#power smau

[moonjellyfishshark]

Sending CSM characters random pictures of them you took

Characters : aki, power, & denji

🪽＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚[𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡]˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊🪽

Authors note : HIIIIII!!!!!!!!! idk what do add for this one so what's ur favorite color?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

° ∆ ------ ••• ----- ∆ ° the end ° ∆ ------ ••• ----- ∆ °

♡HIIIIIIEEEEE♡

ᰔBYEEEEEᰔ - ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･

[enhaflixer]

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 1

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC -PART 2 OUT NOW

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

Release Date: 8th March, Part 2 - Monday 10th March

WC: 13K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

-

The Original Timeline

Five Years Ago

The first and only time you met Jay Park was at the gallery opening of your college roommate's photography exhibit in New York. You wouldn't have been there at all if Priya hadn't practically begged you to help her make up the numbers.

"Just mingle for an hour," she'd pleaded over coffee that morning, eyes wide with artistic desperation. "Drink free champagne, eat expensive hors d'oeuvres, and pretend to understand modern art. I need this exhibit to succeed. My parents are still convinced I should have become a doctor."

So you'd ventured out into the crisp October evening to a renovated warehouse in Chelsea that now housed the Klein Gallery.

The moment you walked in, you regretted your decision.

The gallery was crowded with Manhattan's elite—people whose casual conversations name-dropped summer homes in the Hamptons and winter getaways in Aspen. You recognized a few faces from glossy magazines—a popular actress, a tech entrepreneur, a fashion designer.

You spotted Priya across the room, surrounded by attentive listeners, looking nothing like the frazzled artist who had practically lived in sweatpants throughout college. Tonight she was transformed—elegant in a silk jumpsuit, her long black hair swept into an artful updo.

Not wanting to interrupt her moment, you moved toward the bar, securing a glass of champagne that definitely wasn't the top-shelf variety promised. Glass in hand, you began the obligatory circuit of the room.

Priya's work had always struck you as technically skilled but emotionally distant. Tonight's collection—titled "Urban Dissolution"—featured black and white images of city landscapes in various states of decay. To your untrained eye, several looked like artistic shots of garbage.

You were examining one such photograph when someone spoke beside you.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?"

The voice was pleasant—a warm baritone with just the slightest hint of an accent.

You turned to find a man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit studying the same photograph with thinly veiled amusement. He was handsome in that polished, untouchable way of the extremely wealthy—perfect hair, perfect posture, everything about him screaming old money.

Under normal circumstances, you might have nodded politely and moved on. Men who looked like him rarely engaged in genuine conversation at events like these.

But something in his expression—a hint of genuine mischief beneath the polished exterior—made you respond honestly.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied diplomatically. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we can still recognize it when we experience it." He gestured toward the photograph with his champagne flute. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you, drawing disapproving glances from a nearby couple examining the same piece with exaggerated intensity.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said, lowering your voice.

"Ah." He didn't look remotely embarrassed. If anything, his smile widened, creating a small dimple in his left cheek. "Then I assume you're here out of obligation rather than appreciation."

You studied him more carefully. There was no malice in his expression, only genuine amusement and refreshing honesty.

"Isn't everyone at these things?" You glanced around the gallery. "Half the people here couldn't distinguish between a masterpiece and a child's finger painting, but they'll all have very strong opinions."

"Touché." His smile reached his eyes, transforming his face from merely handsome to genuinely compelling. "I'm Jay."

"Just Jay?" You raised an eyebrow. "No family name? No title or position that should impress me?"

"Tonight, just Jay." He seemed to appreciate that you didn't immediately offer your name in return. "And you are?"

"Just someone who defends her friends' artistic endeavors, no matter how questionable."

"Loyalty," he nodded, as if noting something important. "An underrated quality in rooms like this, where allegiances change with the season's trends."

There was something wistful in his observation, a flash of genuineness beneath the practiced charm. Before you could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew your attention.

A group had arrived, their entrance causing a ripple effect through the crowd—backs straightening, conversations pausing, attention shifting.

"Duty calls," Jay murmured, his expression cooling. The playful stranger who had joked with you was vanishing, replaced by someone more controlled. "It was refreshing to meet you, Just Someone."

And then he was gone, moving toward the new arrivals. You watched as he transformed with each step—shoulders squaring, chin lifting, smile shifting from genuine to practiced.

He bowed respectfully to an older couple at the center of the group, clearly his family. The woman—elegant, with silver-streaked black hair—examined the gallery with the cool assessment of someone accustomed to making judgments that mattered.

It was only when Priya rushed over that you realized who you'd been talking to.

"Do you know who that was?" she hissed, gripping your arm. "The Jay Park. Park Industries! The Korean conglomerate that's expanding into American markets. Did you get his number?"

"We just talked about your photographs," you said, suddenly feeling out of place in your carefully selected but obviously off-the-rack dress. "He called them visual food poisoning."

Priya's expression didn't even flicker. "Jay Park insulted my work? That's practically a career highlight!" She snapped a discreet photo. "Wait until I tell my parents—they'll finally believe this wasn't a waste of my education."

You watched as Jay circulated through the room with practiced ease, his charisma deployed with strategic precision. The man who had stood beside you making irreverent comments might as well have been a different person entirely.

As you left the gallery hours later, you glanced back once to find Jay watching you from across the room. For just a moment, his public mask slipped, and he gave you a small, conspiratorial smile.

You never saw him again. Not in person, anyway.

Three Years Ago

"PARK HEIR ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCED: JAY PARK TO WED ITALIAN HEIRESS"

The headline splashed across your phone screen during your morning subway commute. Normally, you'd have skipped past such celebrity gossip, but the name caught your attention—that brief memory of champagne and honesty in a New York gallery.

Curious, you tapped the article.

"Jay Park, 29, heir to the Park Industries empire, announced his engagement yesterday to Seraphina Visconti, 26, daughter of Italian shipping magnate Giorgio Visconti. The match unites two of the most influential business families across continents after a whirlwind romance of six months.

"'Seraphina represents everything the Parks value—business acumen, family loyalty, and global vision,' said Chairwoman Soo-min Park in a statement.

"The couple met during Park Industries' expansion into European markets. Sources suggest the marriage will cement a strategic partnership potentially worth billions."

Below the text was a photograph of Jay with his arm around a stunning woman with olive skin and a camera-ready smile. He looked exactly as you remembered—handsome, composed, untouchable. But something about his eyes seemed different. Harder, perhaps. The smile that had crinkled their corners in the gallery was nowhere to be seen.

You stared at the image longer than was reasonable for someone who had spoken to the man exactly once. There was something almost theatrical about the pose, the smiles, the carefully framed opulence.

"Good for him," you muttered, closing the article as the subway reached your stop. "Hope they're very happy together."

You found yourself wondering if he'd made that woman laugh genuinely, or if their relationship was built on the kind of performance you'd witnessed when his family arrived at the gallery.

You didn't think about Jay Park again for a long time.

Last Year

"PARK INDUSTRIES HEIR DISGRACED: JAY PARK REMOVED FROM FAMILY COMPANY AMID SCANDAL"

This headline caught your eye during lunch break. The photograph showed Jay leaving a building, face partially obscured, expression hidden behind dark sunglasses. Even in disgrace, he wore an impeccably tailored suit, though his tie was loosened and his normally perfect hair disheveled.

Something tightened in your chest at the image. You tapped on the article, pushing your salad aside.

"Jay Park has been removed from his position following allegations of corporate espionage and fraud. The Seoul Economic Prosecutor's Office confirmed yesterday that Park is under investigation for his role in the controversial merger between Park Industries and Hanjin Global.

"'Evidence suggests Mr. Park orchestrated the theft of proprietary information to facilitate the merger on terms exceptionally favorable to Park Industries,' stated Chief Prosecutor Kim. 'This represents a serious breach of corporate ethics and possibly criminal misconduct.'

"Sources revealed that Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, personally signed the termination papers. 'It was like watching an execution,' said one executive. 'The family cut him off completely. No defense, no second chances.'

"Adding personal tragedy to professional disgrace, Park's engagement to Italian heiress Seraphina Visconti was terminated shortly before the scandal broke."

You frowned at your screen. Something about the story felt wrong—the swiftness of his family's abandonment, the convenient timing of the broken engagement, the way everyone seemed to distance themselves simultaneously, as if following a coordinated script.

But what did you know? You'd met the man once, years ago. That brief interaction hardly qualified you to judge the situation or the complex dynamics of global corporate politics.

Still, you couldn't shake the memory of his genuine smile, so different from the corporate mask he'd worn for his family. The way he'd spoken about loyalty as an underrated quality.

"Rough fall from grace," your coworker commented, noticing the article on your screen. "Guess even the mighty Parks can't escape karma."

"I guess not," you agreed absently. But privately you wondered what karma had to do with it. From what little you knew of chaebol families, they created their own destinies—and occasionally, their own destruction.

Over the following months, you occasionally saw follow-up articles. The investigation seemed to drag on without clear resolution. Some outlets questioned aspects of the evidence. Others suggested political motivations behind the prosecution.

But as the story faded from headlines, you found yourself wondering sometimes what had happened to the man who had once made you laugh in an art gallery—the man who, for a brief moment, had seemed genuinely human beneath the wealth and privilege.

Four Months Ago - Jay's Perspective

Jay Park stood at the window of his empty apartment, watching Seoul's lights glitter below. The city looked exactly the same as it had before his life imploded—indifferent to his disgrace. Photographers still camped outside his building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fallen heir.

The penthouse that had once been featured in architectural magazines now echoed with emptiness. Most of the art and furnishings were gone—some seized in the investigation, others reclaimed by his family when they'd cut him off.

His phone—a new one, with a number known to fewer than five people—vibrated on the counter. He ignored it. The nearly empty bottle of scotch beside it held more appeal. He poured another measure into a glass that didn't match the crystal tumblers he'd once collected.

Jay took a long sip, noting with detached interest that his hand no longer shook. Progress, of a sort. The first few months after his downfall, he could barely hold a glass steady.

The evidence against him had been impeccable. Each document, each testimony, each transaction record forming a perfect constellation of guilt. So perfect that, had he not known with absolute certainty he was innocent, he might have believed it himself.

That was the elegant brutality of it—the case was built not on crude forgeries, but on actual actions he had taken, actual meetings he had attended, all recontextualized to tell a story of corruption rather than innovation.

By the time he understood what was happening, the narrative had solidified. His former fiancée had disappeared back to Italy. His family had closed ranks against him. His so-called friends had vanished overnight.

"You always were too trusting, Jongseong."

His mother's words, delivered as she personally collected his company credentials. Not in private—she had ensured there were witnesses. The perfect chairwoman, putting corporate ethics above family loyalty.

He'd spent his entire life trying to prove himself worthy of the Park name, only to be discarded the moment it became expedient.

His phone vibrated again. A text from his attorney: "Prosecutor offering deal. Meet tomorrow."

Jay didn't bother responding. There would be no deal. Not because he was noble, but because accepting a deal meant accepting guilt. And while the world might believe him guilty, he refused to validate the lie.

He returned to the window, scotch in hand. Somewhere in that landscape were the people who had orchestrated his downfall. Were they celebrating still? Or had they already moved on to their next target, his destruction just another successful transaction?

One photograph lay face-down on the counter—Seraphina smiling beside him at their engagement party, her eyes fixed on the camera with practiced warmth. The perfect couple. The perfect alliance. The perfect lie.

"I never saw it coming," he murmured. "Not from you."

That was the truly unforgivable part—not the betrayal itself, but his blind failure to anticipate it. All the signs had been there: her sudden interest when the Hanjin merger was first discussed, her questions about his meetings, her friendship with his cousin.

But he'd been too enthralled with the idea of her—the perfect partner who fit the plan he'd constructed for his life.

Jay drained his glass. He should sleep. Tomorrow would bring more meetings, more denials, more evidence of his spectacular fall.

He was turning from the window when it happened—a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes, so intense he dropped his glass. It shattered as he clutched his head, the pain expanding outward like a supernova.

The room tilted sideways. His hand passed through the wall as though it were mist. The familiar contours of his apartment seemed to dissolve, replaced by swirling darkness.

His last conscious thought was strangely clear, cutting through the pain:

I would do it all differently.

Jay opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains.

No—not unfamiliar. His old curtains, from his suite in the family compound. The heavy navy drapes his mother had replaced three years ago.

He sat up with a jolt, banging his head against the headboard with an undignified thud.

"What the—" he muttered, rubbing his forehead while blinking at his surroundings.

This room had been redecorated after he moved out. The traditional furniture, the blue walls, the precise arrangement of his diplomas—all of it had been erased when his mother decided the space needed to "reflect the modern sensibilities of Park Industries' future."

Jay scrambled out of bed, tangling himself in sheets he hadn't slept in for years—1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton in navy blue, not the minimalist white linens of his apartment.

He stumbled to the bathroom. The face that stared back from the mirror made him grip the countertop until his knuckles went white.

"Impossible," he whispered.

The face was his, but not the one he'd seen yesterday. No dark circles. No stress lines. No gray hairs at his temples. This was him from... before.

"I've lost my mind," he announced to the empty bathroom. "This is what a psychotic break feels like."

He splashed cold water on his face, half expecting the hallucination to dissolve.

Back in the bedroom, his phone chimed. Not the anonymous device he'd been using since his disgrace, but his old phone—the one with the Park Industries logo, the one seized by prosecutors.

He approached it like it might explode, picking it up between two fingers.

The calendar notification made him drop the phone directly onto his foot.

"Son of a—" he yelped, hopping awkwardly.

He snatched up the phone again and stared at the date.

Five years in the past.

Another notification: "Meeting with Chairman Kang's team at 11. Merger exploration talks. Confidential."

Kang. The first domino in what would become his downfall. The meeting that would eventually lead him to Seraphina Visconti.

"This can't be happening," he said, running his hands through his hair until it stood in a manner his perfectly-coiffed future self would find horrifying.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Jay yelped and grabbed a decorative pillow to cover his chest.

His mother's executive assistant, Mrs. Joseph, stood in the doorway, her expression somehow even more judgmental as she took in his disheveled state.

"Mr. Park," she said with glacial formality, "your mother wishes to remind you that the board meeting begins in forty-five minutes."

"Mrs. Joseph," Jay managed, clutching the tasseled pillow, "what day is it today?"

One perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a millimeter.

"It is Tuesday, Mr. Park. The 17th of October, 2018."

Five years in the past. Confirmed by the human calendar that was Mrs. Joseph, who had never been wrong about a date in twenty years.

"Thank you. Please tell my mother I'll be there."

Mrs. Joseph nodded and closed the door.

Jay stood frozen before bursting into motion, pacing and gesturing wildly.

"Time travel isn't real," he informed his empty room. "This is a complete psychological break."

He stopped in front of the mirror, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection.

"You are having a nervous breakdown."

His phone chimed again. A text from his cousin Danny: "You look like hell on the security feed. Board meeting in 44 minutes. Pull yourself together."

Jay glanced at the discreet camera in the corner, then back at his phone.

Other people could see him. Other people were interacting with him. This wasn't just in his head.

"I've gone back in time," he whispered, testing the words. "I've gone back in time!"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. He had a second chance. A chance to avoid Seraphina. A chance to prevent the merger catastrophe. A chance to protect himself from betrayal before it began.

Then he froze, composing himself. If this was real, he needed to be strategic.

"Park Jongseong," he told his reflection sternly, "pull yourself together. You have a board meeting in forty-three minutes. And then you have a life to completely rebuild."

As he headed for the bathroom, he caught himself whistling. Park Jongseong didn't whistle. Park Jongseong was dignified, serious, and focused at all times.

But then again, Park Jongseong also didn't time travel. So perhaps some new rules were in order.

Forty-two minutes later, Jay found himself seated in the most uncomfortable chair in Seoul—not because of its design, but because of who surrounded it.

The Park Industries boardroom was exactly as he remembered it from before its renovation. Twenty-four seats around a massive mahogany table, each position equipped with a recessed screen and an elegant portfolio. The room smelled of sandalwood and concentrated power.

And around him sat the very people who would one day abandon him without hesitation.

His mother, Chairwoman Soomin Park, presided at the head, her silver-streaked hair in a severe chignon. His father sat opposite, expression fixed in the distant contemplation that had always characterized their relationship. Next to him was Uncle Jiho, whose vote would be first to condemn Jay when the time came. Beside his mother sat Aunt Mina, who would publicly declare his actions "disappointing but not surprising."

They were all watching him. Or perhaps he was just paranoid. Hard to tell which was more reasonable when you'd time-traveled into your younger body.

"The Q3 projections for the semiconductor division," droned CFO Yun. "As you can see, we're exceeding targets by 4.3% despite supply chain challenges..."

Jay nodded mechanically, trying to appear engaged while his mind raced. He kept catching himself staring at people who shouldn't be noteworthy—like Director Kang, who would later introduce him to Seraphina Visconti.

"Jongseong."

He jerked upright, realizing his mother had addressed him directly.

"I—" he began, having no idea what had been asked. "Could you repeat the question?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his mother's face. "I said, do you have the projections for the European market expansion? The ones you insisted were ready for board review?"

Right. The European expansion. The document that would eventually lead to the Visconti partnership. The first step in his downfall.

"I've been reconsidering those projections," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "I believe we should focus on domestic consolidation before extending into Europe."

A heavy silence fell over the room. In the original timeline, he'd aggressively championed European expansion for months.

"You've been... reconsidering," his mother repeated, each syllable precisely weighted. "Since last night's strategy meeting, where you presented a seventy-page report detailing exactly why European expansion cannot wait?"

Jay cleared his throat, tugging at his suddenly tight collar. "I've had some... insights."

"Insights," she echoed flatly.

"Yes. About... market volatility." Jay caught sight of his reflection in the darkened screen—he looked like someone trying to defuse a bomb while wearing oven mitts. "And geopolitical considerations. Brexit currency fluctuations. You know. Business... things."

Director Kang frowned. "But your analysis specifically addressed Brexit concerns, concluding they presented opportunity rather than obstacle."

"Well, people can change their minds," Jay said, a bit too forcefully.

His mother set down her pen—never a good sign. "Are you feeling well, Jongseong?"

"Perfectly well. Never better."

"You look flushed. And you're sweating."

Jay reached up, mortified to find his forehead damp. Park Jongseong did not sweat in board meetings.

"It's rather warm in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees, as always," his mother replied. "Your grandfather had similar symptoms before his stroke. The disorientation. The contradictory statements."

"I'm not having a stroke," Jay said, horrified that this conversation was happening in front of the entire board.

"He said the same thing," contributed his aunt helpfully. "Right before he tried to sign a merger agreement with a potted plant."

"I know what day it is," Jay offered as proof of his mental faculties. "It's Tuesday, October 17, 2018."

This did not have the intended effect. If anything, his mother's concern deepened.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Most people with calendars know the date. More relevant is your explanation for this sudden policy reversal."

Jay scrambled for a plausible explanation that wouldn't sound like 'I've seen the future and it ends with all of you betraying me.'

"I received some... intelligence," he said finally. "About certain European partners. It requires verification before we proceed."

This, at least, was the language of business his mother understood. Her expression shifted from concern to calculation.

"What intelligence, and from whom?"

"I'd prefer to discuss that privately," he said, finding his footing. "After I've confirmed some details."

His mother studied him, then gave a slight nod. "Very well. We'll revisit the European strategy next week."

As the presentation resumed, Jay exhaled slowly, only to catch his father watching him with an evaluative expression he couldn't quite interpret.

His phone vibrated. Grateful for the distraction, he discreetly checked the message.

From Jake: Dude, what was THAT? Your mom thinks you're having a stroke, and Danny says you were talking to yourself this morning. Also, Priya's exhibition is Friday, don't forget you promised to come. Her parents are visiting from Mumbai and she's freaking out.

Jay blinked, momentarily confused. Priya? Jake's girlfriend. The photographer. The exhibition.

A distant memory stirred—something about an art gallery in New York, some terrible photographs, and...

He frowned, trying to recall. There had been someone there, hadn't there? Someone he'd spoken to briefly. He couldn't remember a face or name, just a vague impression of a genuine laugh and an honest conversation.

He typed back: Not having a stroke. Just reconsidering some strategies. What time Friday?

Jake's reply came instantly: 8PM, Klein Gallery in Chelsea. Wear something that makes you look less corporate robot, more human person.

Jay tucked his phone away, the half-formed memory already fading as more pressing concerns demanded his attention.

"Jongseong, do you have anything to add to Director Park's assessment?"

Jay looked up to find the entire board staring at him again. He hadn't heard a word of what Director Park had said.

"I think Director Park's assessment is... comprehensive," he managed, having no idea what he was endorsing.

"He asked for your input on canceling the Daewon acquisition."

"Right." Jay straightened. The Daewon acquisition—a company they had purchased and later sold at a significant profit in his original timeline. "I believe we should proceed with the acquisition. Their patent portfolio alone justifies the investment."

Director Park nodded approvingly. "Exactly my point."

Jay relaxed marginally, only to tense again when his mother spoke.

"That's interesting, considering Director Park just recommended we cancel the acquisition due to their overvalued patents."

The room fell silent. Jay felt heat creeping up his neck.

"I was... testing to see if anyone was paying attention?"

His mother's sigh could have withered steel. "We'll take a ten minute recess. Jongseong, my office. Now."

As the board members filed out, his father paused briefly beside him.

"Whatever's going on with you, fix it before your mother decides you need medical intervention. Or worse, reassignment."

With that less-than-comforting advice, Jay followed his mother to what would undoubtedly be the most awkward conversation of his newly-regained past life.

"Close the door," his mother instructed as they entered her office, a minimalist sanctuary of glass and steel.

Jay obeyed, steeling himself for the dissection that was about to occur.

"Sit," she commanded, taking her place behind a desk large enough to land a small aircraft.

He complied, automatically adjusting his posture to the rigid formality expected. Twenty-nine years of conditioning didn't disappear even with temporal displacement.

"What is happening with you?"

"Nothing serious, I assure you. Just a temporary—"

"That was not a board performance worthy of a Park," she interrupted. "You contradicted yourself, failed to pay attention, and gave the impression of someone who is either incompetent or unwell. Neither is acceptable."

"I apologize, Mom. It won't happen again."

The moment the word left his mouth, Jay was surprised at his own casualness. Mom. Not "Mother" or "Chairwoman" as he'd taken to calling her in professional settings.

His mother's expression softened almost imperceptibly—visible only to someone who had spent a lifetime learning to read her minute facial cues.

"It's been a while since you've called me that in this office," she noted, neither disapproving nor sentimental. The Parks might be ruthless in business, but family was family. "Though it doesn't exempt you from explaining your behavior this morning."

"I'm simply... reconsidering certain aspects of my approach."

"Your approach," she echoed skeptically.

"Yes. I've been thinking that perhaps I've been too rigid. Too focused on following a preset path without questioning whether it's the optimal route."

Her expression shifted subtly. "And this revelation came to you when, exactly?"

"Recently," he hedged.

"I see." She tapped one nail against her desk. "And does this 'reconsideration' include your personal life as well?"

Jay tensed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've spent five years claiming to be too focused on your career for serious relationships, despite my repeated reminders that a suitable marriage is an essential component of your position. If you're reconsidering 'preset paths,' perhaps this is an area you might prioritize."

And there it was. In the original timeline, this conversation had led to his first introduction to the Visconti family.

"I don't believe my focus should be on marriage at this time," he said carefully.

"And yet you're now suggesting we delay European expansion, which leaves you with considerably more bandwidth." She opened a drawer and removed a slim folder. "I've taken the liberty of updating your candidate dossiers."

Of course she had. In his mother's world, suitable marriage partners were assessed with the same due diligence as potential acquisitions.

"I appreciate your thoroughness, but I'll handle this aspect of my life myself."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "You've been 'handling it yourself' since graduation, with no results. The Kang family has been quite direct about their interest in an alliance through their daughter."

Jay suppressed a grimace. Se-yeon Kang. The woman who had introduced him to Seraphina at her father's request.

"The Kangs are not a suitable match," he said sharply.

"On what basis?"

On the basis that they were integral to his destruction, he thought bitterly.

"I have concerns about their long-term business ethics," he said instead.

"Interesting." She made a note on her tablet. "I wasn't aware you had investigated the Kang operations."

"I make it my business to be thorough."

"Perhaps you're not as distracted as you appeared in the boardroom, then."

Jay recognized the familiar pattern—his mother testing him, probing for weaknesses. In his first life, he'd been so desperate for her approval that he'd missed the manipulation.

"I should prepare for the Kang meeting," he said, rising. "I'll need to review the materials given my reconsideration of our European strategy."

She nodded, dismissing him with a wave. "Don't embarrass yourself again. The board already thinks you're following in your grandfather's neurological footsteps."

At the door, he paused. In his previous life, he'd walked out of this office and directly into the trap being laid for him.

"One more thing," he said. "Who originally suggested the Visconti Group as a potential European partner?"

If the question surprised her, she didn't show it. "I believe Chairman Kang mentioned them at the economic forum in Davos. Why?"

"Just mapping connections. It helps me visualize the relationship web."

Her eyes narrowed slightly—the look she gave when recalculating her assessment. "Your grandfather used to say something similar. Before the stroke, of course."

With that parting barb, she dismissed him.

As Jay left, his phone vibrated again. Another text from Jake:

Almost forgot—Priya says to bring that friend of yours from the investment firm if he's still in town. She needs all the connections she can get.

Jay frowned. What friend from what investment firm? He didn't recall...

And then it clicked. The half-remembered interaction from the gallery. There had been someone else there that night—not just the person he'd spoken to, but someone he'd been introduced to later.

If he attended this exhibition, he might run into that person again—the one whose laugh he vaguely remembered. Not that it mattered particularly. Just a curious coincidence in his reshuffled timeline.

He pocketed his phone, mind already turning to more immediate concerns. The Kang meeting. The European strategy. The trap he needed to dismantle piece by piece.

A random stranger he'd once met at a gallery was hardly worth dwelling on when he had an entire future to reconstruct.

Autumn in New York welcomed Jay with crisp air and streets still gleaming from an afternoon shower. He stood outside the Klein Gallery in Chelsea, straightening cuffs that needed no adjustment.

The city felt different now—full of possibility rather than the shame and failure it would represent in his original timeline. Here, five years before his downfall, no photographers lurked hoping to catch the disgraced Park heir. He was just another wealthy visitor, anonymous in a city that specialized in ignoring the important.

The past three days had been a calculated offensive against his future ruin. Altered procurement strategies. Reassigned personnel. Extensive documentation that couldn't be manipulated later. He'd even faced down Kang himself, politely declining the European expansion that would eventually lead to his destruction.

All while maintaining the perfect Park Jongseong façade.

This trip to New York offered both strategic cover and unexpected relief. For a few precious hours, he could breathe without the weight of his name.

He checked his watch. He was early, deliberately so. Jake and Priya would arrive in twenty minutes, giving him time to assess the gallery and determine if his half-remembered encounter would repeat itself.

But the vagueness didn't matter. What mattered was the opportunity to alter one small variable in the equation of his life.

Since his mother had mentioned marriage in her office, a strategy had been forming in his mind. In the original timeline, the months following this trip had seen increasing pressure about his relationship status. His mother had begun introducing him to eligible candidates—all with their own agendas, all connected to the world that would eventually close ranks against him.

And then came Seraphina. Perfect, beautiful, accomplished Seraphina. The woman who would eventually help orchestrate his destruction.

But what if he removed that variable entirely? What if he preempted the whole process? Elementary business strategy: block your opponent's best move before they make it.

Inside, the gallery was minimalist—white walls, polished concrete floors, strategic lighting. Jay moved through the space with practiced ease, accepting champagne from a passing server.

Priya's work was exactly as he remembered—technically proficient but emotionally distant. Black and white urban landscapes hinting at decay and renewal. He paused before one he remembered discussing in the original timeline—the one he'd compared to food poisoning.

"Considering an acquisition?" a voice asked. Not yours. The gallery owner—Klein himself.

"Just appreciating the composition," Jay replied smoothly.

He scanned the room peripherally. The space was filling with the expected crowd—moneyed New Yorkers performing interest in emerging artists, critics with studied expressions of judgment.

But no sign of you.

A flicker of concern crossed his mind. Had his earlier manipulations altered the timeline so significantly that you wouldn't attend?

"Mr. Park!" Priya approached with nervous energy

"The exhibition looks excellent," Jay said, offering Priya a polite air-kiss. "Your work has evolved considerably."

A kind lie. Her work was exactly as he remembered it.

"That means so much coming from you," Priya gushed. "Jake said you've been impossibly busy with the European expansion plans."

Jay shot Jake a warning look, but his friend merely shrugged.

"Sorry, forgot it was all very hush-hush and corporate espionage-y." Jake clapped Jay's shoulder. "You look terrible, by the way. In an expensive, tailored way, but still terrible. Are you sleeping these days?"

In his first life, Jay would have bristled at such criticism. Now, after everything, he felt unexpected gratitude for Jake's honesty. He'd forgotten this about their friendship—how Jake treated him as a person, not the Park heir.

"Sleep is for those without quarterly projections," Jay replied dryly.

"You're not fine, you're just good at faking fine. The Park family specialty." Jake surveyed the crowd. "Speaking of fake, look at all these people pretending to understand Priya's art when half couldn't tell profound commentary from pictures of garbage."

Priya elbowed him. "My parents will be here any minute. Please pretend to be cultured."

"Fine. I'll practice my 'this speaks to me spiritually' face." Jake grinned and headed for the bar.

"He's impossible," Priya sighed affectionately. "But he's been amazing with my parents. Even learned Hindi phrases for my father."

Jay nodded, remembering with a pang how Jake and Priya's engagement had been "postponed" after his disgrace. No one wanted ties to a pariah, not even his oldest friend.

"Jay?" Priya studied him. "Are you okay? You seem... different somehow."

Before he could answer, the gallery's atmosphere shifted—the crowd parting for Priya's parents. She excused herself, leaving Jay alone.

His mind returned to his strategy. He needed someone who could occupy the space Seraphina would fill, disrupting the timeline ending in his ruin. Someone far removed from his world.

You—if you showed up—would be perfect. Not for any particular quality, but for what you weren't. You weren't connected to his family's web of alliances. You had no ties to competing conglomerates. You carried no hidden agenda.

Your ignorance of his world wasn't a liability—it was your greatest asset. You couldn't be manipulated by the forces that orchestrated his destruction because you existed outside their sphere.

It wasn't personal. He didn't need a soulmate; he needed a shield. The fact that he remembered your laugh was merely incidental. A convenient connection point for his strategy.

The gallery door opened, admitting a gust of cool air and a latecomer—you.

Recognition hit immediately. How had he forgotten so many details? Your self-conscious movements. Your genuine curiosity instead of affected boredom.

Jay moved toward you before consciously deciding to, drawn by the chance to rewrite this small piece of his past. He intercepted you at the photograph he knew you'd examine—the one you'd defended despite its quality.

He reminded himself: this was strategy, not sentiment. Business, not emotion. This was about survival.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?" Jay said, repeating his original words.

You turned, and he was struck by your direct gaze—no calculation, just human curiosity.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied, amusement tugging at your mouth. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we recognize it when we experience it." He gestured with his champagne. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you—genuine, unguarded. The sound hit Jay with unexpected force. For a moment, his calculated facade cracked, replaced by a genuine impulse to connect.

He pushed the feeling aside. Focus on the objective.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said quietly.

"Ah. Then you're here from obligation rather than appreciation?"

"Isn't everyone?" You glanced around. "Half these people couldn't distinguish masterpieces from finger paintings, but they'll have strong opinions borrowed from the last opening."

The conversation unfolded exactly as before—eerie yet comforting.

"I'm Jay," he said, memorizing your face.

"Just Jay? No impressive title?"

"Park. Jay Park. But I'd prefer to be just Jay tonight."

You assessed him with refreshing directness. "And what does Just Jay do when not critiquing photography?"

Another deviation from the original timeline. A small ripple that could grow into a wave.

"Corporate strategy," he replied vaguely. "Nothing as interesting as defending questionable art. And you are...?"

The gallery door opened, and Jay felt a cold jolt as his family entered, causing the usual ripple through the crowd. His mother, father, relatives—all unaware they would eventually abandon him when convenient.

This was the moment. Originally, he'd left without your name, swept back into the path leading to Seraphina and his destruction.

Not this time.

"I should warn you," he said conspiratorially, "I'm about to transform into someone less honest and more boring. Corporate obligation." He nodded toward his family. "But before I do—your name? In case our paths cross again."

Behind this casual request lay his entire strategy. Your name would be the first stone in his new foundation.

As he waited, his gaze intensified slightly. To you, it might seem like normal interest. To him, it was the focus of someone placing extraordinary significance on an ordinary exchange.

This wasn't just about a name—it was about architecture. The careful redesign of his future. And you, unknowingly, were about to become a cornerstone.

"Y/N"

-

The syllables hung in the air between them for a moment. Jay's smile shifted—genuine now, not the practiced expression he deployed at corporate functions.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." He reached for your hand, a brief, professional clasp. "Unfortunately, duty calls."

He slipped you his card—not the formal Park Industries one, but a sleeker personal version with just his name and private number. A deliberate choice. The first move in his new game.

"Perhaps we'll cross paths again," he said. His tone casual, but his gaze wasn't. It held yours a moment longer than social convention dictated.

Then he was gone, transforming with each step toward his family. Shoulders squaring. Expression cooling. The brief glimpse of honest humanity tucked away beneath the polished exterior of Park Jongseong, corporate heir.

You watched him bow to his mother, exchange handshakes with other family members, fluidly inserting himself into their formal orbit. The man who had made irreverent comments about art seemed to evaporate entirely.

"The exhibition demonstrates impressive technical skill," Jay's mother observed an hour later, champagne flute held at a precise angle. "Though the subject matter is rather... conventional."

This assessment came after a methodical circuit of the gallery, during which the Park family had drawn considerable attention without seeming to notice it.

"Priya has potential," Jay replied diplomatically. "Her composition exhibits strong understanding of negative space."

Art criticism wasn't the point of this conversation, and they both knew it. His mother was watching him carefully, calculating something behind her perfect smile.

"I spotted you speaking with someone earlier," she mentioned with practiced casualness. "Before we arrived."

And there it was. Nothing escaped her notice.

"A friend of the artist," Jay said, matching her casual tone. "We were discussing the merits of contemporary photography."

"I see." His mother's gaze swept the room, locating you within seconds where you stood chatting with Priya near the bar. "Not the usual social circle you frequent."

"Perhaps that's refreshing." Jay sipped his champagne, strategic in his mild defiance. "One tires of the same conversations."

His mother's eyebrow arched slightly—the equivalent of open surprise from anyone else.

"Interesting," she said, recalculating variables in her mental dossier. "Does this relate to your sudden disinterest in the European expansion?"

"Not directly," Jay replied. "Though both reflect a broader reassessment of paths worth pursuing."

She studied him with the penetrating gaze that had intimidated business rivals for decades. "You've changed, Jongseong. Since when, I'm not certain. But something is different."

"Growth isn't change, Mother. It's evolution." He'd never spoken to her this way in his first timeline—confident but not confrontational. "The core remains the same."

His father approached, ending their private exchange. "The Visconti Group's representative just arrived," he informed his wife. "The one you wanted to meet."

Jay's pulse quickened. In the original timeline, this casual introduction had been the first seed planted. The beginning of his eventual destruction.

"Another time, perhaps," Jay interjected smoothly before his mother could respond. "I promised Jake I'd speak with some potential collectors. His girlfriend would be devastated if the night wasn't successful."

His father's expression registered mild surprise at this unusual prioritization of friendship over business.

"Of course," his mother said, analyzing this new data point. "Family supports family's associates. That's the Park way."

The subtle reminder of obligation came with her practiced smile. Not a reprimand, but a note being filed away for future reference.

Jay inclined his head respectfully and moved away, circulating through the crowd with practiced ease. He exchanged pleasantries with critics, complimented the gallery owner, and strategically positioned himself near a group of potential collectors, laying groundwork for a purchase that would help Priya's career.

All while remaining acutely aware of your location in the room.

-

Two hours later, Jay found himself in a strategic position near the coat check as you prepared to leave. The gallery had begun to empty, the initial excitement of the opening fading into the routine pattern of a Thursday night in Chelsea.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, timing his approach to appear coincidental.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. "Just Jay. I thought you'd be trapped in corporate obligation all night."

"A temporary reprieve." He smiled. "The family business discussions have moved to dinner at Le Bernardin."

"Very fancy," you commented. "I'm headed for much humbler fare—the subway and takeout."

Jay glanced at his watch. "Actually, I find myself with an unexpected hour before I need to join them. Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a proper dinner? There's an excellent place just around the corner." He kept his tone casual, the invitation seemingly spontaneous.

You hesitated, studying him with that direct gaze he found so refreshing. "Why would you want to have dinner with a complete stranger when you clearly have more important places to be?"

The directness of the question caught him slightly off-guard. In his world, people rarely questioned Park Jongseong's motivations to his face.

"Because you're the only interesting conversation I've had all evening," he replied, allowing a hint of genuine feeling to color his words. "Everyone else is either trying to sell me something, impress me, or secure an introduction to my mother."

You considered this, head tilted slightly. "And what makes you think I'm not doing the same?"

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his polished social chuckle. "The fact that you just asked that question, for starters."

Something in your expression softened. "One hour. And it had better be good food."

"I never compromise on quality," Jay assured you, suppressing the satisfaction of a well-executed strategic move. "The restaurant is just three blocks from here."

As you walked together into the crisp autumn evening, Jay maintained the perfect balance of professional distance and personal interest. He asked about your work (freelance journalism), your history with Priya (college roommates), your thoughts on New York's cultural scene (overpriced but occasionally transcendent).

Each piece of information carefully filed away. Each response analyzed for potential complications or advantages to his developing strategy.

The restaurant—an upscale Italian place with discreet lighting and well-spaced tables—provided the ideal setting for his purposes. Impressive without being intimidating. Exclusive enough to require his name for a last-minute table, but not so ostentatious that it would make you uncomfortable.

"So," you said once you were seated and had ordered, "are you going to tell me what Park Industries actually does? Or am I supposed to pretend I don't know you're practically royalty in South Korea?"

Again, that directness. Jay found himself genuinely smiling.

"Technically, we do everything from semiconductors to shipping," he replied. "But that's hardly dinner conversation. I'd rather hear more about your work. Journalism must give you a unique perspective."

"Nice deflection," you noted, but allowed the conversation to shift.

For fifty-three minutes, Jay executed a perfect performance of genuine connection. He asked thoughtful questions. Shared carefully selected personal anecdotes. Displayed just enough vulnerability to seem authentic without revealing anything truly significant.

He studied your reactions, adjusting his approach subtly based on what resonated. When you responded to his dry humor, he offered more. When certain topics sparked genuine interest in your eyes, he explored them further.

A strategic seduction—but not a romantic one. He was securing an ally. Establishing a connection outside the corrupted network that had eventually destroyed him.

When his phone vibrated with a text from his mother, he allowed himself a calculated show of reluctance.

"Duty calls," he said, echoing his words from earlier in the gallery. "I've enjoyed this conversation more than you know."

"It was surprisingly pleasant," you agreed with a hint of amusement. "Despite the suspicious circumstances."

He signaled for the check. "Suspicious?"

"Wealthy heir suddenly interested in random gallery-goer? That's either the beginning of a romance novel or a cautionary tale." You smiled to soften the words. "I'm still deciding which."

Jay laughed again, caught between strategic calculation and genuine appreciation of your perception.

"Perhaps neither," he suggested. "Perhaps just two people enjoying conversation without agenda."

"Everyone has an agenda," you replied, gathering your things. "Even if they don't recognize it themselves."

How right you were. If only you knew the elaborate mental chess game he was playing, with you as a central piece.

Outside the restaurant, he made his final move of the evening—perfectly calibrated for maximum effect without seeming too eager.

"I'll be in New York for another two days," he said casually. "If you're free tomorrow evening, perhaps you could show me a part of the city tourists don't usually see. Something authentic."

The invitation was designed to appeal to your evident independence and local knowledge. To position you as the expert rather than the pursued. A subtle flattery that didn't register as manipulation.

"I might be available," you said, considering. "Depends on my deadline."

"Of course." He nodded respectfully. "You have my number. No pressure either way."

As he hailed a taxi for you, he allowed his hand to brush yours briefly—a manufactured moment of connection carefully designed to seem accidental.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said as you stepped into the cab. "I hope to hear from you tomorrow."

You smiled through the window, giving a small wave as the taxi pulled away.

Jay watched until the taillights disappeared into Manhattan traffic, then straightened his tie and hailed his own car. His expression shifted seamlessly from warm interest to cool calculation.

Phase one: complete. You had been introduced into the equation. A new variable with the potential to disrupt the entire sequence leading to his downfall.

As his driver navigated toward Le Bernardin, Jay mentally mapped the next steps. He would need to provide his mother with enough information to satisfy her curiosity without triggering her strategic instincts. Plant seeds with his father about potential advantages of connections outside their usual network. Begin building documentation that would position you as a completely independent connection, not part of any competing corporate interest.

His phone buzzed with a message from his cousin Danny: Mom says you're acting strange. She wants intel on whoever you were talking to at the gallery.

Jay smiled tightly. The family machine was already turning its attention to this unexpected development. Exactly as he'd anticipated.

He typed back: Just making connections. Nothing significant.

Let them underestimate this move. Let them dismiss you as a casual interest, a temporary distraction.

By the time they recognized the strategic importance of what he was building, it would be too late. The timeline would be irreversibly altered.

And Jay Park would never again find himself standing alone in an empty apartment, betrayed by everyone he had trusted.

Another message appeared on his screen—this one from an unknown number.

Tomorrow, 7pm. Wear comfortable shoes and nothing that screams "I'm worth kidnapping for ransom." – Y/N

Jay allowed himself a moment of genuine satisfaction. The pieces were moving exactly as he'd calculated.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

-

The next evening proved Jay's instincts correct. You were indeed the perfect variable to introduce into his equation.

You arrived at the designated meeting spot in Washington Square Park wearing jeans, a well-worn leather jacket, and boots that suggested you actually walked places rather than being chauffeured. Jay had followed your instructions, trading his usual bespoke suit for dark jeans, a cashmere sweater, and shoes that would survive more than a board meeting.

"You clean up nicely," you said, appraising his attempt at casual attire. "Almost pass for a normal person."

"My greatest performance yet," he replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Where to first?"

"That depends. What's your tolerance for authenticity? Real New York isn't exactly five-star accommodations."

Jay's smile widened. "Test me."

And you did. For the next three hours, you led him through a New York he'd never seen despite countless business trips. Hidden speakeasies accessed through fake phone booths. A Ukrainian diner where the servers scowled and the food defied description but somehow tasted like memory. A rooftop garden secretly maintained by an elderly couple who'd been cultivating it since the 1970s.

Throughout the evening, Jay maintained his careful balance—genuinely enjoying himself while strategically gathering information. Your job prospects (promising but unstable). Your family situation (supportive but financially modest). Your relationship status (refreshingly unattached).

Each piece of data confirmed what he'd hoped: you were the perfect candidate. Independent enough to make your own decisions, stable enough to be reliable, ambitious enough to appreciate opportunity, and disconnected enough from his world to be safe from manipulation.

"Admit it," you said as you sat on rusty chairs atop the secret garden, city lights spread before you. "This is better than whatever fancy restaurant your family's at tonight."

"Infinitely," Jay agreed, and meant it. The evening had been unexpectedly liberating. Here, he wasn't Park Jongseong, heir and corporate prince. He was just Jay, a guy experiencing New York's hidden corners with an interesting woman. "Though my mother would need smelling salts if she saw these chairs."

You laughed, the sound still as honest as he remembered. "Why do I get the feeling you're not often allowed to just... exist? Without expectations or performance metrics?"

The observation was so accurate it momentarily disrupted his careful strategy. For a second, he considered telling you everything—the time travel, his disgrace, his desperate plan to rewrite his future.

But of course, that was impossible. Who would believe such madness?

"The privileges of my position come with corresponding obligations," he said instead, allowing a rare glimpse of genuine feeling. "My path was charted before I was born."

You studied him in the dim rooftop lighting. "And you've never considered drawing your own map?"

Jay looked out over the city, contemplating how to answer. The strategic response would be something vague but intriguing. But something about this night—about you—made him unexpectedly honest.

"I'm attempting to redraw certain sections now," he said quietly. "It's... complicated."

"Family complications or business complications? Or are they the same thing for you?"

"Inextricably intertwined," Jay confirmed. "The Parks don't separate business from family or family from business. It's all one ecosystem."

"Sounds suffocating."

"It can be," he admitted, surprising himself again with his candor. "But it's also... secure. Structured. There's comfort in knowing your role."

"Until the role becomes a cage," you observed.

The conversation was veering dangerously close to truth. Jay redirected gently.

"What about you? No family business directing your path?"

You shook your head. "Just student loans and rent directing my career choices. Not exactly the same scale of problems."

"Different cages," Jay said. "Different gilding."

A comfortable silence fell between you. Below, the city pulsed with energy—millions of lives intersecting, diverging, each on their own trajectory.

"I should probably get you back to civilization," you said eventually. "Before your security detail reports you missing."

Jay checked his watch, surprised to find it was nearly midnight. The evening had passed with unexpected swiftness.

"I've dismissed security for the night," he said, rising from the rusty chair. "But you're right, it's late. Let me walk you home."

You shook your head. "That defeats the purpose of me showing you hidden New York. I'll walk myself home like a proper New Yorker."

"At least let me get you a car."

"The subway is faster this time of night."

Jay smiled at your stubbornness. Another quality that made you ideal for his purposes. "Then I'll accompany you to the subway."

As you descended from the rooftop, Jay made his decision. The evening had confirmed everything he needed to know. You were perfect—self-sufficient, perceptive, and most importantly, unconnected to the web that would eventually try to destroy him.

It was time to set his actual plan in motion. Earlier than he'd originally calculated, but the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.

Outside the subway entrance, you turned to say goodbye. "This was surprisingly enjoyable, Just Jay. You're not at all what I expected."

"Is that a compliment?"

"An observation." Your smile took any sting from the words. "Maybe I'll see you next time you're in New York."

It was the opening he needed. Jay took a calculated breath.

"What if it were sooner than that?" he asked, carefully casual. "What if I had a proposition for you?"

Your eyebrows rose slightly. "A proposition sounds suspiciously like business."

"Perhaps a merger of interests," Jay said, watching your reaction closely.

"I'm not qualified to consult for Park Industries, if that's where this is going."

"Nothing to do with the company. This is personal." Jay paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow? There's something I'd like to discuss that could be mutually beneficial."

Wariness crept into your expression. "That sounds ominous."

"It's not illegal or immoral," he assured you. "Just... unusual. But I think you might be the perfect person for it."

"Now I'm definitely concerned."

Jay smiled, allowing genuine warmth to show. "Trust me enough for one more dinner? If you hate the proposal, we part as friends with an interesting story about the time a Korean businessman made you a strange offer."

You studied him for a long moment. "Fine. But a public place, and I reserve the right to walk out if things get weird."

"Perfectly reasonable terms," Jay agreed. "I'll text you the details."

After you disappeared down the subway steps, Jay hailed a car back to his hotel. His mind was already composing the proposal, weighing phrases and possibilities. The timing was delicate. Too direct, and you'd be justifiably alarmed. Too vague, and you'd dismiss it as absurd.

But if presented correctly, with the right incentives and assurances...

It could work. It had to work.

-

The restaurant Jay selected for their final evening was elegant without being ostentatious. Private enough for serious conversation but public enough to meet your safety requirements. He arrived early, ensuring the perfect table—secluded but visible, with clear sightlines to exits.

You arrived precisely on time, wearing a dress that suggested you'd taken this meeting more seriously than yesterday's casual exploration. Good. It indicated you were intrigued enough to make an effort.

"I half-expected to be stood up," Jay said as you sat down.

"I considered it," you admitted. "But curiosity won out. I spent all day trying to imagine what this mysterious proposition could be."

"And your theories?"

"Either you're recruiting me for corporate espionage, or this is an elaborate setup for asking me on a real date."

Jay smiled. "Neither, though the second option is less absurd than the first."

The waiter brought menus and wine recommendations. Jay ordered for both of you—not to control, but to expedite. The sooner pleasantries were addressed, the sooner he could present his case.

Once the preliminary course was served and privacy assured, Jay leaned forward slightly.

"Before I explain, I want to establish context," he began. "My family situation is... complicated. As the heir to Park Industries, certain expectations exist regarding my personal life."

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Among these is the expectation that I'll marry strategically. Someone who enhances the company's position, preferably from a compatible business family."

"Arranged marriage in the 21st century?" You raised an eyebrow. "That seems archaic."

"It's framed as 'guided choice,'" Jay explained. "But the outcome is essentially predetermined. The candidates all fit a specific profile, vetted extensively by my mother."

"And you don't want that," you guessed.

"I've seen where that path leads," Jay said carefully. "It's not favorable."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

Here was the critical moment. Jay took a measured breath.

"I'm proposing an alternative arrangement. A marriage of convenience, with clearly defined parameters and mutual benefits."

Your expression froze. "Excuse me?"

"I know how this sounds," Jay said quickly. "But please hear me out before deciding."

You sat back, arms crossed. "I'm listening, but this better be good."

"What I need is someone outside my world. Someone my mother can't manipulate or compromise. Someone with no hidden corporate agenda or family ambitions." Jay held your gaze steadily. "Someone like you."

"And what exactly would I get from this arrangement, besides the obvious headache?"

"Financial security," Jay said simply. "Complete financial independence. A generous settlement that would eliminate your student loans, housing concerns, and career pressures. You'd be free to pursue your writing without worrying about making rent."

He could see the calculation happening behind your eyes. The journalist weighing an unbelievable story.

"This would be a temporary arrangement," he continued. "Two years maximum. After which we would part amicably, with your financial future secured and my family obligations satisfied."

"You're serious," you said, realization dawning.

"Completely."

"But why me? You could find countless women willing to make this deal."

"Because you don't want anything from me except what we explicitly agree to," Jay explained. "You don't care about the Park name or legacy. You have no connection to our business rivals. You're honest, independent, and most importantly, you see me as a person, not a position."

You were silent for a long moment, processing.

"What would this arrangement involve... practically speaking?"

"A legal marriage. A public relationship that appears genuine. Attendance at certain family and business functions. Cohabitation in Seoul, though with separate living spaces." Jay outlined each point precisely. "No romantic or physical obligations whatsoever."

"And after two years?"

"A quiet divorce with a generous settlement. You return to your life with complete financial freedom. I gain time to secure my position without my mother's interference."

You studied him intently. "What aren't you telling me? This seems too... calculated."

Jay hesitated. How much could he safely reveal without sounding deranged?

"My mother is pushing me toward a specific alliance that would be disastrous," he said finally. "I need to block that move decisively. Your presence provides that blockade."

"Corporate chess using marriage pieces," you murmured.

"An apt metaphor."

The waiter arrived with the main course, forcing a pause in the conversation. Jay waited patiently as you considered his proposal.

"I'd have to move to Korea," you said finally. "Learn a new language, navigate a completely foreign business world, pretend to be in love with someone I barely know."

"All significant challenges," Jay acknowledged. "Hence the substantial compensation."

"How substantial?"

He named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly.

"Plus all living expenses, travel, and a housing allowance upon our separation," he added. "Financial security for the foreseeable future."

You took a sip of wine, buying time to think. Jay remained silent, giving you space to process.

"Why should I trust you?" you asked finally. "No offense, but this sounds like the beginning of a thriller where the protagonist never returns from Seoul."

"A valid concern." Jay reached into his jacket and removed a USB drive. "This contains a draft contract outlining everything we've discussed, plus insurance clauses to protect you. Have your own lawyer review it. Make any reasonable amendments."

He placed the drive on the table between you.

"I don't expect an answer tonight," he continued. "Take time to consider. Research me, the company, the arrangement. I'll be in New York three more days."

You didn't touch the drive. "Are you always this prepared?"

"I don't propose convenient marriages on a whim," Jay said with a hint of humor. "This is a strategic decision for both of us."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we enjoy this excellent meal, I thank you for considering it, and we part as friends with an unusual story."

You finally reached for the drive, turning it in your fingers thoughtfully.

"Two years of my life," you mused. "Pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Or two years experiencing a world few ever see from the inside," Jay countered. "With material for the book you mentioned wanting to write. And afterwards, complete freedom to pursue whatever you wish."

He could see the writer in you considering the possibilities. The practical side weighing the financial security. The cautious part still suspicious of his motives.

"I'll think about it," you said finally, slipping the drive into your purse. "That's all I can promise right now."

"That's all I ask." Jay raised his glass slightly. "To unusual propositions and careful consideration."

You hesitantly clinked your glass against his. "To whatever the hell this is."

The rest of dinner passed in lighter conversation, Jay deliberately steering away from the proposal to give you mental space. As they finished dessert, he sensed you had more questions brewing.

"Just ask," he said gently. "Whatever you're thinking."

"Why marriage?" you asked bluntly. "Why not just date someone your mother doesn't approve of until this mysterious alliance threat passes?"

A perceptive question. Jay had prepared for it.

"Because dating is easily dismissed as temporary infatuation. Marriage is definitive. It removes me completely from the candidate pool and blocks the specific alliance my mother is orchestrating."

You nodded slowly. "And there's really no romantic component to this? No hidden agenda where you're hoping for more?"

"None whatsoever," Jay assured you. "This is a business arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. Any personal friendship that develops would be separate from our agreement."

Outside the restaurant, you paused before parting ways.

"This is insane," you said, shaking your head slightly. "Completely insane."

"From a conventional perspective, yes," Jay agreed. "But sometimes unconventional solutions are necessary for unusual problems."

"I'll call you," you said. "After I've thought about it. And possibly had my head examined."

Jay smiled. "I look forward to hearing from you, whatever your decision."

As you walked away, Jay allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. You hadn't immediately rejected the idea. You'd taken the contract. You were considering it.

Phase two: initiated.

The path to avoiding his destruction was unconventional, certainly. But with each step, each calculated move, he was redrawing the map of his future.

And for the first time since waking up five years in his past, Jay felt something akin to hope.

-

"He asked you to what?"

Priya's voice carried across the café, drawing glances from nearby tables. You winced, motioning for her to lower her volume. Two days had passed since Jay's proposal, and you'd finally broken down and called Priya. Some things were too bizarre to process alone.

"Keep it down," you hissed. "I haven't decided anything."

"Sorry," Priya whispered dramatically, leaning across the table. "But you can't drop 'Korean billionaire wants me as his contract wife' and expect normal volume control."

You stirred your coffee absently. The USB drive sat heavy in your bag, untouched since the dinner. Every time you considered plugging it in, reality reasserted itself. People didn't just get propositioned for fake marriages by corporate heirs. Not in real life.

"Maybe I imagined it," you said. "Stress-induced hallucination."

"Honey, you don't hallucinate trust fund provisions and prenuptial terms." Priya tapped the table emphatically. "And Park Industries is the real deal. My cousin works in finance and says they're basically royalty in Korea."

You sighed, glancing at your phone. Three missed calls from your editor about a deadline. Two emails from your landlord about the rent increase. A notification about your student loan payment.

Normal life, insistently demanding attention while some alternate universe beckoned from a USB drive.

"What would you do?" you asked.

Priya considered this, stirring her chai thoughtfully. "I'd wonder why me. Of all the women in New York—hell, in the world—why pick someone he met at my mediocre exhibition?"

"He said I don't want anything from him. That I see him as a person, not a position." You shrugged. "And apparently I'm not connected to any rival companies."

"That's... oddly specific." Priya frowned. "Like he's running from something."

A memory flashed—Jay on the rooftop garden, talking about redrawing sections of his path. The wistfulness in his voice when he mentioned roles becoming cages.

"Maybe he is," you murmured.

"Look, Y/N, this is either the strangest fantasy or the most interesting opportunity of your life." Priya grabbed your hand. "But either way, you should at least read the contract. Writer curiosity, if nothing else."

You nodded slowly. She was right. Whatever this was—elaborate joke, midlife crisis, legitimate offer—you couldn't make a decision without information.

"What about Seoul?" you asked, voicing one of the hundred practical concerns cycling through your mind. "My life is here."

"Your life is a studio apartment with questionable plumbing and editor who underpays you," Priya said bluntly. "Seoul has universal healthcare and a subway system that actually works."

"And a language I don't speak."

"And a completely fresh start, financial security, and material for that book you've been talking about writing since college." Priya squeezed your hand. "I'm not saying do it. I'm saying don't dismiss it without considering the insane possibility that this fever dream might actually be real."

Your phone pinged—a text from Jay:

No pressure on your decision. But if you'd like to discuss further, I'll be at the same restaurant tonight at 8. Whether you come or not, I enjoyed our time together.

Priya peered at the message. "Polite. Not pushy. Gives you space." She raised an eyebrow. "For a corporate shark offering a fake marriage, he's surprisingly... decent?"

"That's what makes this so confusing," you admitted. "He seems genuine, even when discussing something completely manufactured."

"Maybe that's why he thinks you'd be good at this. You're both honest about the dishonesty." Priya sat back. "So, are you going tonight?"

You stared at your phone, the mundane world of deadlines and bills momentarily suspended as you considered stepping further into whatever alternate reality Jay Park occupied.

"I guess I'll start by reading the contract," you said finally.

Priya grinned. "That's my practical journalist. Verify, then trust."

"I didn't say I trust him," you protested.

"Honey, you wouldn't have called me if you weren't already halfway to saying yes."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. She wasn't entirely wrong.

Whatever this was—fever dream or opportunity—you couldn't shake the feeling that Jay Park had seen something in you that even you hadn't recognized. Something valuable enough to upend both your worlds.

And despite every rational objection, part of you wanted to find out what it was.

-

After accepting Jay's proposal, everything moved quickly, but not without moments that made you question the purely contractual nature of your arrangement.

The first time you caught yourself actually looking at Jay—not as your contractual fiancé but as a man—was during a video call about logistics. He'd just finished a workout, answering your call in a fitted t-shirt damp with sweat, hair disheveled in a way you'd never seen before.

"Sorry for my appearance," he'd said, seemingly unaware of how the thin fabric clung to his chest and shoulders, revealing a physique usually hidden beneath perfect tailoring.

"It's fine," you'd replied, fighting to keep your eyes on his face rather than the defined muscles visible through his shirt. "We were just discussing flight details, right?"

You'd blamed your distraction on the strangeness of the situation. Just a natural reaction to an objectively attractive man. Nothing more.

-

Your Korean lessons began three weeks after you'd accepted his proposal. The language was challenging, but Jay insisted on joining occasionally, his pronunciation impeccable as he demonstrated sounds your English-trained mouth struggled to form.

"Fuck," you muttered one evening, dropping your head to the table after another failed attempt at a particularly difficult honorific. "I'm never going to get this right."

Jay looked up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. "I've never heard you swear before."

"I'm usually more professional," you admitted. "But this language is kicking my ass."

He closed his computer and moved to the chair beside you. "Try again. It's all in the tongue placement."

You made another attempt, mangling the syllables spectacularly.

"No, like this." Jay demonstrated slowly, exaggerating the mouth movement. You found yourself staring at his lips, noticing their perfect shape, the way the bottom one was slightly fuller than the top.

After your third failure, he sighed. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward your face.

You nodded, not entirely sure what he was asking permission for.

He reached out, placing his thumb gently against your lower lip. "You need to press your tongue here, behind your teeth, not against your palate."

Heat surged through you at the unexpected contact. His thumb lingered, moving slightly against your lip as he demonstrated the position. Your eyes locked, and something shifted in his expression.

"Try again," he said softly, his voice lower than before.

You attempted the word, hyperaware of his fingers still resting lightly against your jaw.

"Better," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "Almost there."

The air between you thickened. His hand should have moved away by now. It hadn't.

"Jay," you said, barely audible. Not a question, just an acknowledgment of whatever was happening.

For a moment, you thought he might lean in. Instead, he blinked and withdrew his hand, clearing his throat.

"That's enough for today," he said briskly, returning to his original seat. "You're making progress."

But that night, alone in your room, you caught yourself touching your own lip where his thumb had been, replaying the moment when his professional demeanor had briefly cracked.

-

Three weeks in, during dinner at a restaurant in Tribeca, Jay brought up the public aspects of your arrangement.

"We need to discuss how we'll appear as a couple," he said, his tone practical but not cold. "Physical boundaries. Forms of address."

"Like pet names?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Exactly." He seemed relieved you understood. "In Korea, especially in my position, excessive public displays would seem inappropriate. But certain... intimacies are expected between engaged couples."

"So hand-holding, yes. Making out in boardrooms, no." Your joke earned a genuine smile from him.

"Precisely." He hesitated, then added with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "And regarding names..."

"What do people usually call you? Besides Jay or Mr. Park?"

His expression shifted subtly. "My mother calls me Jongseong. Business associates use Mr. Park. No one has ever used anything... affectionate."

The admission felt strangely vulnerable coming from him.

"What would you be comfortable with?" you asked.

His eyes met yours directly. "I've always thought 'babe' or 'baby' seemed... nice. Natural." The words seemed difficult for him to say, as if admitting to a secret preference. "But only if it feels comfortable for you."

The request surprised you – this controlled, strategic man wanting something so ordinary, so human.

"I can try that," you said, watching as relief softened his features. "Might take practice to say it without feeling weird, though."

"We have time to practice," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

-

Shopping for your new wardrobe didn't happen in a fairy tale montage. Instead, it involved practical discussions of events you'd attend, climate considerations, and cultural norms.

"These social signifiers matter to my family," Jay explained as you examined a designer dress that cost more than your rent. "But your comfort matters to me."

"To our arrangement," you corrected gently.

He paused, meeting your eyes. "Yes. And to me personally."

The statement hung between you, neither acknowledged nor dismissed as you continued through the high-end boutique. The personal shopper brought Jay a selection of suits to try as well, and despite your best intentions, you found yourself watching as he emerged from the fitting room in each new outfit.

The last one—a charcoal gray suit cut to perfection—made you momentarily forget the contract entirely. The tailor knelt, making adjustments to the trousers while Jay stood in front of a three-way mirror. The jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the tailored pants fitting perfectly across his ass.

You didn't realize you were staring until Jay's eyes met yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising slightly. You quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks at being caught.

When you glanced back, the corner of his mouth had lifted in a small, satisfied smile.

-

Your parents were understandably shocked by the engagement announcement. The video call with them and Jay could have been disastrous, but he navigated it with surprising warmth.

"I understand this seems sudden," he told them, his formal demeanor softened. "I value your daughter's independence and perspective. Those qualities are rare in my world."

Later, alone, your mother had texted: "He's careful with his words around you. Watches how you react. Not sure if that's good or concerning."

"Still deciding," you'd replied honestly.

Six weeks after your agreement, you found yourself helping Jay pack for Seoul in his hotel suite, the reality of what you'd committed to finally sinking in.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, noticing your silence.

"Seventh or eighth, at least," you admitted.

You expected a strategic reassurance. Instead, he sat beside you on the edge of the bed, not touching but close.

"I have them too," he said quietly. "This arrangement... it's unusual for both of us."

"You seem so certain about everything."

"I'm certain about what I'm avoiding," he clarified. "Less certain about what we're building."

The honesty was refreshing. Not romance, but genuine transparency.

"Let's try something," you suggested. "Just to see how it feels."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You cleared your throat, feeling slightly ridiculous. "Could you pass me that folder... babe?"

The pet name hung awkwardly between you. Jay blinked, then a small, genuine smile formed.

"Here you go," he replied, handing you the folder, then hesitating before adding a tentative, "...babe."

You both laughed at the strangeness of it, the tension breaking.

"That was terrible," you admitted.

"Catastrophic," he agreed, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "But it will get easier."

It was the first time you'd seen him truly laugh. Something shifted subtly between you – not love or even attraction necessarily, but the foundation of something human and real beneath the contractual arrangement.

Eight weeks after the proposal, you boarded his family's private jet bound for Seoul.

As the plane leveled off, Jay handed you a thin folder. "Key family members and dynamics. Not a test, just preparation."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding that you wanted to succeed at this, whatever "this" was becoming.

"Thank you," you said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, added, "...baby."

It still felt strange, but less forced. Jay's expression softened in response.

"You're welcome," he replied, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been during those first calculated conversations weeks ago.

Neither of you were in love. That wasn't part of the contract. But as the plane carried you toward Seoul, there was a growing sense that whatever performance awaited might be built on something more substantial than just legal terms.

Not romance, not yet. But a partnership forming its own unique shape – part strategy, part genuine connection, and all uncharted territory.

-

Arriving in Seoul felt like stepping into another dimension. A fleet of black SUVs with tinted windows. Security personnel with earpieces. Photographers kept at a careful distance by a team of efficient PR staff.

"Ready?" Jay asked quietly, his hand finding yours as the plane door opened.

You nodded, though "ready" seemed an absurd concept for what awaited.

The moment you stepped onto Korean soil, Jay transformed—his posture impeccable, his smile exactly the right blend of pride and discretion. His arm slid around your waist, protective but not possessive.

"Perfect," he murmured, his lips close to your ear. "Just like that."

The performance had begun.

to be continued.

-

Taglist: : @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @zzhengyu @naurwayyyyy @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @dearestdreamies @heeheeyeoiizz01 @heewhoresimp @floweryjessy @jaeyunsbimbo @cutehoons02 @deluluscenarios @bubbletaeq @lamin143

[yuwuta]

satoru physically withers and crumbles every time you return his belongings. he doesn’t know how to tell you that he can only accidentally on purpose leave his glasses on your nightstand, or his jacket on your couch, or his shirt in your laundry so many times before he loses his mind. every time you don’t take he bait, he folds into himself and wonders why you don’t love him anymore and it costs him $22.50 to hear ieiri tell him to suck it up and use his words because he literally has to buy her company (and drinks).

but when you do take the bait, when you do wear his things, satoru thinks it’s all worth it. he can’t explain why it does what it does to him. it’s a sinister kind of possession he wants to have over you, knowing you’re your own person, free to do as you please, but also knowing you’re caged in him. it’s a lovesick kind of gooeyness that melts his heart seeing you fumble with the sleeves of a sweater that’s too long for you. it’s the vision of you seeing you drowning in him—in his clothes, in his things, in him, in him, in him. he’s selfish, he wants to consume you in as many ways as possible, wants you to drown in him, would die happily knowing you were one tenth as enraptured by him as he is with you. he doesn’t know how or why or when you gained so much power over him, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want you to ever stop, so if he has to keep pretending to leave his clothes and bags and glasses around then so be it.

[chososchalupa]

Game Night //

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

shigaraki x reader

College AU/No quirks/SMAU with a splash of writing

masterlist

ch.4

ch. 6

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Chapter five : A thing?!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Taglist :

@boogiemansbitch @lunamoonbby @ggriwm @johnnysactualgf @atomicweaselpaperapricot @puppyminnnie @nymphsdomain @asura-rose @apolloism @qsheepy @uhnanix @themultifandomgirl

[h00nerz]

power up!

pairing: huening kai x fem!reader (+ slight choi soobin x fem!reader)

genre: comedy, fluff, non idol!au, streamer!au

summary: since you started your career as a streamer, you’ve had a massive crush on a bigger creator, choi soobin. in an effort to get close to him, you go to one of his best friends for help winning over his heart. what you don’t know is his best friend has a great big crush on you, and is prepared to foil any attempts you have to get with soobin.

characters: txt, itzy’s ryujin and yuna, skz’s felix, kep1er’s huening bahiyyih and hikaru, lsfm’s eunchae, and more i’m sure.

status: discontinued :(

warnings: profanities, kms/kys jokes, really stupid people, will add more in individual parts

profiles:

the better dream team 😍

eunchae and friends 👺

tubatu 🗣️

table of contents:

preview

01 — the one where y/n finds her victim

02 —the one where beomgyu loves woman

tag list (open send an ask to join!): @jakeshands @ughsoobin @robinsluva @blaaiissee @hyuk4ngel @yeonboy @naveries @tocupid @mjlasagna @lunaavity @dewyboi @vianna99 @exohclipse @ttyunz @i1l0-n4 @mazeinthemoon @luvsoobs @n0-thisispatrick @arizzu @huckleberrykai @222brainrot @heartsforhyunjin @destairea @owotalks @loveliii @haohyo @cowsmicwu @heavenhannie @beomsbeanie @blamemef0rit @soobhns @haechansbbg @mackjestic @wonioml @alyssajavenss @koala-wonderland @n034sy @tr0p1cal @luvtyunn @iad0ru @forevrglow @snawvie @chaerybae @lunavixia

author’s note: yasss hyuka smau!!! my sweet sweet boy this fic is just gonna be silly and everyone in it will probably be stupid but that’s how all of my smau’s are so who’s really surprised?? anyways i’m not sure when i’ll officially start posting this but join the tag list so you don’t miss it when i do!!

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 06. standing on business (vlog boycott)

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[jayujus]

BANANA - CHAPTER 21

— 21 : the power of a rotten banana

prev | m.list

KAIA'S NOTE THANK U SO MUCHH FOR READING i cant believe its finally over 😭😭😭💔💔💔 this took so long unnecessarily but i appreciate everyone of you who tuned in for wony/n! ♥️♥️

TAGLIST (CLOSED) @yourmyst4r @nhularin @awkwardtoafault @yoontoonwhs @lesleepyyy @gyuudai @kimsgayness @pandafuriosa60 @wonqr @pkjay @rikislady @siasseltzers @sewiouslyz @jisooftme @jeindall777 @solarwoniii @soulphoenix1618 @elysianeclipxe @yerisdumbass @chichiuu @haechansbbg @ryujinbrat @m111nho @yunwonie @sserajeans

copyright © jayujus 2023 all rights reserved

[uzmacchiato]

♡ CUSTOM DIVIDERS !! ♡ -

CHAINSAWMAN -

Characters Edition Dividers

Please give credits !

♡ Divider requests open. ♡ I'm taking requests through asks. ♡ Please be patient with me. ♡ I will provide you with a number of divider ideas that i can come up with.

IMPORTANT : If you use these dividers please tag @uzmacchiato for credit. Posts without credit will be reported.

➡️ Masterlist ✨

➡️ JJK Characters Dividers ✨

Aki :

Denji :

Power :

Makima :

Asa :

(To be added...)

Yoshida :

(To be added...)

. Please don't use without providing credits to the account mentioned above.

[adhdmeds]

CSM SMAU: The Beginning

Synopsis: Makima made a group chat for Special Division 4 including the reader. Cast: Denji, Aki, Kobeni, Himeno, Power, and Makima Notes: This is my first SMAU, which will end up being a series having its own lore. I will make separate SMAUs for separate characters. This is just me experimenting ig. ALSO feel free to request any SMAU ideas you'd like to see with some limitations ofc.

[1-800reki]

Chapter 11: One last time! (Epilogue)

LAST CHAPTER :3

pairing: kenma x gn reader (FOR THE FINAL TIME GOLLY)\

masterlist | Error! No new chapter found!

"KENMA!!"

Kuroo's voice yelled from the entrance of the doorway. You had invited Kuroo over since he was begging to. He hasn't seen Kenma after you and him got married. He wanted to see his best friend and his best friend's spouse!

"Be quiet Kuroo. Kenma's streaming right now." You scolded him and closed the door behind him. "Oh... sorry not sorry!" Kuroo said scratching his head as he walked inside. "Yeah..." You say with a mutter. You led him to where Kenma's streaming room was and knocked gently on the door.

"Come in," Kenma's voice echoed from the room. You open the door to see that he is doing a hand cam stream. He turned around and smiled slightly at the sight of you but then frowned when he saw Kuroo. "Why is he here?" Kenma asked in playful disdain as Kuroo rolled his eyes.

"You love me! Finish your stream so we can talk!" Kuroo said putting his hands on his hips. Kenma gave you a look, to which you nodded and started to push Kuroo out of the room. "Come on, I'll make you something to eat." You said closing the door so Kenma could finish his stream.

A few minutes pass and Kenma walks back to where you and Kuroo were sitting. "I finished," He said before Kuroo tackled him. "Hi, my best friend ever!" Kuroo said as Kenma groaned. "Get off me fattie!" Kenma said trying to get Kuroo off him. Kuroo gasped and got off him.

"Tuh... rude. Man, Y/n get your husband.." Kuroo said using you as a shield to protect himself from Kenma. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Why are you here Kuroo?" Kenma asked with slight annoyance and amusement. "Oh yeah! Heh, guess what? You get to babysit today! Here you go! Here's her binky! She goes to bed at 3 pm for her nap! Bye!" Kuroo said dropping his daughter, Tani, in your arms and giving Kenma the essentials before leaving.

"Where did she even come from?" You ask looking at the baby girl in your arms. "Seriously? Whatever. It's already 2:30." Kenma said with a sigh looking at the time. This was going to be a long time. Especially since Kuroo didn't specify what time he was coming back.

/Time Skip!\

"I'm back-!" Kuroo said slamming the door open before stopping himself. He saw you, Kenma, and Tani cuddled up on the couch. Kenma's arms were around you, you were curled up to his chest, and Tani watched TV blissfully. "Aw, the two non-parents are tuckered out! Come on Tani. Let's go back before Mommy gets mad at us again." Kuroo said gently taking his daughter, wrote a quick note, and gently left the house.

taglist!: @sugurumybeloved , @frootloopscos, @walllflowerrrsss, @thatgirlsstar,, @abzyissupersleepy , @kodzubaby, @sukido0kie

I got sick again bro what the freak.

ANYWAY THAT CONCLUDES POWER UP >0<

[yoruuuuuuu12345]

— welcome stinkabutts to my fabulous blog

| about me: my name is katya, i’m 19, and i have a son his name is megumi fushiguro

[moonjellyfishshark]

Leaving csm characters on delivered to see what happens

Characters : aki, power, & denji

🪽＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚[𝑚 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡]˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊🪽

Authors note : HELLLLOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! MB I HAD TO FIX DENJI'S..... Idk what to put for here once again so what's your favorite fruit?

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•..•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•..•*•.•*

..........━━━━━━。゜✿ฺ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝐞𝐧𝐝 ✿ฺ゜。━━━━━━..........

♡𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚!!!!!!♡

ᰔbyeeeeᰔ - 𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒊 (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓

[enhaflixer]

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 2

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC PART ONE HERE

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

WC: 11K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

-

Your first meeting with the Parks was not what you expected.

Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, welcomed you in her minimalist office overlooking Seoul's skyline. Everything about the space proclaimed power—floor-to-ceiling windows, a desk carved from a single slab of marble, carefully curated art pieces that probably cost more than your entire education.

The woman herself matched her surroundings—elegant, precise, every silver-streaked hair perfectly in place. Her handshake was firm, her assessment clinical as she gestured for you to sit.

"So," she began without preamble, "you are the woman who captured my son's attention where so many have failed."

You felt Jay tense beside you. This was your first test.

"I believe we captured each other's attention, Mrs. Park," you replied evenly. "Sometimes connection happens where you least expect it."

Something flickered in her eyes—not warmth exactly, but perhaps respect.

Her questions were direct bordering on invasive. Your education. Your family background. Your career trajectory. With each answer, you maintained the same calm directness, refusing to be intimidated despite the butterflies in your stomach.

When she asked about your professional goals, you surprised yourself with your honesty.

"Journalism lets me uncover truths others miss," you said. "I value authenticity, even when it's uncomfortable."

"Authenticity," she repeated, glancing at her son. "A rare quality in our circles."

"That's what drew me to Y/N," Jay interjected, his hand finding yours. "Her perspective is... refreshing."

Chairwoman Park studied your joined hands for a moment. "You understand, of course, that marrying into the Park family comes with considerable scrutiny. Your life will not be your own."

"With respect, Chairwoman," you countered, "my life will always be my own. I'm choosing to share it with your son and, by extension, your family. But I won't disappear inside the Park name."

A loaded silence followed. Jay's grip tightened on yours—whether in warning or support, you couldn't tell.

Then, unexpectedly, Chairwoman Park smiled. Not broadly, but genuinely.

"Good," she said simply. "Jongseong needs someone who won't vanish into his shadow. Come, I'll show you to your quarters myself."

As she led you through the compound, Jay fell into step beside you, an almost imperceptible furrow between his brows.

"My mother never personally shows guests to their rooms," he whispered. "That's what staff is for."

"Should I be concerned?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But I think she might actually like you."

The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

Your suite was breathtaking—traditional Korean elements blended with modern luxury. Adjacent to Jay's quarters but with your own entrance, exactly as promised in your contract.

"These were my grandmother's rooms," Jay explained after his mother left. "No one has used them since she passed. Not even guests."

"Is that significant?"

"Extremely. My grandmother was the family matriarch. The only person my mother genuinely respected." He ran his hand along an intricately carved wooden screen. "This is... unexpected."

-

That word—"unexpected"—became the theme of your first week in Seoul.

At family dinners, Jay's father questioned you extensively about American business practices, not dismissively but with genuine interest in your perspective. His uncle, who reportedly spoke only Korean in business settings on principle, made efforts to converse with you in English while praising your attempts at Korean phrases.

Most surprisingly, Jay's cousin Danny—initially the most skeptical about your sudden appearance—appointed himself your unofficial cultural guide.

"The press will tear you apart if you make certain mistakes," he explained, showing you how to properly pour drinks for elders and which honorifics to use with which family members. "Better you learn from family than from a public relations disaster."

Family. The word kept surfacing in unexpected contexts.

"Y/N is family now," Jay's father announced when authorizing your access to the private family wing of Park Industries headquarters. "She'll need to understand our operations."

"Family chooses wine together," his aunt insisted, inviting you to help select vintages for the wedding reception.

"Family protects its own," his mother stated when she discovered paparazzi had obtained your old address in New York. She immediately dispatched security to ensure your apartment was secure and your subletting friend undisturbed.

It was Danny who finally explained what was happening.

"They're closing ranks around you," he said during an impromptu shopping trip for traditional Korean accessories. "Not because they necessarily believe this whirlwind romance—"

"But they're acting like they do," you interjected, confused.

"Because Jay chose you," Danny said simply. "That's enough. If you're his, you're ours. The Pack protects its members."

"The Pack?"

"Family nickname. Not very subtle, I know." He grinned. "But accurate. We Parks might fight among ourselves, but against outsiders, we're unified."

You found yourself surprised by the Parks' fierce protectiveness. From Danny's explanations about family loyalty, it seemed at odds with the cutthroat business world they dominated.

Later, during a rare moment alone with Jay in the garden, you broached the subject.

"Your family is so... unified," you observed. "Different from what I expected."

Jay's expression turned pensive. "The Parks protect their own. That's always been the rule."

"And yet you seemed shocked by how they've embraced me."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at the stone path. "I've seen another side of them. In business, loyalty can shift suddenly when interests change. I've witnessed how quickly protection can turn to abandonment."

Something in his voice suggested personal experience—a wound not fully healed.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," you ventured carefully.

His jaw tightened. "Just cautious. The business world has taught me that today's allies can become tomorrow's executioners without warning."

He fell silent, tension radiating from his shoulders. Without thinking, you reached for his hand.

"Well, you have me now," you said softly. "And I don't abandon contracts halfway through."

His smile was hesitant but real. "That may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, Y/N."

"I try, baby," you replied, the endearment slipping out more naturally now.

The moment lingered between you—not quite romantic, but something deeper than your initial arrangement had suggested. You couldn't help wondering what experience had made him so wary of sudden betrayal, even from his own family.

Later, alone in your suite, Jay paced like a caged tiger.

"Something's not right," he muttered. "I've never seen my mother compromise like this."

"Maybe she genuinely approves of me?" you suggested, curled in a window seat overlooking the compound's gardens. "Unlike whoever she was planning to match you with before."

"Perhaps." He didn't sound convinced. "But my mother never yields on guest lists. Never. It's unprecedented."

"Is that concerning?"

He stopped pacing, his expression thoughtful. "Unexpected, certainly. But advantageous. They're accepting you more readily than I anticipated."

"Your romantic soul overwhelms me," you teased gently.

His expression softened as he looked at you. "Sorry. Corporate strategy is my default setting."

"I've noticed, baby. It's almost endearing now."

The pet name made him smile every time—a small, private reaction that felt like a victory.

-

Three weeks before the wedding, as preparations reached fever pitch, Jay found you in your suite's private garden—your sanctuary when the pressure of performing became too intense.

"We need to discuss the honeymoon," he said without preamble, settling beside you on the stone bench.

You'd been wondering when this would come up. The wedding night and subsequent honeymoon had loomed in your thoughts—unspoken questions about proximity and expectations.

"Bali," he continued, consulting his tablet. "Private villa, secluded beach, minimal staff. I've arranged separate bedrooms, of course."

"Of course," you echoed, trying to identify the strange emotion that fluttered in your chest. Disappointment? Surely not.

"Two weeks is standard for executives of my position," he added, scrolling through details. "The villa has separate office spaces so we can both work when needed. Full security team, but stationed distantly for privacy."

"It sounds... well-planned."

Jay looked up, studying your expression. "But?"

You hesitated. "Nothing. It's appropriate for our arrangement."

He set down the tablet, turning to face you more directly. "Y/N, by now you should know you can speak freely with me."

"It's just... very businesslike," you admitted. "Which is fine. That's what this is."

Something shifted in his expression. "It is business," he agreed. "But after these weeks together, perhaps also... more than just business."

The admission hung between you, neither fully acknowledged nor dismissed.

"People will expect certain behaviors," he continued after a moment. "Public affection. Shared meals. The appearance of... intimacy."

Your mouth went dry. "You mean..."

"Nothing beyond your comfort," he clarified quickly. "But enough to convince the staff, who will inevitably report back to my family and, by extension, the press."

"Right. Our ongoing performance." You nodded, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "I can handle looking... in love."

Was it your imagination, or did his eyes linger on your lips before he glanced away?

"There's also the wedding night," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt has been secured. Very private, but hotel staff notice everything. Champagne that goes untouched. Beds that aren't slept in."

A blush crept up your neck despite your best efforts. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"Nothing inappropriate," he assured you, though his own complexion seemed warmer than usual. "Just... awareness that appearance matters. The illusion of consummation without the actual act."

"Rumpled sheets and champagne glasses," you summarized, aiming for a clinical tone. "The suggestion of intimacy without crossing boundaries."

His gaze met yours, something unreadable in his expression. "Unless specified otherwise in a future amendment to our arrangement."

Your breath caught. "An amendment?"

"The contract allows for mutual revisions when both parties agree," he said carefully. "I'm simply acknowledging that... feelings can evolve. Expectations may shift over time."

The implication was clear—if physical boundaries changed between you, the option existed to formalize that evolution.

Your heart raced traitorously. "I'll consider the amendment possibility," you replied, matching his professional tone while heat bloomed low in your abdomen.

"Good," he said softly. "That's... good."

A weighted silence fell between you, charged with possibility.

"I should check on the security arrangements," he said finally, rising from the bench. At the garden entrance, he paused. "Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens or doesn't happen, you have my respect. Always."

After he left, you sat in the garden until twilight, wondering how a false engagement had led to what might be the most honest relationship you'd ever experienced.

-

The photoshoot among cherry blossoms marked a turning point. What began as another staged display of affection shifted when the photographer positioned you against a tree, Jay's body pressed against yours from behind.

"Kiss her neck," the photographer instructed. "Like you can't resist her."

Jay hesitated, then lowered his mouth to the sensitive spot below your ear. The touch of his lips sent electricity down your spine. You couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped you—one that had nothing to do with performance.

His arms tightened around your waist in response, and you felt him inhale sharply against your skin.

"Now turn and kiss properly," the photographer demanded. "Passionate but elegant."

You turned in Jay's arms, expecting the usual carefully controlled press of lips—three seconds, no movement, just enough for the camera.

Instead, when your mouths met, his lips parted immediately. Without thinking, you responded in kind, your hand sliding into his hair as the kiss deepened. His groan, too quiet for anyone else to hear, was undeniably real. Seven seconds stretched to ten before you separated, both breathing harder than the situation warranted.

"Perfect!" The photographer exclaimed. "The chemistry is explosive!"

In the car afterward, heavy silence hung between you.

"That was..." you began.

"Convincing," Jay finished, his knuckles white on his knee. "Very convincing."

But that night, sleep proved elusive as you replayed the feeling of his mouth against yours, his hands tightening on your waist, the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressed against you during that brief moment.

-

The final wedding rehearsal was scheduled for exactly one week before the ceremony—a full dress run-through to coordinate the complex choreography of family processions, ceremonial exchanges, and media moments.

You stood in the bride's preparation room, attendants adjusting the simplified version of your wedding hanbok, when commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Sharp voices in Korean—too fast for your intermediate skills to follow, but the tension was unmistakable.

Danny appeared at the door, his expression tense. "Small situation. Nothing to worry about."

"What kind of situation?" you asked, recognizing the forced casualness in his tone.

He hesitated. "Unexpected guest. Jay's handling it."

Before you could press further, the door opened again. Jay entered, his face a carefully composed mask that didn't quite hide the tension around his eyes.

"Everything okay?" you asked.

"Perfect," he replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just a minor protocol issue."

He was lying. After weeks together, you'd learned to read the subtle tells in his expression—the slight tightening around his mouth, the barely perceptible furrow between his brows.

"Babe, come on.."

He met your gaze, then sighed. "We should speak privately."

Once the attendants had been dismissed, he took your hands in his.

"Seraphina Visconti has arrived in Seoul," he said without preamble. "Apparently for a 'routine business meeting' with Korean shipping companies."

Your stomach tightened at his expression. Though he'd never mentioned this woman before, his reaction told you everything you needed to know. This was someone significant. Someone threatening.

"Who is she?" you asked directly.

Jay hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The daughter of an Italian shipping magnate. Her family has been trying to establish business connections with Park Industries for some time."

There was more to the story. Much more, judging by the tension radiating from him.

"And?" you prompted.

"And at one point, she was someone my mother considered a suitable match for me." His jaw tightened. "Her arrival, one week before our wedding, can't be coincidence."

Understanding dawned. "She was a candidate. Before me."

"Yes." Something dark flickered in his eyes. "The Visconti connection would have been... strategically valuable."

"But you chose me instead," you said slowly. "And now she's here to what? Object at the ceremony?"

"The Viscontis don't give up valuable connections easily," he replied grimly. "If they can't secure a Park alliance through marriage..."

"They'll seek another inroad," you finished. "Business partnerships, friendships, however they can get close to your family."

He nodded. "She's requested a meeting with my mother tomorrow. To 'extend congratulations' on my engagement."

The subtext was clear. This woman represented exactly the kind of strategic alliance Jay had been so determined to avoid when he proposed to you. Her presence was a direct challenge to your arrangement.

"What do we do?" you asked.

Jay's expression hardened with determination. "We proceed exactly as planned. But we must be extra vigilant. Seraphina is... persuasive. She can make fiction sound like fact and manipulation feel like coincidence."

You squeezed his hands, an unexpected protectiveness surging through you. "I'm not going anywhere, Jay. Remember, I keep my contracts."

Something flickered in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or something deeper.

"There's something else you should know," he said quietly. "Seraphina and I... we had some history. Brief, but potentially something she might leverage."

"I understand," you assured him, an unexpected pang of something like jealousy surfacing. "You don't need to explain."

"No, I do." His grip tightened. "Because there was never anything real between us. It was strategic on both sides. But with you..." He paused, seeming to search for words. "With you, the strategy has become... complicated."

Your pulse quickened. "Complicated how?"

Before he could answer, a knock interrupted the moment. Danny again, looking apologetic.

"Sorry to disturb, but she's here. At the rehearsal. Somehow she convinced the event coordinator she was on the guest list."

Jay's expression darkened. "Of course she did."

He turned back to you, his gaze intense. "Stay close to me. Don't let her isolate you or my family members. She's skilled at creating divisions."

You nodded, a strange mix of anxiety and determination rising within you. "I'm ready."

"Y/N," he said softly, bringing your hand to his lips in a gesture that felt more genuine than performative. "Thank you for being here. For being real."

As you stepped into the hallway together, his arm protectively around your waist, you couldn't help wondering what Jay wasn't telling you about this woman—and why her arrival had shaken him so deeply.

Something bigger was happening beneath the surface of your arrangement. Something Jay was keeping from you.

And for the first time since accepting his proposal, you wondered if there were secrets within your contract that might eventually tear it apart.

-

The rehearsals for the wedding ceremony required hours of practice—precise movements, timed responses, careful choreography. Two weeks before the wedding, after yet another exhausting day of preparations, you found yourself alone with Jay in the family's private study, reviewing final details.

"If I have to make one more decision about fucking flower arrangements, I might lose my mind," you groaned, kicking off your heels and curling into the corner of the leather sofa.

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his public chuckle. "The Parks have been arranging strategic marriages for generations, but I doubt any of my ancestors had to choose between thirteen different shades of white roses."

"Is that what we're doing? A strategic marriage?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

His smile faded. "That was the agreement."

"I know what the agreement was," you said, studying him. "I'm asking what we're doing now."

The question hung between you, dangerous in its directness.

Jay moved to the bar cart, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to you, then sat beside you on the sofa—closer than necessary. You found your eyes drawn to the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders as he leaned back, the top button undone revealing just a hint of collarbone. When had you started noticing these details?

"I don't know anymore," he admitted, the rare honesty catching you off guard. "This has become...complicated."

You took a sip, welcoming the burn. "Because of the kiss?"

"Which one?" The question surprised you both. He continued quickly, "The photographer. The press appearance last week. The practice for the ceremony. We've kissed numerous times."

"You know which one I mean."

His eyes met yours over the rim of his glass. "Yes. I do."

Another silence, this one charged with possibility.

"We could try again," you suggested, your heart hammering. "Without the photographer. Without the audience. Just to... clarify things."

Jay set his glass down carefully. "That would be crossing a line."

"We drew those lines. We can redraw them."

He studied you, his expression guarded. "Why would you want to?"

"Because I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything when you touch me," you answered honestly. "Because I'm curious if whatever happened during that kiss was real or just... heightened performance."

"It was real," he said quietly. "At least for me."

The admission hung in the air between you, neither advancing nor retreating from it.

"So?" you prompted.

He exhaled slowly. "So this is dangerous territory. Emotions complicate strategy."

"Fuck the strategy," you said, setting your own glass down. "Just for a minute. Just be Jay, not Park Jongseong with his perfect plans."

Something shifted in his eyes—the careful calculation giving way to something darker, more urgent. His hand moved to your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone in a touch too intimate for strategy.

"If I kiss you now," he said, voice low, "it won't be like the others."

"Good." You held his gaze steadily. "I don't want it to be."

He closed the distance between you slowly, deliberately—giving you time to retreat. You didn't.

His lips met yours, and immediately you understood the difference. This wasn't performance. This was hunger—controlled, but barely. His hand slid into your hair, cradling your head as the kiss deepened. You moved closer, your hand finding his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath expensive fabric.

When his tongue traced the seam of your lips, you opened to him willingly, a small sound escaping your throat. He groaned in response, the arm around your waist tightening, pulling you half onto his lap.

The kiss turned desperate, months of controlled touches and careful boundaries dissolving under the heat of genuine desire. His hand moved to your thigh, sliding upward beneath the hem of your dress, fingers tracing patterns on sensitive skin.

"We should stop," he murmured against your mouth, even as his hand continued its upward path.

"Probably," you agreed, making no move to pull away. Instead, you shifted fully onto his lap, straddling him. The position brought you into direct contact with unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

"Fuck," he hissed, his composure fracturing further. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you into a slow, deliberate movement against him.

The friction was exquisite even through layers of clothing. You tangled your fingers in his perfect hair, destroying hours of careful styling as you deepened the kiss.

His mouth moved to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below your ear. "Tell me to stop," he said against your skin, his breath hot. "Tell me this isn't what you want."

In answer, you rolled your hips more firmly against his, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

"I want this," you breathed. "I want you."

His control snapped. In one fluid movement, he had you on your back on the sofa, his weight deliciously heavy as he settled between your thighs. His mouth reclaimed yours with new urgency, one hand sliding higher under your dress, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.

A sudden noise in the hallway outside—a staff member passing by—broke the spell. Jay froze, then slowly pulled away, his breathing ragged.

You both stared at each other, the reality of what had almost happened settling between you.

"That was..." he began, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

"Definitely not in the contract," you finished, adjusting your disheveled clothing.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "No. It wasn't."

"Do you regret it?" You had to know.

He considered for a moment, straightening his tie with hands not quite steady. "I regret the interruption," he said finally. "Not the action."

Something warm unfurled in your chest. "So what now?"

"Now we should probably get some sleep." He stood, offering his hand to help you up. "Separately," he clarified, though the reluctance in his voice was evident.

You nodded, accepting his help. As you stood, he didn't immediately release your hand.

"This changes things," he said quietly.

"Yes." There was no denying it.

"We should discuss it. Tomorrow, when we're both thinking more clearly."

But tomorrow brought a crisis with the venue. The day after, an issue with security arrangements. Each evening ended with meaningful glances and careful distance—both of you acutely aware of the shift but unable to find the right moment to address it.

The unresolved tension built with each passing day, each careful touch that lingered too long, each glance that held too much promise.

-

The wedding was a masterpiece of carefully orchestrated moments—traditional Korean ceremony in the morning, Western exchange of vows at sunset, both executed with flawless precision despite Seraphina's strategic presence in the third row.

Throughout both ceremonies, Jay maintained perfect composure, his hand steady as he placed the ring on your finger, his voice unwavering as he recited vows that sounded surprisingly heartfelt for a contractual arrangement.

"I choose you," he said, his eyes holding yours with unexpected intensity. "Above all others, against all expectations, I choose you."

Only you noticed the way his gaze flickered briefly toward Seraphina when he spoke the words.

At the reception, she approached with practiced grace, champagne flute in hand and calculated warmth in her smile.

"Such a...surprising match," she said, air-kissing your cheek. "Jay never mentioned you during our time together in Europe."

"Some connections don't need public announcement to be meaningful," you replied smoothly, feeling Jay's hand tighten at your waist.

Her smile never faltered. "How fortunate that his mother's plans changed so suddenly. We all thought—" She laughed lightly. "Well, it hardly matters now."

Before you could respond, she turned to Jay. "Your uncle mentioned the Hanjin merger is progressing. Fascinating choice, considering."

Something shifted in Jay's expression—fear, barely controlled.

"If you'll excuse us," he said abruptly, "my wife and I should greet the ambassador."

He guided you away with uncharacteristic urgency, his composure fractured.

"What was that about?" you whispered.

"Nothing. Just Seraphina being Seraphina." But his eyes kept scanning the room, tracking her movements like someone monitoring a bomb.

-

The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt was everything Jay had promised—lavish, private, with discreet staff who delivered champagne then vanished.

Yet the tension from the reception followed you. Jay paced by the windows, making calls in rapid Korean, his tone increasingly agitated.

When he finally ended the last call, you confronted him directly.

"What's going on? And don't say 'nothing' again."

He stared at you for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression.

"I need to check something at the office," he said finally. "A document that shouldn't exist."

"Shouldn't exist?" You frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I'll explain when I return." He was already reaching for his jacket. "Please, Y/N. This is important."

"It's our wedding night!"

"I know." He paused at the door, genuine regret in his eyes. "Two hours, maximum. Then I'll tell you everything."

After he left, you paced the suite, frustration mounting. Whatever game he was playing with Seraphina clearly went deeper than corporate rivalry.

On impulse, you opened his laptop—the one he always kept with him, password protected and closed whenever you approached.

The password prompt glowed accusingly. You tried his birthdate. Access denied. His mother's name. Access denied.

Then, on a hunch: YN-contract-date.

The screen unlocked, revealing dozens of folders meticulously labeled and dated. One caught your eye: "Original Timeline - Evidence."

Heart pounding, you clicked it open.

News articles. Court documents. Photos of Jay looking years older, haggard, defeated.

A marriage announcement with Jay and Seraphina, dated three years earlier.

Headlines about corporate espionage, Jay's disgrace, his removal from Park Industries—all dated years in the future.

The room seemed to tilt as you opened a video file.

It showed Jay—older, with strands of gray at his temples—standing in an empty apartment, speaking directly to the camera.

"If you're watching this, it worked," the Jay in the video said. "I don't know if the consciousness transfer will be complete or if I'll remember everything, so I'm recording key details. The Hanjin merger is the trigger point. Seraphina orchestrated everything through her connection with Chairman Kang..."

He continued methodically outlining his downfall, his eventual disgrace, names and dates and evidence.

"Time travel is theoretically impossible," he concluded. "But so is the pain of having your entire life stripped away in a single day. If there's any chance of preventing it..."

The video ended abruptly.

You stared at the dark screen, heart racing. Time travel? Consciousness transfer? Future knowledge?

"I'm losing my mind," you whispered to the empty room.

You closed the laptop, then opened it again, half expecting the folders to be gone. They weren't.

Maybe this was an elaborate fiction—research for some project, a game, a psychological exercise. Because time travel couldn't be real. That would mean...

The implications made your head swim. That would mean Jay had known about meeting you at the gallery before it happened. That he'd orchestrated everything—your meeting, your relationship, your marriage—as part of some grand design to change a future that had already happened.

It would mean everything between you was calculated, predetermined, false.

"No." You shook your head. "This isn't real."

But the evidence on the screen didn't vanish. Future dates. Future events. Things that hadn't happened yet detailed with journalistic precision.

By the time Jay returned, you'd gone through half the champagne and were sitting on the floor, back against the bed, laptop open beside you.

"Y/N." He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. "What are you doing?"

"Having a psychotic break, apparently." You gestured vaguely at the laptop. "Either that or marrying a time traveler. I'm not sure which is more concerning."

His face drained of color. "I can explain."

"Explain what? That you're from the future?" You laughed, a brittle sound. "That's literally insane, Jay. I'm insane for even considering it."

He approached slowly, as if you were a frightened animal. "You're not insane."

"Then you're saying it's true? That you—what? Traveled back in time to avoid marrying Seraphina? To prevent some corporate disaster?" The words sounded ridiculous as you spoke them. "Do you realize how that sounds?"

"I know it sounds impossible." He knelt in front of you, keeping a careful distance. "But you've seen the evidence."

"I've seen elaborate fiction. Or I'm hallucinating. Because time travel isn't real." You ran your hands through your hair. "People don't just wake up five years in the past with a chance to redo everything."

"I didn't think it was possible either." His voice was steady, gentle. "Until it happened."

"So what am I to you?" The question escaped before you could stop it. "A convenient pawn in your time-travel chess game? A random variable you introduced to change your precious timeline?"

Pain flashed across his face. "Initially? Yes. I sought you out deliberately at the gallery. I remembered our brief conversation from my original life, and you seemed...perfect. Outside my world. Beyond manipulation."

The confirmation hurt more than you expected. "So you manufactured everything. Our relationship. Our connection. All of it."

"No." He moved closer, carefully taking your hands. "The plan, yes. The contract, yes. But what's grown between us? That wasn't planned. That wasn't strategy."

"How can I believe that?" You searched his face. "How can I believe anything now?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth when I could keep lying." His grip tightened. "Because I'm risking everything by admitting this to you."

"Or I'm having a complete mental breakdown and none of this is happening." You pulled your hands away. "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and be back in my apartment in New York. Maybe this whole thing—you, Korea, all of it—is some elaborate delusion."

"It's not," he said firmly. "You're not crazy, Y/N."

"Prove it." You met his eyes. "Tell me something that will happen. Something specific. Something I can verify."

He hesitated. "The stock market—"

"No. Something personal. Something that matters to me."

Jay thought for a moment. "Priya and Jake will announce they're expecting a baby next month. Earlier than they planned to tell anyone, but there will be complications and they'll need support."

Your heart stuttered. "That's cruel. Using my friends—"

"Call her tomorrow if you don't believe me. She took a test two days before our wedding but didn't want to steal your moment."

"Stop it." You stood up, needing distance. "I can't—this is too much."

"I know." He remained kneeling, looking up at you. "And I'm sorry. I never intended for you to find out like this. Or at all, honestly."

"That's worse! You were just going to lie forever?"

"I was going to fulfill our contract. Two years, then release you with everything promised." He rubbed his face. "The timeline is already changed beyond recognition. My purpose was accomplished."

"Your purpose." The words tasted bitter. "Which I was instrumental in without my knowledge or consent."

"Yes." No excuses, just raw admission.

You moved to the window, staring out at Seoul's glittering skyline. Everything suddenly felt alien—the city, the marriage, the man behind you.

"I need time to process this." Your voice was steadier than you felt. "I need to... I don't know, call Priya tomorrow. Verify your claim. Try to determine if I'm actually having a psychotic break."

"Of course." He stood but didn't approach. "Whatever you need."

"I'll sleep in the second bedroom tonight."

He nodded, accepting this without argument. "For what it's worth, Y/N, whatever brought us together—time travel, fate, strategic planning—what's grown between us is real. At least for me."

You couldn't respond to that. Not yet. Not when you weren't even sure what reality was anymore.

As you gathered your things for the night, one question burned through the confusion.

"Why did you do it? Why come back?"

Jay's answer was simple and devastating in its honesty.

"Because I lost everything. And I couldn't bear to live through it again."

You closed the bedroom door between you, then pressed your forehead against it, tears finally escaping.

Either your husband was a time traveler who had manipulated your entire relationship, or you were completely losing your grip on reality.

You weren't sure which possibility terrified you more.

Sleep proved impossible. Around 3 AM, you gave up trying and reached for your phone, scrolling until you found Priya's number. It would be afternoon in New York.

Your thumb hovered over the call button. This was ridiculous. You couldn't just ask your friend if she was pregnant based on your time-traveling husband's inside information.

But you needed to know. Needed some external verification that either confirmed you were sane or confirmed you weren't.

With a deep breath, you pressed call.

"Y/N!" Priya answered on the third ring, her voice bright. "Should you be calling me on your wedding night? Shouldn't you be, you know, occupied?"

"Just checking in," you said, aiming for casual. "How are you feeling?"

A pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." You pressed on. "You seemed tired at the wedding. Jake was hovering more than usual."

Another, longer pause. "Okay, that's weird. We literally told no one."

Your heart stopped. "Told no one what?"

"Y/N..." Priya's voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you psychic or something? I'm pregnant. Six weeks. We weren't going to tell anyone until the second trimester, but I've been spotting, and the doctor says..."

The room tilted as she confirmed exactly what Jay had predicted. Exactly what shouldn't be possible for him to know.

"That's wonderful news," you managed, though your voice sounded distant to your own ears. "I'm so happy for you. And whatever's happening, I'm here, okay?"

After reassurances and promises to talk soon, you ended the call and sat motionless in the dark.

It was real. All of it. Which meant Jay had truly traveled through time. Had truly sought you out as part of his plan. Had truly married you to prevent some alternate future.

You moved to the door, pulled it open, and found Jay sitting on the floor in the hallway, back against the wall.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you asked.

He looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Not really."

"I called Priya."

Understanding flashed across his face. "And?"

"She's pregnant. She's spotting. Everything exactly as you said." You slid down the wall to sit beside him. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know." His honesty was strangely comforting. "I went to sleep in my apartment five years in the future and woke up here, in the past. I've spent every day since then trying to prevent the sequence of events that destroyed my life."

"Including marrying me instead of Seraphina."

"Yes." No hesitation, no sugar-coating.

You both sat in silence for a long moment, shoulders almost touching.

"I'm still angry," you said finally. "And confused. And honestly, a little terrified."

"I understand."

"But I also..." you struggled to find the words, "I also can't deny what's happened between us. That feels real, even if the foundation was a lie."

Jay turned to face you. "It is real. The beginning was calculated, yes. But everything since—the late night conversations, the moments when no one was watching, the things we've shared—those weren't strategy. Those were just... us."

"Is that even possible? To find something genuine inside a manufactured situation?"

"I don't know." He reached for your hand tentatively. "But I'd like to find out."

You stared at his outstretched hand, the wedding ring glinting in the dim light. A contract. A strategy. A lie.

And yet, underneath it all, something had grown that neither of you had planned.

After a long moment, you took his hand.

"I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having some elaborate psychotic break," you said with a shaky laugh.

"If it helps, in my extensive experience with both time travel and mental breakdowns, this feels more like the former."

That surprised a genuine laugh from you. "Oh well, if you're an expert..."

His answering smile was hesitant but real—the smile of the man you'd grown to care for, time traveler or not.

"So what now?" you asked.

"Now we figure this out together," he said simply. "No more secrets."

"No more secrets," you agreed.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a question in the look.

You answered by leaning forward and pressing your mouth to his—your first real kiss, not for show, not for strategy, but because despite everything, you wanted to.

His response was immediate and overwhelming, arms pulling you against him as the kiss deepened. Months of performed affection crystallizing into something genuine and urgent.

"Y/N," he breathed against your mouth. "Are you sure?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But I want this. I want you."

He stood, pulling you up with him, searching your face one more time before lifting you into his arms and carrying you toward the master bedroom.

Whatever came next—whatever impossible reality you were living in—at least this part would be real.

Jay carried you to the bedroom, his movements both gentle and urgent. In the dim light filtering through the windows, his eyes never left yours—searching, questioning, even as he lowered you onto the bed.

"Are you certain?" he asked again, hovering above you. "With everything you now know..."

You reached up, tracing the contour of his face. This face you'd come to know so well, yet belonged to someone with secrets you were only beginning to understand.

"I'm not certain about reality anymore," you whispered. "But I'm certain about wanting you."

Something broke in his expression—the careful control he'd maintained since you met him fracturing completely. He lowered his mouth to yours with an intensity that stole your breath, his kiss no longer measured or performative but raw with need.

Your bodies had been close before—staged embraces for photographs, choreographed affection for observers—but this was different. His weight pressing you into the mattress felt like an anchor in a world suddenly unmoored from everything you thought you knew.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your neck, his voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. "No script. No strategy. Just us."

"Everything," you breathed. "I want everything that's real."

His hands trembled slightly as they moved to the zipper of your dress—the man who negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking suddenly unsteady with wanting. The vulnerability in that small tremor undid you.

You helped him with the fastenings, the dress soon forgotten on the floor. He paused to look at you, his expression almost reverent.

"I've imagined this," he confessed. "Not as part of the plan. Just as a man wanting a woman."

Your own fingers worked at his shirt buttons, needing to feel skin against skin. "How long?"

"Since Washington Square Park. When you laughed at that Ukrainian restaurant. I wanted to kiss you then, contract be damned."

The admission sent heat spiraling through you. All those controlled touches, those careful boundaries—beneath them, he'd been wanting this too.

When his shirt joined your dress on the floor, you ran your hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Not the measured rhythm of Park Jongseong, corporate heir, but the accelerated tempo of Jay, the man who wanted you.

His mouth found yours again as his hands explored with increasing boldness—tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breast, his thumb circling your nipple through delicate lace until you arched into his touch with a soft moan.

"I need to taste you," he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck, between your breasts, his tongue tracing patterns that made you shiver. "I've thought about this for months."

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he unhooked your bra with practiced ease, his mouth closing around your nipple while his hand kneaded your other breast. The careful restraint he'd always shown was nowhere in evidence now—replaced by hunger barely contained.

"Jay," you gasped as his teeth grazed sensitive flesh. "More."

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Say it again."

"More," you repeated, understanding he meant something else.

"My name," he clarified, voice hoarse. "Not for show. For me."

"Jay," you whispered, then louder. "Jay."

Something fierce and possessive crossed his features. He moved lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, his fingers hooking into your underwear and slowly drawing them down your legs.

When he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your most intimate place, he paused again, looking up at you.

"This isn't strategy," he said softly. "This is just me wanting to taste every part of you."

Your answer was lost to a gasp as his mouth closed over you, his tongue exploring with deliberate precision. This was Jay applying the same focused attention he gave to corporate acquisitions to your pleasure—finding exactly what made you tremble, what made your breath catch, what made you cry out his name.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as you began to unravel beneath his relentless attention. When he slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them forward while his tongue continued its assault, the tension building inside you shattered.

You came with his name on your lips, your body arching off the bed, one hand fisted in his hair while the other clutched desperately at the sheets.

Before you'd fully recovered, he was moving up your body, his expression almost feral with need. He shed his remaining clothes with uncharacteristic urgency, his erection heavy against your thigh as he positioned himself above you.

"Protection?" you managed, your mind still hazy with pleasure.

"Nightstand." He reached over, retrieving a condom and sheathing himself with efficient movements. Then he was there, poised at your entrance, searching your face one last time. "Y/N?"

You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer. "Now, Jay."

He sank into you with a groan that sounded almost pained, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes open—connection beyond the physical as he filled you completely.

"You feel..." he began, words failing him for perhaps the first time since you'd known him.

"I know," you whispered, understanding perfectly.

He began to move, slowly at first, each thrust measured and deep. But as your bodies found their rhythm, as your hips rose to meet his, the careful control he prided himself on began to slip.

His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged against your neck. You ran your nails down his back, urging him on, needing more of whatever this was—this genuine connection amid so much calculated deception.

"Y/N," he gasped, his rhythm faltering. "I can't—"

"Let go," you urged, feeling yourself climbing toward another peak. "Just let go."

Something inside him broke at your words. His next thrusts were almost desperate—hard, deep, relentless. One hand slipped between your bodies, finding where you were joined, his thumb circling your sensitive flesh.

"Come with me," he commanded, his voice raw. "I need to feel you."

The intensity in his eyes, the command in his voice, the precise circles of his thumb—it was too much. You shattered around him with a cry that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have been a curse at the universe that had brought you to this impossible moment.

He followed moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure through your still-pulsing body. His arms gave out, and he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most grounding way possible.

For long moments, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing gradually slowing, his heart pounding against yours.

"That wasn't in the contract," you finally said, a hint of laughter in your voice.

He lifted his head to look at you, a smile spreading across his face—genuine, unguarded. "I believe that qualifies as an amendment."

"A very thorough amendment," you agreed, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

He rolled to the side, taking you with him, keeping your bodies connected. "I may require multiple amendments. To ensure complete clarity."

"Very prudent," you murmured, tracing patterns on his chest. "Contracts should be explicit."

His expression sobered slightly. "Y/N, what happened between us just now—"

"Was real," you finished for him. "Whatever else isn't, that was."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing your forehead. "I didn't travel through time expecting to find you. That wasn't part of the plan."

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed. His hand traced lazy circles on your back. "I'm still not entirely sure how it happened. The time travel or...this."

You settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having an elaborate psychotic break."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "If so, it's an exceptionally vivid one."

"Maybe that's all life is," you mused. "Vivid hallucinations we choose to believe in."

His arms tightened around you. "Then I choose this one. With you."

You lay together in comfortable silence, the questions and complications temporarily held at bay by the simplicity of skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back—Seraphina's machinations, the timeline Jay was trying to alter, the complex web of truth and deception that had brought you to this point.

But for now, in the quiet darkness of a wedding night never meant to be real, you'd found something neither of you had anticipated in your carefully constructed arrangement.

Something genuine in a world of strategic fabrication.

Something true in a reality bent by impossible physics.

Something neither time nor planning could have engineered.

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"I said I wanted to relax on the beach, not hike up a mountain," you grumbled, one hand braced against your lower back, the other resting protectively over the prominent curve of your seven-month pregnant belly. "This babymoon was supposed to be about pampering, not cardio."

Jay looked back at you from several steps ahead on the winding trail, his expression softening as he took in your flushed cheeks and the slight breathlessness in your voice.

"It's hardly a mountain, angel," he said, immediately returning to your side. "More of an elevated pathway with strategic viewpoints. But we can turn back if you're uncomfortable."

You leaned into him as his arm slid around your waist, supporting some of your weight while his other hand came to rest alongside yours on your belly. "A 'strategic viewpoint' is what you called that cliff in Santorini last year, and I nearly had a heart attack."

"You said the photos were worth it," he reminded you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I was being polite. I was actually contemplating pushing you over the edge for making me climb all those steps."

His laugh rumbled against you, warm and genuine. In three years of marriage—one beyond your original contract—that laugh had become more frequent, less guarded. When you'd first met, Park Jongseong's calculated public chuckle had been as meticulously controlled as everything else about him. Now, Jay laughed openly, especially with you.

"The Park heir doesn't back down from challenges," you added, perfectly mimicking his mother's crisp tone and slight accent. "Isn't that what your mom told me last week when I complained about the nursery color palette meetings running four hours? Who needs eighteen shades of 'celestial' anyway? They're all just... blue."

Jay winced. "If you quote my mother again while we're on vacation, I'm flying Danny out here to keep you company. He's been dying to revisit that story about my high school talent show performance."

"The K-pop cover?" Your eyes lit up with mischief. "With the leather pants and the hair gel? Please do. I've only seen the photos, but the video footage would make excellent blackmail material for the next twenty years of parenting."

"I looked good in those pants," he defended, though his hand moved to massage the sore spot on your lower back that had been bothering you since morning.

You groaned appreciatively as his fingers found exactly the right spot. "Keep doing that and I might not share the existence of those photos with our daughter when she's old enough to be mortified by her father."

"Negotiating already? She's not even born, and you're forming alliances against me." His tone was playful, but the tenderness in his expression whenever he referenced your unborn child made your heart flutter. The man who had once approached marriage as a tactical business arrangement now spent evenings reading pregnancy books and speaking Korean lullabies against your belly.

"Another ten minutes to the overlook," he promised, thumb working circles against your lower spine. "Then we'll head back to the villa. I promise it's worth it."

You sighed dramatically but allowed him to guide you forward. "Our daughter better appreciate all this hiking I'm doing for her. She's been practicing her taekwondo moves on my bladder all morning."

"She's already plotting her corporate takeover strategy," Jay said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "A true Park."

"God help us all," you muttered, though your free hand squeezed his in affection. "One strategic mastermind in the family was enough."

"You forget your contract negotiation tactics. You extracted a villa in the Maldives with private chef, daily massages, and no conference calls for two weeks. Our daughter is getting the best of both of us."

"Speaking of strategies," you said, pausing to catch your breath, "I've been thinking about names again."

Jay groaned dramatically. "Not this again. We had a system. A spreadsheet with weighted attributes and cultural significance metrics."

"I'm vetoing the spreadsheet." You continued walking, leaning heavier on his support. "No child of mine is going to be named via algorithm."

"It's not an algorithm, it's a—"

"Strategic naming methodology with comparative analysis," you finished for him. "I've heard the pitch, Mr. Park. Still vetoing it."

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "What names are you considering now?"

"I like Mina."

"That's actually on the spreadsheet's top five. Strong in both cultures, elegant, historical significance—"

"I don't care about your spreadsheet points. I like how it sounds."

"Alright, angel. Mina stays on the list." His easy acquiescence was still something you were getting used to. The Jay you'd first met would have defended his methodical approach for at least another ten minutes. "We still have two months to decide. Unless she makes an early entrance."

"Don't even suggest it," you warned. "After what your mother said about Park babies always arriving precisely on schedule, like their corporate acquisitions? I think she'd be personally offended if this baby came early."

"Chairwoman Park does not acknowledge the existence of unscheduled deliveries," he agreed solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. "Though she did order the hospital's maternity wing renovation completed a month ahead of schedule, just in case."

"Your mother terrifies me," you admitted. "And somehow I still adore her."

"She feels the same about you. She told Uncle Jimin you're the only person who's ever successfully changed her mind during a board meeting. He said she sounded proud."

"She should be. That sustainable investing initiative is going to increase profits by twelve percent next quarter."

Jay grinned at you. "Look at you, talking profit margins and quarterly projections. Remember when you said you'd rather die than become a 'corporate drone'?"

"I maintain that position," you insisted. "I'm an independent consultant who happens to occasionally advise the largest conglomerate in South Korea. Completely different."

"Of course," he agreed diplomatically. "Just like I'm not a workaholic, I just have 'dedication to operational efficiency.'"

You bumped your hip against his. "You've been better. Only three midnight emails this month."

"All emergencies," he defended.

"The color of the fonts on the annual report was not an emergency, Park."

"Brand consistency is critical to market perception," he began, then caught your expression and laughed. "Fine. Not an emergency."

When you reached the overlook, the view did indeed steal your breath—crystal-clear waters stretching to the horizon, the private cove of your Maldives villa visible in the distance, pristine white sand contrasting with vibrant turquoise.

"Damn it," you murmured.

"Excuse me?" Jay raised an eyebrow.

"You were right. It was worth it." You leaned back against his chest as his arms wrapped around you, hands cradling your belly. "Don't look so smug."

"I would never," he said, not bothering to hide his satisfied smile. "Besides, being right is just part of my charm."

You elbowed him gently. "Your humility is what I love most about you."

"That and my strategic viewpoint selection."

"And your modesty. Clearly."

His hands splayed wider across your belly, and as if on cue, your daughter kicked sharply against his palm. The look of wonder that crossed his face at the contact never diminished, no matter how many times he felt it.

"That was a strong one," he said softly.

"Tell me about it. I'm pretty sure I'm growing a future taekwondo champion in here."

"Like her mother," he said, his voice warm with admiration. "Strong. Determined."

"Cranky when hungry?" you suggested.

"I was going to say 'formidable when provoked,' but your phrasing works too." His chin rested on your shoulder, and you felt his smile against your neck. "She's already perfect."

The simple sincerity in his voice made your hormones send tears threatening. You blamed pregnancy emotions, but the truth was deeper. This man—who had literally traveled through time to avoid destruction—was now embracing a future neither of you could predict or control, with complete certainty that it was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Did you ever imagine this?" you asked, gesturing vaguely at your belly, at the two of you standing on this pristine outlook. "When you made that original contract proposal at that ridiculously expensive restaurant?"

"It was hardly ridiculous. Their wine list was impeccable." His deflection was automatic—the old Jay momentarily surfacing.

"You know what I mean," you persisted. "Did time-traveling Jay ever see this coming?"

He was quiet for a moment, his chin resting on your shoulder. "No," he finally answered with characteristic honesty. "This was never part of the strategy. My plan ended with avoiding the merger, preventing Seraphina's sabotage, maintaining family control of the company."

"Very romantic objectives."

"I didn't believe in romance then," he reminded you. "I believed in risk management."

"And now?" you asked, turning slightly to see his face. "Disappointed that your perfect plan got derailed by unforeseen variables? Namely, catching actual feelings for your contract wife?"

His eyes met yours, that intense gaze that still made your heart skip. "The plan was to avoid disaster," he said seriously. "I got happiness instead. That's not a detour, angel. That's a miracle."

"Don't go soft on me now, Park. What would the shareholders think?" you teased, though you leaned into his touch as his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"They'd think I finally made a sound investment with appropriate long-term growth potential," he replied, matching your business terminology while his eyes remained soft.

"Oh? And what's the projected ROI on this particular acquisition?"

"Immeasurable," he said simply, the single word holding more genuine emotion than the countless practiced speeches he'd given over the years.

"A time-traveling corporate heir and a skeptical journalist walk into a gallery..." you began, a reference to how you often joked about your improbable origin story.

"Sounds like the setup for a terrible joke," he finished, smiling against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Or the perfect story," you countered when you separated. "Though no one would believe it."

"Danny believes it," Jay said dryly. "After walking in on us arguing about whether my future knowledge of the 2024 Olympics constituted gambling when I placed those bets."

"In my defense, it absolutely was cheating."

"In my defense, we donated all the proceeds to charity."

"After I made you," you reminded him.

"A minor detail." His hand moved in slow circles over your belly, soothing both you and the active little one inside. "Speaking of details, that cloud formation suggests a weather change within the next hour. Ready to head back? I've arranged for a prenatal massage at the villa."

You narrowed your eyes. "Did you plan this entire hike timing based on weather patterns?"

"I may have consulted three different meteorological reports and timed our arrival at the overlook for optimal viewing conditions before the afternoon clouds moved in," he admitted without a hint of shame.

"Your level of extra never ceases to amaze me." You shook your head, but couldn't suppress a smile. "This is why I keep you around, Park. Your strategic planning has its advantages."

"Just fulfilling the terms of our renegotiated contract," he replied, guiding you carefully back toward the path. "Section four, paragraph three: 'Husband agrees to ensure wife's comfort during pregnancy with particular emphasis on lower back support, regular food provision, and optimal weather condition monitoring.'"

"You need to stop letting your legal team draft our personal agreements," you laughed. "But I appreciate the thoroughness."

"The legal team wanted to include a footnote about reasonable expectations regarding my ability to control weather patterns, but I refused. I have standards."

"Of course you do." You laced your fingers with his as you began the descent. "Tell me more about this massage. Did you fly in some exclusive practitioner from Sweden who only treats royalty and tech billionaires?"

"Of course not," Jay scoffed. "She's from Norway, and she primarily works with Olympic athletes. Royalty is just her side clientele."

You burst out laughing. "You're impossible."

"I believe the term you used last week was 'extra but endearing.'"

"I was being generous."

"You usually are," he said, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "With your patience. Your understanding. This journey hasn't been... conventional."

"Conventional is overrated," you replied, squeezing his hand. "Though I do plan on writing a book someday. 'How to Negotiate Your Way from Fake Marriage to Real Happiness: A Time Traveler's Guide.'"

"Catchy title. Limited market though."

"You don't know that. There could be dozens of time travelers out there, all looking for contractual arrangements that evolve into genuine love stories."

"Dozens seems optimistic."

"Says the man who literally bent physics. You don't get to talk about 'optimistic.'"

The banter continued as you made your way back to the villa, a luxurious beachfront property that somehow combined Jay's taste for refined elegance with your insistence on comfortable practicality. Like your relationship, it shouldn't have worked on paper, but in reality, it was perfect.

Later, after the Norwegian masseuse had worked miracles on your pregnancy-strained muscles, you lounged on the villa's private deck while Jay prepared dinner—another evolution that would have seemed impossible three years ago. Park Jongseong, corporate heir and strategic mastermind, now insisted on cooking for you at least twice a week, a skill he'd developed with the same methodical precision he applied to business acquisitions.

"Your mother called while you were in the shower," you mentioned as he served grilled fish with a mango salsa he'd perfected over the past year. "She wanted to know if we'd considered her suggestion about the trust fund structure."

Jay paused, wine bottle hovering over your glass of sparkling water. "Please tell me you didn't discuss financial planning during our vacation."

"Of course I did. I told her your idea about the educational milestone incentives was better than her straight distribution plan, and that the sustainable investment portfolio she proposed needed more diverse clean energy holdings."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "Three years ago, you called investment banking 'legalized gambling for people with too much money.'"

"I stand by that assessment," you replied primly. "But if our daughter is going to have Park money, it might as well be responsibly managed Park money that does some good."

"Our daughter," he repeated, a smile softening his features as he set down the wine and rested a hand on your belly. "I still can't quite believe it sometimes."

"Which part? That we're having a baby, or that you're having one with the woman you initially approached as a strategic human shield against corporate sabotage?"

"Both," he admitted. "Though more the latter. When I found you at that gallery, I was looking for a solution to a problem, not..." he gestured between you, "whatever miracle this is."

"A solution to a problem," you echoed thoughtfully. "That's not the most romantic description of your future wife I've ever heard."

"Would you prefer 'tactically advantageous alliance partner'?" he offered with a straight face.

"Much better. I'm swooning."

His expression grew more serious. "You know what I mean. I wasn't looking for connection then. I didn't think I needed it—or deserved it, after what happened."

"After what was going to happen," you corrected gently. "A future you prevented."

"Semantics," he said with a slight shrug, though you both knew it was more than that. The guilt he carried for actions his alternative self might have taken had taken months of conversations to address.

"Did I ever tell you," you said, changing tactics, "that I almost didn't go to Priya's gallery that night? I had a deadline the next day and was planning to skip it."

"You hadn't mentioned that." He looked up, intrigued.

"I finished the article early and decided last minute that I should support my friend." You took a bite of fish, appreciating the perfect balance of flavors. "One small decision. Go to a gallery or stay home. And here we are."

"The butterfly effect."

"More like the exhausted-journalist-who-finished-work-early effect, but sure." You smiled at him across the table. "Time travel or not, I think we were supposed to find each other."

"I don't believe in destiny," he reminded you.

"Says the time traveler."

"Time travel is physics. Theoretically. Destiny is..."

"Also physics, if you think about it. Predetermined paths, fixed points in spacetime."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been reading physics journals again?"

"Maybe. The baby likes quantum mechanics. She kicks when I read about wave-particle duality."

"Of course she does," he said proudly, as though your unborn child's apparent interest in physics was a personal achievement. "She's brilliant like her mother."

"And modest like her father," you countered, though you couldn't help the warmth that spread through you at the compliment.

That night, as you lay in bed with Jay's body curved protectively around yours, his hand resting on your belly where your daughter occasionally pressed a foot or elbow against his palm, you reflected on the strange, wonderful path you'd traveled.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against your hair, always attuned to your shifting moods even when you thought he was drifting to sleep.

"About how sometimes the best futures are the ones we can't plan," you replied, covering his hand with yours. "Even for time travelers."

He chuckled softly. "Especially for time travelers."

"Do you ever miss it?" you asked. "The certainty of knowing what comes next?"

"Never," he said without hesitation, his arm tightening around you. "The future we're creating is better than any I could have foreseen. Besides, certainty is overrated. Where's the excitement in knowing every outcome?"

"Says the man who made a career of eliminating variables and calculating risk."

"I've developed a taste for the unpredictable," he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear that still made you shiver. "A certain journalist taught me the value of beautiful chaos."

"Chaos theory," you murmured. "Small changes in initial conditions leading to wildly different outcomes."

"Exactly." His hand splayed wider across your belly. "One gallery opening. One conversation. One impulsive dinner invitation that wasn't in my original plan."

"Was anything about that night not calculated?" you asked, genuinely curious. After all this time, there were still pieces of his original strategy you occasionally discovered.

"The way you looked at me," he said softly. "When I made that comment about the abstract painting being 'deliberately obtuse to mask the artist's technical limitations.'"

"I remember. I laughed and said you were 'refreshingly honest for someone wearing a watch that cost more than my rent.'"

"That's the moment I deviated from the script," he admitted. "In my original timeline, we had a brief, pleasant conversation and never saw each other again. But something about your reaction made me want more. That dinner invitation afterward wasn't planned."

"So I have your impulsive deviation to thank for all this?" You gestured vaguely at your life together.

"That, and your capacity to negotiate a marriage contract like you were dismantling a hostile takeover bid."

"I was thorough," you defended. "Anyone would be when being asked to marry a virtual stranger for business purposes."

"You demanded a custom sleep number bed, a language tutor who specialized in colloquial rather than business Korean, and a contract clause about maintaining your own journalistic independence even when writing about companies connected to Park Industries."

"All reasonable requests."

"The Hawaiian pizza provision was a bit much."

"A woman has to draw the line somewhere. No pineapple on pizza in our household is a hill I'm willing to die on."

His laugh vibrated against your back, comfortable and familiar. "I love you, angel. Unreasonable pizza restrictions and all."

"I love you too," you replied, shifting to face him despite your unwieldy belly. "Strategic time-traveling and all."

As you drifted toward sleep in his arms, your daughter shifted inside you, a gentle reminder of the impossible journey that had led to this moment—a contract transformed into commitment, strategy evolved into love, calculation giving way to the beautiful chaos of a life built together.

Sometimes the best vows were the ones you never planned to make, but discovered you wanted to keep anyway.

And sometimes the most calculated beginning led to the most wonderfully unpredictable destination.

fin.

Taglist: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @zzhengyu @naurwayyyyy @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @jaeyunsbimbo @cutehoons02 @deluluscenarios @bubbletaeq @lamin143 @dearestdreamies @heeheeyeoiizz01 @heewhoresimp @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @loudpeachdetective @cristy-101 @ash-engen @miuwonis @pinkglitterpuke @theothernads

[cat3ch1sm]

🕸️~ hello, everyone- welcome back to my account! i’m back with my first csm text au- i hope you all enjoy! thanks so much for all of your ongoing support. i really couldn’t be more grateful for all of your patience.

without further ado, let’s get into the writing! i did this same smau with hxh characters, so i decided to do it with csm as well! enjoy, ily <333

also just so you all know i am aware that csm is set in 1997 and obviously they don’t have smartphones. this is just for fun!

gender neutral reader (gender is not explicitly mentioned but may be fem!coded because duh)

𝐜𝐬𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲- 𝐟𝐭. 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢, 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐤𝐢, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐚

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢

note for this one: i don’t know for sure that denji can actually write or read that well so idek

﹌﹌﹌ 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 ﹌﹌﹌

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐚𝐤𝐢

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐚

[chososchalupa]

Game Night // Masterlist

shigaraki x reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

New message from Dabi

“Hey, im bringing the new kid to game night tonight”

Ochako read the message in the groupchat and glanced up at you with a smirk on her lips,

You shook your head, a red tint to your cheeks, “Don’t say a word”

College AU/No quirks/SMAU with a splash of writing

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Profiles 1

Profiles 2

Profiles 3

Chapter one - This is Tomura Shigaraki

Chapter two - Is that a date?

Chapter three - Only the best

Chapter Four - Game day

Chapter Five - A thing?!

Chapter Six - No contact

Chapter Seven - Wrong chat

Chapter Eight - Doesn't mean we're friends

Chapter Nine - Shoto?!

[h00nerz]

power up!

ZERO / the better dream team 😍

masterlist | next

y/n ✩ ‘02 liner. minecraft streamer but the cool kind (at least She thinks it’s cool). has a Huge crush on popular streamer soobin. like she is obsessed with him. roommates with felix. childhood besties with ryujin and yeji. has never beaten the ender dragon. started going to school for graphic design then dropped out to stream full time.

felix ✩ ‘00 liner. league of legends streamer. he’s not very good most of his viewers are just teenage girls who think he’s hot. takes apart his pc and puts it back together for fun. australian. constantly gets bullied by the girls. roommates with y/n. posts lots of selfies.

ryujin ✩ ‘01 liner. childhood friend of y/n. has been dating yeji since her sophomore year of high school. kind of started streaming as a joke but now she loves it. streams all kinds of random stuff like reactions or bullying kids on roblox. always getting hit tweets. y/n’s second biggest hater. top 10 sexiest ladies on twitch fr!!

yeji ✩ ‘00 liner. also a childhood friend of y/n. has been dating ryujin so long they’re like one person atp. the only one who doesn’t stream she’s just there for emotional support. she appears in streams a lot tho. fans love her. has 5000 follower requests. y/n’s number 1 hater. loves cats. tweets mostly about ryujin, cats, and being a y/n anti.

tag list (open) @jakeshands @ughsoobin @robinsluva @blaaiissee @hyuk4ngel @yeonboy @naveries @tocupid @mjlasagna @lunaavity @dewyboi @vianna99 @exohclipse @ttyunz @i1l0-n4 @mazeinthemoon @luvsoobs @n0-thisispatrick @arizzu @huckleberrykai @222brainrot @heartsforhyunjin @destairea @owotalks @loveliii @haohyo @cowsmicwu @heavenhannie @beomsbeanie @blamemef0rit @soobhns @haechansbbg @mackjestic @wonioml @alyssajavenss @koala-wonderland