#Muscle mania

[yakwho]

머슬매니아의 역대 최악 참가자 분석하기 (Analyzing the Worst Contestants in Muscle Mania History)

머슬매니아의 역대 최악 참가자 분석하기 (Analyzing the Worst Contestants in Muscle Mania History)

[hotwheelings]

[joyswonderland1108]

Me, peacefully scrolling through my feed, expecting soft filters and maybe a bunny ear filter or two, when BAM—this drops.

Tae and JK just casually looking like they were 3D printed by Zeus himself. I’m sorry, since when did the gym become a Marvel audition room? Since when did arms become lethal weapons of mass destruction?

LOOK AT THEM.

Kim “I paint, I act, I lift the moon apparently” Taehyung, standing there like he didn’t just cause 7 billion heart palpitations with one flex.

Jeon “Tattooed Trouble” Jungkook, hiding half his face like we wouldn’t recognize those thighs of justice and that veiny arm carved straight from Mount Olympus.

And then there’s the poor soul in the middle, bravely trying to document this moment for historical records. We salute you, camera man. You risked it all.

After military service? Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Because post-MS the boys are going to come back with shoulder widths that defy physics and auras so strong they’ll need a hazard warning.

We’re not going to survive. There will be mass fainting, ambulances will be dispatched, K-pop stan Twitter will collapse. I’m already writing my will.

This is not just a gym pic.

This is a prophecy.

A declaration of war.

An armageddon disguised as aesthetics.

Anyway, I’m fine. Totally normal.

Just gonna go lie down and whisper “what protein powder, your honors?” into the void.

[babyblueetbaemonster]

The girls go to @tes-gala together <3

[paulmccartneyexplodingonstage]

meeting older monkees fans irl is always a gamble for me to see if i can make it through a conversation without dropping a bomb like, “michael nesmith was a beautiful woman to me and i wish i could’ve fed her estrogen pills” or “i do believe that michael and peter had a yuri romance at least one time.”

[theknucklehead]

[ciboucibou]

so... who wanna tussle?

[narthalaxx]

[sporesgalaxy]

had a dream I got to go Giant Centipede Mode and it was sooooo awesome. I threw a car :3

[taitungou]

20250127 speedpaint

based on a photoshoot by chrishan2004 on xhs

[planesofdelusion]

I love vicious cycles /s

tried to overdose, causing additional medication trauma. became avoidant of all medication. not taking my mood stabilizer led to a manic episode, which made it harder to take my mood stabilizer.

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Hyunjin's muscles

Happy Sunday with Hyun's muscles 🤭 (wait for the last one 🔥)

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: it doesn't have a full sex scene but this is definitely nsfw. Mdni!

Alexa, play Mania de você by Rita Lee (I love her sm 😭)

Things you’d do to Hyunjin’s muscles (and he’d act dramatic about it, but secretly love every second):

Biting Hyunjin’s bicep during a teasing fight:

 You’re arguing again. He said something dumb and smug, and now he’s grinning like he won the conversation— arms crossed, sleeves pushed up, muscles showing just to distract you. So you grab his arm and bite his bicep.

Not hard but enough to leave a mark. He gasps so dramatically like you stabbed him.

"Did you just…?!”, he pulls his arm back and stares at it in disbelief, “You just bit my gentle muscles?!”

"Gentle??”

“Yes!”, he holds his arm like he needs ice, “Do you have any idea how hard I work to keep them smooth and sculpted and beautiful?! And you just… you attack me?”

You giggle,“I just wanted a little taste”

“Well, next time, ask first”, then he mumbles, “Or kiss it after. Yeah, that’s the rule now”

You roll your eyes but lean in and kiss his “gentle” muscle

Making him lift you just because he can:

You wrap your arms around his neck and ask sweetly, “Can you carry me?”

He scoffs like it’s the easiest request in the world, “Obviously”

Then he lifts you— bridal style with his head tilted back, groaning like it’s a weightlifting competition

You giggle, trailing your fingers down his bicep, “Damn, you’ve been working out. These arms are…”

He cuts you, “Perv”

You open your mouth to protest, but he suddenly shifts his grip like he might drop you.

"Say one more thing about my muscles and I will let you fall”

You cling tighter, "You wouldn’t”

He smirks, “Keep talking to find out”

Then he spins you in a full circle, laughing when you squeak again.

“You are insane, bro”, you mutter.

"I am not your bro. I am your boyfriend”, he corrects you

Painting on his back while he reads on his stomach:

He’s shirtless, stretched out on the floor with a poetry book in his hands. You’re bored so, naturally, you grab your brush and dip it in lavender paint.

“You better not…”, he warns without even looking up.

But it’s too late— he feels a swirl on his shoulder blade.

Hyunjin exhales through his nose. Not annoyed, just dramatic.

“Why do you treat me like a canvas?”

"Because you are one. A very toned, stupidly beautiful canvas”

He giggles, holding back a smile, “You’re such a perv”

But he sets the book aside anyway and rests his head on his arms, “Fine, you can paint me. I’ll pretend this isn’t just an excuse to touch me”

You grin and keep going. You paint flowers, random lines, a few smudged hearts. He only flinches when it tickles followed by one of his adorable giggles.

“Ok, I am done”, you say proudly

"You missed a spot. Middle of my back”

You laugh as he smiles shyly against the floor trying to hide how much he enjoyed it.

Pressing your hands and face to his bare back, just to feel him:

He’s fresh out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel. And his back? Exposed.

You don’t say a word. You just stop behind him, press your palms flat against his bare back then slowly lean in, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades

"Are you okay, babe?”

“You’re warm”, you murmur.

He swallows. His hands stop moving, towel forgotten

"You can’t just… do that” he says, voice a shaky

"Why not?”

“Because I… get flustered”

You smile against his skin, then kiss where your cheek had been resting. He arches slightly, breath catching in his throat.

"I swear” he mutters, “you’re gonna be death of me”

You wrap your arms around his waist from behind. He doesn’t move at firdt. Then eventually, he drops the towel and turns, arms sliding around you with a soft sigh, like he is holding the most precious thing ever.

Tracing your tongue along the V-line he pretends not to know he has:

The room is on fire, bodies tangled, sheets kicked halfway down the bed. Hyunjin’s beneath you— breathless, flushed, hips lifting instinctively every time you grind down.

You slow the rhythm suddenly, trailing your mouth along his stomach. He gasps when your tongue traces the V line, right above his hip.

"Shit…” he moans

He shudders when you do it again, “You’re cruel”

You press another kiss at the edge of his hip, “You knew what you were doing when you hit the gym”

His hand finds your hair, trembling.  And when you look up, his mouth is parted like he’s about to beg.

 Things Hyunjin would do with his muscles just to tease you (and then pretend he’s the victim when you react):

Rolling his sleeves up slowly while making eye contact:

It’s just a lazy morning. You’re talking about nothing when he slowly starts rolling up his sleeves. Painfully slowly, like he’s in a nsfw tv commercial.

His veins peek out, forearms flex— he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Naturally, you stare.

He pauses and then gasps

“Are you…”, he blinks at you, faking innocence, “Objectifying me right now?!”

You roll your eyes, “You literally rolled them up in slow motion right in front of me”

"I was hot”

“You are hot, Hyunjin”

He fails at trying to bite back a smirk as he starts rolling the other sleeve up. Even slower this time.

Coming behind you at the sink and casually caging you in with his arms:

You’re just washing the dishes, minding your business, when you feel him step behind you— one arm on either side of the counter, muscles brushing your shoulders like it’s a coincidence.

He leans in close, draping himself around you, and hums, clearly amused.

"Hyunjin”

“Hum?” he says, smugly.

"Move”

"I moved” he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Closer”

You roll your eyes and of course he’s already grinning.

“Haven’t you missed me?” he murmurs, lips ghosting your ear. 

That’s when you feel it— his hips press against your ass, his abs against your back 

Your breath catches and an involuntary small whine escapes your throat as your fingers tighten around the edge of the sink.

He hums, pleased

Lying on the bed, arms behind his head, looking like a dream:

You walk into the bedroom and stop at your tracks. Hyunjin’s stretched out on the sheets, tank top clinging in all the right places, arms folded behind his head like a model in a photoshoot.

He blinks up at you when you raise an eyebrow

"What?” he asks, with the most unconvincing innocence you’ve ever heard, “This is just how I relax”

Your gaze drops to the sculpted biceps, the bare skin, the smirk he’s trying to hide

“You’re exhausting”, you mutter.

He sighs, long and dramatic, “I know. But sadly for you… I’m yours” 

You throw a pillow at him and he catches it smirking. Caught in the act

Flexing his abs when he comes just to make you come faster:

He's already close. You can feel it in the way the rhythm falters, the way his grip tightens on your hips, the way his breath turns even more ragged against your skin. And then— he does it. Flexes. On purpose.

His abs tighten, pulling tight with every movement as he throws his head back and groans through his release— a deep, wrecked sound that sends heat straight down your core.

And of course his plan works cause you come seconds later, body shaking, nails digging into him like you’re both furious and grateful for what he just did.

He’s still panting when murmurs, “Why are you looking at me like I did something wrong? I was just trying to motivate you”

You scoff, heart still racing.

He brushes his lips over your jaw, smirking, “Did it work?”

You don’t answer— he already knows the answer. He can feel it, still pulsing around him.

His smirk grows even wider as he presses a kiss to your cheek, voice clearly pleased.

"Yeah… definitely worked”

Jeongin's version

Ateez's version

Chan's version

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Taglist: @hyyunjinnn , @jehhskz , @mbioooo0000 , @nightmarenyxx , @rozsdascsaptelep, @thatonegirlonhere , @notmedina127, @sweetlifeofjoy , @jeonginsleftcheek , @yelhsaa, @my-neurodivergent-world , @hyunles , @lexlikesbts , @imagine-all-the-imagines , @mysterysold , @teenagepeterpan , @hangonhyunjin , @yxna-bliss , @moonchild9350, @vernorica123

[dulcet-aurora]

thinking about damian wayne who unravels for you.

damian wayne who physically feels his body relax when you smile at him. air leaves his lips, a breath relieved to be let go that he didn't even know was being held captive in his lungs. your voice is a summer breeze in his hurricane. the sun in your hair make his muscles unclench like you emit warmth and light, seeping into his soul and thawing his heart of ice. your laugh isn't a pick chipping away but instead a candle slowly coaxing it to liquid.

damian wayne who loves you so much he thinks of you as apart of him. not a parasite, eating away at him with furious little teeth, or a mania that drives him into a straightjacket. you are the cells in his blood, the nerves in his fingertips, the breath in his abdomen, the acid in his stomach. without you he cannot function, cannot feel, cannot be.

damian wayne who has heard stories of men loving their darlings so much that it hurt but loving you is the one thing in his life that never inflicted pain. you are soft yarn that stiches together his meaning on this planet. who is he if he does not love you? if he does not love you so easily that he can never dream of stopping?

damian wayne who loves you with his bones. his heart is not reliable, his soul too rotten. he cannot love you with something polluted. you are pure. you deserve strength. an anchor. his knees may shake but will not shatter if it means keeping you.

damian wayne who has never known anything but being stone faced and completely rigid; in posture, teachings, feelings, spirit. but it is refreshing coming undone for someone he knows will cradle him in pieces and slowly put him back together. when he is put back together in the glass vase of a boy he is, he is sealed with scotch tape and glitter glue. because to you he is not expected to be perfect, but he is loved for trying.

in the end, damian wayne is someone who has split people into pieces and never expected someone to love his.

© dulcet-aurora 2025.

[hotvintagepoll]

Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)

Elsa Lanchester (The Bride of Frankenstein, Witness for the Prosecution, Mary Poppins)—Surely somebody's already submitted Elsa Lanchester for this right? Right??? Because her scrungle levels are OFF THE CHARTS in literally everything. The way she's Katy Nanna straight-up refusing to spend another minute with Jane and Michael Banks because she has DIGNITY thank you very much. The way she's Mary Goddamn Shelley stuck listening to Lord Byron mansplaining literature like "ha ha maybe even YOUR little monster story will be published" and she shoots back "It *WILL* be published, *I* think!!!" in the most bright-as-nails fuck-you-Byron voice imaginable. The way she's a nurse herding her lawyer charge through a sordid love-triangle case and we gradually realize the real love story was between her and the lawyer all along. The way she's a clandestine witch casting hexes on telephones, the way she's a princess's PA and helps an old friend steal an invitation card, the way she's a cleaning lady who goes to Germany to personally assassinate Hitler, the way she's a posh village worthy trying to impress Danny Kaye, the way ERRGHH i could go on just look at her scrungle.

These are the the semifinals for the scrungly little guy contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Peter Lorre:

he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged

The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.

Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!

The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.

I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.

Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly

To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.

Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated

Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).

Youtube link for characters inspired by Lorre [editor's note: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly, verifiably influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide depiction.]

I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.

Elsa Lanchester:

[imsilay]

MANIA

obsessive love; very possessive and often jealous.

mdni NSFW! +18 cw: possessiveness, size k!nk, fem!reader, obsessive König, dominant König.

summary: König doesn’t wants you to leave him, even for a second. he finds excuses and makes it your problem so he could fuck you until you’re too sore to leave again.

i will post part 2 <3 (english isn’t my first language sorry for the mistakes) edit: posted! here

art cr: @kinky-thirsty-reader

He doesn’t like when you try to leave him…

After a long night, you were exhausted, your body sore from head to toe. You tried to sit up and leave the bed, but suddenly König's arm snaked around your waist and held you down. "Where do you think you're going, Prinzessin?" he whispered. "I need to shower." you mumbled as you put your hands on his forearms and tried to push him away, but it was a pathetic attempt. You were so powerless compared to him.

“So klein~” he cooed.

He chuckled at your struggles. "I don't think so, Schatz. You're staying here, in my bed, where you belong…" he purred, kissing the back of your neck and pulling you even closer, pressing your back against his chest. "König, stop the nonsense. Let go of me, i really need to shower." you protested— you wish you didn’t. His arms tightened around your midsection, reminding you that he could snap your spine effortlessly. "Are you talking back, Prinzessin? Did you forget you’re mine?" he whispered, his tone now edged with discontent. His grip was far from loving anymore. “Do i need to remind you?” he hissed, he would fuck you dumb until you understand that you’re his. His to use for his own satisfaction, his to kiss whenever he decided to do, his to touch wherever he wants. You were simply his.

When you realized you were in trouble, chills ran down your spine. You quickly apologized. "No, I was just... I don't like being sweaty. I'm sorry." Your apology made him loosen his grip a little. He placed a tender kiss on your neck. He turned you around as if you weighed nothing and pressed you against his chest.

“Hmm... let's see," his voice teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He sat up, leaning his back against the headboard and had you straddle him. He lowered his hands from your waist to your thighs and gently caressed them. You let out a groan of relief and wrapped your arms around his neck, savoring the sensation of your lover's massage on your sore muscles. However, your relief was short-lived because he wasn't finished with you yet. "You tried to escape my bed. So you need to be punished, Hase." He squeezed your thighs until the pain in your sore muscles became almost unbearable.

You cried and whined but he shushed you softly, soothing you. “We’re not done, Liebling.” It was clear that his tone had changed again. The anger and firmness had given way to something more gentle, almost loving.

You slurred something for forgiveness and apologize nonstop. “Don't be sorry, Hase. I didn't like seeing you try to escape from me." he said with a hint of a pout. "But I think i can make a exception for you this time. What about you let me…" his rough hands slowly caressed your inner thighs making you shiver and gasp in anticipation. “use you as i please, then maybe i could let you rest.” he murmured as his hand found its way to your already wet panties. Your breath hitched and you squirmed on his lap as he teased your cunt through your panties until you’re soaked for him.

“You’re so easy to seduce, Schatz.” he chuckled lightly but his voice stained with pure lust. He lifted your chin up with his free hand to take a look at your lovely face. Your eyes red, your skin flush from all the crying and stimulation. It was all for him… right?

“Immer so empfindlich, wenn ich so mit dir spiele.” (Always so sensitive when I play with you like this.) he mumbled in German like he always did. You never understand what he said -mind foggy with lust and too focused to chase that sweet release.

He grinned with a proud expression and mumbled to himself. “Braves Mädchen.” he whispered before lifting his balaclava up just enough to capture your lips in a long passionate kiss.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked it <3

a/n: also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

[stargirlygirl]

no, you can't buy my ranch

rancher!sylus x spoiled!city girl!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one: new home

summary: today is the day you move into your dad's ranch house, but there's a problem. who is this silver-haired man touring your property?

contains: swearing, angst, 1.5k words

You never thought it would come to this, but as rolling grassy hills and cattle whir past your tinted car windows, you realise it indeed has.

You’re a city girl. You love the buzz and bustle of the concrete jungle; the fact that there are so many people, no one looks at you. You blend right into this fashion-forward, $8 coffee-drinking, road rage mania. It’s your home.

When your father bought a property in the middle of nowhere a few years ago, you didn’t think much of it. Not until a couple of months ago, when he asked you to pack up and move in there for the next year, so he won’t be taxed on rent collection. You were in utter disbelief and refused straight off the bat. You couldn’t give up your barista-made 57-degree oat milk lattes, let alone your apartment, or your job. And what of your gym membership? Your weekly outings with friends?

But here you are, growing frustrated at your GPS as you try to navigate the few roads of this tiny town.

You’ll be working remotely for as long as you stay here, and daddy-poo bought you an espresso machine in preparation for your move. In your mind, this next year couldn���t go any faster. You can’t wait to be out of here. Sure, the countryside looks nice. But it’s not going to be very nice when you find snakes in your backyard and can’t pop down to the supermarket after work because it closes at 5pm.

And don’t get me started on the small town gossip. Within days, everyone here will be fluent enough in your life story to write a biography about you. What high school you went to, every crush you’ve ever had, how many times you’ve peed in the pool, all of it! They’re going to know, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them from talking about it. You said so to your father when he saw you off.

“This is a bad idea,” you pouted. And he just sighed and waved as you pulled out of the parking lot and hit ‘start route’ to your new hellhole home.

For the third time in the last hour, your GPS has missed a turn and is now redirecting you back to the main road. The busy ice cream parlour workers must be tired of seeing your rust bucket of a car; they’re probably gossiping about this fucking loser who keeps circling. Determined not to go past your turn again, you drive extra slow, take the right lane, and round the corner when clear.

Driving to the end of empty grasslands, you find a small ranch house. Blue-tiled roof, white exterior, chimney, and is that a rocking chair on the porch? The sun is setting, tangerine hues casting the quaint house in a cosy glow. It’s enchanting, even more so as you pull off the dirt road and park on a nearby worn patch where you assume the prior tenants parked.

But there’s just one problem.

On the opposite side of the dirt trail is a black pickup truck. Stepping out of your beat-up tin car, the hinges groaning as you gently shut the door. Staring at the intruding vehicle, you notice the red interior of the truck and various tools stacked up on the tray. Huffing, you head to the passenger’s side and turn your handbag inside-out looking for the house keys. Upon grasping them, you lock your car and stride up your new ‘home’.

Drawing closer, you hear muffled voices from the side of the house. A deep, resonating chuckle accompanies feet crackling on the tall shrubs. You change course, following the sounds of the approaching strangers instead. It only takes a few seconds before silky silver locks glinting in the fading light come into view, followed by narrow crimson eyes. They settle on you instantly, zeroing in and assessing you like a predator does to its prey.

He’s gorgeous. Ahem. Fine. He looks fine.

Angular features, rippling muscles beneath his button-up, broad shoulders and the sluttiest little waist (that black vest understood the assignment). You’re practically ogling him with how your lips are parted, a bit of spit forming at the corner of your mouth while your eyes rake up and down his every line and curve.

Sylus’s dark boots squish every insect and hint of vegetation in their path until he stops a few feet away from you. His shadow looms over you, making you feel small and weak. His eyes have you glued in place, rendering you speechless and flushed as you wish you could run to your car and book it back to the city. So what if it’s another six-hour drive? Who cares? You certainly don’t if it means escaping the hunk of man in front of you.

Feebly, you murmur, “Who’re you?” The way it comes out, you sound like an abandoned kitten drenched by an unrelenting storm. He smirks; it sends chills rolling up your spine.

“I could say the same about you, kitten,” he confidently drawls.

Your eyes widen as you stutter, “W-what? What did you just call me?”

The man by his side, whom you haven’t even spared a glance at, interjects, “Miss, this is private property. If you don’t identify yourself, then you could be charged with trespassing.”

“Trespassing?!” You echo, a hint of panic in your tone.

Crossing your arms beneath your chest, you scold him, “If anyone’s trespassing, it’s you two.” Your gaze flickers to the silver-haired man, his sharp eyes still fixated on you; they observe every breath you take, the darkness beneath your eyes, and how you shift uncomfortably on your feet like you’ve been driving for hours.

You continue, irritated, “My father owns this property. Who’re you to come here and accuse me of—”

“Oh,” Sylus interrupts, his voice rich like dark velvet.

“So, you’re Miss L/n, then?” He continues with a raised brow and a mocking grin on his perfect face. Oh, how you wanna punch it off! You nod, a little knot in your brow, which he finds amusing.

The silver-haired man introduces himself, “I was hoping to make your acquaintance sooner or later. I am Sylus, and I’d like to purchase your ranch.”

Your jaw slackens as you stare at him, sputtering, “Y-you what?”

“Mr Qin is a successful ranch owner and businessman. You have quite a nice block of land, Miss L/n. I was showing him around the property in preparation for a sale, once your father gives the word, of course,” the other man explains. You notice that he’s in a suit and holding several papers. Must be the real estate agent, you think.

You scoff, “Who… who do you think you are, you prick?” Pointing at Sylus, you scowl, “You have no right to be inspecting my land and you—” Your fury switches to the real estate agent, “are out of your fucking mind! Showing potential clients around here? Are you so desperate for commission? Get the fuck out of here or I’m calling the police.”

Delving into your back jean pocket, you retrieve your phone and open the dial pad.

Sylus’s charming chuckle unnerves you, “There’s no need to do that, sweetie. The tour is finished anyway.” Glancing up from your screen, you step back reflexively as he steps forward.

He holds out a red card between his long fingers, smirking, “My business card for when you’re ready to negotiate price.” You snatch it from him, glaring at him the entire time. And you don’t stop until you can make out his tall figure (bakery in full view btw) amongst the sunset backdrop, climbing into his truck and driving away in a flurry of dust and mystery.

Locking your phone, you slide it into your pocket and flip over Sylus’s business card. Address, email, phone number, all detailed in silver embossed lettering on a smooth background. But not as smooth as his voice. What?

Shaking those thoughts out of your head, you trudge back to your car and flip open the boot. It’s a long night, pulling out the few boxes you could fit, carrying them up the porch steps and eventually dumping them in the warm living room. Luckily, everything’s mostly furnished. It’s just your homely touch that needs to be added.

You unpack the ‘essentials’ box: toiletries, fry pan and toaster, and phone charger. Shortly afterwards, you collapse into bed, a certain silver-tongued fox on your mind. His shrewd gaze haunts your dreams, as do the defined contours of his body, evident in the afternoon light.

Oh, what it would be like to feel such muscles beneath your palm, to have his eyes on you for eternity. Such dreams are forbidden, yet you cannot stop the wandering mind from doing just that in the early hours of the morn.

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