in his sleep.

And yeah, maybe I had fallen hard for him, but if this was what it felt like? I wasn’t in any rush to stop.

______________________________________________________________

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[bunnys-kisses]

and your daddy don't like me

phillip graves

cw: age-gap, pwp/smut, daddy kink, "brat" taming, semi-public sex, airplane sex, bimbo-appearing!reader, authority kink like the fic? request your own! really like the fic? leave a comment! reblogs are always encouraged!

it was cut and dry, get you from location a, onto the plane and then to location b. graves knew that it was that simple, while he thought it was a little ridiculous that your father was paying this much to get you from point a to b, the pay was nothing to scoff at.

that was the plan, until he laid eyes on you. pouty lips, bratty demeanor, the aura on you that said that you always got your way. it stopped the man dead in his tracks when he saw you. it made something twist in his gut when you started to verbally tear into one of his men.

"excuse me, girlie." he said as he put his hands on his hips, "i don't quite appreciate the way you are talking to my men." he tilted his head to the side, "no need to be a brat, ma'am."

you looked to him and stepped forward, your heels clicked with the floor. you almost stood at eye level, but the dark look on his face made you frown, "are you in charge here?"

"yes ma'am, just as your father instructed."

"i don't need a small army to get to singapore. it's a flight and the old man is paranoid." you replied. you had your hands on your hips and philip was itching to just grab your waist.

"ma'am, we're just doing our job. your father has a big amount of money in his bank account. the last thing he wants is to pay your ransom."

you sighed, "then i guess it should only take one man to get me there." you looked at the other shadows, "right?"

graves smiled, stroke his ego a little harder and see what happens. he gave the signal for his men to shuffle out. they went through all the effort to get to you, but their services won't be needed. he put his gun in the holster on his thigh and held out a gloved hand. he smiled at you, "well then." he said, "i guess we should be heading to the airport."

you placed your hand in his, and he led you to the car with you carrying your belongings in a bag and suitcase. he was even nice enough to put your luggage in the back of the car before he opened the door for you to get in.

once he started to drive, that was when the sexual energy started to form. he could see how your dress hiked up when you moved in the backseat. he could see your lovely thighs and wondered as he pulled onto the highway, what color were your panties?

you looked at him, that innocent look in your eye was masking your devilish nature. you'd be a good girl for him, right? let him do his little task to get you to sinagpore.

"mister..." you said.

"philip graves." he said, he looked at your briefly, "is something the matter?"

"oh, nothing." you blushed and looked away.

he reached out and touched your thigh, "are ya scared of flying?" he asked.

you nodded, "yeah, ever since i was little." you frowned at him.

"well don't worry, it's my job to keep ya safe. you don't have to worry about anything ma'am." he gaze you a charming, boy-next-door grin as he pulled into the parking.

you giggled, "thank you, sir."

-

you hated your father, you found him to be an obnoxious pig. he thought less of you because you were a woman. like you couldn't make your own choices! but when you were seated in the private plane with grave, you realized you had many choices during this flight.

graves was even nice enough to buckle you in before take off. you fluttered your eyelashes at him and smiled, "thank you, sir. may i hold your hand?"

he chuckled, "of course, ma'am." he held open his hand and you took it. he noted how smaller your hand was to his. he found it cute.

you held on tightly to his hand as the plane too off. your nail dug into the flesh of his hand. when the plane was safely in the air, you cuddled up close to him, "it's a long flight."

"yes it is. but don't worry, it'll go by fast." he wrapped an arm around you. you looked up at him, at least he was getting the memo.

coyly, you leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. you said, 'i've never met a gentleman like you." then giggled.

he chuckled, "well, i'm not like most men." he reached out for you and combed his fingers through your hair, "i just think a girl like you should get the attention she needs." you kissed once more.

"there's no one but us and the pilots." you remarked.

"that is true." he touched your face, his calloused fingers grazed your soft cheek, "why don't you get a lil more comfortable." he reached over and undid your seat belt, "i have to make sure you get there safely."

you giggled, "if my father found out what you were doing, he'd have you killed!" your face was close to his again, you reached out for him.

"aw, don't worry. your daddy doesn't need to know anythin'. just make sure my cum doesn't spill out when you see him." he laughed and gave you a wink.

you leaned in and kissed him on the lips. once unbuckled, he lifted you onto his lap and pushed up your skirt. he smirked against your kiss when he felt you were wearing no panties.

"were you hopin' to fuck my men today, ma'am?" he asked, "

"no, sir. why would you suggest that?" you looked down at him, your perfectly manicured nails in his hair, you pouted a little, "my daddy says i'm a good girl, so why would i want to fuck your men?"

he looked up at you and smirked, "oh silly girl." he said slyly, "i know you better then your daddy knows ya." he started to undo your blouse, "i was wonderin' on the ride to the airport what colour they were. but, i should've guessed there'd be none." he laughed.

the sight of your thin white bra made him salivate like a dog. his cock stirred in his pants. you gripped his hair and tilted his head back. you made eye contact. you said so sweetly, "i am a good girl."

he patted your ass and chuckled, "of course, doll. the best girl there ever was. i'm just teasin'." then gave you a nice broad smile.

you lifted your skirt to expose your pussy to him, "do you want me, mister graves."

he chuckled, "of course. now be good for me." he reached between your legs and gave it a gentle touch before he undid his pants and got his cock out, "now why don't we get a little more acquainted."

you leaned in once more and kissed him as you slowly sank on his cock. he groaned into your kiss as he felt your tight heat wrapped around his cock. it felt electric.

"promise you won't tell my daddy?" you asked, your lips close to his.

he smiled, "of course, doll. it'll be our little secret. but i have to know, do you do this for all of the men who fly with your overseas?"

you shook your head, "no sir... well, maybe if they're handsome. but mostly they're too rough and hurt me."

"ah well." he chuckled, "i'd never hurt ya. pretty things like you need to be kept safe from big bad men." he then exhaled deeply as you started to move your hips. it almost took the wind out of him.

you held onto his shoulder, the roughness of his shirt contrasted with the softness of your hands. you knew how to work your hips, you didn't make it so far with daddy's money alone.

he held your hips and felt his heart race as you rode him. he prided himself as being a man who protected. he made sure little angels like you were out of harms way. the world was a big scary place and you needed a guiding hand to keep you nice and safe.

you continued to move your hips and felt his cock deep inside of you. you were impressed by his size and it had your heart racing as you gave just the cutest little humps.

he watched your breasts bounce with all of your movements. he leaned in and kissed at your chest, trying his best not to leave marks. he didn't want yer daddy to know.

you fucked like a couple of bunnies in the lavish seat of the plane. you felt your body grow hotter. you could admit that graves was handsome, more handsome than some of the men that your father sent to you.

he was pretty in an all-american way. but if you got too close, he'd devour you whole. your hips bounced on his cock and his dug his fingers deeper into the flesh of your hips. he loved when he was feeling and seeing.

he took in the sight of you, this was the best task he had in a long time. he got paid handsomely by your father and he got a good feel of your sweet sex. maybe he'll get more chances to taste and fuck you.

you yanked on his hair and pouted once more, "i want to do it differently, sir."

"no way, i want to see you orgasm like this. i want to see your 'o' face.' he chuckled as he started to thrust up into you. he continued to watch you move against him as the two of you fucked on the leather seat.

it wasn't long before you felt the heat of orgasm in your gut. your nails dug into his shoulder you watched him with your tongue partially out of your mouth. you felt like such a slut! you were a good girl!

he humped up into you. he grit his teeth before he climaxed inside of you. the thought of pumping you full of his seed made his cock twitch before it grew softer.

you rode it a little bit more until you finished as well. you squeezed your eyes shut and let out a high pitched but sweet noise. you fell into his arms and held onto the front of his shirt.

you rubbed your pussy up against his soft cock. you let out a sweet chuckle as you looked up into his eyes. all he saw was the softest eyes and glossed full lips.

he played with your hair and smiled, "well then. why don't you get comfortable. you'll need your sleep to see your daddy."

you giggled, "well... i only have one daddy now." then rubbed a little harder.

graves believed himself to be a gentleman so who was he to deny such a lovely girl another round of the mile high club.

-

"he was alright, daddy." you said on the phone in your hotel room. you looked at your nails and sighed, "how much are they paying you? right.. right.."

your father talked on the other end, he asked questions about graves as you looked out onto the port. you sighed and crossed one arm, you tilted your head to the side, "no, daddy. i didn't have sex with him!" you were obviously lying, but it was bad enough you were doing your father's dirty work, "maybe i can get some liquor into him on the flight home. but you better send me to puroland for this!"

the sex was the icing on the cake. your main objective was to milk graves for all the information he was worth. you played dumb for him, make him feel like the big strong man! it wasn't hard, actually it was too easy.

but you learned long ago that most men are stupid. it just happened that graves was also a good fuck too. <3

xoxo, bunny

[thedirtygridd]

WE’RE BACK!

Celebrating with Lando’s victory in Singapore from the pov of his masseuse 👀

If you enjoy, please comment!

The Singapore Grand Prix had just come to a spectacular close, with Lando Norris crossing the finish line as the victor. His face was flushed with exhaustion, and every inch of him glistened under the harsh floodlights. The humid night air had wrapped itself around him for the duration of the race, pulling beads of sweat from his skin. As his masseuse, I was always tasked with easing the tension after a long race, but tonight felt different. He had pushed his body to the limit, and it showed in the way his racing suit clung to him, soaked through with perspiration. The heat had claimed 5 kilograms of his weight, and the evidence was there in every damp contour of his form.

Lando's thick neck was the first thing I noticed as he peeled off his helmet and balaclava. It was slick with sweat, the veins pulsing beneath his skin from the exertion. The sheen on his neck caught the light, and I knew the massage tonight would be a challenge. His muscles, tight and swollen from the intense drive, would require every ounce of my strength. But as much as I wanted to focus solely on my job, there was no ignoring how the droplets of sweat traced their way down his neck, gliding over his collarbone and disappearing into the fabric of his fireproof suit. It took everything in me to remain composed, to remind myself that I was a professional.

When he finally unzipped his suit, revealing his chest, the room seemed to grow warmer. His undershirt was soaked through, clinging to every contour of his torso. Each breath he took made his chest rise and fall, and I could see the fabric stretching tight against his skin. The sweat beaded along his pecs, trailing down to the toned muscles of his abdomen. I couldn't help but think about how much heat he must have endured in that car, how his body had fought against the conditions to claim victory. But the sight of his slick, sweaty skin was more than enough to make my hands twitch with anticipation. I was supposed to be tending to him, but the idea of him lingered in my mind.

His armpits were drenched, and the moment he lifted his arms to remove the suit, the scent of sweat filled the air. It wasn't unpleasant, just the unmistakable smell of hard work, of a man who had pushed himself to the very edge. The dark patches under his arms were a testament to the race, and I could see the sweat running down the inside of his biceps. They were thick and powerful, glistening under the dim lights of the room. I knew I had to focus on my task, but the sight of those muscles, so wet and tense, made it hard to concentrate. My hands were already preparing for the moment they would touch his skin, but I had to stay professional.

It was impossible not to notice his biceps, firm and swollen from the strain of gripping the steering wheel for nearly two hours. They flexed with every movement, the skin damp and flushed. The thought of running my hands along those muscles made my pulse quicken, but I reminded myself that I was here to work. As his masseuse, I had a duty to ease his pain, to help him recover. But the sweat, the way it pooled at the crook of his elbow and ran down his arms, was distracting. I could only imagine how much more soaked he would become as the massage began.

When I finally placed my hands on his shoulders, the heat of his body hit me like a wave. His skin was damp and slick beneath my fingers, and within seconds, my hands were wet with his sweat. It was unavoidable—the sheer amount of moisture pouring from his body seemed endless. His muscles were tight, the result of both the race and the hours spent in the car, but my hands worked through the tension. Every time I pressed into his skin, I could feel the sweat transferring to me, soaking my palms. It was an odd sensation, one that left me both focused on my job and oddly tempted.

The sweat running down his back was even more intense. As I kneaded his broad, muscular shoulders, it became clear just how much his body had been through. His back was slick with moisture, and I could feel the sweat collecting in the folds of his skin as I worked my way down. It was impossible to ignore how my fingers slid over the smooth, wet surface of his muscles. The thought of how drenched he must have been in the car crossed my mind again, and I could only imagine how uncomfortable it must have been. Still, there was something undeniably tempting about the way his body felt beneath my hands.

His legs were no different. As he lay face down, the sweat had already soaked through his racing suit, and when I finally peeled it off, his thighs were just as drenched. The fabric clung to his skin, and it took some effort to get it off. His quads were powerful, built for endurance and speed, and as I worked the tension from them, I could feel the heat radiating off his body. Every time I pressed into the muscle, the sweat would well up beneath my fingers, soaking them anew. My hands were slick, and it became harder to maintain a grip, but I had to stay focused.

By the time I reached his feet, I couldn't help but wonder what state they must be in. After hours of racing, confined in tight boots, they had to be drenched. The thought was strangely captivating, even though I knew it was unprofessional to think that way. But I couldn't shake the image from my mind—his feet, sweaty and sore, waiting for relief. I tried to push the thought aside as I massaged his calves, but it lingered in the back of my mind. The sweat, the exhaustion, the heat—it was all so overwhelming, both for him and for me.

My hands were soaked now, every inch of them covered in his sweat. Each time I applied pressure to his muscles, more of it would transfer onto my skin, until it felt like I was massaging waterlogged fabric instead of flesh. But the more I worked, the more I could feel the tension melting away from his body. His breathing had slowed, his muscles were starting to relax, and I could tell he was finally finding some relief. Still, the thought of all that sweat, the way it clung to him, made it hard to stay purely professional. But I had to—I had no choice.

His chest was heaving now, but the tension was gone. My hands moved across his body with practiced ease, but the slickness of his skin made every touch feel different, more intimate somehow. I was hyper-aware of every bead of sweat, of every muscle beneath my fingertips. My hands were wet, but I kept working, determined to finish the job. As his masseuse, I had to stay focused, to push through the distraction. But the idea of him, so close, so drenched in sweat, was difficult to ignore.

As I massaged his arms again, I could feel the sweat pooling in the crook of his elbow, running down the length of his forearm. It was a constant reminder of the effort he had put into the race, of the toll it had taken on his body. The slickness of his skin was almost overwhelming, but I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. I had to be professional, no matter how tempting it was to think otherwise. His body was exhausted, and my job was to help him recover, not to indulge in any thoughts beyond that.

His breathing was deep and even now, the race’s intensity finally fading. I worked my way back to his neck, where the sweat still lingered, and I could feel his pulse beneath my fingers. His thick, sweaty neck was tense but starting to soften under my touch. Every press of my fingers against his slick skin was a reminder of how much effort he had poured into his win tonight. And while I wanted to focus purely on his recovery, the sight and feel of him—so strong, so drenched—made it harder than ever to keep things purely professional.

Finally, I finished the massage, wiping the last remnants of sweat from his body. My hands were soaked, but it didn’t matter. He had won, he had pushed himself to the limit, and now his body could finally relax. As I gathered my things and prepared to leave, I couldn’t help but glance back at him one last time. His chest was still glistening, his thick neck still damp, and the thought of his feet—sweaty, tired, sore—stayed with me. I reminded myself, once again, that I was his masseuse, and nothing more. But the temptation of Lando Norris, drenched in sweat, would remain in my thoughts for days to come.

[cuntycheol]

To You (C.SC)

Summary: Silence has always been a long-term paying guest between you and your husband. It took a cohabitation and more, to turn things around for Seungcheol and you, to figure out your true feelings.

Themes: romance, fluff, smutty, old money Seungcheol cuz he's your rich, cold but tender husband and you're his smart wifey, scenes of a firebreakout(please skip if you're triggered), some nice scenes of Singapore, and the first smut happens already (virgin!couple, slight inexperiences, orals, vanilla!) Cheol's very warm please I love him so much we'll save the real Cheol monstercock for the future ;3

WC: 7.7K

Playlist: Seventeen's (To You, All My Love, Falling for You SDSMSN, Darling), By My Side by Junny, Better Siopaolo , Alina Baraz (Floating, Alone with you, if you let me) I.M Flower-ed, Bibi Step

feel free to arrange them sowwy they're a lil mis arranged

A/N: helloo carats!! Had to make my first post about my man Cheol(thank u to my man) with the good ol' husband!au. It's evident im in my "oh husband cheol feelings" where we loving him real good! I've been impatient so I posted it a bit earlier than expected :D my comfort loving carats, this is based off All My Love and To You lyrics <3 I hope you enjoy this piece of writing as much as I enjoyed writing this! Happy Cheol Day you living legend coupranghae btches :")

Updated: mini sequel here <3

Life was divided into four distinct categories, after one whole month of your brand new status as Mrs. Choi, or Mr. Choi Seungcheol's wife:

Breakfasts with and for Seungcheol because he confessed he anticipates what you offer in the am

Touring the exquisite royalty of the mansion built by his great grandparents(specially the crimson paints)

Spending time with Seungcheol's Mom since she adores you more than her son!

Dinner n Slumber, where you sleep with a wall that separates you from your husband.

You don't exactly think it'd change; however you do expect it to. Everyday, you wake up in your own room, without the warmth of your husband because neither of you are exactly ready to sleep on the same bed together, and neither of you can sacrifice your comfort on the couch. Therefore a shared decision convinces your elders to grant your marriage the gift of time, a chance to understand one another before embracing a shared room and shared life. All credit to Seungcheol's mom, who chose you to be her son's perfect match, a decade ago. She envisioned you as the one to be her son's beacon of illumination in his life, and the way your personality coincides with his. Who knew you'd be repaid for your kindness of tagging along with your grandfather to meet his ailing friend, (Seungcheol's grandfather) with a coerced, arranged marriage to their youngest grandson. It was on you to navigate this relationship towards love and the more easier it sounds, the harder it gets.

Your husband's honesty shines through, expressing that his family holds the utmost importance in his heart, and he could never deny his mother's wishes. Although he initially declined the marriage proposal, the elders' persuasion led him to reluctantly agree. Absolute zero differences in both of your situations. Despite the arranged marriage, he promises to ensure your comfort and well-being. Polite knocks on your door in the morning signify his presence, seeking breakfast if you're up for the task, and he would either leave a note saying "ThankYou" or he would leave a fresh flower on the dining table as a small gesture of appreciation for your efforts in preparing breakfast, letting your pride swell with all this generosity, although you'd wish he says it with his own mouth, overcoming those barriers. Considerate compliments follow whether you're dressed in your best, try some new hairstyles, or ofcourse, after enjoying your delightful meals, was one thing that made you hopeful about this relationship.

It's evident he lacks communication, since he only speaks to you at mornings and occasionally on texts, whenever he's late. He possesses no punctuality but you're quick to realize he has a pattern in timings of when he wakes up, when he returns, when he sleeps. Throughout the day, you don't exactly see him. At nights you barely sit with him. He's either in his room or on his laptop. Nothing, among you two, seems like you're in a bond with the youngest heir of this luxurious business.

"Don't forget, the dinner's scheduled tonight" you chime, while he was leaving. He nods and drives his way out for another busy day.

Marrying a business tycoon of "old money" and serving him great breakfasts, were the last thing you expected  in your simple life, where you were focused on academic and personal glowups, and rarely had any serious past relationships, or have slept with anyone.

You just believed better things await for you, and if those better things were in the shape of a young handsome husband, who were you to complain.

✿══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿════✿

"So! Have you decided a honeymoon destination?" Seungcheol's sister-in-law questions, at a calm family dinner. Seungcheol takes a sip from the drink, "I'm positively considering Greece or Bali, or maybe Fiji.  We haven't played rock papers scissors yet to choose one destination" earning a small chuckle from everyone, Seungcheol continues to feast on the delicious dinner you had prepared. A variety of topics continue to be discussed and that was the only response Seungcheol ever said throughout dinner.

While the family members took their departure, after another hour of dessert sessions, you thought about his remark, if there's any depth to it. The honeymoon idea and what he has said so far, made you a bit ecstatic.

Seungcheol's seated on the couch, of the lounge upstairs, sipping his usual coffee. you lean towards the railings of the top floor, where yours and Seungcheol's bedrooms neighbored. He looks at you, with tender eyes, yet a cold expression. "So, about the whole honeymoon thing, are you-"

"Oh "don't worry about it," Seungcheol's dismissively remarks, taking another sip of his coffee. "Family dinners are meant for prying into things we wouldn't discuss on a typical morning," he explains. "And Honestly, I don't see the need for a honeymoon." Your heart sinks at his response, disappointment clouding your expression. "But I thought we could at least look at brochures together? Atleast discuss this thoroughly" you respond, trying to mask your disappointment with a glimmer of hope that he might consider it.

Seungcheol lets out a weary sigh, his tone becoming more serious. "You don't have to give in to everything my family demands. They can be nosy, but they'll eventually drop the topic after a few days." He glances down at his laptop, signaling that the matter is closed.

You can't help but feel a pang of hurt as Seungcheol's words crush your hopeful expectations. The thought of a romantic getaway had brought some solace, but now it seems like a distant dream.

"But Seungcheol," you protest softly, trying to keep your emotions without losing your temper, "it's just that a honeymoon could be a chance for us to spend some quality time together, away from only meeting on breakfasts, away from the hustle of daily life, away from being silent everyday, and both of us make an effort, to get to know each other better" He glances up from his laptop, his expression stoic, but you can sense a hint of frustration in his eyes. "I understand your perspective," he replies calmly, "but I'm not sure a honeymoon is the right way to achieve that. We can spend time together here, without the pressure of a fancy trip. We're not close enough nor we're a match to be doing this in the first place"

at this moment, you find yourself getting defensive...

"It's not about a fancy trip, Seungcheol. It's about creating memories, experiencing new things together, and building a connection outside of this huge mansion... where we live in distant bedrooms" you gesture around you, emphasizing the splendor of the place that seems to distance you both from the real world.

His eyes widen momentarily at your words, and you see a flash of emotion that he quickly hides. "It's not that," he retorts yet defensively, "I just think this honeymoon is an unnecessary pressure, and we should be honest about our feelings and not pretend."

You take a step back, hurt and anger welling up inside you. "So, all this time, we were just a pretense? You're quite audacious to say we're incompatible, considering the amount of time you spend with me. Count the days we ever went out? That's right. Zero" you scoff, "you know what, let's just forget this. Forget I ever asked you anything. Thankyou, for lightening my evening, Good Night" Before he could utter a response or rephrase everything, you stomp your way into your bedroom, hiding your face in your palms, feeling a bit guilty of losing your cool already when it hadn't been a while.

Seungcheol stood there, a mix of regret and realization washing over him. He knew he had made a mistake, once again, with his poorly chosen words to convey his thoughts. The truth was, he had never really learned how to express himself properly; heck he couldn't even say a proper "you're so pretty, I think I have started to find some meaning into this relationship?" to the woman he's been living with, in the same house. Unfortunately words often tumbled out of his mouth without a second thought, and he rarely considered how they might sound or how they could impact the other person. As a result, he found himself remaining silent at critical moments, fearing that his words might only cause more harm than good.

The argument with you had brought this flaw to the forefront of his mind. He recognized that his lack of effective communication had hurt you, leaving you disappointed and disheartened. He raises his fist to knock at your door, wishing he could take back his words and find a way to bridge the growing distance between the two of you, yet again, he retreats.

The same gesture was for you standing in front of your door, trying to atleast add a subtle apology, but an instant realization made you stomp your foot dramatically and jump into the warm bed.

-------------------------------------------------------

The next day, you refuse to make any breakfast, or contribute to the daily household activities like you usually do. You sulk in your room, either pacing back and forth, ordering your meal,coffee and everything upstairs.

It angered you how much you like Seungcheol. How deep of an infatuation you've developed towards him, in such a short time, finding glimpses of someone beneath the surface that you want to know better. Yet, the argument hangs heavy in the air, making you doubt whether your budding emotions stand a chance. You journal everything; how much of an asshole he is to not communicate properly, how many layers are there to him, and the only time you two talk, is for an arguement? Everything frustrated you. You hear Seungcheol in the distant, and as much as you were cross with him, you want to look at him, and admire his presence. Although its the first ever arguement you two share, the typical wife in you, expects flowers and apologies first from your husband.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, would often glance upstairs, or at your door. He would expect to see your charming face, he silently admires. Only to slump his shoulders and leave for work everyday.

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Two days pass by, and midnights strike, as you sit alone in your room, the argument with Seungcheol still fresh in your mind, you try to calm your emotions, occassionally collecting your thoughts in process of reading. Lost in your contemplation, you fail to notice the faint smell of burning wires in the air. The faulty switch connected to the lamp had been giving you trouble for a while, but you hadn't paid much attention to it, thinking it was a minor inconvenience, and indeed the most minor issues ignite major disasters.

Suddenly, a small spark ignites near the switch, and within seconds, the flames start to spread rapidly. Second situation of the night escalating this quick. Panic sets in as you realize the danger you're in.

Your heart races as you rush to the door, only to find that it's jammed, likely due to the fire's heat warping the frame. Fear grips you, knowing you're trapped. With no time to waste, you quickly grab your phone and dial the emergency number. Your voice trembles as you explain the situation and your exact location in the house. You yell out Seungcheol's name, as loud as possible, but unable to do so with the smoke rising.

Soon it starts to fill the room, making it hard to breathe. You look around for something to cover your mouth and nose, finding a nearby cloth to protect yourself as you wait for help to arrive. With all your remaining strength, you fan the rising smoke outside the door, to trigger the smoke alarms.

Seungcheol, who was now downstairs fetching a glass of wine trying to prompt an apology for the day he gathers his courage to, smells the smoke and hears the faint crackling of flames; soon he's shaken by the fire alarms sensing smoke. Panic overtakes him as he realizes this leads to your room. As he rushes upstairs, he hears faint bangings from your room, which stops. He calls out your name, but there's no response. Fear for your safety drives him to take action.

Seungcheol approaches the door, with all his force, he breaks it open. only to find the room engulfed in flames. Your figure is barely visible through the dense smoke. He rushes towards your feeble helpless frame, ignoring the scorching heat and billowing smoke. He finds you near window, trying to escape the inferno. With tears in his eyes, he wraps you in his arms and guides you towards the window, with the flames slowly engulfing the entrance door of your room.

In a span of a few minutes, sirens grows louder, and moments later, paramedics and fire brigades arrive, rushing to extinguish the flames and rescue both of you. They break through the main gates, helping you and Seungcheol escape to safety.

"Please check on her! She was unconcious and barely breathing I'm -I Plea-" Seungcheol fails to form a proper sentence.

"Please calm down sir, we're checking on her, and we'll assisst you. You are...?"

"Her husband! Please hurry and check on her god damnit!!" He yells in frustration hoping you're safe.

Soon, you were able to breathe on your own, and slowly you flutter your eyes open, chest heaving from the sudden attack of the horrific accident. Before it could escalate any further, you were given appropriate medications to trigger your drowsiness.

In the aftermath tranquility of this burning situation, Seungcheol stand outside, watching as firefighters work tirelessly to put out the remaining flames. Grateful to have survived the terrifying ordeal, he holds onto your numb hands, finaly letting his tears slip his eyes. He was so grateful to stop a major tragedy, and you're safe, with him.

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The morning sunlight gently seeps through the curtains as you feel it, only to be met with haunting flashbacks of the previous night's terrifying fire, your hopeless voice calling your husband's name, beneath your vision. You shot your eyes open and sit up, heart pounding in your chest as the vivid memories replay in your mind, leaving you trembling with fear. Tears stream down your cheeks as the trauma overwhelms you, and you find it hard to catch your breath.

Seungcheol's immediately awaken by your distress, pulling you into his arms. " I'm here y/n calm down shush..." he whispers tenderly, stroking your head, trying to comfort your trembling body as best as he can. He embraces you tightly in his arms, allowing you to cry and release the floodgates of emotions open from the harrowing experience.

He listens to your trembling sobs, his heartbeats a steady rhythm against your ear, and he continues to stroke your arms and back, comforting you through the turmoil. As you find consolation in his warmth, your clenched fists loosen their grip on the fabric of his shirt, his touch brings a sense of safety and reassurance that you desperately need in this moment. You look at him through your red eyes, as he smiles at you endearingly.

"Seungcheol- I...I'm so sorry" you sniff, gripping his hand, "I never knew that faulty switch would bring this huge mess upon us. You must be the one affected the most. I'm so sorry you had to go through this because of me. I should've let you known" you sob.

He gently wipes your tears, resting your head back on his shoulders "as long as you're safe, I'm at peace. It is my fault that I'm so...uh..quite unapproachable? But I went through hell when I saw you. I was sick worried. I'm sorry I should've protected you better. I should've run a new repair scheme as soon as you moved in. It was my insensitivity to let the most minor things slide" he slowly lies down, with you close to him. He smelled nothing like how the entire house did. He smelled sweet and strong. Everything indeed happens for a reason, as you sense how you're into the man, who rarely touches you, holding you dear.

Throughout the day, your husband Seungcheol stayed by your side, enveloping you in comforting embraces. He ordered breakfast to be delivered to his room, encouraging you to take small steps towards regaining your strength and energy to get on your feet. He offered the support you needed to gather the courage to move on your own and freshen up with a soothing shower.

While you were in the shower, he quietly left the room, allowing you some privacy to release the pent-up emotions that had been bottled up inside you. As the water washed away your tears, the conversations from two nights ago still loomed heavily, unresolved between you both. Yet, amidst the silence and uncertainty, there were his tender gazes - soft and caring. They were like ice on a sunburn, cooling your worries and offering a glimpse of hope. Though words may not have been spoken, his presence spoke volumes, showing that he was there for you in this trying time. You peer outside the window, to see the iron gates glistening with the fog, pitch black sky and the time's almost 11.

Once again, your husband returns into his room, after confirming you've changed, and he smiles at you, approaching with a plate of fruits and berries of all kinds. He was unsure of what your favorite fruit was. He felt unfortunate, of how unaware he is of your preferences. He hands you a bowl of strawberries, and elegantly peels an orange, handing the fruit to you.

"I'm sorry about the previous night" he begins. It catches you off-guard, yet you figure out you're the listener now. "I'm not the best with words, and I do realize I've hurt you-or even worse, left you disheartened. Yet again, I'm at a loss of what should I say, except that let's go on with the honeymoon plans. It may not be the best time right now, but whenever you're sure of doing this, tell me every detail about it; everything you desire for. We'll discuss it." he lifts his eyes towards you, with a subtle smile.

"I thought about everything, and upon contemplation, I realize I do want to give us a chance" you couldn't contain the bubbling happiness, and immediately hug him "thankyou so so so much Seungcheol. I'm glad you get my point" he was frozen at this sudden gesture, yet didn't fail to chuckle. Although he smiled discreetly knowing how wife-coded you are. "Let's begin as friends? Married friends? We'll know each other little by little" you suggest. "Sure, whatever you suggest" he smiles, shaking your hand.

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Amidst the haunting shadows of the accident's aftermath, and quite some insomnias later, time became your ally, gently coaxing you out of the horrors that had shaken your world. However you found an unexpected haven of love and affection with your husband. In your head, this friendship has escalated rapidly. A realization dawned upon you - the past may have shaped your paths, but the present had the power to rewrite destinies. Over time you had found solace in cohabitation with your husband, late-night conversations about life's intricacies, you delved into shared preferences, whispered dreams, cherished birthdays, and bittersweet memories of childhood. And everyday you discover new sides of him. Soon, you call him "husband" essentially finding pride and power in doing so. He was surprised at first, yet now he loves being called nicknames like "Cheol" or "Cheollie".

In Seungcheol, you found everything you admired in a man - daring, possessive, with a stunning face and a strong physique. He loved to be in shape, and encouraged you to stay fit, though romance wasn't his forte, he never faltered in taking care of necessities. While you weren't sure if you brightened his world, he became your epiphany. His struggles with eye contact and occasional mindless words unveiled the emotions he guarded, making you grateful for the accident that brought you together; without it, you might have given up on him. Now, you cherished the connection that had grown, exploring the depths of both your hearts.

Seungcheol realized soon that the collision of your worlds had a purpose, unveiling the potential for love and connection he hadn't dared to imagine. He slowly felt a major change in himself. Slowly, a transformation took place within him. Moments that were once filled with hesitation and distance, now became opportunities for seeking your attention, for his eyes to meet yours. He longed to be closer to you, finding comfort in watching you sleep peacefully at night and waking up to your smile each morning.

However, amidst this newfound affection, he couldn't decipher where his heart truly lay. Your mother's loving gestures and his sister-in-law's respectful fondness were easy to understand, but when it came to your feelings, he was left uncertain. Did you like him back? Would you ever be able to reciprocate his love? The questions lingered, leaving him vulnerable to the unknown, anxiously awaiting the day he could unravel the mysteries of your heart. It's an endless marathon in his mind.

It took him 4 days to gather his courage and ask you for coffee. You laugh and obviously agreed to accompany him to the city's famous coffee spot. Like the man he was, he memorizes your order and pulls into a drive thru.

Seungcheol drives to a spot he usually stops by, to ease his frustrations; Parks. Laughter of children, romantic couples sharing pda, and a bridge that separates cherry blossoms from the playground, you're immediately in love with this scenario. Both of you share some laughter, and enjoy your coffees and croissants, while the petals of the blossoms shed upon you. The look of love you two exchanged was long; to leave your coffees cold and croissants dry. Both of your worlds revolved around each other, only for Kkuma's barks to bring you back in reality, being greeted by Seungcheol's brother and his wife. Your delightful evening ends with a comfortable dinner and living your best chances of being Kkuma's mother, something your two month marriage with Seungcheol lacked.

Soon enough, you persuaded Seungcheol to shift houses permanently. Despite your old room being perfectly repaired, the trauma of sleeping alone had left a lasting impact. Bonus was Kkuma finally moving in with you and Seungcheol. Understanding your perspective, Seungcheol readily accepted to have you in his room in this house, and the new one seeking, welcoming the idea without hesitation.

Within a mere three days, you both found yourselves settling into your new furnished apartment, which, wasn't expansive, it rather held the essence of a cozy aesthetic. With only one guest room upstairs and a spacious bedroom, you had insisted on sharing the same space, declining any notions of personal separation. He made sure to double check every single thing, to disapprove any mishaps.

"Cheol, this is beautiful! I-I love it!! Thankyou so much, husband!" To him it's no new information, but his cheeks flushed shades of cherries. You were too busy exploring your new house, and he couldn't help but adore every inch of your ecstacy.

"Any time, wife" he replies after clearing his throat, and containing his ecstacy.

You poured your gratitudes to Seungcheol the entire day and actively joined hands with you, playfully engaging in household tasks, cherishing every moment as you transformed the apartment into your shared abode, a place that signified the start of your new world together.  Nothing changed in terms of routine, however, you two communicate often,and now there were sparks of mischief from Seungcheol, indicating that silence was no more a welcoming guest. And now Kkuma being an addition, you enjoyed being indoors and outdoors with her. It wasn't often both of you enjoy going out often unless its something such as icecream dates or coffee, or some relaxing walks, because neither of you go anywhere out of your comfort zone; except for a business trip or grocery shopping, however the joy of turning down people who ask for your status, was thrilling. You felt a sense of superiority.

═════════════════════

The next evening he returns home a little earlier than expected, searching for an important flash drive in his drawer. It seemed you were in shower, considering how loud you were singing. He smiles, hearing your soft voice echoing in the room, and suddenly the door knob twisting open. Seungcheol quickly slides open the closet door and gets inside.

It was foolish of him to hide instead of leave, but he thought maybe his presence would freak you out. He slowly opens a little to take notes of the surrounding and was taken aback, seeing you in a towel, and your hair wrapped. He gulps, seeing your glistening body smell like lavender, spreading in the room.

Seeing you in this new light, he couldn't help but feel a surge of desire mixed with love. He had never viewed you with such intense admiration before. Tempted to touch and hold you, he controlled his impulses, knowing it was too soon for his hands to explore your curves yet this is the most skin he's seen of you.

You lie down on the bed, laughing and smiling to everything that went in your beautiful mind. Soon you dial your best friend and start off a conversation. Seungcheol senses this was a grave mistake, because phonecalls are obviously long. He had no choice but to stay inside until you're distracted. He facepalms himself, and slowly leans towards the side. You put the phone on speaker while you do your post shower rituals, moisturizing yourself in view of the full length mirror.

"Is Seungcheol home right now? Or should I say your husband" your friend teases you

"Good lord, no he's not. Infact a business trip awaits his presence"

"Tch that's sad. No wonder why you're calling me and not him"

"My man's busy. Sometimes I just hope come early one day and catch me like this? My mind goes places whenever I get out of shower and think of him coming in without notice" you smile coyly "darling you're on my to-do list tonight" you chuckle. Seungcheol could only smirk, after hearing your fantasies.

"Honey you're too inexperienced for this" she retorts

"Inexperienced my foot, I miss my husband already.... and safe to say I actually love him" you sigh.

"Have you told him about your feelings? Have you told him you've never been laid and are deprived" Seungcheol closely listens to everything, occasionally holding his laughter.

"No" you pout again, falling on your back, unaware of seungcheol who was shamelessly hearing you, while admiring your raised chest, that was swollen out off the unknown feelings of you, from him.

"I want to. Everytime I look at him, I want to tell him  'oh Cheollie I love you' " you laugh with your friend, "I'm seriously in love with him and it scares me how quick and sudden it all was. And now its- he's giving me mixed signals. Sometimes he's distant, and sometimes he makes me the most lucky woman ever. I want to tell him I love him, I just don't know when or how" you continue

"Dont say anything. Just go on your honeymoon, and sit on his face, the 2nd hour. Afterall actions speak louder than words"  both of you laugh heartily. Seungcheol breathes out a laugh yet onto it, knowing it's over if he's caught.

"Tell me about it" you sigh.

"Seriously! Talk with him and confess! Since when did you become such a big pussy"

"Honey I'm the one with the pussy"

"Goddamn, you- seriously- talk to him. What if he s involved in someone else the time you say the words"

You went silent, the thought just made you sit back up, nd think about it. Could he really have someone else?

"I...highly doubt that. My mother-in-law said he's never really had a serious relationship, since he was focused on training back then"

"Honey its not written on your face that you've never had a man, it aint written on his face that he may have a potential girlfriend before you. What you'll be doing then?" Your friend continues "I hope he's not doing this out of sympathy, considering that whole incident"

Again you felt numb all over, it would've killed you inside out if the signs of Seungcheol's empathy and love was all out of sympathy. However you shake your thoughts, and put a heavy heart on your words, "Then what I'm the one who married him, and I get to choose if I stay or take the other way"

Seungcheol gulped, knowing time is definitely ticking and if he still don't do anything, he'll surely regret.

"Atta girl!"

Suddenly Kkuma runs out from underneath your bed and into the bathroom, and you chase her. "Ahhhhh kkuma stop you frenzy lil- I'll call back later" you chase your daughter, and Seungcheol seeks this as a perfect opportunity to escape.

"Kkuma!!!! That's your dad's favorite shampooo aaa!" You exclaim. Seungcheol takes this opportunity to sprint out of the room, laughing a little at your banter. The smile plastered on his face was priceless. His chest heaved with happiness, ego swollen with pride, heart relieved and thrilled with all the revelations. If he knew anything as a businessman, it was to have a plan. He needs to be prepared for everything beforehand and time was a precious investment. And it was finally time he need to make his first move.

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"Are you interested in accompanying me to this business trip?" Seungcheol asks, out of the blue during breakfast.

"Well, I don't see exactly why wouldn't I" you raise your brows "thought I'd say no"

"Hey hey, it's not that! I just wondered if you'd be up for some adventure, that's all."

"Adventure, huh?" you reply, pretending to ponder dramatically. "Hmm, only if you promise to bring some fun into this 'business' trip."

He smirks, tapping his fingers on the table. "Deal! I'll make sure it's the most adventurous business trip you've ever been on" you're aware of your husband's antics, and it's evident he's brewing something.

You laugh, finding his playful demeanor contagious. "Alright then, you've got yourself a travel buddy. But you better keep your promise, Mr. Businessman."

Seungcheol winks, flashing you a charismatic smile. "Oh, don't you worry, Mrs. Businesswoman. It'll be an unforgettable journey" Kkuma barks in excitement

"Exactly Kkuma" he cheers.

You couldn't help but smile, at how domestic life has turned ever since the coast is clear between you two. The idea of being overseas with Seungcheol sparked a new imagination for you.

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Whoever said travelling is easy, it never is.

After hours of a tiring flight, you found yourself in Singapore, the astonishing city of tourism. The sights were indeed beautiful, with city skyscrapers and landscapes that mesmerized you. The fresh air was a welcome change, adding a touch of excitement to this trip. Your husband, with his penchant for luxury, had chosen a hotel room at a height, providing a stunning view of the city and the rivers below."It must be even more beautiful at night," you thought, taking in the scenery.

Seungcheol's voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking incredibly attractive in his white shirt.

"Like what you see?" he teased, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.

"Sure I do," you replied with a nervous smile, trying to contain your admiration for him.

"I'll shower first then! I'll be heading out soon, so please order lunch for me as well," he said, scrunching his nose playfully before disappearing into the bathroom.

Following his request, you ordered lunch and kept yourself busy taking pictures of the breathtaking views from your room. Lost in the beauty of the city, you were interrupted by the doorbell, and to your surprise, there stood Seungcheol, clad only in sweatpants, with the towel hanging around his shoulders. You tried your best to keep composure "Oop! Quite a timing, lunch is here" you tried to maintain eye contact but it was hard; both for your eyes to keep to his face, and for his nipples to remain soft in the chilly air of the A/C. It was thrilling and embarassing, considering you now know what he is inside that white shirt he always wears.

"Sure, Thanks. Heard my phone ring" he walks over to the side table for his phone "I'll be quick" he chuckles knowing the effect he had on you. You swore you felt tingles everywhere, and bury your face in your hands, hiding the flusters of your red face and feels. Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol could see your flustered reactions through the reflection of the window; full enough to capture the city's highlights. He knew he has unlocked a new level.

"Sure this journey will be unforgettable"

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While Seungcheol's been busy attending meetings and chats with his clients, you took this opportunity to explore the city's famous landmarks, enjoying some street shows, and a visit to art galleries and ice cream parlors. The times he's available, he shines as usual; enjoying different flavors, mingling with the dancers, and spending like anything on ferris wheel rides, and to exquisite places you've either seen on searches, or never heard of it.

"So Mrs Businesswoman how are you enjoying your stay so far?" He inquires, leaning rowards the railings of the bridge.

"Amazing, you really know how to explore, Mr Dora" you smile. "How long is your business work though?"

"Why is it? Don't you like it here?" He frowns

"No no, it's that you must be tired commuting back and forth, just making sure you don't get sick"

"Don't worry, besides, weren't you the one to be enthusiastic about a honeymoon" he looks up at the starry sky. An instant realization came to you

"Ooh.... I-damn you sneaky lil I should've known why would you ask me to accompany you all of a sudden" you squint at him "I'm not complaining though. You have quite an elite taste" you smile

"Then lets go get dinner and we'll chill on some champagne later" the idea sounds wonderful already. Seungcheol holds your hand, and your heartbeat accelerated at this gesture

"You don't mind...this do you?" He asks, eyes glistening with innocence as if he doesn't tease you every morning.

"No, Honey" you smile. Despite Seungcheol's occasional flirty tactics, you realized that he had eyes only for you.

The next hour after a delicious dinner, you were in shower, and decided to make him suffer twice the time he does, so you come out in slippers, and a piece of towel barely covering your body, just enough to enhance your curves. Your husband who was pouring champagnes, turns around, to his absolute shock, he was foaming, eye-fucking you. You instantly knew you hit the bullseye.

"Forgot my toner here" you smile innocently, and unintentionally fulfilling your fantasies. Whatever was hard, was definitely not because of the temperature. Soon you return in just an oversized shirt and some shorts, that has been your usual night-fit. He hands you your glass, looking a bit horny. There was silence. Quite a sexually tempting one. Lights were dim, the view was spectacular.

It's when he realized he's had enough and pulls you on top of him, your lingerie-less body hitting his hard chest

"God..Seungcheol what is-"

"I'm I hav- Oh god I don't know how to say this" he contemplates, as you see his soft lips between his teeth

"What the hell you're the one to pull me on you" you roll your eyes

"Sorry I'm I-"

"Never mind" you hold his face and attach your lips with his. To be frank, you've had tolerated enough and it's time you do sit on his face.

The synchronization of your lips moving with his, was very perfect for a first time. You kept on kissing and kissing, exploring every inch of his mouth until he pushes you for a catch of breath. You flutter your eyes open and smile, slowly transcending to a laugh

"God you're so...menacing" he speaks "about time you finally do what you said to your frien-" he stops knowing he said a little too much. You look at him in shock "does that mean you-"

"Sorry" he nervously says. You squint your eyes at him again, very suspiciously "how much did you listen"

"Everything" he confessed "it was unintentional, you were busy on the call and I came for something then I forgot common sense. Sorry" he apologizes. You knew the cat had been out of the box, you were unable to notice it. You sigh, after a quick contemplation

"Well, it's no secret anymore. Here I'll say it fir-" he puts a finger on your lip, switching positions, where he is on top of you now. It earned a small squeak from you, yet you felt your core getting a bit wet by how attractive that was. His leg rested between yours.

"Let me" he stares in your soul. You gulped, kind of getting wet by how his built is hovering on you.

"Y/N, I'm foolishly, in fucking love with you" the sudden profanity made you grin a little harder, all while he strokes a loose strand off your face "honestly. I can't believe it took me this long to express my..sheer love for you, y/n. Back then, i would've died without you but now I...would die for you. I can't imagine a world without you, so if you please let me be yours forever?"

"I hated every inch of air I shared with you then, and how we were just bonded without sharing a hello" you smile, cupping his face "I never imagined I'd find every moment with you, so profound. Every minute with you was magical, and it only concludes how destined we are for each other"

"I love you Seungcheol"

"I love you too..."

With that, he took the "action speak louder than words" a little too serious. His lips wrestle for dominance with yours, and the thigh that was calm, started stirring up a storm between your legs, as he continuously grinds on you. You pull onto the hem of his shirt, and he immediately does, while his hands explore your body inside your shirt. He slowly makes his way from your lips to your neck. Everything felt so ecstatic; it was your new high. You clenched onto the soft pillows for dear life, when Seungcheol slides himself into your oversized shirt, his lips between the valley of your perky breasts, craving his attention. He admires every inch of your perfectly created body.

"Stop...teasing" you moan. He feigned ignorance, continuing to play with your sensations. He pulls you up by your back, and swiftly removes the shirt and throws it on the floor. "There's no stopping me tonight y/n," is the last thing he says before pinching your nipples, and making the best use of his mouth on them. He enjoys hearing the profanities escape your lips, and how your voice changes upon pleasure.

You push him by his shoulders and get down on him, sliding the waistband of his shorts down to his knees, his dick springing high on your face. You gaze at his length before mindlessly taking every inch in your hands. "You..you..do..nt hhhave to ddoo t-ohhh" he groans. "You don't tell me what to do...."

"Such a brat" he smirks, letting you rule his excitement. He felt his high, once you slowly took him in your mouth, taking in as much as you could without gagging (yet) it's a matter of time he shifts from a thread of "oh ffuckk" "you're doing it so good" to "I'm gonna cum" and it's when you stop. You hastily take your shorts off and slowly grind on him. Seungcheol was panting manic. He was a mess. The entire room reeked of lust and his musky scent overshadowing, with his sweat. It proved how much of an authority you held on him

"Slide all the way up to my face beautiful I don't bite"

That's all you needed for your dripping core to slide on his nose, to his mouth. His tongue did wonders. You were sure you wouldn't last long considering this is your first oral ever, and sure you didn't, his tongue toyed with your nerves, and used every "shits" "fucks" "oh cheol" as his drive to go deeper in your cunt. "I'll cum I'm cumming I-" you release on his lips, and like a man, he devours it all.

"Delicious"

"You...you sound like cand..candy crush for god's sake" you breathily chuckle, and he follows, slowly getting up, to position himself on you.

"Then allow me to...'smash' " he presses a tender kiss on your forehead, before entering your core. You squeezed his hand, asking him to be gentle and burying your face in his neck, fingers in his back. It felt so...weird the first few minutes, but as he slowly moves, the funky feeling, the pain, it all vanishes. It's all when you realize you're actually getting laid. The sounds you've never considered you'd make, were too loud, way too unholy. Seungcheol was holding your leg, and was going slow till you adjust to him. His low groans and breathy moans turned you on even further, where you move your head to face him and slap his arm

"Giv...give me e...every..thing, husband. Take me all the way up" you breathe out. It's when he increases his pace, once he received your green signal. The slow slaps, were now louder and faster. Your bed was also giving up on concealing it's squeaks. He holds you in his arms, and continues thrusting in you.

Nothing else in the world mattered but the pressure you felt in between your legs and your delicious heat wrapping around him, engulfing him in until he bottomed out. His head falling into the crock of your neck, whispering sweet nothings against it while he started to fuck you slowly.

“Y-You feel so good, so w-warm.” Seungcheol kissed you, feverishly, swallowing your moans. His soft lips whimpering against yours. “I want to be inside you forever.” His hips moving against yours slowly, making sure you could feel all of him inside you. His hands never leave from your back and pushed you against him, chests heaving against one another’s. You arched your back, gripping the blankets underneath you. "Oh Seungcheo...god....cheol..." you breathe. He continued tinting your neck with his masterwork, and swiftly positions you on all fours. The joy you felt by the way he dominated you, and messed with your fucked out state, was bringing you heaven. You go low, arms stretching towards the headboard, while he grabs them, locking them behind your back, and even going hard.

There was no stopping him, all while the whole city from your foggy windows witness you making love witb your husband.

"Look at yourself, love" he turns your head to the mirror on the right "look at us..mmm..." he moans in your ear his hand snaking in between your bodies searching for the little bud of pleasure. You scream in pure ecstscy.

He turns you around, so swiftly,  with his thumb hovering over it, the suspense had you withering, begging for him to touch you the only way he knew how. You whimpered feeling the ghost of his touch, your fingers tweaking at your nipple, sending a rush of pleasure through your body. "C..ch..chheoll..., mmm, I-I need to cum.” You pressed your chest into his back, turning your head all the way up, watching as his face contorted into pure bliss, his thrusts getting sloppier, his connected thumb with your clit and rubbing slow figure eight, constrasting the speed of his thrusts. You gasped raising your hips rocking against his hips and hand, feeling the sweet coil start to build up "im..fucking serious oh....my..."

"Release all on me, love" he demands amidst moans "Cum with me. Savour every drop of it" and it's all you needed to finally finish on him. He groaned finding your free hand and interlocking your fingers with his. You clenched around him. He was pumping as well, and you felt all warmth being filled inside you. Every thing about this was so surreal, so new, so perfect. You breathe as if you had run a marathon; a marathon of lust. Seungcheol hugs you, and stays inside you, caressing your head, showering you with compliments that you were brave and did well for your first time. The sense of encouragement brought tears to your eyes as you bury your face in his chest. He caressed your back with tender touches, and slowly lays you on your back, plopping down next to you.

"You're officially all mine" he kisses your shoulder. You hold his hand tightly, "you're mine as well, babe"

For the first time, you felt real comfort, real love, and an unimaginable intimate experience with your husband. And a shower too.

Seungcheol's heart hadn’t stopped palpitating since. His stomach erupted into butterflies whenever he had held you close throughout the immoral escapades the two of you had engaged in all night. He never wanted to let you go and now as he looked down into your glittering eyes with the heat of the golden sun rays hitting your sensitive bodies.

"Wake up husband"

"I think I want to sleep all day tonight" he shuffles closer to you.

"Oh who knew it would hard to wake my husband up from his slumber"

"Blaming on your irresistable charm" he squeezes your butt under covers.

"Owh! I'll need my own room again if you do th.." his hands cup your clothed core

"Hmmm...you were saying?"

"You.." you fail to form sentences once he starts rubbing your core, slow dense circles.

"Hands to yoursel..f or I'll bite" you whisper

"Oh, my damsel in distress" his voice is contagiously attractive;waste no time as he goes down on you undercovers.

═════════════════════

"We're really leaving Singapore as lovers" he chimes, an ear-to-ear grin fixed on, enhancing his dimples.

"Yeah if it weren't you to have the same traits as you family, you nosy lil witch" you exhale, standing in front of the fountains, almost nearing the airport

"I'm always nosy about everything" he smirks

"Honesty is not always the best policy Mr Choi"

He pulls you dangerously close "You have no idea, Mrs Choi"

"You need a haircut"

"All I'll ever need is...you" he holds onto you like a sloth on a branch, as you two harmonize in a melodious laugh.

It is you, he wants to tell everything to. He'll express his love for you, while he holds your hands in his.

And if there's eternal love, Seungcheol is that person for you.

✿═✿═✿═✿═✿═✿c✿═✿═✿═✿═✿═✿

Thenkyoui for reading!! Stay bias wrecked by him <3

[octuscle]

Blood is thicker than water

Peter hated being out in the fresh air. He had hated working on the farm ever since he had had to help his grandparents muck out the barn during the summer vacation. Yes, there weren't many other ways to earn money here in Lincoln now. But Nebraska wasn't Peter's future either. He was very sure of that. His future would be somewhere in New York, Singapore or London. Somewhere where the big money was. That's where he wanted to go. And that was where he belonged.

The job at the local bank wasn't that glamorous yet. But it was the starting point. Working at the cash desk, processing loan applications, it was all just a prelude to the glittering world of investment banking and hedge funds. He was hardworking, he was smart and charming. And he looked incredibly good in a suit.

When the board called him into his office, Peter saw his big moment had come. He adjusted his tie knot, took a deep breath, knocked and entered the office of his top boss. "Peter, good to see you, have a seat!" Mr. Harrison greeted him. "I hear wonderful things from you. I thought it was long overdue to meet you in person." Peter had to make an effort to stay cool. "As you probably know, the head of our corporate client department is being replaced. And even though you're actually a bit young for a position as head of department, I've been advised to consider you." Strike, thought Peter. "However, I have a, shall we say, delicate task… But if you master it successfully, I have no doubts that you are the right man for the job." A few minutes later, Peter wished he had never started at the bank.

The farm he was on his way to belonged to his uncle Cleatus. It had once been his grandparents' farm. His mother's parents' farm. Not the one where he had had the humiliating experience in the cowshed. This was his father's parents' farm. Damn it, he thought to himself. I must have manure running through my veins. I come from a clan of cows. "Anyone home?" he called out as he arrived in the yard between the stables and the house. The farm looked run-down. He hadn't been here for a long time. Suddenly he heard someone loading a shotgun. "I'm not expecting visitors!" Peter heard a harsh voice. Peter turned around and grinned as friendly as he could. "Hi Uncle Cleatus! It's me, Peter" "Peter, damn it, why are you in disguise? You look like an asshole from the bank!" Peter gulped. This was going to be fun. His uncle invited him into the large kitchen. It was dirty and untidy. Peter saw the pile of unopened post. He took a deep breath, declined the offered beer and began: "Uncle Cleatus, I'm actually not here by choice. And let me get straight to the point: I'm one of those assholes from the bank…"

"Junior!" roared Cleatus. "Say goodbye to your cousin!" Peter looked down the barrel of the shotgun. It hadn't gone as well as he had hoped when he told his uncle that the farm would have to be foreclosed. "Junior, now!". The floor shook as Junior approached the kitchen. It was beginning to stink. Slurry, sweat… And then his cousin Junior stood in front of him. A colossus! He took him in his arms and almost crushed him. "Throw him out, the asshole!" Peter lost the ground beneath his feet. Junior carried him out into the yard. And threw him into the mud. He lay in mud, cow shit and manure. Peter picked himself up and turned around. He wanted to protest. But one look in Junior's direction was enough. And he took off in the direction of the town.

Something was strange… Peter should actually feel humiliated and bad. But he was fine. The dirt on his ruined suit was drying. He was sweating in the warm air. He whistled a song. He was doing well. Of course, his uncle's farm hadn't been saved, but at least he hadn't put his own family out on the street. Shit, that wouldn't be worth a promotion on this planet either. He was beginning to develop pride in his grandparents' accomplishments working this land. They had made this country great. That made him very proud. And he was growing, without realizing it, in his suit.

He had parked his car outside on the country road so as not to get it dirty on the muddy dirt track. Peter now stripped out of his dirty suit on the road and sat in the car half naked so as not to soil the seats. The suit lay crusty, but neatly folded, in the trunk. It wasn't the end of the day yet. He had to report to the bank. He needed something to wear. And, given the way he smelled of cow shit and manure, a shower, too. Peter scratched his chin to think. His chin was scratchy. Very scratchy. And his upper arm looked kind of powerful. His cock in his boxer shorts was getting hard. Shit, what was he going to do now? Fortunately, he remembered the workwear store at the entrance to the town. He would find something to wear there. Maybe nothing from an Italian designer. But it would certainly be better than underwear.

The waitress in the store looked as if she was always serving men in their underwear. Peter mumbled that he needed something for the office. The waitress nodded understandingly and said that a guy who was built like him was certainly not the kind of person who would fit into an office. Peter didn't understand, but nodded. "Go into the changing room, I'll bring you something," said the sales assistant. Peter did as he was told. He looked in the mirror. Yes, he was a man who, in his underwear, you would probably expect to see as a construction worker or tree cutter. Arms like his didn't really fit into a shirt. "You look like you have an appointment at the bank," said the sales clerk. "You'll want to look respectable." Peter actually wanted to say that he worked at the bank. But somehow he had the feeling that wasn't true… "Yes, I have a farm to save," Peter replied. "Shit situation," replied the salesman. "Bankers are all vultures!"

When Peter arrived back at his small office, where he was a corporate account manager, he took a deep breath. Yes, he too was a vulture. But not as bad as the money-grabbing careerists up there. He was a passionate banker. He wanted to help people. His people. Before he called Mr. Harrison, he took a deep breath. His huge chest rose and fell. He reeked of sweat in his cheap polyester shirt. And after his visit to the farm, he probably had cow shit in the treads of his rough boots. But he just wasn't the type for penny loafers and Egyptian cotton shirts. He was a guy from Nebraska. Even if he did work in a bank.

The conversation with Mr. Harrison went as Peter had expected. You couldn't expect sympathy from a man like that. And Peter didn't want to work with a man like that again. He had saved hard. His dream had been to buy a house in the suburbs soon. But now there were more important things. One word followed the next in the phone call with Mr. Harrison. Until Peter plucked up his courage and told the vulture to stick his money up his ass. Peter would pay off his uncle's debts. And then turn his back on the bank. He threw his tie in the garbage can. And unbuttoned his shirt. Free! Free at last!

Junior was quite a challenge. His cousin was a few weeks older than him. And he hadn't been softened up by working in the city. But Pete had been living on the farm for a few weeks now and, thanks to his cooperation, there was a silver lining. The auction was off the table. Everything would be fine. And at the next wrestling match in the cowshed, Junior would lose and Pete would win. And the winner would get his cock sucked by the loser. Life on the farm was wonderful!

[hellkeepers-if]

DEMO (prologue out) UPDATES

Set in an alternate version of Singapore, you're a fresh university graduate bumbling through life as you desperately look for a job.

...Or that's what your mother thinks. In a world where occult ceremonies are as common as an existential crisis, there's no way you were ever going to be a perfectly average office worker. Just like your twin brother, you work for the International Society Of Exorcists (ISOE) which deals with supernatural occurrences, demonic rituals, and the like.

When a tragic event befalls your older sister, it uproots your entire life and everything you ever knew about the supernatural. With it, comes a forced need to come to terms with a family history straight out of the movies. 

After all, how the hell did it take twenty years to find out that you're descended from the freaking king of the underworld?

"I have a duty to myself, but more importantly, my family."

——————

Inspired by Supernatural, Fullmetal Alchemist, Noragami, and the Percy Jackson series, Hellkeepers is a +18 urban fantasy/paranormal interactive fiction, involving elements of Chinese and Southeast-Asian mythology. In every playthrough, you will...

• Play as a female, male, or non-binary Chinese demigod/ess.

• Determine the relationships between you and your family members. After all, they will play a big part in your story...

• Peel apart the full truth behind you and your siblings' birthright. Your parents can't hide it forever.

• Learn more about Chinese and Southeast Asian mythology as you warp into different dimensions, unlike anything you've seen before.

• Learn more about who you were in your past life.

| Nishimura Kazuo (he/him)

Age: 26

Ethnicity: Japanese

With a penchant for mischief and a charm that woos even the most stubborn of grandmas, Kazu is the wildcard of your organization. You think he's an anarchist, and the only reason he's tied down to the ISOE is so that he has an excuse for whatever havoc he wreaks on the supernatural. 

The A-ranked exorcist is your colleague and your brother's mentor, though you rarely ever see him in his office. But if you ever need him for demon fighting, he'll be there. Most of the time.

"Mind taking that pesky thing out for me while I take a quick nap?"

| Quentin Khanh (Quan) (he/him)

Age: 25

Ethnicity: Vietnamese

Quentin, more affectionately known as Quan, was your childhood friend. After he moved overseas, the weekly texts you sent him fizzled into nothing but a lost friendship.

Since then, he's returned to Singapore as a forensics pathologist and researcher under your organisation. Whether you like it or not, you have to no choice but to work with him for most of your investigations.

"If your bribe doesn't involve a penthouse worth of money, don't talk to me."

| Reyna Aliyah Santos (she/her)

Age: 23

Ethnicity: Mixed (Filipino-Chinese)

You've never quite met someone like Reyna. A halfling with a demon mother and a human father. Being raised in Singapore all her life with little knowledge of her parents, it's natural that Reyna would come to the ISOE for help at the mere instance of a fox tail and white fur.

You've been tasked to help her mask and get comfortable with her supernatural powers, but she won't make it easy for you. After all, foxes do bite. 

"Technically, I'm not stealing anything if they don't notice."

| Song Huayun (she/her)

Age: ????

Ethnicity: "Uhh...from Hell?" Chinese

| You don't know too much about Huayun, except for the fact that she lives in Diyu, the Chinese Underworld. As Diyu's gatekeeper, Huayun has seen countless depravities committed by humans before their deaths. That alone has made it hard for her to like them, and the contempt she shows you is no different than what she shows everyone else.

But with time, maybe she'll finally learn what it is like to feel human…and what a smile is.

"If it isn't the star of tonight's show. Welcome to Diyu."

| The Arbiter of Fate (m/f)

Theyre a stranger, or so you say. But this deity knows everyone...especially you.

[disneyprincemuke]

midnights, 8 * mv1

rumours on the paddock have it that max is out and about with another girl on his arm

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: -

notes: only 2 more parts after this,, making me kinda sad ;( i’ve used this as an outlet not to trauma dump irl anymore so what have i gOT AFTER THISSSS

(series masterlist)

(prev) // (next)

the car slowly comes to a stop, turning your head to stare at the apartment building you used to have memorised. it’s in the louder part of town, a more convenient location for your now ex-lover for when he needs to get around.

you hadn’t expected to cave so soon, but you were lying about in your apartment with nothing to do when you felt a sharp pang of pain in your chest. fueled by the sudden cat shaped hole in your heart, you called victoria up for a request to spend some time with the felines you’ve deemed as your kids.

a soft tap on your window makes you turn your head, a small smile from the younger woman startling you before winding the window down. “hey!”

“hey,” you greet her solemnly, putting the car in park before you climb out slowly. “have you gotten dinner yet?”

“i’ve got food upstairs,” victoria assures you. she turns to the man in uniform, hands behind his back at the entrance of the apartment building. “extra for you as well.”

he sends you a grin. “ms. (y/n)! welcome back.”

you return his gesture with a courteous nod. “hello,” you smile as he makes his way to your car.

valet is something you never asked for, but max had insisted following the incident of you chipping the paint off your car on a wall in the cramp basement parking.

if victoria hadn’t told you that your car was still under the list, you would have taken a taxi.

“sorry for calling you so abruptly,” you chuckle sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck as you follow the younger woman into the elevator. “i just missed jimmy and sassy. so much. i’ve tried staying away, but those two have got my heart in their tiny little paws.”

victoria smiles warmly at you, a friendly hand on your shoulder with a tight squeeze. “i’ve always got your back,” she giggles, shaking you slightly. “you’re my favourite.”

you shake your head. “have they been eating fine?”

“they have! but i get an inkling that they’ve been missing you,” victoria frowns, now leading the way in the empty hallway. “they sleep on your side of the bed when i’m around and start meowing like crazy when i come in. probably hoping it was you.”

that was the conflict you had coming back from the singapore gp to clear the apartment of your things.

you had concluded yourself that packing them up to bring them with you would be too stressful for the cats, which is why you made the difficult decision to leave them in max’s apartment.

on your last night, you gathered them up with you for cuddles while you slept. in the morning, they meowed for you as you walked out, leaving your heart heavier than it initially was.

when you step into the apartment, you try to push away the lingering feeling of breaking out into a sobbing mess. you call for the cats as you usually do, things shuffling and falling over in different parts of the apartment before you see two figures running over to you.

“i’ll prepare you a plate,” victoria grins, closing the door behind her. “i made carbonara.”

she disappears into the apartment, leaving you with the two cats rubbing their heads and bodies on your calves while you take off your shoes. it’s not very like them to be clingy like this, so it makes you grin though they do make it harder to finish your task.

“yes, yes,” you mutter, grabbing jimmy by the torso to briefly move him away. “i will carry you in a bit, baby. i just want to take off my shoes.”

you trudge further into the apartment, trying to make sense of the half empty place you used to call home. you should’ve been here; you should still be here.

if only you can get yourself to call him instead of moping around and falling asleep with his name on your lips like a prayer.

you try to get comfortable by the coffee table in the living room, both cats wrestling one another as they try to fit in your lap. you put your bag on the table. “i’ve got treats for you guys!” you squeal. “but, i’ve got to send a text first. give me a second, okay?”

you turn on your phone, answering your friends with a simple text message. you then get distracted from there, swiping to your home page and opening instagram for a quick look.

suddenly, you wish you never had.

there’s a picture of max, in the paddocks during the race weekend… with her. the bane of your existence then, and still the bane of your existence now even when he’s not yours anymore.

not that there's anything suggestive in the picture that would confirm a relationship. but it is enough to raise speculation now that news has broken that you are no longer together.

they're simply walking side by side in conversation. surely there's nothing going on between them. right?

you feel your heart sink in your chest and your throat closing in. even the presence of either cat isn’t enough to make you want to stay. but you know you have to power through — they’re just cats. they don’t know what’s going on.

you breathe out shakily, tears filling your eyes to the brim as you take out the liquid treats for the cats.

victoria walks out of the kitchen, alarmed by your sniffling and the tears falling out of your eyes. “oh, hey! what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, promptly putting the packet of treat down while jimmy and sassy flock to the familiar scent. you wipe your tears away and laugh dryly. “oh, it’s nothing! i just really missed the cats.”

“no, really. what is it?” victoria asks in a soothing tone, putting down the plates on the dining table before she runs over to you. “what’s wrong? talk to me about it.”

but you can’t. victoria will always be on max’s side — through and through. they’re siblings, after all. it doesn’t matter what happened between you both. no matter how much victoria says that you’re her favourite.

you grin through your tears and force a smile. “it’s just the apartment. i haven’t been here in so long.”

the suppressed emotions from earlier are finally surfacing. it’s even worse now that the universe made you look at the picture of max with kelly.

it all feels too fresh. sure, you were doing fine months after the breakup. but it’s different now seeing him in the first steps of moving on; you were still hoping for that slight glimmer of spark to eventually rekindle and reconnect you with him.

with kelly now in the picture, the possibility to having max back are looking bleak.

victoria holds you in a side hug. “i’m sorry you guys broke up,” she rubs your arm, head resting on top of yours. “i’m here if you need to talk about it.”

you give her a nod with a small smile. you wipe your tears away and try your best to stop crying - you'll just cry on your drive back home. "of course. thank you, vic," you smile, patting her knee. "but i will be okay. as always."

"i'm on nobody's side, if that helps."

you're not sure why victoria felt the need to clarify that. the only possible reason would be that max has not spoken of you and it only makes the tightening in your chest worse.

you let out one final sob, hand on your chest as jimmy and sassy wrestle one another for the liquid treat in your hand. you laugh breathily as you look up at victoria. "if max hasn't talked about it, maybe it's best that i don't as well."

and it left a bitter taste in your mouth saying that. it feels like it's over. you've now completely lost max without any signs of life. there are no signs of max ever coming back.

if max can move forward, so can you.

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever @lokigoeschoki @cherry-piee

[sorcerer-felix]

Cocksure in the Corporate World

Anonym hat gefragt:

Loved your last story. I am a female just trying to make it in a man's world. Can you show me what a life as a man would be like? I work in the corporate world.

In the bustling headquarters of a renowned corporation, you sat at your desk, meticulously reviewing the day's work. Your curly brown hair, a touch of casualness in an otherwise professional ensemble, frames your focused face. As a Senior Administrative Manager, you've climbed the corporate ladder with dedication and precision, ensuring every task for the Singapore branch is executed flawlessly. Your attention to detail is legendary among your colleagues, who often seek your guidance.

Especially Peter, your neighbor at the adjacent desk, seemed to rely on your support more than anyone else. Peter, a few years your junior, is the antithesis of your meticulous nature. His charm and intelligence are undeniable, but his approach to work is carefree, almost reckless. He's the life of the office, always sharing stories of his latest romantic conquests, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

As you finished up the report, you can't help but reflect on your relationship with Peter. He's like a little brother to you, always in need of guidance, especially when it comes to his work. You've been cleaning up after him for years, ensuring his reports are accurate and his deadlines are met. Despite his lack of attention to detail, he's intelligent and likable, always bringing a smile to your face with his antics.

Suddenly, a hush fall over the office as your boss called Peter into his chamber. You exchanged a concerned look with Peter, who shrugged nonchalantly and headed into the meeting. You knew he's been a bit lax with his work lately, and you couldn't help but worry. "I've told you to be more careful, Peter," you muttered under your breath as you watched him go. "But don't fret, we'll sort this out." Time seemed to crawl as you waited for Peter's return. Finally, he emerged from the boss's office, a broad smile plastered on his face. "You'll never guess what!" he exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. "The boss offered me the Team Head position in Singapore!" Your jaw dropped, and for a moment, you couldn't find your voice. You were happy for Peter, but the promotion stings. You've been working tirelessly, putting in long hours, and yet Peter, with his carefree attitude, has leapfrogged over you. "That's wonderful, Peter," you managed to say, forcing a smile. "Congratulations."

As you congratulated him, a part of you wondered if it's because he's a man. You shake your head, dismissing the thought. You've always believed in your abilities and worked hard to prove yourself in this male-dominated industry. Before you could dwell further, your boss called you into his office. You straightened your blazer and took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come. "Emily, I wanted to discuss the last report," your boss began, his tone serious. "There was a minor error in the footnotes." You felt your face flush, knowing full well that you pride yourself on your accuracy. "I apologize, sir. It won't happen again." "I expect better from you, Emily. Attention to detail is crucial in this role." He leaned forward, his expression stern. “See that it doesn't, Emily. Precision is key in our line of work. You're a valuable asset because of your attention to detail, but we need everyone to be on the same page." The frustration bubbled up, and you blurted out, "Or what? Will I get promoted like Peter? He's the one who made the mistake in the first place!" Your boss fixed you with a steady gaze. "Emily, you are precise and accurate, but Peter has leadership qualities. He inspires people, and look at how he's influenced you. You've been doing his work without complaint."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of emotions—anger, betrayal, and a hint of embarrassment. You nodded, choosing to remain professional, but inside, you were seething. Needing a moment to collect yourself, you head down to the café in the building's lobby. As you waited for your coffee, your mind raced. Is Peter really getting ahead because he's a man? You clenched your fists, the steam from your coffee mirroring the heat in your veins. "You look like you could use a friend," a voice said, breaking your train of thought. You looked up to see a handsome young man with sparkling blue eyes and stylish blond hair. He was wearing a white silk suit, an unusual choice for the corporate setting.

"I'm Felix," he introduced himself with a charming smile. "You look like you've had a rough day. Care to talk about it?" There's something innocent and disarming about his demeanor, and you found yourself spilling your frustrations to this stranger. You felt a physical pull towards him, a sensation you haven't experienced in a while. So, you told him about Peter's promotion, your boss's comments, and your concerns about gender bias. "I would give my life to understand the man's world," you sighed, more to yourself than to Felix. Felix' eyes twinkled with mischief. "Deal," he said, and a blue light emanated from his palms, enveloping you in a surreal glow. The world went dark, and when you regained consciousness, everything felt... different.

Your senses were heightened, and you were acutely aware of your surroundings. But something was off. You tried to speak, but no words came out. Panic rose within you as you realized you couldn't move. Then, a familiar voice echoed in your mind, “What the hell just happened?” It was Peter, and he sounded just as confused. “Emily? Is that you?” “Yes, it's me!” you responded, relief flooding through you. “But what's going on? Why can't I move?” “I... I think you're me now. Or rather, you're my...” Peter's voice trailed off as he took in the situation. Your mind cleared, and the realization hit you both at once. You, Emily, had become Peter's penis. Your consciousness was intertwined with his, and you could feel his emotions as if they were your own. The only remnants of your former self were the curly brown locks on Peter's head and the impressive appendage dangling between his legs. Peter, now aware of your presence, turned to Felix, who was still standing nearby, a satisfied grin on his face. "What did you do? Why is Emily... why am I...?" Felix's playful demeanor remained unchanged. "She wanted to understand the man's world, so I granted her wish. Now she can experience it firsthand." He leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Do you wish it to be different?" Peter's eyes widened in fear. He shook his head, his thoughts flooding with images of potential transformations. "No, I... I don't want to change anything. I just want to understand what's happening." Felix laughed, a light, carefree sound. "Then enjoy the experience! It's not every day you get to share a mind with your colleague's most prized possession."

As Felix walked away, Peter's panic set in. He had a few days off to prepare for his move to Singapore, and now he had to deal with this—with you. “I can't believe this is happening,” he thought. “And you're in my head, reading my every thought!” “I know, I'm sorry. But we have to figure out how to fix this,” you pleaded. “We need to find Felix and make him change us back!” Peter's thoughts turned to his promotion and the responsibilities that awaited him in Singapore. “I can't risk changing anything right now. I need to focus on my new role. Besides, I never knew you felt that way about my promotion. You were jealous?” “I... yes. I guess I was. I worked so hard, and I thought I deserved it more than you did. I'm sorry, Peter,” you admitted, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. Peter was quiet for a moment, considering your words. “It's okay. I understand. But I can't risk going back to Felix. Not yet. I need to get used to this... new situation.” Later that evening, Peter stood in front of the mirror, examining his new appearance. He ran his fingers through the curly brown hair, once a part of you, now framed his face, and he considered cutting it. "Please, don't," you pleaded in his mind. "I loved my hair. It's all I have left of my old self." Peter's hand hovered over the scissors, then dropped to his side. "Fine, I'll keep it," he conceded.

He looked down at his body, now enhanced by your presence, and his eyes landed on his crotch. He cupped his hands around you, and you twitched involuntarily at his touch. “I have to admit, the extra length and girth feel pretty good,” he thought with a smirk. “Don't you dare!” you screamed in his mind, as you realized his intention to pleasure himself. Peter jumped, startled by your outburst, and quickly withdrew his hand. “Okay, okay! I won't. But you're part of me now, and I can't help but notice how much better I look and feel.”

As Peter sat down to review the reports, you felt a sense of urgency. The documents contained crucial information about the Singapore branch, and you knew every detail had to be scrutinized. But Peter, never one for meticulousness, skimmed through the pages, his eyes barely grazing the words. “Slow down,” you urged him mentally, your voice a mere whisper in his mind. “We need to go over these carefully.” He sighed, frustration evident in his tone. “Emily, I just want to get a general idea. I’ll read them thoroughly later.” “But—” You tried to protest, but he cut you off. “I need a break. I’ll head to the gym, clear my head. We can finish this later.” You felt a surge of annoyance. This was not how you would approach such an important task. But as you were now a part of Peter, your influence was limited. At the gym, Peter went through his workout routine, his movements fluid and effortless. You couldn’t help but admire his physical prowess, but your focus remained on the reports. “Peter, we should get back to the office. Those reports won’t read themselves.” He grunted as he lifted a set of weights, his muscles straining. “Later. I need to blow off some steam first.” Your frustration grew with each passing minute. “Peter, please, we can’t afford to waste time. This is important!” Suddenly, his mental voice boomed in your shared consciousness, making you flinch. “That is my life, Emily! You are just my cock now, so shut up!” The force of his words took you aback. You had not expected such a powerful assertion of dominance. You felt a momentary silence, a realization that your influence over him was not as strong as you had hoped. Peter finished his workout, his body glistening with sweat. As he stepped into the shower, you felt the warm water cascading over your shared body, a strange sensation that you were still adjusting to. “These long hairs are getting in the way,” he thought, running his fingers through the curly locks. “I should get a haircut.” “No!” you protested, a sense of panic rising within you. “Please, don’t cut it. It’s a part of me, of who I was.”

He ignored your plea, and soon, Peter found himself in a barber’s chair, the familiar brown curls falling around him, a stark contrast to the stylish short cut that remained. “Yes, finally,” he thought, looking at his reflection with satisfaction. “I’m back to myself.” You felt a pang of loss, a sense of your former self slipping away.

But there was no time to mourn as the evening unfolded and Peter settled in to watch some TV. The remote clicked, and the screen flickered, landing on a channel you never expected to see. "Whoa, porn!" Peter's eyes widened, and you felt a rush of blood, a sensation you had never experienced before. "Stop!" you screamed in his mind. "This is inappropriate! We can't just—" "No, Emily," Peter interrupted, his voice firm. "I'm not changing the channel. I'm a man, and this is what men do. You're a part of me now, so deal with it." You felt violated, exposed, as his hand reached down, cupping you, his cock, possessively. "No, please," you begged, your voice weak. "This is wrong." "It's not wrong, it's natural," Peter said, his voice low and husky. "You're my cock now, and you'll do what cocks do." Peter’s hand wrapped around you, stroking, massaging. “This is my life,” he said, his voice low and determined. “You’re a part of me, and this is what I need.” You tried to resist, but the sensations overwhelmed you. Your protests turned to desperate moans as pleasure consumed you. “Yes... more...” you found yourself begging, your thoughts becoming incoherent as the pleasure intensified. “Faster... please...” Peter’s hand moved in rhythm with your desperate pleas, and you felt yourself nearing the brink. “Yes... so... horny...” you screamed in his mind as the climax hit. The release was unlike anything you had ever experienced, a burst of ecstasy that left you trembling. As the pleasure subsided, you felt a mix of emotions—exhaustion, satisfaction, and a strange sense of shame. You had been reduced to a mere instrument of pleasure, and despite your resistance, you had relished the experience. Peter, seemingly unaffected by the moral implications, turned off the TV and headed to bed, leaving you to process the events of the day. You were now more than ever aware of your new reality and the challenges that lay ahead.

The journey to Singapore was a blur of airports, planes, and jet lag. As you dangled between Peter's legs, the excitement of this new chapter in his life is palpable. But something has shifted within you, Emily. The assertiveness you once possessed has faded, and you find yourself hesitating to offer suggestions or voice your thoughts. Perhaps it was the way he firmly established his dominance during that intimate moment, but you can't deny the change in dynamics.

As Peter stepped into the bustling office, you felt his nerves, but also his determination. He was ready to take on this challenge, and you couldn't help but admire his spirit. The day flew by in a blur of meetings and introductions. Peter was charming and charismatic, effortlessly navigating the corporate world. "That went well," Peter thought to himself as he sat at his new desk.

You felt a twinge of unease as you realized your influence over him was waning. "Hey, I'm still Emily!" you protested in his mind as the days went by, your voice becoming more desperate. You wanted to remind him of your identity, of the person you were before this transformation. But Peter, focused on his new responsibilities and the excitement of a foreign city, barely registered your plea. "Ey, get used to it, you're just my cock now!" he snapped back, his thoughts already drifting to the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.

But something unexpected happened the following morning, something that would change the course of your existence yet again. "What's this?" Peter murmured, his eyes still heavy with sleep. You didn't know what was happening, but suddenly, you felt a surge of blood rushing into your shaft, hardening you, greeting Peter with a morning erection. "Whoa, good morning to you too," he chuckled, stroking you gently. "Seems like you're settling into your new role quite nicely." You wanted to protest, to scream at him to stop, but the pleasure that coursed through your cock-body was overwhelming. You had become a willing participant in your own objectification, and the realization hit you hard. "Oh, Emily, you're really getting the hang of this," Peter mused, his fingers wrapping around you in a familiar grip.

You tried to protest, to remind him of your identity, but the words failed to form in your mind. It was as if your consciousness was muted, able only to experience the physical sensations. "There, there," Peter cooed, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through your new form. "No need to be shy. Embrace your new role." And as he stroked you, you can't help but agree. The feeling was intense, overwhelming, and you found yourself greeting Peter with this eager hardness each morning. "You're finally behaving like a proper cock should," Peter said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I knew you'd come around."  Peter, satisfied, went about his morning routine, ready to take on the day with renewed vigor. As the days passed, you found yourself becoming more attuned to Peter's desires. Your once-scrupulous nature, the drive to make him more precise in his work, was fading. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the very essence of your new form. "Look at that one, Peter," you'd whisper in his mind, directing his attention to a beautiful woman walking by. "Not now, my cock," he'd respond, his focus unwavering during important meetings. But you knew that later, in the privacy of his apartment, he would indulge in the fantasies you planted in his mind. "I'm losing myself," you thought, the realization hitting you with a pang of sadness. "I'm becoming nothing but a tool for his pleasure." But even as you fought against this new reality, you couldn't deny the pleasure it brought. You were becoming Peter's cock, and with each passing day, your former aims and desires were shifting, aligning with your new form's primary purpose: to fuel Peter's lust and make him the virile stud he was always meant to be. Your wish to understand the life of a man was being fulfilled in ways you never imagined.

It was a typical workday, and as Peter stepped into his office, he noticed a familiar yet unfamiliar face. Felix, the young intern, has arrived, but Peter didn't recognize him from their previous encounter. Felix, the young sorcerer who granted your ill-fated wish, stand before Peter's desk, a hint of mischief in his sparkling blue eyes.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of your old self, captivated by Felix's charm. "Welcome, Felix," Peter said, his voice smooth and confident. He motioned to the chair in front of the desk, his demeanor that of a seasoned leader. "I'm glad you could join us for this internship." Felix's innocent smile send a shiver of anticipation through you. "I'm excited to learn from the best, Peter." As Peter began to explain the corporate structure, his hand subconsciously reached out, gently caressing Felix' head. You, as Peter's cock, stir with newfound power, your length growing in his pants. Peter's words became huskier, his actions bolder. "In this world, a clear hierarchy is crucial. Respect and submission are the keys to success." Felix's eyes widened slightly, but he remained still, a willing participant in this unexpected seduction. "I... I understand, Peter." Peter's fingers trailed down Felix's neck, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. "Submission is a powerful tool, Felix. It can unlock doors and grant you access to realms you never imagined." Before Felix could respond, Peter's hands were on his waist, lifting him onto the desk.

You felt Peter's breath quicken, his desire fueled by your influence. "You see, Felix, in this world, I'm the one in control." Felix's breath caught as Peter's lips found his, and you, revel in the sensation of power. Peter's actions were guided by your desires, his straight facade crumbled under your control. Peter's hands moved to Felix's hips, pulling him closer, his own body responding to the lust you've ignited. "Yes, Peter," Felix whispered, playing along with innocent fervor. "Show me... show me how it's done." Peter's hand moved lower, unzipping his own pants, revealing your rigid form, now fully erect. Peter's breath was hot against Felix's ear as he whispered, "Just relax and enjoy, my boy. It's all part of the learning process." Felix' body arched as Peter entered him, his eyes squeezing shut as he bite his lip to stifled a moan. Peter's thrusts were slow and deliberate, his cock, your body, filling Felix with a pleasurable burn. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the office, accompanied by Felix' soft whimpers and Peter's grunts of exertion. "Yes... I... I understand, sir." Felix moaned, his hands gripping the desk as Peter's thrusts became more urgent. Peter's chuckle was deep and sensual. "That's it, Felix. Let go and submit to your desires. It's the only way to truly understand the corporate world." As Peter's movements became more urgent, his tie, still hanging around his neck, swing with each thrust, a symbol of his dominance. Felix' moans filled the office, a sweet melody of surrender. In this moment, you realized the extent of your power. You can control Peter, bend him to your will, and even alter his sexual orientation. The thought was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Felix' thoughts betrayed his innocent facade, "Impressive how...” he trails off, not remembering your name, the name of the woman who once was “ ….his cock has made Peter at least bi or even gay and so dominant. But I, Felix, the sorcerer, will show him his place soon enough." Unaware of Felix' inner monologue, you continued to guide Peter, reveling in the sensation of being his driving force, the very essence of his desire.

As Peter collapsed onto Felix, you felt a sense of triumph. You've controlled him, made him dance to your tune. You are no longer just a cock, but a powerful force, capable of bending others to your will. Felix's innocent act and your manipulation of Peter's desire have created a puppet on strings, and you intend to keep pulling those strings. In that moment, you realized your transformation is complete. You are no longer Emily, the meticulous administrator. You are a force of nature, a tool of pleasure, and you will shape Peter into the virile stud you desire - with his head crowned in luscious brown curls.

[thissying]

Peter Bayer, CEO of RB, reveals a bit more [than Marko] to the same media [Sky DE]. "We've had various deadlines and discussions throughout the year. And we initially decided to think about the final decision on the driver pairings for 2025 during the summer break. Ultimately, we tried to buy a bit more time for both teams. It's a big, strategic decision, who drives where, and Singapore is certainly a new moment. There will be discussions about 2025 and other options after Singapore."

But is Ricciardo driving his last race? "No, but there are discussions. There are many options, because as RB we also have the task of developing young drivers. Basically, it's now about weighing up the options. Under the leadership of Marko and Christian Horner, we of course also have to determine which driver has the greatest potential to drive for Red Bull one day. When would this driver ideally join the team, this year or next year? It will be decided in the coming days," Bayer concludes. (X)

[ashwantsafreepalestine]

Bloomberg on the erasure of Gaza:

'Israeli air strikes have left more than 42 million tonnes of debris... enough rubble to fill a line of dump trucks stretching from New York to Singapore. Removing it all may take years and cost as much as $700m.'

'The task will be complicated by unexploded bombs, dangerous contaminants and human remains under the rubble.'

Source: Bloomberg

Nobody indigenous does this to the land.

[thegildedbee]

Blanket/Weather: May 17 & 18 Prompts by @calaisreno

Lhasa remains steeped in darkness, even though the stars at the roof of the world are beginning to fade as night closes its eyes. Sherlock carefully weaves in-and-out between the long-haul lorries in the crowded service area, moving towards the one that will clandestinely carry him to its destination in Shigatse, which will place him in the vicinity of a rogue copper mine. This improvised transport strategy allows him to slip surreptitiously from town, thwarting the restriction on international visitors that they be accompanied by guides anywhere they travel within the captive region. Careful to remain undetected, he slips through the back door of the attached freight container; once safely inside, he casts light from a pen-sized torch across the boxes, gauging how to arrange a space to conceal his presence.

The blend of noises outside the truck crowd in on his awareness, amplifying his sensation of confinement – snatches of conversation, mostly in Mandarin, random laughter and occasional shouts, the peremptory staccato of a horn, the groaning metallic scraping of engines downshifting, the crunching of gravel under moving vehicles. He sits down, pressing his back against the side wall, knees bent, his hands and fingers idly flipping and spinning the pen torch. After a few moments he stops, puzzled at feeling pulled off-kilter, unsure as to why. This moment, now, is just one more to get through, as are the moments to come over the next five hours, and then in however many days lie ahead. The waiting, the dark, the placelessness – these are all familiar companions; he’s practiced at tamping down his resentment, and meeting each of them with resignation. He allows his mind to drift, seeking to surface useful data . . . and when it comes, the result suggests an odd source -- the similarity of his physical position to that last day before he disappeared, sitting preoccupied on the floor at Bart’s laboratory, bouncing a small rubber ball, waiting for events to unfold. He rubs at his forehead, and exhales with an irritated huff, frowning, displeased that he’s let the memory intrude.

He disciplines himself to shift focus, to stay in the present, by mentally rehearsing the two major tasks he needs to complete today, barring any unfortunate developments that would require starting over. He’s here to neutralize two confederates of Moriarty's syndicate who work for a multinational energy corporation – the first is an enterprising engineer overseeing the digging of an illegal mining pit, the second an executive at the corporate headquarters in Lhasa, who is diverting impressive amounts of monies to the both of them. (Sherlock has no desire to know the whys of their circumstances – whether, in addition to greed, their actions are due to incentives, or blackmail, or outright threats; all he needs to know is that they’re beholden to the dictates of his enemy's network and any bounties they dangle, and are therefore a potential threat to himself if he returns, and to his friends.)

He arrived in the Tibetan Himalayas three days previous, but he’s had to wait impatiently to implement his objectives, betrayed by his body, waiting to gradually shed the debilitating effects of altitude sickness, in his muscles, his stomach, his lungs. He grudgingly admits to himself that the downtime, however, was probably necessary, allowing him to catch his breath in more ways than just the one that's so currently urgent.

The last fortnight had seen him – as Gabriel Vernet, a director at a French biopharmaceuticals start-up – in an unrelentingly tense journey in which he’d conducted business, fake as well as real, in Singapore, Hanoi, Hong Kong, Macau, and then through Sichuan to Chengdu for the flight to Lhasa. He’s been traveling on papers and an operative legend courtesy of the British government for this leg of his odyssey; while he prefers to chart his own course, unencumbered by the high-handed and condescending auditing of his brother, he had conceded to his better wisdom of seeking aid from London while being shadowed by ever-present governmental representatives of the People’s Republic of China -- as well as floating in and out of view of particularly vicious groups of gangsters operating in Southeast Asia.

His knowledge of Mandarin has been essential in keeping his forward movement going; it helped Vernet to facilitate cooperation from the sources he sought out, high and low. It also allowed him to expand his reconnaissance, especially when those on whom he was eavesdropping assumed that the sharply-dressed businessman within earshot was unable to understand their conversation. As a result, he’s obtained a wide-angle view of activities that he might not have been aware of otherwise, beyond his immediate remit. He’s learned, for example, from ancillary figures, of Chinese mobsters from Fujian, who have been tearing through various states in the U.S., muscling their way into the astonishingly lucrative illicit cannabis market that has accompanied legalization. 

He’d crossed cyber-paths again with the Mexican cartel he’d come across digging through the dark internet in Tallinn – the one funding Nigerian meth labs to supply Asian buyers. Here, it’s reversed: Fujian gangsters are using the cartel to smuggle thousands of Chinese workers into the United States to produce illicit drugs –  trafficked in to do agricultural labor at burgeoning marijuana grow sites. Trapped by fences, surveillance cameras, and guards with guns and machetes, the captive immigrants create tens of billions of dollars alone in states such as Oklahoma – a location that's an attractive target due to the abundance of cheap land, the lack of regulations on the size of cannabis farms, and a scarcity of police personnel with the language capabilities needed to translate communications and infiltrate networks. For what it might be worth, Sherlock had passed along what he’d learned to the CIA’s Crime and Narcotics Center.

He’ll be on a tight schedule in Shigatse today, needing to collect photographic evidence of the illegal mine, and still leave time enough to make it to the railroad station platform, and mingle inconspicuously amongst the groups boarding the local train bound for Lhasa. Once he's settled aboard, he’ll add the pictures to the files of documentary evidence he’s carrying on his mobile, and, as they near the city, he’ll press send and deliver the folder to one of the corporation’s higher-ups who is eager to rise even higher. Once the recipient verifies the information contained in the anonymous gift, he’ll be thrilled to gain credit as the conduit for the revelations it contains to his superiors in Beijing. 

They’ve made good time on the road, and Sherlock stands up and stretches, releasing the kinks in his back, and jogging in place to get his adrenaline running. In his worn camping gear, he’s dressed completely different from Vernet, in his bespoke suits, with his expensive leather briefcase, and the expected Rolex watch. 

The fact that copper mines require supplies of water will lend him the needed cover afforded by yet another identity – there are wetlands in the area, and it is unsurprising that a Canadian wildlife biologist on an international team will be there on foot, surveying the habitat of the black-necked crane. If anyone questions him, he’ll indicate that each of the members of the team have temporarily spread out to cover a greater area. There has been a great deal of anger, within Tibet and worldwide, at the damage done to the plateau’s environment due to China’s resource extraction agenda and its urbanization policies– the protections that the PRC is extending to the vulnerable black-necked crane population have been a public relations plus for them. The birds are currently in the vicinity, completing their breeding cycle, and as long as he can get in and out quickly, Dr. William Scott’s presence is likely to pass with little scrutiny, as long as his papers are in order. 

Several hours later, Sherlock is relieved that his tracking efforts have paid off with actionable evidence – meaning that there will be no need to scramble for a new plan. After verifying that his file has been successfully delivered, he slumps in his seat, stubbornly indifferent to releasing himself from being on high alert. He knows that letting down his guard is when sloppiness can creep in and mistakes made, but having been awake for more than 24 hours and in action all day long at an altitude that still leaves him easily winded, relentlessly reminding him that breathing is problematic, is taking its toll. One last detail – dropping his mobile so that it lands on the train tracks when he exits – and then, in less than an hour, he can be seated in the hotel's oxygen lounge and restore his body and mind.

As they near the station, he shoulders his rucksack, ready to act out the fiction that he’s attached to one of the groups he’s sat nearby, and pulls out his mobile in order to remove the sim card. But when the screen lights up after he turns it over in his hand, he’s startled to find a text message notification -- receiving messages is not supposed to happen, ever, on this unit. No one has the number, save one person. This is not good. This is very much not good.

He takes in and releases several breaths to try and lower his pulse rate, hoping that when he clicks on the icon that he’ll find nothing more dramatic than someone misdirecting their text. At first glance, the message does appear to be irrelevant; at second glance, however, it is evident that the innocuous platitude it contains is negated by the fact that it is written in code.

His anxiety spikes at deciphering the communique: emergency action needed, abandon the hotel -- which means he'll not be returning to the inviting bed, the soft pillows, the warm blanket. There is no indication of why, or of what comes next, other than that he’ll be met at the station by a man who will identify himself as a tour leader from the Council for the Preservation of Sacred Alpine Cranes, and that he is to reply in Mandarin that he was honored to have seen four pairs of the noble birds nesting safely when he inspected the field site.

Other than this terse instruction, he has no idea what he’ll find once he leaves the train, and whether or not he is walking into a trap. And as he gazes out the window at the dark clouds beginning to gather in the east, he sees that the weather may be turning against him as well.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

[dlstmxkakwldrlarchive]

(article) Guess Singapore Fanmeet talked about ONEW in his interview with Shin Min Daily News

'Recently, with the invitation of Faith & D Entertainment and HIT Team, I hosted Idol ONEW's Fanmeeting. Many asked me the same question 'How was ONEW like? Is he very arrogant? Does he act like he's on a high horse?' All questions I've expected. We always have a stereotypical image with regards to these international stars: they're probably very arrogant and hard to get close to. After all, these stars have outstanding performances in music, dramas, and variety, so it seems they just have the right to be arrogant.

But ONEW has completely destroyed this image. Both on and off stage, he smiled at the staff and was very friendly. He tried to be as cooperative as he could during interactions, and he never showed an 'I'm better than you, I will do whatever I want' attitude. He even approached me to ask if I wanted a photo with him after the show ended! Even though it might seem a small gesture, maybe even insignificant, in the entertainment industry, it's an unwritten rule to not ask for pictures with the artists.

The workplace is a place for professionalism only: the artist needs to prepare for their performance and staff need to focus on their tasks and shouldn't use their status as staff to get close to the artists, asking for pictures.

That's unprofessional. ONEW understood this and knew probably I wouldn't dare to ask him for a picture, so he approached me himself. Not only me, he approached other staff to ask if they wanted a picture too.

These warm actions are enough to show his friendliness and his attitude towards work and people. As SHINee's leader and lead vocal, ONEW has already been on the road of fame for more than ten years. His journey in music is filled with many glorious and touching concerts. The millions of fans and thousands of cheering audiences witnessed his talent in music and charming friendliness. Every time he steps on the stage, the loud cheers prove how popular he is.

Even during these glorious moments, though, ONEW still maintains his modesty. He has never forgotten his roots and never became arrogant. On the contrary, he uses his smile and sincerity to return his fans' enthusiasm. This attitude is really commendable. That's why, when people ask me if ONEW is arrogant I reply only one thing: 'No, definitely not!'

[...] Those who show their arrogance are usually the ones who aren't actually famous, only focused on going higher that they don't bother paying attention to the staff who seem to be a lower level to them. A truly successful start will never be arrogant.'

trans

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 3 “Lights out”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: slight cursing, jealous Jungkook, heavy drinking, blacking out because of heavy drinking, sweaty Jungkook, word count: ~5.820

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

🎵 NCT DREAM - Fire Alarm 🎵

01 • 02 • series masterlist • 04

The day after the successful race is crisp and bright as you arrive at the Mercedes headquarters in Brackley. The air hums with the post-race buzz as you settle into your new office, surrounded by the sleek, cutting-edge design typical of a top-tier Formula 1 team. Screens flicker with data and analysis, and the faint sound of engines testing in the distance reminds you that this is where champions, such as Jungkook, are made.

You immerse yourself in analysing the weekend's performance, taking detailed notes for the debriefing with Jungkook. This is a crucial part of your role, ensuring every aspect of the race is dissected and understood. With the next race weekend in Singapore just two weeks away, there’s no time to waste.

The office is still new to you, the polished surfaces and state-of-the-art equipment a constant reminder of the high standards expected here. You’ve agreed to meet Jungkook half an hour ago for the debrief. Confident he knew where your office was, you start to feel the gnawing of time slipping by. Since you don’t have his phone number or any other means to contact him, you decide to grab a coffee from the nearby kitchenette to pass the time waiting.

As you make your way there, Engineers and other team members hustle by, engrossed in their tasks. You walk with purpose, the sound of your heels clicking against the tiled floor, as you greet your new colleagues. As you approach the kitchenette, you hear a familiar deep, hushed voice and a high-pitched giggle. Rolling your eyes, you don’t quicken your pace. It seems Jungkook's propensity for unprofessional behaviour is a habit reserved for you only. 

Stepping into the open area of the kitchenette, you find Jungkook casually leaning against the counter, Trish by his side. She leans slightly towards him, her laughter filling the small space. Jungkook is clearly enjoying the attention, his posture relaxed and flirtatious.

You don't let your irritation show as you stride towards the coffee machine, your professional smile firmly in place. "Good morning," you greet them both with the same friendly demeanour you extend to everyone else in the team.

Jungkook looks momentarily startled, his easygoing facade slipping, while Trish’s expression shifts to one of thinly veiled annoyance. Understanding that you need to get to the coffee machine, Jungkook moves slightly aside.

As the silence stretches, you don't let it affect you. Instead, you focus on making your coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air as the machine whirs and hums. "We’ve been scheduled for the debrief half an hour ago," you say evenly, not breaking your stride. "I’m free for the next twenty minutes until my next appointment. You know where to find me until then."

Trish’s annoyance deepens, but you ignore it, keeping your focus on the task at hand. Jungkook frowns, "What's in twenty minutes?"

You remain professional, maintaining your composure. "I’m meeting with Joongki to optimise the power unit, and if we have time, also the breaking.“

Jungkook's expression darkens at the mention of Joongki, but you don't let his mood swings bother you. The coffee machine beeps, signalling that your cup is full. You take it and turn to face Jungkook and Trish.

"I'll be on my way," you say, your smile warm and genuine as you address Trish. "It was nice to meet you again, Trish."

With that, you walk back towards your office, the smell of coffee trailing behind you. As you move through the hallway, you hear the sound of footsteps following closely. Glancing over your shoulder, you see Jungkook trailing behind, his expression unreadable. You keep your pace steady, determined not to let the previous conflicts shake your confidence.

This is your professional environment, and you intend to handle it with the competence and grace that brought you here.

You don’t look back again as you enter your office first. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence, as the lock of your door clicks shut. You and Jungkook sit down across from each other, the desk between you strewn with your tablet and some papers regarding RPM, fuel consumption and clutch performance data, and some reviewed strategy plans of the weekend. The tension lingering between you since day one is palpable, but you maintain your composure, establishing a professional atmosphere for the task at hand as good as you can. 

"Let's review the race," you begin, your voice steady and soft. "Despite the win, we need to understand exactly where we can improve."

Jungkook nods, leaning forward slightly. "Did you find the problem from qualifying?"

You meet his gaze, confidence in your eyes. "Yes, I did. It was an issue with the KERS and the engine. There were short miscommunication between the two that caused the loss in performance."

Jungkook sighs, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good to know we have it figured out. That was frustrating."

You nod. "I understand. The issue has been logged and will be addressed before Singapore."

Jungkook shifts in his seat, an uneasy expression crossing his face. "About the qualifying... I, uh, wanted to apologise. For my behaviour. I shouldn't have yelled at you or accused you of nepotism."

You wave a hand dismissively. "It's okay. It's understandable to react emotionally, especially under the pressures of qualifying. We all have moments like that."

He looks relieved until you see him rethink your words and the subtle jab. 

Sensing his growing annoyance, you offer a smile as distraction. "Apology accepted. Let's focus on moving forward and making sure we don't encounter similar issues again."

Jungkook nods reluctantly, still thinking about your words. But then his eyes narrow slightly. "Wait, are you meeting Joongki alone?"

You raise an eyebrow at the unrelated question, sensing the shift in tone. "Yes, I am. We need to go over some technical details. Why do you ask?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant but failing. "Just curious. Is he... your type?"

You sit back, folding your arms. "I'm here as a professional, Jungkook. If I were to have affairs left and right, I wouldn't have made it this far in my career." Your eyes flicker with a hint of challenge. "I think we both know that professionalism is key in this environment." 

Jungkook's expression tightens, catching the second jab about his behaviour with Trish now clearly. He opens his mouth to respond, but you cut him off.

"Look, the point is, we're here to work. And I expect everyone, including myself, to act accordingly." You glance at your watch and then back at him. "I have to go. Joongki and I have a lot to cover."

You gather your notes and stand, ready to leave. Jungkook's jaw tightens as he watches you, clearly frustrated but unable to argue.

"Fine," he mutters, standing as well. "We'll talk later."

You nod once, professional and composed. "Absolutely. Let's ensure we’re both getting ready for Singapore."

With that, you leave the office, your heels clicking against the floor. As you walk down the corridor, you can feel Jungkook's eyes on your back, his irritation palpable. But you don't let it affect you. You have a job to do, and personal feelings shouldn’t have a place in it.

The week flies by, each day packed with activity. You find yourself holed up in your office, immersed in data analysis, simulation sessions with Jungkook, and car development tasks. Collaborations with other engineers, especially with Joongki, to optimise the car’s performance and strategy meetings consume your time, leaving you barely enough hours in the day.

Your schedule is overflowing, the demands of your job unyielding. More often than not, you find yourself retreating to your hotel room only to catch a few hours of sleep before diving back into work. Even when you should be resting, your mind races with calculations and strategies, the pursuit for perfection driving you to hunch over your laptop well into the night. The glow of the screen and the endless flow of data are both comforting and consuming.

As the newest team member, you are determined to prove your worth, so the loss of time for personal relationships or socialising beyond your job doesn’t bother you. Despite the relentless pace you set for yourself, Jungkook’s playful shenanigans provide a refreshing break you’d never openly admit to enjoying. His antics, from flirty to cheeky remarks, manage to loosen your usually upright demeanour. You find yourself responding to him more casually than professionally, the light-hearted exchanges becoming a welcome contrast to the intense, high-stakes environment of your new role.

One evening, after hours of fruitlessly searching for Jungkook, you make your way to the drivers' gym. The sound of weights clinking and the rhythmic pounding of feet on treadmills fill the air as you step inside. Your eyes scan the room and quickly land on Jungkook by the dumbbells, his shirtless form instantly drawing your attention.

His torso glistens with sweat, every muscle defined and rippling with each movement. His right arm, covered in intricate tattoos, contrasts starkly against his muscular back and flexing arms. The low grunts he emits with each lift send an involuntary shiver down your spine. You can’t help but stare, nearly drooling over the sheer physical perfection before you. 

Jungkook catches your eye in the mirror, a smirk forming on his lips as he winks at you. Your face flames up, and you quickly avert your gaze, internally scolding yourself for the lapse in professionalism. You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and stride towards him and Trish, who is standing nearby, her posture leaning slightly towards him but not quite touching.

“Toto has scheduled an extraordinary meeting regarding a rival driver in half an hour,” you say, keeping your voice steady and authoritative. “He sent me to inform you.”

Jungkook, not missing an opportunity to tease, smirks and says, “Caught you staring, huh? Enjoy the view?”

You wave off his remark, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m here to deliver a message, not to ogle,” you respond curtly. “Make sure you’re there on time.”

Trish’s glare is icy, but you don’t let it affect you. Her hostility towards you is barely contained, but you refuse to let it dictate your actions. Turning on your heel, you walk away, determined to stay focused on your professional responsibilities after this slip-up.

As every meeting, this one is also held in the sleek confines of Mercedes' briefing room. You settle into your spot beside Jungkook, a habit that has become ingrained in the past week. As always, his knee bumps into yours like clockwork, something you accepted faster than you would have liked. You quickly realised that Jungkook wasn't responding to your pleas. 

Toto stands tall at the head of the table, his expression serious as he delivers news that sends a ripple of disbelief through the gathered team members. "The FIA has reached out to me," he begins, his voice sharp. "Max Verstappen, Red Bull's lead driver, is injured. And they allowed his points to be transferred to his replacement, Kim Mingyu."

The announcement lands like a thunderclap. Murmurs of discontent sweep across the room, eyebrows knit in frustration and confusion. Jungkook, normally composed, visibly bristles at the news. His hands clench into fists on the table, his jaw clenched.

You sense his tension and instinctively reach out, placing a calming hand on his forearm. Jungkook startles slightly, his gaze flickering to your touch. For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and in that silent exchange, a wave of reassurance passes between you. His rigid posture eases, shoulders relaxing as he leans back in his seat again. 

Toto, ever the diplomat, concludes solemnly, "There's nothing we can do but accept this decision. Jungkook, you're still leading with 393 points, and as a team, we're at 574 points." The weight of these numbers underscores the gravity of their implications, and the room falls into a reflective silence. Red Bull as a team is currently slightly behind Mercedes in points, but if Max's points are transferred to Mingyu, there's a possibility that not only Red Bull could surpass Mercedes in team points but also Mingyu could overtake Jungkook individually, costing the victory. 

As the meeting winds down and colleagues begin to disperse, you turn to Jungkook, noting the furrow in his brow. "You're the best driver out there," you affirm quietly, your voice a counterpoint to the residual tension in the air. "We need to stay focused on your performance, regardless of the challenges thrown our way."

The intensity in Jungkook's gaze softens, replaced by a warmth that momentarily catches you off guard. Before he can respond, you make a quick excuse and slip away, seeking respite from the emotional currents swirling between you. In the quiet solitude of your office, you take a moment to steady yourself, the weight of Jungkook's unspoken gratitude lingering like a bittersweet echo. You physically try to shake those thoughts away, but it’s fruitless. Taking a deep breath, you do what you know best and immerse yourself in the gearbox data in preparation for the upcoming race, doing everything in your power to distract you from Jungkook’s haunting expression. 

The week leading to the nineteenth race continues in a similar fashion, each day clocked with high-intensity tasks and moments of personal challenge. You delve deeper into simulation sessions with Jungkook, his feedback sharp and insightful, pushing you to refine your strategies further.

It's Saturday, the day of qualifying in Singapore, and the atmosphere at the track is suffocating with its intense heat and humidity. The circuit itself winds through the city, illuminated by bright lights as dusk begins to settle in, creating a dramatic backdrop against the gleaming skyscrapers and the distant Marina Bay Sands. 

You arrived yesterday morning, hastily dropping your luggage in your hotel room before rushing straight to the track. Yesterday's training session went smoothly; all necessary data were gathered, allowing for final adjustments ahead of today's crucial qualifying and tomorrow’s race. 

Mingyu performed admirably, matching Max Verstappen's talent, a surprising feat given his unknown status in the racing world. 

The evening training session was a strategic move to avoid the blistering daytime heat, leaving you drained and collapsing into bed upon return, jet lag adding to your exhaustion.

Now, in the early evening, the paddock is bustling with all teams and personnel gearing up for the qualifying rounds. Over the past two weeks, you've made significant strides, proving to yourself that you're capable and competent. Feeling more assured during your second racing weekend, you take a moment to appreciate the vibrant atmosphere around you. Amidst the activity, your gaze settles on Jungkook, deeply engrossed in conversation at the Ferrari paddock with none other than their second driver’s race engineer, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung notices you and breaks into a wide grin, waving you over eagerly. A reciprocal smile lights up your face as you make your way towards them, though Jungkook's expression betrays surprise at Taehyung's apparent familiarity with you.

As you approach Jungkook and Taehyung, Taehyung's warm greeting and enthusiastic hug catches you by surprise, but you return the embrace with equal delight. "It's so nice to see you again!" Taehyung exclaims, his smile infectious as he congratulates you on your new position. You thank him graciously, genuinely happy by his kind words.

Jungkook, standing nearby, wears a puzzled expression, clearly taken aback by Taehyung's familiarity with you. His annoyance is palpable as he listens to your exchange. When Jungkook finally interjects, his tone edged with confusion, "Where do you two know each other from?" Taehyung chuckles lightly before responding, "Miss Genius and I shared some classes, and she used to come by the racing club this one time when I needed help." His playful nudge at your shoulder elicits a laugh from you, and you nod in agreement with Taehyung's recollection.

Jungkook's brow furrows deeper as he tries to recall, "I don't remember you being at the club." Taehyung pauses for a moment, a mischievous glint in his eye, before offering with a grin, "Ah, that must have been around the time you were out with that illness." His teasing jab is met with an apologetic shrug from you, even though you’re not at fault, but Jungkook's mood visibly sours even further. Sensing the tension, Taehyung smoothly transitions the conversation, asking about your role with the team now.

Just as the atmosphere starts to lighten, Jungkook abruptly interrupts, his patience obviously wearing thin. He firmly takes your arm and guides you away from Taehyung, back towards Mercedes’ paddock. Over your shoulder, you shoot Taehyung an apologetic smile before focusing on Jungkook's irritated expression.

Stopping abruptly, Jungkook turns to face you, his annoyance still etched across his features. Before he can speak, Toto strides briskly past, his voice cutting through the bustling paddock, "Get ready for qualifying, everyone!" His reminder snaps you back to the impending reality of the day's events. The paddock buzzes with activity as teams make final adjustments, and drivers mentally prepare for the qualifying rounds ahead—all except you and Jungkook.

“Shit.” Jungkook mutters, shaking his head as he turns towards the car to prepare. You watch him briefly before moving to the pit wall to settle next to Joongki.

“Everything alright?” Joongki asks as you adjust the headset.

You hum in response, reluctant to dwell on Jungkook’s mood. While you should be used to it, his downturns still affect you deeply.

“Radio check, Jungkook, can you hear me?”

“Yes, loud and clear,” Jungkook responds, his tone tinged with something indiscernible, adding to your unease. If Jungkook feels off, it could impact his performance during qualifying. You search your brain frantically, trying to come up with something that could help his mood just a tiny bit. 

“Great! Remember, in qualifying, no pressure—just think of it as a really fast sightseeing tour!”

Jungkook’s laugh crackles through the radio, and as everyone else listing in also chuckles, you know it’ll be all you could have done.

As Jungkook sets off for his qualifying run, the atmosphere grows serious once more. By the time he finishes, he secures the pole position so far, setting an impressive time.

But as Mingyu begins his final round, the paddock falls silent. Despite Jungkook’s stellar performance, Mingyu manages to surpass his time by a significant margin, leaving everyone baffled.

Jungkook’s voice filters through the radio, his confusion evident as he enters the pit stop, “Why is it so quiet? What happened?”

Automatically, you reply, “He beat your time by five seconds.”

Silence follows.

“Who?” 

“Mingyu.”

This evening, after the second qualifying-fiasco and subsequent meeting ,you’re finally completely settled in your luxurious hotel room in Singapore, a high-end suite that epitomises modern elegance and comfort to it’s finest. The polished marble floors gleam under the soft ambient lighting, casting a warm glow that complements the sleek, minimalist decor. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking panoramic view of the glittering city skyline, and the king-sized bed, draped in crisp white linens, gives you an unparalleled comfort. The bathroom is a spa-like sanctuary with a rain shower and a deep soaking tub, providing a perfect retreat from the day's stresses.

Clad in your cozy pyjamas and wearing a green, glibbery face mask, you lie sprawled on your plush hotel bed, absently chewing on gummy bears, the sugary sweetness a mere backdrop to your thoughts. Beside you, an ocean of papers—all copies of yesterday’s training session and today's qualifying—scatters across the bed. Yet, your focus remains firmly on the laptop perched beside you. Initially, you intended to review Jungkook's previous races in Singapore for obvious reasons, but the incredible work of his fans soon led you down an unexpected rabbit hole.

One particular fan-made video has captured your attention for the last hour. It showcases Jungkook's most triumphant moments, and now you're utterly engrossed. The scene playing on repeat shows him leaping out of his car after the last season’s win at Abu Dhabi, though you're not interested in this fact anymore. In this particular scene, he rips off his helmet and balaclava, revealing a face and neck glistening with sweat. Each droplet catches the light, highlighting the contours of his strong jawline and cheekbones. His dark hair, damp and wild, sticks to his forehead, giving it an almost raven-black sheen.

The raw intensity of his emotions is palpable, radiating through the screen. He looks euphoric, his eyes sparkling with triumph and relief. The crowd's roar seems almost audible through the speakers, merging with the distant hum of the A/C in your room. You watch as he throws his helmet aside to his prior race engineer, runs a hand through his wet hair, and flashes a dazzling smile that seems to light up the entire scene.

You've replayed this exact moment countless times, captivated by the sheer charisma and raw, unfiltered passion he exudes. Each time you watch, you notice something new—the way his chest heaves with exertion, the slight tremble of his hands from the adrenaline, the way he looks at his team with a mixture of pride and gratitude. 

Lost in this mesmerising moment, you forget the professional distance you're supposed to maintain. The line between work and personal interest blurs as you continue to watch, absently reaching for another gummy bear. The screen flickers slightly as you rewind once more, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen. Jungkook's presence, even through a video, is magnetic, drawing you in deeper with each viewing.

As you lie there, the taste of gummy bears mingling with the taste of infatuation, you find yourself marvelling at the complexities of the man behind the race car. The dedication, the intensity, the sheer human spirit he displays—it's all too captivating. Your professional resolve wavers slightly as you hit replay yet again, surrendering to the magnetic pull of Jungkook's victorious moment, wishing you could have been there to witness it firsthand.

As you reach for yet another gummy bear, you let the scene come to an end and let it transition into an obvious vlog cutout. The gummy bear slips from your fingers, landing on the bed with a silent thud as your mouth hangs open in disbelieve and astonishment. Leaning closer to the screen, you watch, entranced, as Jungkook steps out of the shower, his dripping wet upper body visible. He looks directly into the camera with a momentary expression of surprise before resuming his post-shower routine. As he applies cream to his face and then dries his wet hair with a towel, his tattooed biceps flex vigorously, the sheer display of muscle a captivating spectacle blessing your eyes. Heat rises within you, and you find yourself inching even closer to the screen.

Just as you’re a breath away from the paused image, a sudden knock at the door startles you to the brink of a heart attack. „Shit, shit, shit, shit,“ You hurriedly close YouTube and shut your laptop, feeling as though you've been caught doing something forbidden. With a racing heart, you glance at the door, nearly convinced you imagined the sound. But when there’s another set of knocks, you compose yourself and stand up with a groan, wondering who could be bothering you at this hour.

Pushing aside your papers, you rise from the bed and make your way to the door, curious yet apprehensive. As the door swings open, you're greeted by Jungkook in the soft light of the hotel corridor. His striking yellow jacket glows warmly against the neutral backdrop, while a fitted black shirt peeks from beneath, adding a touch of sleek elegance. The crisp white pants complete his look, their clean lines providing a perfect contrast to the bold hues above, creating a sophisticated yet relaxed ensemble. Jungkook's hair is styled neatly, slicked back with a touch of shine, yet a single rebellious strand falls into his eyes, adding a hint of effortless charm to his polished look. The scent of his cologne—a blend of cedarwood and something subtly spicy—hits you, making your heart skip a beat.

You’re momentarily struck by his appearance, unable to form a coherent thought. Jungkook’s eyes, however, roam over you, taking in your pyjamas and face mask. His expression is a mix of mesmerised and slightly repulsed amusement.

“What do you want?” you manage to ask, snapping out of your daze.

“We’re going out,” he replies with a casual shrug, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ve got work to do,” you say, gesturing to the papers and laptop strewn across your bed.

“Work is over for tonight,” he insists, stepping past you into the room. As he passes, he glances down at you. “Were you always this small?”

“I’m not that small,” you retort, a pout forming on your lips, though you know that without your heels, you’re significantly shorter than usual.

Jungkook’s gaze lingers on your lips, making you school your face into a neutral expression. He continues, “Mingyu is hosting a party tonight. We’re going to attend it, and you’re going to get close to him and figure him out. The ultimate masterplan.”

You stare at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious.” His annoyed look prompts you to shake your head. “I’m not going. Why isn’t Trish doing this?”

“Why would she?” The confusion is clearly written all over his face. “And of course you’re going with me.”

You groan, looking at the cream coloured ceiling, massaging your neck. “Jungkook, please. I don’t even have any clothes for a night out.”

Jungkook is persistent. “That’s an excuse. You’re coming. Now, let’s see what you have in your closet.”

He strides over to your wardrobe without asking and starts rummaging through your clothes. You rush over, trying to stop him. “Stop! Hey! Hands off my clothes! Jungkook!”

He momentarily pauses his rummaging, looking back at you and pointing at your face. “You’re not going to go out like this. What’s that you have on your face?”

“It’s a face mask,” you say, exasperated, not understanding what got into him.

He touches it, then recoils dramatically. “Ew, I got it on my finger. Make it go away! Oh my god, make it go away!”

You grab a tissue from the sideboard nearby and halt his hand. “You’re unbelievable. Unbelievable and insufferable,” you mutter under your breath, carefully wiping the mask off his finger. You can’’t believe how he acts this childish and careless, not only rummaging through your closet like a kid on a sugar rush but also sticking his finger into your mask. Yet, he manages to be a full-grown man, exuding professionalism and maturity in every aspect of his career. It’s baffling how those traits seem to vanish whenever he interacts with you leaving you to deal with his perplexing duality. 

As you finish, you look up, and your eyes lock with his. Time seems to stop as you get lost in his dark eyes. Both of you lean in slightly, the air between you charged with an almost palpable tension, crackling like static electricity. Your breaths synchronise, each exhale a whisper of unspoken thoughts, as if the very atmosphere is holding its breath. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to just the two of you, every detail of his face magnified—the intensity in his dark eyes, the subtle curve of his lips, the way a single lock of hair falls across his forehead. It feels like time has slowed, stretching this fragile, suspended moment into an eternity. You can almost hear the rapid beating of your own heart, a drumbeat echoing the anticipation that pulses in the space between you. Then, abruptly, the spell shatters as your phone pings with an incoming email, the sharp sound slicing through the tension like a knife.

You lean back abruptly, reprimanding yourself for being so utterly stupid. What were you even thinking? You excuse it on the hours spent watching his earlier races and the fan-made videos that highlighted his every triumphant moment. You tell yourself it’s only natural to be curious about your team’s star driver, but deep down, you know you crossed a line. You shake your head subtly, trying to rid yourself of the chaos within you.

Awkwardly, Jungkook turns back to the closet and pulls out a black dress. “This one could work if we cut it shorter.”

“No way,” you protest, the moment before forgotten in an instant. “That’s my favourite dress. I’m not letting you cut it.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he counters.

“Why don’t you buy me a new one now and leave my dress alone?” you challenge with a fake smile.

He pushes his lips to his nose while shaking his head, looking down at you. Sighing in defeat, you grab the dress and head to the en-suite bathroom to change, yelling after the door is shut, “We’re NOT cutting it!”

When you step out, ready for the night, you find Jungkook sprawled face down on your bed, snacking on your gummy bears. His broad shoulders and muscular back almost take up an entire half of the bed, his dark hair falling messily over his eyes.

“Why does your bed reek of you? You’ve only been here one night,” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillows as he inhales deeply again, thinking you didn’t hear it.

You sigh and shake your head in annoyance, too fed up to answer him. Slipping into your heels, you mutter, “Let’s get this over with,” and head for the door, trying to put a semi-professional mask on despite the absurdity of the situation.

Jungkook springs up and rushes after you, catching up midway to the elevators. “Okay, so here’s the plan, we go into this party” he begins, raising one finger in front of you to count the steps. You look on with a bored expression. “And than you befriend Mingyu.” he continues, lifting his second finger, as you both enter the elevator.

After a moment, you turn to him as the elevator descends to the lobby. “And what are the other steps of your ‘master plan’?”

“That’s it,” he responds, his tone nonchalant.

You gape at him. “Did the G-forces mash your brain?”

“Pardon?”

“Pardon?” you parrot him, massaging your temples. “Jungkook, you can’t just crash into my hotel room and drag me along for a ‘master plan’ that’s neither a plan nor a good one.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jungkook says, gripping your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “You know as well as I do that something’s fishy. And we’re going to figure it out.”

You sigh, your head still being wobbled by Jungkook’s shaking. You swat his hands away, crossing your arms over your chest with furrows eyes. Looking into his pleading eyes,you reluctantly agree, blaming the videos you watched earlier for softening this much. “Okay.”

“Perfect! I hope you can handle your liquor,” Jungkook beams, turning to face the door as it opens on the ground floor.

“Of course I can,” you scoff, exiting right behind him. 

In fact, you absolutely cannot. 

Later that evening, you find yourself drunk to the bone, slouched next to Mingyu on a couch. The open rooftop party offers a breathtaking view over the Singapore skyline, with the soft hum of conversation and laughter mingling with the distant sound of traffic, creating a vibrant, pulsating atmosphere that intensifies your buzz. The rooftop is adorned with elegant string lights, casting a warm, inviting glow over the sophisticated crowd. Potted palms and lush greenery add a touch of tropical elegance, while a sleek, modern bar stands at one end, serving an array of colourful cocktails, one of which Jungkook is sipping while leaning against the bar, his eyes constantly darting towards you, an eagle eye on your every move.

Your head swims from the cocktails you consumed, but you know you need to befriend Mingyu. His P1 position in qualifying has made him a prime target of Jungkook and you, and your mission is to get close. 

Mingyu, tall and confident, sits beside you, his summer scarf draped loosely around his neck. He looks at you with a hint of interest, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You were incredible today,” you say, leaning in closer, your words slightly slurred. “How did you manage to stay so cool under this heat?”

Mingyu chuckles, his eyes twinkling. “It’s all about focus and practice. But you—what brings you to these races?”

You giggle, resting your hand on his shoulder and inching closer. “I’m here for the thrill, the excitement…“ You’re not sure if the suppressed gag reflex is due to your excessive flirting or the alcohol swirling in your system, „and maybe to meet interesting people like you.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your forwardness. “Interesting, huh? Well, I’m glad you think so.”

Feeling emboldened by the alcohol, you reach out to play with the hair on the back of his neck. He subtly dodges your hand, but not before you feel something metallic under his scarf.

“Hey, what’s that?” you ask, your curiosity piqued, no filter in your words.

Mingyu's smile falters for a split second. “Just a necklace. Nothing special.”

You laugh, not entirely convinced, but too intoxicated to pursue the matter. Instead, you place your hand on his thigh, only to be met with an unusual hardness.

“Wow, you must work out a lot,” you murmur, your vision starting to blur.

Before Mingyu can respond, he places his hand on your thigh, and you barely register the gesture before Jungkook appears out of nowhere, his expression unreadable.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Jungkook says, his voice firm. “But I need to take her. Now.”

Mingyu looks mildly surprised but doesn't protest, holding both his hands up as if to say „She’s all yours“. Jungkook helps you up, and you stagger slightly, clinging to his arm.

As you walk away with Jungkook, you start to giggle uncontrollably. “Jungkook, you’re so hot. Did you know that?”

He looks flustered, his usual composure slipping. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

„No, I’m serious. You’re like really, really, super hot. And so funny.“ 

You abruptly stop and look up at him with the most serious and sober expression you can muster, but the hiccup betrays you. “Let me feel your thigh,” you declare, dropping to your knees.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock, and he quickly pulls you back to your feet. “This is not the time for that,” he says, trying to hide his embarrassment.

„No you don’t understand. Jungkook, let me feel…“

„NOT THE TIME,___!“ He practically carries you back to the hotel, your drunken state making you increasingly unsteady and bubbly. As you near your room, the world starts to fade, and you black out, barely aware of Jungkook’s arms around you, supporting you through the haze.

01 • 02 • series masterlist • 04

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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taglist: @jksusawife

[enihk-writes]

[before the year ends]

seasonal fics : 除夕 (chú xī) / lunar new year's eve edition

paring: various!hwasan men x gn!reader

summary: things that happen on the last day of the year.

characters: chung myung (can be read as both pbss and mhdd) // chung mun // chung jin // tang bo // tang gunak // jang ilso // jin hyeon // lee songbaek // jin geumryong // baek cheon

author's note: my personal music recommendations for the day are lovers in seoul by off the menu , hot potato by n.flying , coconut love by seoulmoon , mercury by bye bye badman and t + tik tak tok by silica gel feat. So!YoON! (doing this for fun because my other hobby is looking for new music and putting them in a playlist partly because one of my teenage dreams was to open up a cd shop in an art street or own a music-vinyl brunch cafe by the seaside ugggh but you need money like do you know how expensive seaside properties are in singapore!!! i don't have that cash!!! so i have to work!!!! fuck!!!!)

CHUNG MYUNG doesn't like to be cooped up indoors during the festive period. so that afternoon he slipped out to visit the next town over, hearing about their night market and looking forward to getting drunk off his rocker before returning home. only to come face-to-face with you. to his credit he tried to divert your attention to slip away with a bold-faced lie but to be honest, he isn't very good at that. he ends up letting you tag along to buy your silence. which wasn't that bad of a decision — he found himself enjoying the private time he had with you more than he'd expected, like walking through the markets with pinkies interlocked, visiting taverns and teahouses getting mistaken for a couple to get discounts, even the passionate drunken kisses you both shared on the inn balcony which left him quite dazed. when he gets back he would have to have a talk with you about what happened here. though right now he's a little preoccupied with leaving marks all up your neck, hands under your clothes going to places he probably shouldn't, revelling in your embarrassment a little too much. thank goodness he had the foresight to rent out a room to stay in so the both of you could do whatever you wanted in here to the heart's content all night long.

CHUNG MUN watches as you scurry around the sect grounds checking in on the workers who were all preparing for the banquet that was to be held over the new year. as the sect leader he shouldn't interrupt another elder's duties, but as your husband he wanted you to pay attention to him too — it was new years eve and your spouse can't even ask for some alone time with you? you were so cruel, was this how he was to spend the last day of the year? he sighed and turned back to his papers, finishing up with his own work until it was finally time for bed. you met him in the front of your shared house, he finds himself cracking a smile when you bury your face into his chest, he walks you over to sit together on the bench, where you plop your head down on his lap, very much like a certain youngest, pouring your heart out on the annoyances that you've faced today so what has your dear husband have in mind to reward their hardworking partner? the man only chuckles at your ranting, running his fingers until you fell asleep, carrying your tired body to tuck you in bed. he looks over at your peaceful form one more time, kisses your hand and leaves for his own quarters to retire for the night.

CHUNG JIN had been pulled out from under the pile of books he's buried under to take a day off at the behest of the other elders and disciples. not knowing what to do, he hovers around your side, not really wanting to go down the mountain without a solid plan. you thought he looked a little like a lost sparrow then, so you let him stay around as you went about your day. he aided you with small tasks here and there — wasn't he supposed to be on break? old habits die hard, you supposed. he ended up helping you finish your job earlier than intended, bringing the leftovers from the kitchen along, the two of you headed down the forested path at the back of the mountain to wile away the rest of the afternoon as you ate the food and engaged in small talk about nothing in particular. the sun felt warm on your skin, and as it began to set, the sounds of the flowing stream nearby lulled the two elders into a dreamless sleep.

TANG BO stifled a laugh as he looked at your sorry state. only an idiot falls sick on new year's eve — was what he'd told you. you wanted to strangle him right then and there, never mind that he was your husband. he offered to nurse you for the day, supposedly from the kindness of his heart. bullshit. this guy had something up his sleeve, you were so sure of it. but whatever you thought he'd do never happened. your husband truly did take care of you that whole day. he'd wipe off your cold sweat, change towels, feed you food and medication on time, among other things. you thought he'd turn over a new leaf and was just about to praise him when he snickers at you again. maybe you should get sick more often, you're so much nicer when you're quiet like this. too bad for him your fingers were faster as you shove them up his nose to choke him in retaliation. fortune favours the just. the next morning you woke up feeling good as new — your fever had gone away just in time to celebrate the new year. your husband, on the other hand, didn't seem to be doing too well, seemingly catching your cold from yesterday. hmph, serves him right for teasing you like that.

TANG GUNAK could not catch a break even on new year's eve. there was always work to do, the world did not stop on holidays, after all. you slipped into the room quietly with refreshments in hand, hoping to get him to take a short break from his paperwork. the man had sharp ears — recognising the weighted rhythm of your footsteps even as you were on the far end of the hallway. he sets down his brush, getting up to greet you. my love, he'd call out softly, expertly placing away the tray in your hands. you laugh as he pulls you into his embrace, his face burrowing into your shoulder. you try to hug him back with as much vigour you could muster, pulling away just so you could place a few pecks on his face. it wasn't a very long break, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. he sipped on the tea you brewed, listening to your excited recounting of a new novel you had been reading. new years was a time to give thanks for the blessings in life, and he was more than thankful for the way your shoulder felt pressed against his arm as you two sat side by side.

JANG ILSO cared little for the festivities. he wasn't in the mood for any banquet, or party or whatever loud activity. he had been itching to do something, but he couldn't pinpoint what he wanted to do and the idea of going outside annoyed him. you didn't really know, nor cared to find out about your employer's stormy tantrum going on right at that moment. unfortunately for you, you were one of his go-to people to piss off and annoy whenever he wanted to cause trouble. your boss was a temperamental man, and you always walked on eggshells around him. little did you know that you were third on his list of people he liked, so in the off chance that you did piss him off, he wasn't going to get rid of you. not that soon or quickly anyways. he barged into your office with attendants trailing behind him with boxes of drinks, food and entertainment for that evening. he was here to bother you, if you so kindly didn't mind. most of what happened was blurry — you only remembered drinking the sweet wine, going down far too easily, possibly knocking over papers and ink all over your desk and then passing out. the next time you came to, you were in a guest bedroom near your boss' own. the hangover medicine and new clothes already laid out on the table for you. there was no way you had created a moment that your boss could hold over your head as blackmail. no, you detested the teasing that was sure to come from him in the coming year.

JIN HYEON had been out on an errand on behalf of the elders, and finally, he was going back to wudang just in time for new years. he stops by the small diner in the town next door, he often had his meals here whenever he's going out, outwardly he said it's because he liked the lotus root soup with pork ribs served with warm rice. in reality, he just wanted to find a chance to talk to you, the owner — a familiar face he had known since both of you were mere apprentices. though now you had taken over the restaurant your adoptive grandfather had left behind for you while he had risen up to the rank of a second-grade disciple. the diner was small, and the business was decent enough to make ends meet, but it wasn't so busy that you didn't have time to sit across him to have a short chat before he headed off. you asked him if he would stay and visit the night market this year. he shook his head sadly, feeling bad that he was turning down your offer yet again. you shook your disappointment off, opting to change the topic. the hour passed far too quickly, and he had to report back to the elders before night fall. you walk him towards the door, just as the wind picks up from where your back was turned, pushing you into his chest. the man takes the opportunity to pull you a little closer, accidentally placing a peck on your forehead. you didn't think he'd be this affectionate today but who cared? it was new years eve and it's been a while since he had walked you home. maybe next year you could ask him again to come with you to the night market.

LEE SONGBAEK had gone to his hometown for the new year celebrations. he had been given permission by the elders to do so, along with a good majority of the other disciples. things had been really quiet back in the sect with nobody really wanting to do anything with them. speaking of which, he hadn't seen his family in years by now, and he wondered how they were all doing. he didn't plan to spend too much time — have dinner, catch up, stay overnight and leave the next morning. he didn't expect to see that you would also be in his house, helping out with the new year's eve dinner. he could smell the dough and sesame paste drying out in the sun for the tang-yuan they'd all have later. actually, he thinks most of the village was congregated at his house. the disciples who had tagged along with him were a little taken aback at the size of the crowd, much to his embarrassment. he didn't think his village would be so stoked to have him back on new years with his sect brothers. you slipped out of the kitchen to greet him as the elders fussed over the boys that had come to visit. he leans over to greet you, feeling a small smile pull at his lips when you tousle his hair. his original plan might have been a little thwarted, but since you were here, he didn't really mind. ah, when he goes back to the sect, he should ask if the tailor was accepting any apprentices — if he were, and you came over, he might see you around more often in the coming year.

JIN GEUMRYONG wished he was anywhere else but here right now. but, as the eldest and prodigal son he should behave appropriately. he slips out of the banquet hall at the first opportunity, making shoddy excuses like needing to go to the restroom. he finds a spot in the quietest part of the estate, taking a moment to collect himself from the incessant social interaction he's had the whole day. soft footsteps approach him — really? he feels annoyed, but tries to reign back his distaste when he sees your smiling face beaming at him. go away. he tells you, not in the mood to deal with whatever you were about to drag him into. please? you'd beg, your hand pulling at his arm to get him on his feet. there was something you wanted to show him, and if he didn't go with you now, he was going to miss it! the man agreed reluctantly, letting you take him to the lake behind the hills. the night sky was clear and he could see every sparkling star in the sky. you sit on a fallen log, seemingly waiting for something to happen. he sits right by you, choosing not to question your actions. and then — there it was. the stars fell from the sky one after another, painting the night in long white painter's lines. he'd never seen anything like this in his life thus far, and he might not ever see it again. but it didn't matter. when you asked, doesn't it look amazing? he could only hum, unable to take his eyes off you all while your gaze was turned to the spectacle in the skies.

BAEK CHEON, for the life of him, can't decide which tassel he wanted to buy and ended up just getting a roll of thread in plum-blossom pink to make one on his own. the handiwork was clumsy, clearly amateurish with the bronze coin woven into the accessory. it certainly resembled the shape of a tassel — if you didn't look at the finer details too closely and for too long. you could see him look embarrassed at the quality and was already regretting giving it to you. but how could you not want his sincere gift? you loved it, flaws and all, because it was from him and you wanted to be reminded of the idea that this perfectionist still could make mistakes. you pull him down for a kiss. and then another. and another, until you were peppering his whole face in kisses because your heart couldn't handle this gap in his personality. your poor love, look at how red his face had become. he didn't know whether to be happy that you liked his gift this much, or feel shy at the public show of affection in a place where everyone in the sect could possibly see? you can't help but snicker mischievously as you skipped away from the scene — leaving the poor boy in a flustered mess.