iv1512
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Between slices of pizza and shots of soju, Mark and Donghyuck promise each other that if they're tragically single by the end of the year, they'll simply date each other. Out of pity. Or something like that.
(Cut to the feelings realization).
Bookmarked by iv1512
09 Dec 2025
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“Again, I don’t think this,” Donghyuck gasps at the touch of Mark’s mouth against his neck, his fingers stretching the collar of Donghyuck’s shirt, “is a good idea.”
“Again,” Mark replies, lapping at whatever exposed tanned skin he can find, leaving little bites that don’t mark. “I agree. In fact, I’d say it’s a terrible idea.”
The first time it happened, Donghyuck was certain it had to have been a figment of his imagination.
But then it happened again. And again. And somewhere along the way, Donghyuck gains enlightenment.
Bookmarked by iv1512
01 Dec 2025
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Mark Lee was Formula One’s golden boy. He lived for the race, the roar of engines, the blur of color on the track and the split-second decisions that made him everyone’s favourite. But somewhere in the grind of podiums, pressure and a four-year title drought, his spark thinned into something hollow. He kept winning just enough until the roar of the engine felt distant, but no one seemed to notice the burnout settling into his bones.
No one except Lee Donghyuck. The journalist who always asked the questions Mark didn’t want to answer. When Ferrari greenlit a season documentary and Donghyuck became the man behind the camera, the forced proximity turned suffocating and strangely comforting.
And somewhere in those long shoots and late edits, Donghyuck began pulling him back. Mark felt himself coming alive again, rediscovering the fire that made him who he was. In a world ruled by speed and control, he found himself anchored by the one person who made him want to feel everything.
Bookmarked by iv1512
01 Dec 2025
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Bookmarked by iv1512
07 Nov 2025
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Prince Han is .. beautiful, for lack of a better word. His hair falls over his forehead and eyes in gentle curls, a deep shade of brown at his roots, but a light chestnut at the very ends. Worn down by summer and salt water.
His lips are shiny, the apples of his cheeks a deep cherry red — sunburned, it seems, despite it being October. Perhaps the picture had been taken while summer was still around.
But would Minho throw his morals to the ground and step on them only for the eyes of a beautiful boy?
or; Minho never really believed in fate — until Han Jisung.
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Bookmarked by iv1512
19 Oct 2025