follow enhypen and their respective partners as they set out to see who can survive a simple, two week sex ban. some fail immediately, some barely survive. but who will last the longest? well, lets see. 😏
contains suggestive content, could be read as a stand alone or in this particular order. 1.2k words.
heeseung → niki → jay version → sunghoon → jake → jungwon → sunoo
“hi baby,” jay wraps his arms around you, welcoming you home with a kiss on the top of your head, “how was lunch with the girlfriends crew?”
“it was really fun, we did a little shopping and had brunch. we also talked about the sex ban,” you can’t help but giggle at the instant reminder of the silly thing heeseung and his partner started, “did the guys tell you about it? i can’t believe niki only lasted 3 hours.”
“yeah they’ve been talking about it too. niki was expected but i thought hee hyung would’ve lasted longer to be honest,” jay chuckles, “if it was us though, the sex ban would be put in place for you. we both know you can’t control yourself.”
“excuse me park jongseong, i can so!”
“well. wanna bet?” he coos tauntingly, brows raised as if he already had the win in the bag, “i love you baby but i know you can’t last.”
you didn’t want to admit it but deep down, you knew he was right, that you weren’t too good with self control compared to him. but you being you, the competitive you, couldn’t back down now.
“you’re on mr park.”
perhaps it wasn’t the best idea for you to agree so quickly to jay’s bet because not only were you struggling the very same night... but you’re just about to give in with how scrumptious he’s looking right now.
the funny thing is, the man was just sitting on the couch, going through some of his paper work.
“you done showering? come sit baby.”
“mhm...” you mumble, contemplating whether it was the best idea to plop down beside your boyfriend right now. maybe running to hide in the safety of your bedroom seemed like the better choice but jay was quick to act, pulling you down towards him by the wrist.
“hmm my baby is so warm,” he wraps both arms around you as he says so, hugging you even closer to his body. he leans in to kiss your cheek then, over and over, making you giggle.
“j- jay!”
the man stops to the call of his name, slightly leaning back to look down at you. he doesn’t say anything but continues staring at you with that infamous soft smile of his, the very same one that would have you putty in his palms faster than you could even say putty.
“why are you looking at me like that jay?”
“i don’t think you know how much i love you.”
and your heart just melts. it’s like the man knows exactly what to say all the damn time, to have you wanting to kick and scream like a little teenager in love.
he takes your dazed out state as a chance to lean right back in, claiming your lips with his. the man takes his time with you, kissing you while cupping your cheeks, kissing you gently like you were the only thing that mattered to him in this world.
“i’m really the luckiest.”
you had forgotten about the bet for a moment there... until you felt one of his hands slide its way under your shirt, resting dangerously beneath your bra. his fingers are so cold on your bare skin, the slightest contact, making you immediately feel things. especially in your panties.
now you were fully aware of what was going on, fully aware of where this was going if you let it.
and if you let it... you will definitely lose to niki’s 3 hour record, which also means you won’t be hearing the end of it from everyone else.
so with everything in you, you manage to push the man away, losing the warmth of his lips. he looks at you with surprise and a hint of concern, worried that he had done something to make you uncomfortable. jay always put you and your needs before him, one of the many reasons that made you fall for him in the first place.
“what’s wrong? everything okay?”
“i uh- yeah i just forgot to clean something i spilled earlier. i’ll be right back.”
and you were out of his sight before he could even respond, running to your shared study room to hide. you felt bad, especially with the obvious hard thing in his sweatpants you left him with, but you had to hold on. you weren’t going to lose to niki!
“let me clean it for you baby,” your boyfriend is now at the door, looking at you with those soft eyes you’ve always been a sucker for, “where’s the spill?”
“no- no it’s okay. go back to your work jay-”
your words are cut short when he does the exact opposite instead, making his way to you, his hands naturally reaching for your waist. but you move backwards, just to his amusement, the man thinking you were just playing with him.
“i’m okay, really. the spill is tiny,” you try to walk around him but he reaches for your waist again.
“love.”
you swear you almost disintegrated to the lowness of his voice, one that always had you physically wanting to curl into a ball. and now that he’s literally closing the gap between your bodies again, you know you’re on the very edge of giving in.
“are you running away from me?”
“no.”
“oh really? so you’re not trying to beat niki’s 3 hour record?” he laughs, his lips so dangerously close to your ear now.
“... no.”
“my love.”
you turn your head a little, just as jay leans in, kissing you hard and fast. unlike earlier, you know your boyfriend is hungry for you. he readjusts you so you’re now pressed against him, hands gripping at your waist, like he’s afraid you’d run away. and before you could even react, the man lifts you up and onto his study desk.
you’re now embarrassingly clinging onto him, like a koala to a tree. but you couldn’t care less anymore. you wanted park jongseong and you wanted him now.
“my baby is a little eager, aren’t you?”
“yes i am. so please...”
“tell me what you want baby,” he coos, his voice noticeably an octave lower than usual. his lips move down the side of your neck, leaving behind sloppy kisses that you know would turn purple by tomorrow morning but you don’t complain. “you know i’d give you anything right?”
“... fuck me. please jay, i need you right now.”
you could physically feel and hear his loud gulp the moment those words leave your lips, the man loving just how much control he has over his baby.
“anything for you my love.”
“jay...”
you’re both suddenly interrupted by the ding of your phone that’s coincidentally lying on the table. however it’s not the new message you’re worried about, it’s the running timer notification bar underneath that. something jay immediately notices too.
“you kept a timer?” he bursts out into laughter and pinches your cheeks, much to your embarrassment, “so 2 hours and 36 minutes, not bad baby. you lasted longer than i expected.”
“stop laughing!” you whine and bury your face into his chest, “i can’t lose to niki though. how about we continue this in half an hour.”
“how about we continue this now and we’ll say you did 4 hours.”
“park jongseong,” you say, your hands reaching up to cup his face, “i bloody love you.”
“i know. that’s why you only lasted 2 hours and 36 minutes.”
i hate it when we fight, but I love making up with you. — enhypen 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ (s)
making up with your man, in the best way.
𓂃۶ৎ HEESEUNG.
heeseung doesn’t even look surprised to see you.
he just leans against the counter with that unreadable face—the one that says he’s thought about this a hundred times.
his arms are crossed. jaw tense. already calculating. figuring out the smoothest way to get you to crack first.
“you look tired,” he says.
your eyes narrow. “don’t start.”
“not starting anything.” he shrugs. “just thinking about how you always get mouthy when you’re avoiding your feelings.”
you blink. slowly.
and that’s when you know—he’s baiting you.
you step closer. just to see what he’ll do. he doesn’t flinch. just watches you like he’s trying to memorize every second.
“you sure you wanna do this?” you ask, voice low.
heeseung tilts his head.
“we’re not done fighting, right?”
you don’t answer. your hands find his chest, fingers slipping under the collar of his shirt.
“no,” you whisper. “we’re not.”
but your mouth’s already on his before either of you can say anything else. his lips are soft. too soft. like he’s still holding back. but then you tug his bottom lip with your teeth—just a little. just enough.
and that’s when it shifts.
his hands grab your waist like he’s claiming territory. like he’s been waiting to do this. he lifts you to the counter, your knees parting instinctively.
you hate how easy it is to fall into this rhythm with him. how every touch feels earned. precise. like he’s studied the map of your body and knows all your shortcuts.
you moan into his neck and he huffs out a laugh, breath hot against your ear.
“you always talk so much,” he murmurs. “but i bet you’re not gonna say a word when i make you cum.”
you try to sass him back—of course you do—but he slides your panties down just enough to shut you up. and when he presses two fingers inside, slow and steady, you forget what the fight was even about.
his mouth finds yours again—this time rougher, hungrier.
“still mad at me?” he asks, fingers curling just right.
you nod, breathless.
he smirks. “good.”
𓂃۶ৎ JAY.
he doesn’t speak when you walk in. just stares—arms folded, jaw clenched, a vein ticking in his neck. like your presence alone makes him mad all over again.
you roll your eyes. “you’re still pissed?”
his silence answers for him.
you sigh, tossing your bag down. “okay. cool. be mad.”
he turns his head, and finally—finally—he looks at you.
but the softness in his eyes? it betrays the sharpness in his voice.
“you act like i don’t fucking care about you.”
your breath catches. not because of what he says— but how he says it. like it hurts him to admit. like your distance has been eating at him all week.
"you think i like fighting with you?"
you’re quiet now. quiet and still, because the weight of his words hits somewhere you can’t ignore. but before you can speak, he’s already crossing the room. his hands hit your waist, hard. desperate. he kisses you like he’s starving. you try to keep up, but jay’s not giving you space to think.
he bites your bottom lip, licks it after. pulls you close enough to feel the outline of everything he’s been holding back.
“you piss me off,” he whispers, kissing your jaw.
“but fuck, baby—i miss you when you’re gone.”
your arms wrap around his shoulders, legs locking around his hips before you even realize it. he lifts you—effortless—and carries you to the couch. your back hits the cushions and he leans over you, hair falling in his face.
"you’re not gonna run again, right?"
"depends," you tease, but it’s breathless now. vulnerable.
he doesn’t like that answer. his hand wraps around your throat—light, but present. just enough to hold your gaze when he pushes your panties aside with his fingers.
"say you missed me."
you pause. he waits.
“…i missed you,” you whisper.
he hums. satisfied. then sinks to his knees.
𓂃۶ৎ JAKE.
you see him before he sees you. hoodie up, headphones in, pacing outside the studio door like he doesn’t want you to catch him being soft. like he wasn’t just in there listening to your voice in the demo on loop. you step out of the car and say his name. soft.
he freezes.
“you actually came?” he doesn’t mean it bitter. it comes out wounded. like he hoped you would, but didn’t believe it.
you nod. “we need to talk.”
he licks his lips. looks down at his shoes.
“nah. not unless you came to say you’re still mine.”
the way he says mine sends a chill down your spine. you take a step closer. he doesn’t move. you take another. his jaw clenches.
“jake.”
“don’t say my name like that,” he snaps—voice cracking just slightly. like it’s you who hurt him, even if he hurt you too. “you can’t say it like you love me and then disappear.”
your face softens. “i didn’t disappear.”
he laughs once. dry. then finally looks at you.
really looks at you.
you know what’s coming before it happens. you see it in his eyes—dilated, dark, desperate. and when he grabs your hand and pulls you into the backseat of the car, neither of you says a word.
your lips crash like the apology’s in your mouth. your nails dig into his shoulder blades. his hands slide under your thighs and pull you on top of him like he’s starving. “you don’t get to run when you’ve got me like this,” he mumbles into your neck, voice thick.
he’s grinding up into you through your clothes—slow, deep, so much pressure it makes you whine.
“say it,” he breathes. “say i’m the only one who gets you like this.”
you nod, trembling. he doesn’t stop.
“i said say it, baby.”
you whimper, “you’re the only one…”
his hand sneaks down between you, cupping you with intention. “yeah,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “you’re not allowed to leave again.”
when he finally fucks you, it’s like he’s trying to write his name inside you. like he wants to be remembered next time you think about walking away. and just when you come, back arched, eyes rolling—
he holds you close and whispers:
“i forgive you.”
𓂃۶ৎ SUNGHOON.
he’s already there when you arrive. sitting on the edge of the bed. arms tense, jaw locked, that same unreadable look on his face.
“you came,” he says. not a question. a statement. smug.
like he knew you would. like he wanted you to stay mad so he could make you sorry.
you cross your arms. “you gonna say anything real?”
he scoffs. “you want real? you ignore me for three days and walk in here like you’re the one who’s hurt?”
“don’t start.”
“don’t start?” he laughs—cold, sharp.
“you don’t get to do that. not after the shit you said.”
your lip trembles, but you won’t let him see it. you shrug instead.
“guess i shouldn’t have come.”
you turn.
“don’t fucking walk out again.”
you freeze. his voice drops, low and steady. almost warning. you turn back—and that’s when you see it.
his hand curled into a fist. his eyes glossy. his lips parted like he’s catching his breath.
you blink. “hoon…”
and then? he breaks.
he’s kissing you before you even reach him. rough. bruising. all tongue and teeth and frustration. his fingers dig into your waist, dragging your body against his.
“you make me so—fuck—so crazy.”
his mouth moves to your neck, biting down just enough to make you gasp. your hands slide under his hoodie, desperate. and when he feels you trembling?
“you’re mad at me,” he growls, “but your pussy’s telling a different story.”
you whimper, breath shaky.
he smirks, pressing his palm between your legs. "what? cat got your tongue now?"
you shove him, and he laughs—really laughs this time. because you’re still fire to him. and he likes that it still burns.
he flips you onto your back. “you gonna let me remind you why you stay?” his voice drops. “or should i make you beg first?”
you bite your lip. arch your hips up. he groans like he’s in pain.
and just before he pushes inside, he whispers it—so quietly, you almost miss it:
“don’t leave me again.”
𓂃۶ৎ SUNOO.
you catch him at the dorms. sitting on the couch, legs crossed, arms folded. airpods in, hoodie on, but that little pout on his lips lets you know he clocked you the second you stepped through the door.
“can we talk?”
he doesn’t look up. just chews his gum and pulls out one airpod.
“i’m listening.”
you sigh. “i didn’t mean to hurt you, sunoo.”
he shrugs. “but you did.”
you walk closer. “i didn’t want to fight like that.”
he finally looks at you. eyes sharp. "you didn’t want to fight, but you still left.”
the silence that follows is loud. tense.
hot. your breath feels heavy in your chest.
so you kneel down in front of him—soft, real, vulnerable.
and that’s when he finally cracks. just a little.
“you think you can just show up here, looking like that, saying my name like that…”
his voice drops. “you’re so annoying. i hate you.”
but when you go to stand, he grabs your wrist. pulls you down into his lap, fast. his hands are on your waist, your thighs, your face. he kisses you like he’s punishing you. like you made him wait too long.
“you’re not going anywhere,” he says between kisses, tone sharp but breathy. his lips trail down your neck, open-mouthed and slow. you’re writhing before he even pulls your shirt up.
“i hope you know i’m gonna make you cry.”
you gasp. “what?”
he smiles—sweet, wicked. “not sad tears, dummy.” his fingers brush your waistband. “i mean that kind of crying.”
and when he finally has you underneath him? when your back arches and you bite your lip trying to be quiet?
he grabs your face gently and says, “nah. let them hear you.”
he’s whispering praise and dirty words in the same breath.
“you missed me this bad?”
“you’re lucky i even let you come back.”
“you’re mine. say it. say it.”
and when you finally break, hips trembling, lips parted?
he kisses your forehead, chest heaving, and whispers: “don’t ever leave me again. i won’t let you.”
𓂃۶ৎ JUNGWON
he opens the door like he wasn’t expecting you. but the way he looks at you? like he’s been waiting all week.
"thought you said you didn’t wanna see me again," he mumbles.
you shrug, stepping inside. “i didn’t.”
he scoffs a little, shutting the door. doesn’t say anything else. just watches you with that unreadable expression.
but then you take off your jacket. then you sit on his bed. and that’s when he breaks. just a little.
“do you even care how you made me feel?” his voice is sharp. quiet. but heavy.
you look at him. “do you?”
and that’s all it takes.
because one second he’s pacing, trying to stay calm— and the next, he’s in front of you. pulling you in. kissing you hard. angry. needy. desperate.
he doesn’t take his time. doesn’t ask if you missed him. he already knows.
his mouth moves to your neck and you gasp, tugging at his shirt.
“say it,” he whispers against your skin, “say you still want me.”
you try to stay quiet—try to be stubborn— but he’s already got you in his lap. hands gripping your hips, his forehead pressed to yours.
"i hate fighting with you,” you breathe.
he nods, voice low. “then shut up and let me fix it.”
you’re moaning his name before he even gets your bottoms off. back arching, thighs trembling, trying to keep your voice down—
“nah,” he grits through his teeth, voice strained as he rocks into you from behind, “you wasn’t quiet during the argument. don’t get shy now.”
his arm wraps tight around your waist. he’s pushing deeper, slower, rougher—like he’s imprinting himself inside you.
you reach back, grabbing his hand, guiding it between your legs.
he breathes out a low curse. “you tryna teach me something, baby?”
you don’t answer. you’re too far gone—face in the pillow, body shaking, already coming apart. and he just holds you there. lets you ride it out. lets himself feel it, all of it.
after? he cleans you up. lays beside you. holds your hand even when you're asleep.
he never says sorry with words. he says it with his body.
with the way he pulls you in closer in his sleep. with the way he kisses your shoulder like he didn’t mean a word he said that night.
𓂃۶ৎ NI-KI
a little too nonchalant for someone who’s been losing his mind without you.
he doesn’t even look up when you walk in.
he’s on the couch, hoodie on, one earbud in. playing some game like you didn’t leave his last text on read. like you didn’t tell him to lose your number two days ago. like you didn’t cry.
but then you walk a little closer. and he finally looks at you.
“…you done being mad?”
you blink. “are you?”
he just shrugs. then tosses the controller on the table.
leans back with his arms open like he knows you’re gonna come to him. like he always knew.
"c’mere. i’ll let you be mad on top of me.”
and that’s how it starts. not with an apology. not with closure. but with the curve of your mouth twitching when you climb on his lap anyway.
his hands are on your waist before you can even settle, and his voice is lazy when he says, “you’re really dramatic, you know that?”
but he’s already hard. already breathing heavier when you tug his hoodie off and roll your hips.
you’re kissing like you forgot how to argue. biting. moaning. pulling on each other like you didn’t both swear you were done.
“you missed me,” he says between breaths, smug and whispering into your skin.
you try to deny it. but you’re already grinding down on him, breathless and trembling.
and when he finally slides inside? you both pause. just for a second. because god it feels so much better than it’s supposed to. like too much time passed. like too many words were left unsaid.
you’re facing him now, arms around his neck, head falling onto his shoulder. and he’s whispering—
“you don’t get to leave again, okay?” soft. barely audible.
but there.
he wraps an arm around your waist and starts fucking into you slow. like he has time. like he’s not in a rush. because in his mind? you’re not going anywhere.
you try to be tough. you really do. but it’s hard to talk shit when you’re dripping down his thighs and barely holding on.
and when he feels you clench up around him, eyes fluttering shut?
he mutters something against your lips like—“yeah…that’s my girl.”
and just like that, the fight’s forgotten. his hands are back on your hips. your nails are in his back. you’re both breathless and sticky and tangled up in all the feelings you pretended not to have.
and when it’s over— when you're lying on your back, leg draped over his, too tired to move—he finally says it, soft and sideways:
“i was mad too, y’know. i just… didn’t want you to see it.”
and that’s when you realize: he was hurting. he just didn’t know how to say it first.
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.
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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."
your coworkers can't begin to imagine what goes on between you and Jongseong when no one's watching.
this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors do not interact ⋆ workplace relations ⋆ jealousy ⋆ brat tamer jay ⋆ toxicity if you squint (it's okay this is freak central we enjoy it) ⋆ alcohol consumption ⋆ don't like don't read! ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list
length ⋆ drabble ⸻ 4.1k words
✷ NIA — heyyy... how y'all doin... quick snack before i finish the actual fic i'm working on
smut warnings under the cut ⋆
mean jay ⋆ choking ⋆ degradation ⋆ punishment ⋆ male masturbation ⋆ orgasm denial ⋆ oral (m!rec) ⋆ brief shoe humping if at all. more like mention of it ⋆ body shots but make it nastier ⋆ hair pulling ⋆ reader fucked around and found out ⋆ like two singular instances of praise
There is something about men like Park Jongseong—men in power, men who seem to always have it together and every situation under control—that makes you want to slowly strip them of their restraint piece by piece, as if playing jenga, until it all comes crashing down.
You take pride in knowing how to get Jongseong to crumble in a just a few moves.
"I told you to only wear that when we're around friends," Jongseong says as he follows you through the entrance, hot on your heels. He rids himself of the jacket that is making sweat drip from his hair and down his forehead, then pulls at the collar of his shirt.
You ignore the bark in his tone, and twirl around in front of the huge mirror in your living room. You wanted a floor to ceiling one, but the ceiling in your and Jongseong's apartment is so high, you had to request it to be custom made. Expensive, but worth the money, and you can't wait for it to be delivered. You have plenty creative ideas on how to better utilize it, ones you're sure Jongseong is also eager to put in practice. "Don't I look good, boss?"
You don't need to look back to know he's probably staring daggers right through your back. He hates when you call him boss with that little mocking tone you reserve only to get under his skin. You two have equal power in the company, he is not your boss and you are not his, but within the walls of your bedroom, you enjoy messing up the dynamics a bit.
The light from the overhead lamp catches the diamond decorating your ring finger as you smoothen down the silky fabric of your dress. The ring is proof of Jongseong's devotion to you, the sight of it a reminder of your time spent all the way in Italy, just the two of you in a beach resort with the dreamiest view.
Ever since the engagement— which was kept a secret from pretty much everyone— Jongseong had softened down. You don't know if it's the prospect of a life together, of a family, that's making him go easier on you during your most intimate times, but one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place is the never ending game of cat and mouse you two got accustomed to playing. One you aren't ready to give up yet, or at all for what matters.
So, you take matters into your own hands. If he hesitates to play, that just means you have to bring out the big guns.
"That was a business dinner, not some random brunch with your girl friends. You were not dressed appropriately." Jongseong walks up to you and grabs your waist with a roughness so uncharacteristic of him. Everyone knows him as calm and collected man, never prone to anger, heart of gold. Only you get a peek into this side of him, the more jealous and possessive one he keeps hidden in the shadows. Knowing it's something reserved for you only makes you want to poke the bear all the more.
"A very uneventful dinner, my girls' brunches are way more fun." You know the reason for his anger is not because your dress doesn't conform to whatever dress code was put in place long before you or Jongseong got into the business world. It's a front he's putting up, to not admit that what he really feels is jealousy. Jealousy because he had to sit across you, pretending you don't live at the same place, pretending he's not balls deep inside you every other night, pretending he isn't the man who proposed to you months ago. Jealousy because he had to see his very rivals openly flirt with you all night long, uncaring of the ring on your finger that should have been enough to keep them the fuck away from you.
He's mad because he knows you and how you love playing games, he knows you push him on purpose, and as aware of it as he is, he can't help but fall for it every single time, even when it means giving you exactly what you want.
He bunches up the cream colored silk in his fist, his wrist glimmering with the heavy watch you got him for his birthday, and the slight movement is enough to uncover what you are wearing underneath.
"Is this your idea of fun?" He laughs, and the sound is devoid of any humor. It makes a shiver runs down your spine, but it also tells you you are on the right track.
It's the same lingerie you wore for him on the night he proposed, the one he spent hours picking out during one of his business trips instead of resting at the spa of the five star hotel he stayed at. It's white and embedded with a shower of diamonds. The best money can buy for his own jewel waiting for him back home.
He specifically bought that one for the special occasion, claimed you as his in it that same night. And you wore it around the very men trying to surpass him, crossing your legs here and there to give them a peek.
Jongseong is an enjoyer of the finer things in life. The tiniest detail of his life is hand picked by him personally to display his refined taste. From the bedding he imported from across the globe, to his very personal wine cellar stocked by Mr. Sim's private collection, to the fragrances he wears daily, formulated with the help of the most talented perfumers. All of it has to fit perfectly to his taste and parameters. He is a man of sensations, the touch, the smell, the feel. They all awaken memories in his mind, that's part of the reason why the lingerie you wore the first time he made love to you as your fiance had to be perfect. But now you have tainted it.
And for that, he has to make you pay.
"Come on, it's just the panties. I didn't even wear the bra, so it doesn't count," you say, putting on your best pout. You know it's useless when you meet his gaze and find his pupils blown out, the warmth you're accustomed to being met with seemingly gone.
Jongseong's other hand slides up, feeling the dress under his palm, taking his time in cupping one of your tits. He's careful, almost sweet in his exploration. If his eyes didn't tell you another story, you would think the anger had evaporated out of his body. It's what tells you he's not letting you off the hook easily this time, but deep down, it's what you wanted all along.
You meet his hand with yours, smaller fingers caressing the skin of his wrist then sliding up to intertwine with his longer, thicker ones. You guide him to squeeze your chest, enamored with the way he looks at you, like you're the most beautiful piece of art he has ever laid eyes on. Like you're his and in dire need of a reminder. "It's nice right? Custom made in France."
He lets out a hum. Then, moves his hand to rest on your neck.
Your breath hitches. He barely applies any pressure, but the weight alone is enough to make you want more. You crave the fuzzy feeling that courses through your veins when you let Jongseong decide how much and when you get to breathe, the delicious lightheadedness that comes with it.
It's what gets you going, the knowledge that you could say your safe word out loud and he would drop his hand immediately. Knowing he would rush to reassure you and take care of you like he usually does. There's power in granting someone else your submission, and at the end of the day you both know it's you who is calling the shots.
You follow his hand again, pushing to get him to apply more pressure on the sides of your neck. Even when you know you're gonna let him do whatever he wants, you enjoy making him work for it.
He frowns, and you smile. You can practically guess what he's thinking: if he punishes you, he's giving you exactly what you want. But if he doesn't, he's letting you off the hook with not so much as a slap on the wrist. No matter what he does, you have already won.
Jongseong makes his choice for the night. His grip on your neck strengthens, and you wheeze when he brings his face impossibly close to yours, whiskey and mint breath fanning on your lips. There's a something in his eyes you don't think you have ever seen, the look of pure unadulterated fury. It looks much like obsession does, in the way it's icy cold and not burning hot like one would expect. It stings like dry ice, like frostbite.
He has never looked better, and your thighs move on their own, squeezing in search of relief. You bite your bottom lip to silence any sound threatening to spill out, but Jongseong sees right through you. He sees the raw lust overtaking your body even when you try to deprive him of the show.
"You enjoy pissing me off, don't you?" he asks, venom dripping past his lips. You want to kiss it off of him.
"You're—" He squeezes, and you gasp. You have to gather strength to finish your sentence. "Easy to piss off."
"I think I've heard enough from you tonight." He relents his grip on you, smoothing the wrinkled mess on your dress like he wasn't just choking you mere moments ago. "Go sit on the bed. Dress on, don't make me repeat myself."
You follow his instructions, much to your surprise, like your legs are moving on their own. Half the reason is the sternness in his voice, you can't recall a time when he has ever sounded quite like that. The other half you guess is curiosity, when it comes to punishing you, he rarely makes detours.
When you walk into your room, you find it tidy just like you left it before heading to dinner. Your side of the bed is overflowing with pillows while Jongseong's only has two. One is the pillow he uses when sleeping and the other one is heart shaped with a case printed with his favorite picture of you. You got it for him as a joke, half expecting him to laugh and then never think about it again. Instead, he treasures it like it's the most precious gift you could have ever given him, despite how poorly made it is. Even when most of the pillows on your shared bed end up on the floor during the night, he makes sure that one never does. You think if it came down to it, he would rather lay on the floor himself.
If Jongseong is pleased, he doesn't show it, because soon enough he walks into the room with two brown labeled bottles of red wine and stemmed glasses, not sparing you a single glance.
He takes his sweet time reading the back of each one, unscrewing only one bottle open. It's his way of getting back at you, making you wait. Each second that passes makes you more curious about what his next move will be, about how he is gonna punish you. Your eyes never leave his figure, his buttoned shirt doing nothing to hide how the muscles of his arms work as he untwists the cork. Your hungry gaze travels down, devouring him inch by inch, finding him already hard in his dress pants. No matter what he says, you know he enjoys this little game as much as you do.
"Can you be quicker?"
"I told you I've heard enough." The cap gives up with a pop. Finally. "No more talking unless I ask questions."
He pours a glass, then dangerously walks up to the bed where you are sat and hands it to you. "Open up."
It takes you a few seconds to comply, but ultimately, you do. You keep your gaze fixated on his as he tilts the crystal glass, pouring the bitter liquid down your throat. It stings on its way down, it paints your lips in hues of red.
When Jongseong removes the glass from your lips, you poke out your tongue to clean the mess left behind, gaining a hum of satisfaction from him. Still, it's not enough for him to voice out any praise.
He pokes his thumb into your mouth, lowering your jaw open to make sure you swallowed every last bit. The action is innocent to the untrained eye, but the execution is so charged with lust, it has you squirming on the edge of the bed. "Is the wine to your liking?"
You nod, but he quirks his head, waiting to hear you say it out loud.
"It's nice," you say, voice still rough from earlier.
"Good. That's good. I'm glad." He puts the glass down on the shelf facing the bed, right next to the bottles and the corkscrew. "Because you'll have more of it later."
He leaves you no time to process his words, grabbing a fist of your hair and pushing your face right on his crotch. The surprised gasp that leaves you is muffled against the cotton of his dress pants, and it takes you a second to understand what he wants you to do. "Stick your tongue out for me—yeah just like that."
He guides your head with his iron grip on your hair, letting you mouth at his clothed cock until his pants are soaked with your spit. It's messy and obscene, it leaves you wanting to feel his skin on your tongue, to get an actual taste. You want him to take his frustration out on your mouth, to use it like his own personal toy, and you make sure to show that to him.
"You're so dirty… look at you, so eager to please. What happened to all that attitude from earlier, mhh?"
You lick a long stripe, from the belt to the underside, putting more spit in it the lower you go, looking for any reaction.
When he bites down on his lip to keep a sigh of pleasure in, you feel emboldened enough to grab the button holding his pants together with your teeth, pulling it between them to signal him to take them off. Instead, he pulls your head off of him completely, ignoring your whines.
"Awww baby," he mocks, titling your head up. "You thought you'd get what you want so soon? You know better than that."
He undoes his belt and his pants, then leans back against the desk right behind him. "You've been such a bad, bad girl all night. I think you don't deserve to have fun yet. Am I wrong?"
"Please, I'll be good from now on." You look at him, glossy eyed. But he's way past the point of being impressed by your words. All you do with that filthy mouth of yours is lie anyway.
"We'll see about that." His shoulder relax with a sigh as he palms his cock briefly, alternating between squeezing the outline and stroking it, before dipping his hand down the waistband of his boxers. He takes it out, revealing the length to you too. It looks delicious in his hand as he gives it a few experimental pumps, the red tip glistening with accumulated precum, more abundant with each stroke. "Stay put where you are. No touching yourself until I give you permission. Understood?"
You're too lost in your own thoughts, too in awe of the sight before you to really register what Jongseong says. Your mouth waters as he works his hand around his thick girth, and you wish it could be your lips wrapping around it instead. Your hand runs down your body, still covered by the dress, looking to give yourself any sort of relief from the pressure that has built inside your belly, a feeling no amount of squeezing or grinding down on the linen bed sheets is enough to satiate any longer.
Jongseong catches you instantly, and stops moving his fist. In return, this snaps you out of your daze. "I said, no touching. Try that again and you're not cumming for a week. Yeah?"
"Yes. I'm sorry," you meekly say, snapping your hand away from your core like it burnt you. You believe him when he tells you that, because it has already happened. The first time he threatened it, you ignored it, convinced he wouldn't actually leave you dry and hanging. You learned the hard way Jongseong doesn't really take promises lightly.
"Good." He resumes his movements after ridding himself of his shirt, torso glistening under the light. He starts off slow and steady, deliberately showing off just how thick he is because he knows it's your favorite thing about his cock. It sits heavy in his hand, and every few strokes he squeezes, recreating the way your cunt clenches around him when he's buried in you to the hilt.
More than anything, it's the sounds he makes that really get to you. Jongseong's little moans and gasps might just be your favorite things in the entire world and being the one to rip them out of him is something you take pride in, it's your motivation to keep going when you're tired and spent. He sounds beautiful as he keeps jerking himself off, his hair slowly getting wetter and wetter with each movement of his arm.
The veins running down his length look fuller, and so do those on his arm. A sick part of you wants to bite down on the flesh of his biceps, leave your mark on him for everyone to see. There's no worse punishment than not being able to touch him, and after so many times he's tried to put you in your place, he might have actually cracked the code on how to get you to behave for at least a little while. Jongseong continues working on himself, his brows furrowed in pleasure and eyes closed, imagining who knows what.
It's only when he looks at you to check if you're keeping your hands to yourself, and finds you with your arms glued to your sides, eyes teary from desperation, that his movements falter. He throws his head back, stuttering through a chain of fuck fuck fucks, fist squeezing on his cock to stop himself from coming on the spot. He takes a few seconds to regain control, breathing so heavily you would think he just ran a marathon.
When he's sure he won't cum from your sight alone, he opens up his eyes again to take your disheveled form in. One of the straps of your dress fell down, and the silk got all bunched up at your waist, culprit panties on full display. Your makeup is smudged on your cheeks, but he thinks you look better like this anyway. He almost caves in.
"Come here," he says, but most of the anger and bark in his tone from earlier is just a faint accent. He's a weak man for you, unfortunately for him.
You get on all fours on the floor, literally crawling to be at his feet. He grabs your face to caress it, sweet and gentle, runs his fingers along your jawline. There is the faintest twitch of a smile on his features. He wants to cave in. "Do you know your place now, baby?"
The light hits your features in a way that almost makes you look angelic, but you're a much more devilish creature. And when you nod, the hunger in your eyes betrays you. Jongseong wants to cave in, but he doesn't.
He gives you a light slap, its sole purpose is to admonish you, not hurt. He grabs your face again, this time with more strength, and squishes your cheeks together. "But I don't think you do yet."
A hiccup leaves your lips when he lets go of his hold on you and turns to the shelf behind him, the little glimmer of hope you held out on now trampled under his foot. "Please— I'll be good, I'll listen to you from now on, I'll do any—"
Jongseong interrupts you, full glass of wine in his hand and an amused curl on his lip. "Yeah? Then prove it to me. Get to work." He lets some of the wine fall down his torso in little streams of red. It drips down his abs, the hard ridges shaping the flow of the liquid. It goes lower, and lower, and lower down his v-line and thighs.
You stare at the imagine, enamored with it, mouth watering as your eyes follow the droplets' descent down your fiance's body. You're so captivated Jongseong has to remind you to take action with another light tap on your cheek.
You lick a stripe of wine off of him, from his thigh to his pelvis, reveling in the way his leg bounces under the stimulation, under the sheer power of your sultry gaze locked on his. His Adam's apple bobbles when your tongue traces its way to his cock, red and angry from the edging he subjected himself to. You go to wrap your hand around the base of his length so you can suckle on his tip, coax more of that delicious salty precum you adore out of him, but his hand swats yours away.
"No hands, keep them behind your back. Show me how you use that mouth."
The order has you gushing in your panties, now too ruined to ever be worn again. Your thighs are slick with want, from all the wetness seeping out of your poor untouched cunt, from all the times you have clenched around nothing ever since the night started. You know the only way to cum is to follow Jongseong's orders until he's happy and satisfied with your compliance.
So you do. You bring your hands together behind your back, pretending an invisible restraint is keeping them out of the way, then bend forward to take his tip inside your mouth, giving it a few experimental sucks that have his hips stuttering to push more past your lips.
You take more in, trying your best to relax your mouth as you do so because he's so thick, but the sight of your struggle makes his throb.
"That's it. Good fucking girl. Such a good girl for me."
The praise hits you right where you need him most, and you can't possibly hold in the moan you release around his girth, the vibration making him throw his head back in pleasure.
He lets more wine dribble down his body as you work your magic on him, the liquid cold against his scorching skin. Some of it gets on your dress, staining it, and you think this might have been his plan all along.
"Aw. Look at your dress, now you won't be able to wear it anymore. What a pity," he groans. "So good, your mouth is too fucking good."
You double your efforts, and Jongseong coos at you. "Poor little thing, you wanna feel good too, don't you?" He sets the wine aside again, opting instead to push the hair out of your face so you have better access to his cock without anything getting in the way. "Wanna get a pillow to hump?"
You make a muffled sound of displeasure, and he laughs. Of course, he knows that's not what you want.
"What is it then?"
You think he's about to pull you off of him so you can speak, but he doesn't. He keeps you in place, mouth on his length right where it belongs, and instead expects you to voice your needs without a chance to breathe.
You want to tell him it's his touch that you crave, and you try your best to, but it comes out incomprehensible, a muffled jumble of sounds that don't quite hold any meaning.
"I'm sorry, couldn't hear you. Try again?"
Tears prickle your eyes, squirming in your spot, at his mercy and on your knees for him. You try again, with even worse results.
Eventually, he relents. His shoe moves, pushing under you, until it comes in contact with your dripping clothed pussy. Your reaction is immediate, a long drawn out moan at the smallest, faintest contact. He teased you for so long, you think even a brush could be enough to make you come undone. Yet, he makes you work for that too.
"Hump my shoe then, make yourself come if you want to so badly." He bends down, fist still in your hair to pull your head backwards. "But hold it until you make me cum first. After you swallow all I give you, then you get to let go. Understood?"
🏁 PAIRING: enhypen's park jongseong / jay x female!reader
🏁 TAGS & WARNINGS: f1!au, enemies to lovers!au, fluff, angst, lots of profanity, they are so mean to each other, p1h intak as a plot device, they both have minor daddy issues basically, there's very very little actual racing in this! sorry:3
🏁 SYNOPSIS: your hatred for jongseong runs deep and it's mutual. yet you're stuck travelling around the world together, condemned to seeing each other every race and beyond. the 2025 season brings you new experiences and as everyone knows, the line between love and hate is very, very, very thin.
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ NOTES: i've been teasing this for a while so i hope you enjoy<3 jay and i sharing the same interest/hyperfixation atm makes me sooo happy and i love seeing him fanboy the same way we do about them! since wtl, i've had such an intense jay-rot and i was soooooooo lucky to have had a moment with jay at send off and get his signature too! pls enjoy and also i have no clue why i made everyone a driver apart from jake sorry jake. also the formatting might be a bit weird but i wanted to get it out for yall even on my phone bc im leaving without my laptop for a week so its also currently unedited!!!!
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
ROUND 03 - SUZUKA // 04-06 APRIL 2025
You've never known a life or a reality where you didn't hate Park Jonseong.
Hate is a strong word, but it was the only one you could articulate at the age of 5 every time your parents would mention that he was coming over for a play date or that you were seeing him for lunch. Your parents never took you seriously of course, thinking it was just silly kiddie fights, but over the years, your feelings for each other just intensified into a big, burning ball of loathing.
You're 22 now and they've learned to just ignore your feud and leave you to deal with it.
It all started when Park Jongseong began pulling on your pigtails in the playground and pushed ahead of you to use the swings and playground equipment when you were 5. Then, he stole and broke your favourite barbie doll when you were 7. After that, he 'accidentally' dropped your favourite colouring book into the lake on a family vacation at 10.
Worst of all, he crashed into your kart so hard at the age of 13 that you had to go to hospital for a broken arm. That was the last time you ever stepped foot inside a race car- the day your world crumbled around you at the hands of one Park Jongseong.
You know he did it on purpose too because he's here, in front of you, as an F1 driver - seen as one of the 20 most talented racing car drivers at present time.
If anyone asks you though, there's no one in the world that deserves it less than Park Jongseong- the son of the CEO of Belift Racing.
"Y/N, stop glaring at him. There's hella cameras and fans everywhere," your colleague and best friend Jungwon hisses beside you as you walk through the paddock.
"Sorry, but he looks extra insufferable today," you sigh and roll your eyes, focusing on the walk ahead instead of Park Jongseong filming content for his team a few meters beside you.
"You mean he looks extra good? Are you into leather jackets?" Jungwon snorts. You direct your piercing glare at him instead, bumping your shoulders together.
"He's so pretentious. Why can't he just wear his team's merch and get on with it?" you grumble in annoyance, thinking about his flashy outfits and the sunglasses permanently stuck on his face no matter the weather or season.
"You didn't have a problem when Heeseung was in his fashion era," Jungwon counters with a teasing tone.
"That's cause Heeseung is actually attractive and he's not attention seeking like Jongseong is."
Heeseung was one of the drivers of the team you worked for, Mercedes. The two of you used to fool around a few years back before either of you joined the team, but it was all in the past and you remain good friends.
"I know you hate it when I talk about you and Mr Belift over there, so I will keep my mouth shut, today," Jungwon's voice lilts at the end of his sentence, when he throws a look over his shoulder, "Wait, he's coming this way actually."
You preemptively groan and begin speed-walking, but Jongseong's lightning fast feet catch up to you, "Y/N."
"What do you want, Jongseong?" you refuse to even turn your head to look at him, making him have to shuffle to get in front of you.
"My dad says you have to come with me on the jet back to Seattle for your dad's birthday party," he says matter-of-factly.
"Okay? Yeah, I know. Why are you wasting my time telling me this?" your words are drawled out, exhausted of this conversation already.
He tugs on his leather jacket, face twisting in frustration, "I was just gonna tell you to wait at Mercedes hospitality and I'll send Jake to come and get you when we're ready. Why are you such a bitch all the time? Must be exhausting to have a stick up your ass twenty-four seven."
"I don't need this from you right now, Jongseong. Just leave me alone," you grit out.
He runs a hand through his flowing hair, "What I'd do to leave you here instead. Not like I wanna spend 9 hours on the jet with you either."
"Then leave me here. I can find my own way to Seattle," you snap quietly, keeping your eyes peeled in case anyone came too close.
"God, you're insufferable," he groans, "Whatever, just wait for Jake after the race."
Beside you, Jungwon pips up, "Good luck for the race Jay."
Turning to your companion, you could see the tension leave Jay's being, "Thank you Jungwon. Nice to know Mercedes has some well-adjusted staff."
"Oh, fuck off Park."
"Just for that, I'm gonna crash into your driver at turn 1," he flips the sunglasses that he had pushed up to his head back over his eyes and you know he's glaring at you through the tints.
You know he's kidding. Park Sunghoon was one of his best friends on the grid and the driver who you mainly worked for, but Jay has a way of getting under your skin.
Before you could say anything, he turns away to start practically skipping to the Belift garage. Beside Jungwon, you're seething quietly, annoyed that Park Jongseong had the final word.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
You definitely don't hold the same disdain for Jake as you do for his boss. As Jay's personal assistant slash travelling companion, you certainly feel bad for the Aussie with the big smile. You can't help but feel a little endeared whenever you're around him, but you know to keep your guard up because after all, his loyalty lies with your enemy.
"How was the race for you guys?" Jake's walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, having just collected you from Mercedes' hospitality when Jay's post-race meeting was finishing.
"I mean, Heeseung won and Sunghoon came 4th so that's positives for the team. Suzuka is always a good track for us," you recount, "Our meeting wasn't too long because the TP had to run and it was overall a good race."
"So good for Sunghoon to get to 4th from 8th! I bet it was all your doing," he says kindly.
You chuckle dismissively, "Nah, y'know it's the whole team."
You were a trackside data analyst and strategist for Mercedes, mainly working with Sunghoon, who was on his second season with the team. It was hard, fast-paced work but you couldn't imagine doing anything else at all.
Even when Park Jongseong crushed little you's dream of being a racer and obliterated your confidence to get back into a race car, you knew your life would still revolve around motorsports. How could it not when your dad was a 2 time world champion with McLaren and your mother was a motorsports journalist?
"Hopefully Jay is all done now. You need to get your bags from your hotel, right?" you nod at him, "Okay, we'll stop there on the way to the jet."
You sit in silence in the back of a blacked-out SUV with Jake. Jay's occupying the passenger seat, head tilted back with his sunglasses covering his tired eyes.
He hasn't said a word to you at all ever since you met with him at the paddock exit. Jay simply got in the car already waiting for you and asked the driver to go to your hotel. It's a bit tense, but you prefer the silence over the fights.
Check out is a breeze, having already packed your things before you left for race-day and then only having to drop your key-card at reception. The bell-boy helps you load it into the car after you refused the help of Jake, who had fallen into a short nap between the track and the hotel.
It was a lengthier drive to tarmac, which you spent checking your work apps and emails, as well as updating your family that yes, you did willingly get into a car with Jay and yes, you were on your way to Seattle.
When the car cruises to a stop, the sky outside is already darkening- you must've missed sunset scrolling on your phone. The chauffeur hauls your bags out of the boot and Jay begins walking to the entrance wordlessly.
"I'll see you next race," Jake hums beside you.
Your head whips to his direction, "What? Are you not coming on the jet with us?"
"Nah, I'm going to Australia for a little bit. It's your dad's birthday, not Jay's, so I have no place there," he explains softly.
You begin to shake your head in panic, your eyes following the stoic man walking in front of you, "Noooo, Jake! You're invited! Please! You can't leave me alone on the jet with him."
The Aussie chortles quietly, "I knew this was gonna be a problem. But really, you guys will be fine. Just ignore each other and sleep."
"Jake, I can't believe this. When's the next commercial flight to Seattle? I'll just take that one."
"We're the opposite way from the commercial airport. I'm hopping on a jet with the Australian drivers," Jake's full on laughing at your distress at this point, "It'll be fine."
You fold your arms over your chest and humph, "Well then it's gonna be your fault when the jet lands in Seattle and I've strangled Jay to death because he's pissed me off."
"Likely scenario, but I'll take my chances," Jake presses his lips into a smile, "Chris is waving me over, so I gotta go. Bye Y/N!"
Jake runs up to his best friend/boss to say goodbye before dashing across the small airport to a small group of people you recognised as some of the Australian drivers and reserves. There wasn't that much time off between Suzuka and Bahrain, but being on this side of the world, it was an opportunity for them to go home with a shorter flight.
It wasn't very time-efficient for you to jet off to Seattle when you had to fly nearly all the way back in just a few days, but your dad was throwing a big birthday party, as he does every year. Even with your demanding job, you're certainly not excused from coming.
As you turn back from watching Jake shoot off in the distance, you find Jay watching you with a pulled, impatient expression, "Hurry up. I don't have all the time in the world to wait for you."
"It's a fucking private jet. It won't leave without you," you mutter under your breath as you catch up to him.
Jay ignores your comment thankfully and proceeds to hand over his documents and check his bags in. You don't get the luxury of flying private very often, so it always astounds you how easy and quick the process is to get you onto the jet.
There's multiple seating areas and sections to the Park jet and Jay beelines straight to the bedroom, only stopping at the door to leave you one final word.
"If you need anything," he pauses, "Don't."
He disappears behind the pocket door and the flight attendant gives you a sheepish smile, seemingly used to his frosty, grumpy demeanour.
You don't say anything for once. With the exhaustion on his face, you'll let him have it this time.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
Your dad is partial to a fancy party centred all about him. He's the life of the party- the main man. He doesn't throw these parties every year; most of the time, he's a guest pundit at a race around this time, but he decided to take his birthday off to celebrate properly.
Your mother is nearly the opposite of your dad- more reserved and introverted in large social situations- but they completely balance each other out. That's why you think relationships only work if one can make up for the things the other lacks and vice versa.
There's more than a few ex-drivers present at the birthday party. Namely, Jay's dad- your dad's McLaren teammate of a mere 1 year- along with his whole family.
"Y/N, looking beautiful as ever. Congratulations on the win and the 4th place," his dad kisses both of your cheeks gracefully, as well as his mother.
"Thank you, CEO Park," you reply, "Belift did a great job on pit stops this weekend!"
"Does it hurt you to compliment me, even if it's fake?" Jay muttered under his breath beside his parents, all suited up and prim.
His dad shoots him a tired look and sighs, "I trust you two are taking care of each other at the races? I haven't been able to attend as many as I want to this year because it's getting busy at the company."
You fake smile, "Of course! You know me and Jongseong- best of friends."
His parents know you're being sarcastic; the whole world does. But they like to do this song and dance with you every time in hopes their insistence will spark the two of you to make up one day.
Over your dead body- sorry CEO Park. Never gonna happen.
"Let's continue this chat at the table," his mother guides you to the centre table reserved for your family and his.
The downside to your fathers being former teammates and longtime friends was that whatever event your family threw, the Parks were there and vice versa. It was bad enough you had to see and deal with Jay every race weekend, but you also have to endure his presence in your personal life. There was no escaping him and that just fuelled your fire more; why couldn't you have any peace from him?
His name card is situated beside yours on table so he sits down and immediately faces his body away from you.
When your father makes his birthday speech and you all sit down for your bajillion course dinner, your dad is instantly interviewing Jay- the son he wished he had.
"How was Suzuka for you, Jay?"
"The 7th was really disappointing after a podium in China," Jay admits, "I just got caught up in traffic a lot and of course, Mercedes was really quick on the track."
Your dad glosses over his subtle praise for you and your team, "No sweat Jay. Fresh start for this weekend. How are you getting on with your rookie teammate? What's his name?"
"Oh, Riki. Yeah, he's rapid. He's doing great so far," Jay praises instantly. The Japanese driver was definitely becoming a fast friend of his, "He did well for his home race. In the points!"
They continue talking about the upcoming race between them while you push your food around on the plate. Since you were young, you've always known that your dad would have loved a son racing in F1 to continue his legacy.
Alas, you were an only child.
You knew he loved you; he never made you feel different, but you always just knew. Even after you stopped karting, he'd go to all of Jay's big karting events around the world and supported him in each class up until he got his rookie seat at Williams before his dad founded his current team.
Sure, you still worked in the industry and yes, it was with one of the most successful teams in the sport, but deep down, you knew he would've loved for you to be a driver. That's why he put you into karting at an early age, even when it seemed like women had little chance or roles in the sport.
Your mother places a hand on your arm and rubs affectionately, "Are you okay darling? Are you staying over at the house tonight?"
You sigh tiredly, "I think we have to catch the jet straight to Bahrain. I don't want to miss anything."
"Oh, you work so hard. Make sure you get a lot of sleep on the jet, okay?"
You smile tightly and try and focus on your food as you listen to your dad investigate enthusiastically into Jay in a way he doesn't do much with you.
By the time that the party is finished and you've exhausted yourself mingling with your parents' acquaintances, you're so tired that you can barely even speak nor muster a single facial expression other than sheer despair.
Jay drives the two of you silently to the small airport in his favourite Ferrari that he only gets to drive when he's home in Seattle. The jet is waiting for you on the tarmac, a bright white figure against the lit-up dark field.
You go to sit in the same seat as you did just a couple of days ago, but Jay utters behind you, "You can take the bedroom. I'm not tired and I have some work to do."
"It's fine, Jongseong."
He places his bag firmly on the reclining chair you were about to occupy, "There's no table in there and I need to work on my laptop. I don't want you snoring in here so go there."
Your face pulls into subtle annoyance, but you just shrug and continue through into the back cabin, where a double bed equipped with seat belts is made up for you.
"You're welcome!" he calls behind you for you to ignore.
The feeling of Jay doing something semi-nice for you makes your skin crawl. You know he's lying; he almost fell asleep standing up waiting for the valet to bring his car around.
You'll just have to wait to see what he wants in return because that was the thing with you and Jay; it was always give, then take.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
ROUND 05 - JEDDAH // 18-20 APRIL 2025
Dating was something you never prioritised or gave much thought to. It was just something that happened; you neither tried to bother yourself much with it nor avoid it.
You went on a few first dates in your early years of university, but nothing ever came to fruition and over the years, your life has just become busier and busier and there wasn't really a place you could call home for an extended period of time.
Even when you fooled around with Heeseung, it didn't last very long and there wasn't really anything romantic about it. Sure, he was a nice guy and he was good company, but you never wanted to date him.
Sometimes, you think about asking to stay at HQ in England- maybe that would give you stability to date. But you loved to be trackside and you loved to travel the world.
You didn't really have many friends in the paddock either. Your closest friend was Jungwon and you were friendly with your drivers and your team, but that was about it.
So it came as a surprise to you when McLaren's Hwang Intak cornered you near Mercedes hospitality in Jeddah on the Friday, asking if he could get your number"
"Are you gonna go on a date with him?" Jungwon's eyes widen in shock when you recount this story to him later on.
"I don't know. He asked if I wanted to have dinner in Miami with him in two weeks. That's probably a long enough time to text and get to know each other to see if there's even something," you hum.
Jungwon wriggles his eyebrows, "So you're interested?"
"I'm not not interested. He's super cute," you roll your eyes, "I just don't know if there's any conflicts of interest there too. I don't think Mercedes would be very happy with me dating a driver who's not on the team."
"Yeah, true. As much as you would want to keep your personal and work life separate, it's hard if he's a driver," Jungwon considers, "Ha, maybe they'll sign him for next year."
"Hey, don't say that! Hee and Hoon are perfect for Mercedes," you frown, even though you know he's joking. You're proud of the team you've developed in and you couldn't imagine anyone else.
"This is just a random question, but I don't know- say Intak was actually the love of your life, your soulmate and Mercedes didn't agree with it- would you ever quit?" he ponders out loud, "Or move teams?"
You instinctively go to say no, but then you pause, "I wouldn't want to. But maybe something or someone could change my mind. You never know what can happen in your life. I always thought I was gonna be the first female driver in F1, but alas, we're here. I hope it would never have to come to that, though."
"I wish I could see you drive," Jungwon pouts, "You won't even go go-karting with me!"
"Well, you have Park Jongseong to thank for that," you humph bitterly.
"Oh here we goooo," Jungwon rolls his eyes at the mention of your sworn enemy, "It's been a decade and you've had tons of therapy. What's stopping you?"
"The thought of getting into a kart and being shit. Knowing that I could never achieve my childhood dream," you list off stoically, "There's no point."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Y/N," he smiles in sympathy, "C'mon, let's go get food."
The two of you make your way over to hospitality from the garage. It was in between the free practices, so the paddock was busy.
"How does he even know who I am?" you query suddenly.
"To be fair, we talk with Sunoo a lot. So he's probably seen you around multiple times," Jungwon mentions Intak's McLaren teammate, who is also one of Jungwon's closest friends on the paddock, having worked together at Alpine before they both moved teams, "And in case you forgot, you're the daughter of a McLaren legend."
"Oh. Yeah," you deflate at the thought that people know of you just because of your father, "I hope he's not just trying to meet my dad or something."
"Bro, your dad's been around at the races for years. If a McLaren driver hasn't met him yet, that would be weirder. He's into you because you're pretty, Y/N," Jungwon deadpans.
You nudge at his side, "Aw, Jungwon-ie. You're soo cute."
A cough and a bump between the two of you stops you in your tracks, "Who's into Y/N? A lunatic?"
"None of your fucking business, Jongseong," you know his voice before you even see him squeezing himself between you and your best friend.
"Of course it is! I have to know who I have to warn before they have to deal with the real you," he smirks maliciously, "Who's it?"
Before you can signal to Jungwon to keep his mouth shut, the younger boy pipes up in amusement, "Intak."
"Jungwon! What the fuck!" you hiss.
Jay grimaces, "Poor unfortunate soul. He had a small crash in Bahrain- maybe his head wasn't screwed back on right?"
His words make your inside light aflame, seething with anger, "Do you have to insert yourself into everything in my life? What's it to you if another driver is interested in me? Can you just leave me alone?"
Jay visibly recoils at your animosity, "Jeez, Y/N. I'm just kidding. I don't give a shit if you date Intak or whoever."
"Clearly you fucking do. And I do not give a shit about you enough to care why," you spit, looping your arms with Jungwon ready to drag him away, "Just fuck off, Jongseong."
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
You're not surprised your father has found time to make it for race day in Jeddah. After all, it's Jay's birthday and he wouldn't miss that for the world.
The pass around his neck isn't even from his former team- the one he brought glory to. It's neither from the team his very daughter works for. Mercedes gives out passes to family often, so that wouldn't be unusual.
Instead, it's from Belift. His favourite child's team of course.
Your dad doesn't even bother to say hello to you before the race starts, only sending out a text saying he was at the Belift garage, just in case you saw him first on the TV without having heard from him. It's nice of him to update his daughter on the day, despite arranging this with Jay weeks and weeks ago.
It makes you all the more resentful as you watch Jay cruise around the track in second. It's the best he's done in a while and of course he has to perform well when your dad's here.
After the race, you find yourself in a private dinner room with your dad, Jay's parents and Jake, his best friend.
You converse minimally with Jake, who always tries his best to engage with you in situations where you feel sidelined.
"Anyway, yeah, Layla is doing great. I miss her all the time when we're away at races," Jake is showing you pictures of his precious border collie on his phone over creamy pasta.
"I wish I could get a pet! But we travel way too much!" you pout.
"Oh! Remember when you and Jay rescued that kitten on the side of the road when you were 14?" your dad claps in remembrance, "And you two were fighting so hard over who would take care of it that the kitten went back and forth between our houses until we had to rehome it?"
"I found the kitten, so it was mine," you remember the three weeks that you had to see Jay every day for the sake of a tiny creature.
Jay scoffs, "I was the one who got it out of the bush that had nettles!"
"Aw, you two could adopt a little dog and take it with you to races and co-parent it! Doesn't that sound sweet?" his mother coos at you.
You and Jay mirror each other's expression of disgust. Jay humphs in her direction, "Why would I willingly co-parent with her?"
"You two basically have the same schedule. It works," she shrugs.
"And maybe a dog is what you need to fix this little-" his dad trails off as he gestures between you and his son.
"We have nothing to fix," Jay coughs out, "And this conversation is ridiculous."
Jake smiles at you sheepishly at how this conversation divulged away from his cute dog to your personal life.
Your dad directs his attention to Jay, "So, Jay. 23 now. What's your goals for this year?"
Jay hums pensively, "Podium consistently, maybe win a few races. Other than that, not much else going on with me."
"Oh, come on son! Dream bigger! You can definitely compete against Mercedes this year; you're very strong and your team is very good," you try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as your dad spurs on the current rival to your team. It's almost insulting how he talks about your team.
You almost miss the way Jay's eyes flicker over at you, "It's early days, but I'll always try my best. The competition is very strong this year."
"Y'know, Y/N, have you ever thought about going over to Belift?" your dad finally addresses you, "Wouldn't it be lovely to have you two working together?"
CEO Park hums in delight, "We've been trying to poach Y/N for years, but she's happy where she is and she's doing great over there."
You don't even know how your dad could look at you and Jay and think that you could work well together. Even a blind person would be able to sense that the combination of the two of you only spells disaster.
"I'm happy at Mercedes," you say quietly, looking down at your food to avoid the disappointed frown etched on your dad's face.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
ROUND 06 - MIAMI // 02-04 MAY 2025
Miami's sunshine does wonders for your state of mind. One of your favourite traditions is to walk along the oceanfront to clear your mind for the weekend ahead.
It's different this year with Intak walking beside you.
He's got his hands in his pockets and he's carrying your bag on his shoulder as he talks about his childhood and his family.
"What about you, though? What was your childhood like? Are you close to your parents?" he asks curiously, cautiously.
You chuckle, "It's not taboo to ask me about my dad, y'know."
"Hey," he nudges, "Trust me, I don't wanna know and talk about your dad. I want to get to know you."
His statement takes you back in surprise, so you smile appreciatively, "My dad was definitely busy growing up, but he wasn't absent. In my school breaks, when I was a bit older, he would take me to the races around the world if he was doing something there. He had already retired by the time I was conscious, but he put me in karting from a very young age."
"Oh, you karted? Do you still?"
Your stomach sinks. Every time someone asks you this, you're transported back to the memory of freshly teenage you, in the wall, with your arm twisted and broken in the cockpit, "Not anymore. Besides, I have other things to focus on now to do with cars. It's what I love and studied for."
Intak sighs dreamily, "I wish I got to go to college - to meet people and experience the world in a different way. I've been racing cars since I was young and it's all I've ever known."
"I don't think I made the most of my experience there though. I was spending my breaks interning with different teams at all different levels and when I wasn't, I was in the library making sure I graduated top so I could get hired by an F1 team straight out of college," you tell him regretfully.
"Sunoo tells me you're crazy smart. I really admire that," Intak flirts, "Very beautiful and very smart."
You blush at his compliment, "Thank you Intak. You aren't too bad yourself."
He laughs melodiously, "Aren't too bad? Is that all I get?"
"I don't want to inflate your ego before I know how big it is!" you defend jokingly, "But yes, you are very handsome, Intak. You're like the number one heartthrob of the paddock!"
He scoffs, "I wouldn't go that far. Y'know who gets all the girls' attention? Jay Park."
You fight the urge to visible grimace at his name, "Really? I don't see that."
If he's mentioning Jay so casually like this, Sunoo must not have told him about your distaste for each other. It's something you want to keep under wraps anyway; it doesn't reflect well on either of you for the whole paddock to know you don't like each other.
"You two must have known each other from childhood, right? Your dads were teammates for a year or something at McLaren," Intak recounts, "Is he someone I need to get the approval of? And get in his good graces?"
"Hell no," you say too quickly before you reel yourself back in, "We're not close. At all. Don't worry about that. Though, you're probably gonna have to befriend Jungwon. Do you know him?"
"Of him. I see you both with Sunoo sometimes. He's a strategist with Mercedes too, right? You must both be geniuses!" Intak exclaims, "We should all get dinner one night. Maybe in Monaco?"
"Yeah, of course! I actually don't live in Monaco; I live in England near HQ," you tell him, "But I visit in the breaks sometimes to hang out with the drivers, so I'll let you know when I'm next there!"
Intak grins, "Well, you have one more excuse to come to Monaco then!"
The conversation flows easily between the two of you with the Miami sun dipping below the skyline and the sky painting a soft, darkening navy. You let Intak chauffeur you to your hotel and don't refuse when he insists on walking you just to the elevator of the hotel to make sure you were safe.
"I'd invite you to a drink at the bar, but you have qualifying tomorrow," you gesture to the increasingly busy hotel bar.
"I wish I could take you up on that," he groans and then winks, "Next time, yeah?"
You approach the elevator and turn to say goodbye, "I had a really great time tonight, Intak, seriously. Thank you."
"No, thank you for saying yes to coming out with me! I probably will not see you around tomorrow, but good luck to your team. Go easy on me, yeah?"
You stifle a laugh, "Never, but good luck."
Intak moves to lean in for a hug, but you hear a cough behind you and a stern call out of your name, "Y/N."
You dread turning around, "You've got to be fucking kidding."
Jay appears at your side, his face drawn in a tight, unreadable expression as he stares at Intak unmovingly, "Intak. Hello."
"Jay? Hi?" it comes out as a question as Intak looks between the two of you, "What are you doing here? Were you waiting for Y/N?"
He ignores the driver and turns to you, "At dinner, your dad said he couldn't reach you so I was sent to make sure you got back."
"Are you joking? I'm 23. My mother knew what I was doing tonight," you grit out through your teeth, turning to reassure Intak with a shaky smile, "Well now you know I'm here, you can tell my parents and leave."
"I have some matters to speak with you about," he straightens up and side-eyes your date, "Goodnight Intak. See you at the track tomorrow."
Intak's eyes flitter between you again as he nods slowly, "Um, okay. Goodnight. Thanks again, Y/N."
You resist the urge to curse out Jay in front of him as you try and remain composed, "Bye!"
When you turn around, Jay is already standing at the entrance of the open lift, blocking it from closing, with his arms folded over his chest.
"I'm not getting into that lift with you," you begin slowly, "In fact, it's better if you just leave right now without another word because I swear to God-"
Jay scoffs, "I'm not scared of you, Y/N. Get in the lift."
"You're fucking crazy," you spit venomously, turning on your heel to march towards the set of stairs. You don't hear his footsteps behind you, so you hope he leaves.
While you stomp up 7 flights of stairs, your body begins to seethe so hard you're probably smoking. How dare Jay show up at the end of your date? Since when would your parents ever care about who you were with and what you were doing when the sun had barely set?
You're convinced Jay is dead-set on ruining your life. You are sure of it.
You try breathing exercises to calm yourself down on the way up, despite quickly becoming lethargic. You think happy thoughts. You think of kittens and puppies and maybe the joy it would bring you to strangle your enemy lifeless.
The calm you mustered up just sizzles into the air as your hotel room door comes into view, adorned with one Park Jongseong leaning on it with a smirk.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" you cry out, pushing at his shoulder. He doesn't budge.
"Be quiet. We're in public," Jay mutters, "Open the door."
"If you think I'm gonna let you in, you're fucking crazy," you counter, trying to move him away from the door with your body. He shuffles back a bit, but his face remains stoic, "Jongseong, I'm serious."
"And I said I have something to say to you," Jay cocks his head, almost finding this amusing.
"Whatever you want to say, not that I care, you can say it here," you tell him firmly.
Jay rolls his eyes and in one quick motion, swipes the hotel key card out of your palm and places it on the reader. You yelp in both shock and anger, grabbing at his shirt to try and pull him away from the door.
He yanks himself into the room despite your hold and manages to get you far enough in for the door to swing shut behind you with a melodic beep.
In one fell swoop, he turns and grabs your arm that was still clutching onto his clothing, "You wanna get physical Princess?"
"Don't fucking call me that," you hiss, "How dare you show up at my hotel? My parents don't give two shits about what I do. How do you even know my room? How do you even know when I was coming back?"
He shrugs nonchalantly, "I have my sources."
"Jongseong, I'm being serious. You need to leave," you utter, curling your fists into a ball.
"Why are you getting so heated? Do you like Intak that much? If he likes you as much, my presence means nothing," Jay leans against the wardrobe, surveying your picture-perfect tidy room.
"Why do you have you have to insert yourself so much into my life?" you echo your unanswered words from Jeddah, "Do you hate the idea of me being happy so much that you have to ruin everything before it even starts? Can I not have anything for myself?"
Jay's face contorts into a frown, "No, what the fuck? That's not what I-"
Your lips begin to wobble and your voice begins to quiver, "Jay, I have no idea what you want from me. What the fuck do you want from me?"
Stressed, Jay starts running his hands through his hair, "Fuck, Y/N. Don't cry. I just-"
"You just what?" you taunt.
He bursts out, raising his voice as he throws his hands up, "I just wanted to make sure you got back safe, okay? Intak's a fucking stranger to you and who knows what he could have tried."
You start to laugh maniacally, in complete disbelief, "You- out of all people- don't get to prentend like you care. I don't know what you're plotting or whatever manipulation tactic this is, but seriously, Jay. You're unbelievable."
"I'm not pretending to care, Y/N. We hate each other, but like my dad said, I have a duty to look out for you away from home," Jay's avoiding your eyes as he looks around, "And I've heard Intak's a player."
You scoff, "Well thanks, but no thanks. I'm an adult who can make her own decisions without you needing to butt in unsolicited. Why do you care if Intak is a player? Let me live my own life. I can do whatever I want with my life without asking you. I can date or sleep with or befriend whoever I want and I have never, ever given you a signal to make you think you deserve an opinion."
"I don't know why I care, Y/N," he says your name desperately, "I don't want you to get hurt. I feel like I have a duty to protect you."
You shriek in incredulity, "You're a comedian, Jay. Is it because you have a claim over being the only one allowed to hurt me? We all know you're good at that. The only person I need protection from is you."
Jay writhes in discomfort, "Stop calling me that!"
"Calling you what? Isn't that your name?" you bark.
"Jongseong," he huffs defeatedly, "You call me Jongseong."
Your mouth opens to say something and then shuts as you're struck dumbfounded. He's breathing heavily in front of you, just a feet away at this point of this heated conversation. He's fidgeting with the sleeves of his button up shirt as he tries to avoid your piercing, deadly gaze.
The anger settles into the cracks of your bones, like it tends to do when he's around. It's a permanent loathing, etched into the very being of your soul.
"Y'know, Jay, if you put as much effort into your driving as you do manipulating me and ruining my life, you'd be a World Champion by now," you say lowly, quietly, as the tension falls between you and wraps around your bodies.
Jay's head snaps up, "Don't fucking talk about my driving."
You know you've hit a nerve and it makes you feel.... satisfied.
"Why not? That's all you are to me. You're nothing else other than an F1 driver who I hate," you sneer, "And I don't want to see your face for the rest of this weekend, seriously. Get the fuck out of my room, Jay."
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
ROUND 08 - MONACO // 23-25 MAY 2025
Many F1 drivers call the luxury city-state of Monaco home. What was there to not love about it? Monaco was safe, beautiful and allows drivers to keep more of the money they make for themselves.
In between races and the longer gaps since you started working for Formula 1, you've frequented Monaco. Most of the time, it's to hang out with your drivers Heeseung and Sunghoon, who quickly became your friends after years working together.
Not to mention, you like to visit the country for nostalgic purposes. While your parents now reside in Seattle, you were born in Monaco when your parents were living there in the twilight years of your dad's racing career. Your father still owns the apartment he once lived in between his races, so you always have somewhere to stay when you're in the Principality.
Too bad it's across the hall from the other penthouse in the building, owned by none other than the Park family.
On the Saturday before the Monaco Grand Prix race, you're locking up your apartment to head to the paddock to start work when you hear a cough behind you.
You exhale deeply, already knowing what was coming.
"Why weren't you at Imola?" Jay interrogates instantly as he shuts his apartment door.
"Don't you have other things to care about today other than my absence at one race?" you mutter under your breath, not even turning around to face him and instead going straight to the elevator.
"Were you sick?" he questions incessantly two steps behind you, "Did you go on holiday?"
"How did you even know I wasn't there?"
"I saw Jungwon walking alone and he wouldn't tell me where you were other than the fact you weren't there," Jay says matter-of-factly, stepping into the confined space with you, "You weren't in Seattle either. You dropped off the face of the earth for three weeks."
"Why, missed me?" you taunt, voice still flat.
"Y/N," he says your name sternly, "Is it because of Miami?"
You swallow hard, "Cute of you to think you impact me that much."
Lie.
Of course it was because of Miami. Of course it was because of the way your fight had turned your world upside down and scrambled your head.
Of course you were impacted by the way his face looked when he told you to call him Jongseong instead of Jay, like it was a name reserved for use by you.
You carry on, "I just wanted to take some time for myself, jeez. I was just at home in England."
Silence falls between you, thick and palpable as Jay ponders on his next words, knowing he's about to regret them, but he says them anyway, "Are you still seeing Intak?"
"It's none of your business," you snap quickly.
He doesn't say anything more, letting you walk out ahead of him from the elevator.
"You can come with me to the Paddock," he utters as you reach the front of the building, where his fancy Porsche was waiting for him expectantly.
"I can make my own way."
"Fuck, stop being stubborn," he stresses, "How are you gonna take public transport? It's going to take forever for you to get to the paddock and I have special access."
You weigh up your options- try and navigate the mostly unfamiliar roads on a busy race weekend, risking being late, or being stuck in a car with Jay but getting there quickly.
Jay walks around to the passenger side door, tugging it open as you watch the door slide up instead of out. Even with your racer dad, you'll never get used to fancy sports cars.
"Just get in, Y/N."
You drive in marked silence up until you get closer and closer to the paddock and the road gets narrower from the people crowding the streets.
"Fuck, Jay. I'm gonna be photographed coming out of your car. There's so many people," you curse.
"So?"
"So?" you mock, "I don't want people to think we're together! That would be terrible for me."
"If anyone asks, I'll just say we're neighbours and I gave you a lift because of all the traffic restrictions. It's really not that deep," he says, "No one's gonna ask."
You roll your eyes in disbelief, "Yeah, no one's gonna ask why a Mercedes analyst is coming out of a Belift driver's car."
"You do know that your dad posts on his social medias pictures of our families at dinner, right?"
"Yeah, but that's dinner with other people, not us alone," you counter.
"Is that such a bad thing?" he mutters.
You choose to ignore him in exchange for eyeing the crowd you were approaching. There were security guards posted near the valet area, waiting to escort Jay through to the paddock entrance, and now you too.
There's a very small handful of people who actually recognise you in real life. A lot have heard about the daughter of a McLaren legend working in the paddock, but very little could commit your face to memory since you weren't plastered on TV like the drivers are. In all of your career with Mercedes, you've only been stopped in the paddock by a McLaren fan twice and they were mainly asking about your dad.
Jay's car rolls to a slow stop and he motions for you to get out at the same time as him. Thankfully, all the commotion moves around to his side of the car, so you quickly shuffle over as fast as you can to the paddock turnstiles only a few steps away.
"No way, that's Y/N Y/L/N!" you're almost at the turnstiles when you are recognised for the third time in your F1 career, "Oh my, she just got out the car with Jay! Is he going to Mercedes?"
You swear under your breath as you feel a crowd surge behind you. You slip the pass out of your pocket and practically launch it at the reader, pushing with your body through the metal. On the other side, there's tens of photographers, lenses up already and waiting for a sighting of anyone important, but they're snapping away already because Jay had made it through behind you too.
"Y/N, wait up," you hear him call.
Instead, you keep your head down and tuck your bag tighter to your shoulder in comfort.
When you get to the Mercedes garage, Jungwon is awaiting you with a coffee, a pastry and a disappointed but concerned look.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
Jungwon nibbles on his lips as he contemplates his words, "You need to sort out whatever is going on with you and Jay. You had to take last race off and I can't lie... he's not been doing so good on the track either. He had a small crash in Imola."
You scoff, "What's his shit driving got to do with me?"
Jungwon glares up at you through his eyelashes, "Y/N. You know that's not like Jay. Now sit your ass down and get to work."
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
When the stress of qualifying day finally wraps up and your endless post-session meetings finish, you take a long stroll home to your family's apartment. Monaco is a safe city at night and during the race weekend, it seemed like the small city never sleeps with the endless tourists wandering by the docks and the casino.
Jungwon offered to walk you home and maybe have dinner with you, but the exhaustion reflected on his face had you sending him back to his hotel on the very first taxi he could catch with some of the other team members.
You were starving by the time you reached your apartment building, already dreading the fridge you were about to open to find it empty. That was a downside to your Monaco apartment - it was always so empty and cold.
But when you got out of the elevator, you were faced with Jay leaning casually against his front door, a few white plastic bags at his feet.
"Did you get locked out of your own apartment?" you scoff in amusement, rummaging around your bag for your keys.
Jay stands alert when you announce your presence, after picking up the bags at his feet, "I was waiting for you to come back. Have you eaten dinner?"
You look at him like he's grown ten heads, "Why do you care?"
He rolls his eyes and holds up the bags, "I ordered too much. Let's eat it in your apartment."
You'd opened the door at this point, but move your body to block him from going inside, "What game are you trying to play with me, Jay? It's unnerving and I want no part in it."
Jay purses his lips, contemplating his words, "It's just dinner. We've done a thousand dinners together in our lifetime. No one's home to share it with me."
He gently pushes his shoulder against yours to move past you, and you weakly give in from the smell of the food. You recognise it instantly- your favourite restaurant in Monaco that does takeaway.
Jay floats around your kitchen like he owns it. To be fair, he's probably been here more than you have considering he has a key as your mum asks him to water the plants sometimes. You tell her this request is ridiculous considering you have a housekeeper in Monaco who comes by frequently, but your mother insists on giving Jay the job - even when he wasn't in Monaco half the year.
You take a seat at the kitchen island with your stomach rumbling so hard you're sure Jay's hearing it. You know he'll comment on it later too, but at present, he's too focused decanting the food onto your fine china plates and plating them up well. Apparently, according to his parents, Jay was a pretty proficient cook, but hell would freeze over before you'd try sometime homemade from Jay. He would probably poison it.
It's weird to exist in this kitchen with Jay. It's so quiet, apart from the clattering of the cutlery onto the ceramics and the rustling of the plastic bags. He's not fighting with you- he's not even looking at you!
Instead, his face is poked into a concentrated expression, a line appearing between his eyebrows as he delicately plates some shrimp. In the light, he almost looks... good?
The thought itself makes you feel queasy, but you can't stop staring at him. He's clad in a plain white shirt and some baggy trousers, clearly having already showered after qualifying and having enough time to chill at home before you even got back.
"Enjoying the view?" he murmurs quietly, not accusatory or teasing in any way, but you can't help but snap.
"Making sure you're not poisoning me," you retort.
A small smile appears on his face and a lump forms in your throat because why was that kind of cute?
"Why can't we just eat it from the containers?" you continue, whining at the way he was taking his time decanting all the plastic.
He looks up at you, offended, "Y/N, dinner is sacred and the vessel it comes in makes a huge difference in the experience! I'm not even making you do anything- just sit there and look pretty."
You almost audibly choke, but you manage to keep it back. How was he saying that to you of all people, so nonchalantly? You're in half a mind to question him, and you open your mouth to do so, but he excitedly claps and lifts a plate over to you, "Ta-da!"
The components of the meal do look lovely on the plate- similar to how a fine-dining restaurant would display them, but you wouldn't readily admit that.
You snatch the cutlery he's holding in your direction, "You act like you made the food. You just put it on the plate."
"I don't even get a thank you for sharing the food?" he pouts, settling into another stool at the counter.
"I'm the one helping you finish it otherwise it'll go to waste," that's what you'll tell yourself to make yourself feel better- because there was in no way he was willingly sharing this meal with you to spend time with you.
Jay hums through the first bite of food, "You're right. Anyway, excited for tomorrow?"
You grimace, "It's a boring race. No one can overtake. Sunghoon's in 10th."
"It'll be interesting with the mandatory pit stops and if there's any safety cars," Jay nods and then frowns, "I'm not that excited to stare at the back of your little boyfriend for 78 laps though."
You splutter on the shrimp, "My who?"
He looks at you questionably, "Your little boyfriend Intak. He qualified 4th and I'm in 5th, remember?"
"Well, I was mostly concerned about where my driver was ending up," you humph, "And he's not my little boyfriend."
"Hwang too pussy to make a move?" Jay scoffs in amusement.
You look up at him sharply, giving piercing glares, "Jay. It's none of your business. Stay out of my love life."
The glint in his eyes tells you he's gonna continue, "Isn't it a conflict of interest though? You work for a different team to him."
You gesture between yourselves, "And you're also a driver from a different team. Having dinner with me."
Jay frowns so hard that lines crease his forehead, "No, but that's different. We grew up together."
"I don't think it's that different."
He stays silent for a while, pushing the rice on his plate around wordlessly until the tension builds so high that it's making you squirm in your seat. You don't know what happened to change the atmosphere in the room- it was probably him.
Jay keeps his eyes on the plate, "Do you have to date Intak?"
You place your cutlery down with a clatter, "What?"
"I said, do you have to date Intak?"
"I have no idea what you mean by that," you try and say calmly, already feeling the heat and frustration rising, "And again, I want you to stay out of my personal life."
"But why do you have to date him?" his voice is quiet, almost ashamed.
"Jay. I really, really don't have to explain anything to you. My life is not your business," you begin to seethe.
He sighs deeply, "I'm not trying to make you angry again."
"Then why are you asking me all these stupid questions and nosing your way into my life?" you counter .
Jay scrapes the fork against the ceramic, making you wince, "Cause I don't want you to date him."
You scoff in utter shock that he'd have the audacity to say something like that. The stool scrapes back with an ear-splitting screech as you stand up, ready to walk away, "You're unbelievable. Are we still on this? You haven't realised in the past three weeks that all the shit you said in Miami was unacceptable and now you're doubling down? Jay, you're crazy."
Jay clenched his teeth as he stands up too, "I feel crazy too. I have no idea what the fuck is going on to me but I know the idea of you dating Intak makes me feel sick."
"The idea of my happiness makes you feel sick. That's how twisted and evil you are. Right. Got it," you deadpan angrily, creating distance between you.
Jay exhales frustratedly, "No! You don't get it, do you, Y/N?"
"Get what? That you're out to ruin my life?" You taunt, tone sharp, "That you're trying to block anything that gives me an ounce of happiness?"
Jay looks up, his face painted with a mix of emotions - confusion, frustration, passion. You meet his eyes that were not glaring at you like they usually were. Instead, his eyes are wide and his pupils blown out as he stares at you intently.
You open your mouth to keep hammering onto him, but in one moment you're two feet apart staring at each other heatedly, and in the next, your eyes are closed with Jay's large hands on your cheeks and his mouth pressed firmly against yours.
His lips are rough on yours, fitting awkwardly and stunning you into complete shock and silence. Jay doesn't move at all and neither do you, but then you start feeling the warmth of his palm on your skin and the feeling of his body against yours.
You squirm and push him away so hard you stumble back against the island, hitting the counter at your waist.
Panting, you look up at Jay, whose eyes have grown so wide with the disbelief at his own actions.
"Y/N," he whispers your name like a prayer, "I- I'm sorry. I-"
You don't know what comes over you. Maybe it's all the years of hatred building up as tension between you that you finally snap and push Jay against the wall of your kitchen and reach up to connect your lips again in a fiery haze.
His arms snake instantly around your waist, tugging you so tightly against him it knocks the air out of you and you have to pull back to gasp a breath. Instantly, he captures your lips again, moving quickly, fiercely.
Your fingers snake up to his hair, tangling themselves within his damp locks to pull his face against yours. Jay squeezes at your skin, making you gasp and giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.
He tastes like lemon from the lemonade he's been sipping on with a hint of the food you were both just nibbling at before Jay began to run his mouth. His hands caress up your side, ending again with your cheeks in both of his palms as he squishes your faces and brings his closer to yours, as if that was even possible with your tongues in each other's mouths.
You don't know how long you're making out for; maybe time stops around you. All you know is that the feeling of his mouth on yours is one of the most sure things you've felt in a long while, even if it felt very, very, very wrong.
"Jay-" you whimper against his pillowy lips.
Jay pulls away and latches his teeth at your neck as he scowls, "No, you call me Jongseong."
"Jongseong," you repeat in a daze.
His teeth catch at a sensitive point on your neck, making you moan, "Good girl."
You step impossibly closer to slot your leg between his as he returns to terrorising your mouth, moving desperately like he wanted to devour you.
When you pull back to breathe, he's sucking at your jaw, "Don't stop."
It feels like forever before you can muster up the strength to come back to reality, when kissing Jay felt like a dream.
You peel his arms away from you, "Jongseong, you have a race tomorrow. You need to go to bed."
His pupils are blown out when he steps back, lips swollen and red as he pants to catch his breath. He's looking around, as if also perplexed on the sequence of events. He coughs, "Yeah. I do."
Your eyes flicker to the direction of the front door, while a momentary look of hurt flashes in his eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow. Probably."
Jongseong nods, collecting his keys and his phone, "Make sure to finish your food."
"Yeah."
You walk him to the door, "See you."
"No good luck for me?"
You scoff, trying to avoid his gaze, "Never. Bye Jongseong."
You shut the door and listen for his key to turn and his own door to close. Your back presses against the wood as you slide down onto your behind, clutching your knees to your chest.
What the fuck just happened?
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
ROUND 09 - BARCELONA // 30 MAY - 01 JUNE 2025
Out of the many cities that you've travelled to in your career, Barcelona remains one of your favourites. From the rich and distinct culture, to the mouth-watering food and the iconic landmarks to see, you think Barcelona has it all.
Too bad you're stuck at the race on a perfect day to be exploring.
Jungwon spins in his chair beside you, over and over and over and over again, until you have to reach over and smack his arm. He pouts in apology and then begins doing it again 30 seconds later.
Your best friend hasn't been briefed about what happened in Monaco. You don't think you even have half the courage to be able to tell a single soul what happened in your Monaco apartment. You don't even think anyone would believe it happened.
Sure, the moment's been replaying on loop in your head ever since and keeps you up at night, but other than those very small things, it's totally been easy enough to manage on your own.
So easy in fact, that every time you applied lip balm, you were reminded of the feeling of his lips. Then, every time that you closed your eyes to try and sleep, you were transported back to that very moment. And every time you sprayed perfume on your neck in front of the mirror, you remember how his teeth felt against your skin- like a phantom kiss.
You could practically feel his touch ghosting over your skin at any given moment and it made you incredibly conflicted.
As much as you hate Park Jongseong, why was that the most insane kiss you've ever had?
"Earth to Y/N?" Jungwon's voice fades into your consciousness as you realise he's snapping his fingers in front of your face, "I said Sunghoon is about to come. Race is starting soon."
You shake your head to reorient yourself back to what was in front of you- multiple screens that should be reflecting back tons and tons of data, but were currently black.
"Are you feeling okay? You've been off for like a week," Jungwon passes off casually, trying not to pry too much, "You zoned out during the race last weekend and this weekend you can barely concentrate. If you're sick, you can take time off- you should put yourself first."
You appreciate his concern; you really do. But how were you going to tell him that your brain was all scrambled because you had kissed your enemy?
"Thanks Won, but seriously, I'm fine. I'm gonna lock in now, promise," you try to reassure him.
You're saved by the bell in the form of Sunghoon announcing himself in the garage. He greets you and the team, commanding the attention of everyone to begin your pre-race huddle. Jungwon eyes you nervously, but he knows better than to push you.
The pre-race briefing passes by like it normally does and eventually, Sunghoon is getting in his car for the reconnaissance lap and you wait around for a while to go through the motions of the grid activities, the national anthem and the prep just before the race.
During a race, you were usually able to put whatever was happening in your life aside and focus at the task at hand- making sure Sunghoon was receiving the best information and strategies for the race and working with Heeseung's team to keep Mercedes at the top of the Constructor's Championship. All of the bad days and bad moments were cast away when you were in your element of analysing data and making tweaks and alterations to the race strategy.
But 45 laps into the planned 66, you were plucked out of your auto-pilot bubble when the yellow flag advisory appeared and then stayed.
A lot of the times, in dry races, the yellow flag would appear and resolve within seconds- someone going down an escape route or touching the wall but still being able to carry on. Sometimes, there was a virtual safety car for more minor things.
It was a tricky time for you and your team whenever an incident happens and there opens a window of opportunity for the race. Of course, the team has a million different plans for a million different scenarios, but someone has to make the call to execute them.
"Sunghoon needs to pit," you communicate instantly, "Get the mechanics out!"
His race engineer thankfully agrees with you and commands Sunghoon to box. He's been having a good race this weekend, cruising in 3rd with Heeseung leading the race. Your side of the garage made the call to pit first and Heeseung was on fresher tyres by a few laps, so Sunghoon was being given the opportunity to try the undercut on the driver in 2nd.
"Why's there a yellow flag?" Sunghoon's voice is muffled and breathy on the radio as he comes in through the pit entry.
His race engineer answers promptly, "Jay crashed taking turn 1."
Your breath hitches.
"Is he okay?" Sunghoon immediately asks.
"They're working to recover the car and the medical car has him."
That wasn't exactly a 'yeah, he's fine'.
In the limited years you've been working in Formula 1, Jay has only DNF'd a Sunday race 3 times - once for engine failure, another for brake issues and then when a rookie had crashed into him. He's known all around as a pretty safe and reliable driver to get you through a race, no doubt.
But Jungwon had told you before that he had a small crash in Imola, albeit in qualifying, two races ago and now, he was crashing into the walls of the Barcelona circuit.
You can feel Jungwon's eyes on you, so you grip your mouse tightly and keep your head locked onto the screens. Your phone is on the table face down, but it'd be silly to text him, right? You didn't have that kind of... relationship.
Although difficult, you manage to keep your head from flooding with thoughts of Park Jongseong and focus on getting Sunghoon through to the end of the race.
It feels wrong to celebrate after the race when Mercedes are able to complete a 1-2. There's champagne spraying down on the team from the balcony and you're getting pushed and pulled in every direction as your wider team hug each other and throw their hands up in glee. You plaster a smile on your face, though it was probably not very convincing.
During the post-race meeting, your mind was running a million thoughts per minute all while simultaneously being empty. It was so hard to focus on what was being said when you were sat there worried for your childhood nemesis. It confused you so much how he was occupying so much of your brain when only a few weeks ago, the thought of him repulsed you.
"D'you wanna get dinner? At that restaurant you like near the Sagrada?" Heeseung asks casually as the team packs up. He's talking to both you and Jungwon, "I won so my treat!"
Jungwon agrees enthusiastically, but you don't know how much longer of the day you can keep pretending everything was okay.
"I'm really beat, Hee, so I'm just gonna go back to the hotel. Sorry and congrats again," you apologise.
Heeseung gives you a lopsided smile as he takes you into a hug, "Sure. Great job today with Sunghoon. See you back at the factory. Or come see me in Monaco before we head off to Montreal."
Monaco.
Just the name has you visibly flinching in remembrance. Monaco- the place where your relationship with Jay has permanently changed, not that you knew in what way yet.
"Maybe, bye Hee. Bye Won."
The taxi ride back into the city centre is long and arduous with the amount of cars on the road fleeing from the track at the conclusion of the festivities. You sit there the entire time, staring at Jay's contact on your phone, wondering if you should text or not.
On one hand, you're supposed to hate him. You're not supposed to be worried about him at all. You're you and he's him. It's like mentos and cola or watermelons with gravy- either totally wrong or downright dangerous.
But his parents aren't here and you're meant to be looking out for each other- not that you have done in the past.
After deliberating, you decide to text Jake instead: "Is he okay?".
You don't get a reply from his best friend even an hour later when you arrive at your hotel. You keep refreshing your apps- maybe you just missed the notification?
You even search up his name on social media, in case someone knew something or the team posts an update. It feels stupid preoccupying yourself this much. You're not meant to care even a little bit, but you find that you do and the thought distresses you a lot.
Watching the crash back on social media is like a torture ritual- seeing his car collide at such high speed and breaking apart into a million pieces. It tugs on your heart to see him needing to be helped out of the race car, but at least he was able to walk a little bit to get into the medical car.
Heeseung and Sunghoon don't crash very often, thankfully, but when they do, it creates such a sinking feeling in your stomach that doesn't go away until you next see them in the flesh to make sure they really were okay.
Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone begins buzzing and you answer without looking.
"Hello?"
There's a pause on the line and then a raspy breath, "You texted Jake if I was okay?"
His voice instantly releases some of the worry in your body, "It was a pretty bad crash."
His chuckle is soft, "I know; the engineers and mechanics are gonna kill me. At least it's 2 weeks to Montreal."
"You shouldn't even be thinking about that," you scold with a frown he can't see.
It's unbelievable you're even having a decent, but hesitant, conversation with him.
"I'm fine. I just finished doing some tests at the nearest hospital. The most I'll be is sore tomorrow when I wake up," he reassures.
"Oh. Okay," you swallow as silence falls between you.
Your heart beats loudly against your chest. Jay's breath catches on the line, "I wanna see you."
"No, you need to rest Jongseong. Go back to your hotel and eat and then sleep. Your body needs to heal."
You can hear the smile in his voice, "Aw, you care. I was gonna go back to Monaco tonight. Are you staying the night here?"
"I asked for the next few days off so I could explore," you tell him willingly. Why were you actually discussing your plans with Park Jongseong of all people?
"I'll meet you in the morning. You need to show me around Barcelona," Jay says casually, "It's your favourite city, right?"
"... How do you know that?"
His laugh is like honey, "I do actually know things about you, Y/N. We've known each other since we were born."
"Yeah I guess," you trail off, "But you've been to Barcelona a ton! You don't need me to show you around."
"I guess I have, but never with you," Jay argues, "Let's rest up for the night. Goodnight Y/N. I'll pick you up tomorrow."
He leaves no room for argument in his tone as you sigh, "Goodnight Jongseong."
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
You don't know how these F1 drivers find the most luxury super car in every city around the world and are able to drive them on the roads like they own it and live there. But you're in the passenger seat of a jaw-dropping convertible Ferrari cruising through the Barcelona streets.
You've never experienced the city like this; you're usually sweating in the subway or cramming into over-capacity buses to get around.
With the top of the car down and the car moving fast in the wind, it's hard to hear anything or anyone, so you lean against the door and watch the outside world. There's palm trees and blue skies stretching out as far as the eye can see.
You've barely said anything to Jay since he picked you up from your hotel, and you frankly don't even know what to say to him. You don't know how to act when you're not bickering with him and it's so off-putting.
After a while, the car rolls to a stop in front of the one and only place that was non-negotiable on your Barcelona travel list- the science museum.
"We're here," Jay mumbles, pressing the button to bring the roof back over.
You let him pay for the entrance fee; though minimal, he's the millionaire racing driver after all.
"So what's here that has you refusing to go anywhere else first to make sure we have enough time here first?" Jay asks in the elevator going down to the main floor.
"You'll see! I said don't ask questions until you see," you tell him again, getting excited to see youe favourite sight.
The main floor is expansive and there's so much to do before you can even reach the main thing you came here for, but as soon as you step out, you can see it instantly.
Jay's eyes widen, "Woah."
"It's a flooded rainforest!" you finally announce, beckoning him to follow you down to the end of the room, "Come."
You excitedly bounce past all the science displays and activities- you'll get to those later- to go straight to the huge glass wall separating the flooded rainforest from the rest of the museum.
It's a Monday morning, so the museum thankfully isn't very busy. You're able to nab the most central spot on the benches in front of the rainforest and watch as big fish and little fish alike swim in front of you.
"Those ones are massive!" Jay sits beside you, leaving a gap between your bodies, "I've never seen fish like these."
You giggle, "I don't know where you would have. But yeah, it's cool. I've been here like nearly 10 times now and it doesn't get any less cool. Hopefully we can see the capybaras too."
"Oh my, there's capybaras?" his face lights up.
"Yeah, but sometimes you can only spot them from the top floors," you crane your neck back to show him how the floors above had balconies looking down into the rainforest, "We can go inside the rainforest later."
"Inside?"
"Mhm, can you see the people inside?" you point between the trees, where you can see people on the other side, "Plus to get there, there's like a little tunnel inside where they have some snakes and spiders and shit."
"This is insane. How have I never been here?" Jay mostly mumbles to himself.
It's weird- the two of you exchanging words that didn't include profanities and insults. It's almost... nice?
You don't look at Jay for a while, instead watching the animals bob along and under the water. It's fascinating watching them move, especially the fish you think might actually be longer than you are tall. The schools of small fish are cute, chasing each other around and ducking into hiding places.
It's definitely a peaceful place- somewhere you could sit and watch and think for hours on end. You might have ended up doing just that if Jay wasn't there- ironically, he's what you would have been thinking about for a long, long, long time.
"Jay," you call his name, "Why did you kiss me?"
He sucks in a deep, sharp breath before he exhales, "Why did you kiss me back?"
You're quiet for a beat too long until you admit, "I don't know."
"I-" he pauses to collect himself, hands folded in his lap, "I don't know what to say, to be honest."
You nod slowly, keeping your eyes trained on the fish, "We can't go back to the way we were; we can't pretend it never happened, because it did. But at the same time- I don't know."
His gulp is audible, "I know. I'm sorry... but I'm not. I've been trying to figure out what to say to you all week- some kind of excuse or something- but even though I can't get it out of my head, I don't know what to say. It's driving me crazy."
"I can't stop thinking about it," you admit quietly, "Hating you is all I've ever known but that moment has flipped my whole world upside down. I can't act around you like we used to and it's turning my brain into mush."
Jay frowns, "Y'know I hate that- that hating me is all you've ever known."
"You hate me too," you snort in amusement at his statement.
"It's different- I hate you because you hate me. For good reason, I know, but still. I hate- hated you for not giving me the chance to make it up to you when we were younger," Jay confesses, "And then it became normal and we never came back from it."
You look down at your hands, "Every time I looked at you, all I could remember is that crash and how I was terrified to look at a race car let alone get in one for years. I know I should move on; I've been trying."
"If I could turn back time to prevent that accident, you know I would," Jay's voice goes hoarse and low, "If I could give you my career, I really would. You loved racing much more than I did when we were young."
His words are kind, but they still hurt, "Getting this job in motorsports was my way of trying to heal the past. It's helping and maybe I've already forgiven you for the accident, but we were so terrible to each other over the years. Is there any coming back from that?"
You think of all the times he would throw the most gut wrenching insults to you- after you'd said something nearly evil to him. You think of all the times he would humiliate you in group settings and all of the times you would lie to his face about his driving for the sole purpose of hitting him where it hurt.
You think of all the times you would call him a nepo baby and then all the moments he'd tell you that you were a hypocrite, because while you may not be an F1 driver for a team your dad owned, you were still employed in the field that revered your father. Of course you had a leg up in the hiring process from your last name alone.
"There's also no way of coming back from what we did in Monaco," Jay counters, "There's no way I can come back from how every single minute of this past week, all I've thought about is if I'm going to be able to do it again."
You hold your head still, afraid to see if he's looking at you while he's laying his heart bare, "Jay, if this is one of your tricks or game or a way to hurt me in the end, I really don't think I'll be able to take it."
"You keep saying that and I know I've done nothing to earn your trust and it's going to take so much to make you believe me, but Y/N, it's not," his voice is pleading, "Please."
Your heart wants to believe him so badly.
"If this ends badly, I don't think I'll ever be able to look you in the eye ever again," you tell him honestly.
"I'll take my chances," Jay affirms, "There's a fine line between love and hate and you're either going to be my biggest heartbreak or my greatest love and I have to find out, Y/N. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if?"
Your stomach twists- it's the realest, rawest thing he's ever said to you and you know you feel exactly the same way he does. It's not an explicit confession, but you can read between the lines.
"How do we go from the way we usually are to acting completely the opposite?" you voice your concern.
He scoots over a little closer, but not by much, "We can take it really slow; go at our own pace. Hide it from the world until we figure ourselves out. Work hard to gain each other's trust. Talk little by little until it's not awkward or weird anymore."
You chuckle a little, "You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"
"I told you so," you can hear the smile forming in his voice and the way his tone gets a little lighter, "I couldn't fucking focus during Monaco, Y/N. Seriously- I've never been so distracted during a race!"
"Yeah, but you also were the only driver to perform an overtake on track at the race," you remind him, "A very good overtake on Intak, might I add."
Jay's face almost lights up in remembrance, but then falls into a grimace, "Intak... is that still a thing?"
"He was really nice and I did see him a few times after Miami, even after you tried to intimidate him by showing up to my hotel," you tell him honestly, "But I knew I had something to sort out with you before I could seriously entertain someone."
Jay bites his lip in guilt, "You know me well enough to know I'm not sorry for what I did. I didn't even know I could get jealous like that. No one's ever boldly approached you like that. You've never had a serious relationship before- especially not one so close."
You pause and cock your head at him, "You do know I used to sleep with Heeseung right? Very very briefly-"
Jay's eyes widen, "Heeseung as in your driver Heeseung? My friend Heeseung? No. I don't know."
"Silly question - we were never gonna tell you because you'd probably hate him for associating with me," you point out, "And then hate me more for sleeping with your friend."
His face hardens, "It's in the past right? Like recent past, though?"
You laugh as you swat at his arm, "Before I was even employed at Mercedes. And really, never ever anything romantic. We're friends, though, and it better not be a problem."
"It's not a problem," Jay quickly replies, "But I'm still jealous he got to y'know- be with you."
"Well, keep the rivalry on the racetrack," you joke hesitantly. You don't know how much you can push him and how far he'd take a joke with you yet when you were at each other's throats just a few weeks ago.
Heeseung was on top of the championship, though it was still just the middle of the season. Jay was behind in second thanks to being a consistent points scorer overall. His DNF yesterday will probably hurt him, but you know he's got a fighting spirit.
"Hey, there's still 15 rounds left of the season. You're gonna see a lock in like no other," Jay protests lightly but then he pauses in thought, "Do we have to agree to keep the racing separate to us? Obviously, you work for my rivals..."
You grimace, "I know. I think we should try our best to separate them. I'm not going to sabotage my team to help you and as much as my dad would love it, I'm not going to leave for your team."
He nods slowly, taking in your words, "Are you scared for any repercussions if, y'know, Mercedes find out about us? Is that something that will change your mind."
"I don't have the answers for you right now, Jay," you press your lips into a tight smile, "I don't know what the future will bring or how they'd react, so I guess we just gotta take it day by day."
"Yeah, of course," he agrees, "But I told you to stop calling me Jay!"
"What's your obsession with that?!" you exclaim.
His lips form a small, gentle smile, "You're the only person who calls me Jongseong. I like it coming from you. Even my parents don't call me that often."
You fight back an endeared smile as you spot something in the corner of your eye, "Wait, I can see the caiman! Look."
Your fingers wrap around his wrist to tug him closer to the left of the enclosure, where a caiman alligator perched on a rock, half inside the water and half out. It's eyes peered above the surface of the water and the reptile was completely, stunningly still.
"That's so sick," Jay expresses, his excitement distracting you from the fact that he manoeuvred your hold on him to entwine your fingers together.
And then he doesn't let go for the rest of the museum visit. Somehow, it feels nice- your hand in his in your favourite place in the world.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
ROUND 10 - MONTREAL // 13 - 15 JUNE 2025
With your driver qualifying in 4th place and Heeseung in pole, Mercedes was in a good position heading into the Sunday of the Canadian Grand Prix.
As usual, Jungwon was spinning around in his chair beside you while you were waiting for the race to start and the mechanics and press to leave the grid.
"Need to focus, need to focus," he mumbles under his breath as he taps a pen on his thigh.
Your team principal returns to the garage and checks in on your side and you try to convince him that your team was all good. You don't know why Jungwon is so hyper today, but you had to act normal in front of the boss.
"Hoping for a double podium today," your boss gives everyone a thumbs up as he retreats back to the pit wall.
Sunghoon responds to the radio check and the clock ticks over to show 15:00. The formation lap always has you nervous; something going wrong here would honestly be the worst, but Sunghoon makes it back in one piece to the starting grid.
You nervously watch the screen and the order of the names on the left hand side. There's a weird feeling you're experiencing today because Jay's name is in second and it's one of the first times that you don't sneer in disgust and then proceed to wish bad luck on him in your head.
You try to push the feeling away of the uncertainty about this situation, knowing it's a feeling you're going to have to get used to from now on.
Besides, for now, he's Heeseung's garage's problem and not yours.
The race starts without chaos, but it happens so fast that you're practically still not focused when Sunghoon takes the inside line and overtakes Sunoo into Turn 3. Jungwon's shaking your shoulder in happiness and your delayed reaction still conveys relief.
You stay focused on keeping Sunghoon in third, but you get frequent updates from the other side of the garage that they want you to start trying to put pressure on the Belift car in order to relieve Heeseung from the constant pressure he himself was getting. Sunghoon was still a few seconds back from Jay, so you try not to make any promises.
It's a bit of a mess getting through all the pit stops and how the names don't truly reflect the position of the drivers when some were still yet to pit and others have had new tyres for laps and laps.
By lap 61, there's a DRS train between Heeseung, Jay and Sunghoon. Your driver is doing exquisitely well, but he just can't seem to get past Jay, no matter how hard he tries.
The mood in the garage changes when out of nowhere, Jay makes a bold move to break much later going into a corner than Heeseung does, and gets out of it cleanly.
Heeseung's strategist is immediately on the radio to your side, "We need Sunghoon to defend the cars behind to give Heeseung the chance to get his place back from Jay."
You know this sport is as much a team game than it is a solo championship, so you look reluctantly between your team and confer to the request.
"Copy that," Sunghoon's race engineer replies.
Though disappointing, you accept the team orders and watch as Sunghoon drops the pressure off the back of second place, now occupied by his teammate.
A mixture of emotions swirl in your stomach as Jay storms through the finish line to take his win. For all the years you've spent angry or annoyed every time he's won, it's a better feeling to not have to feel that. You're disappointed for Heeseung, but second and third is still good for your team, who usher you out in order to receive your drivers in celebration.
You're not close to the front of the crowd, but your heart leaps when you see Jay scan the Mercedes crowd for someone- for you- after he celebrates with his team. Even though Jungwon's face twists in shock and confusion when you do, you clap subtly for Jay when he lifts his trophy on the podium and you try and ignore him as you walk back through the Mercedes garage.
"No snarky comments from you about Park's win?" Jungwon raises his eyebrows, "Interesting..."
You turn to your best friend and sigh deeply, "I'm not gonna lie to you, Won. Jay and I are in a... transitional phase right now. It's kinda confusing and I'll tell you more when I'm ready but..."
His eyes grow the size of the car tyres that dominate the area of the room, "Oh! Oh my gosh. Okay. It's happening."
You roll your eyes at him, "Don't make a big deal out of it, please."
His features settle into a knowing smirk, "Something happened in Monaco, am I right? You were so weird that weekend!"
"I'm not gonna tell you," you bump his arm, "Let's just get this debrief over with."
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
Jay is waiting for you at the back entrance of the restaurant his parents chose for the evening meal. He's leaning against the scuffed wall, dressed head to toe in black and still wearing sunglasses even in the onyx night.
You clamber out of the taxi and you don't know how to greet him until he opens his arms to invite you into a hug.
"Congratulations on the win, Jongseong" you tell him sincerely.
"Thank you. I'm sorry for taking it from you guys," he giggles sweetly.
"Please don't apologise to me every time you beat Mercedes on the track. We're keeping it as separate as we can, remember?" you scold gently.
Jay pushes up his sunglasses over his hair as he leans down to place a kiss on your cheek, "I tried to look for you at Parc Fermé but I couldn't see you."
"I know, I saw you looking. Way to make it not obvious," you tease, "But what are you doing waiting out here? Our parents are already inside, right?"
"Yeah, but I wanted to greet you first," he looks down at you, "How are we gonna act in front of our parents?"
You blink up at him and exhale, "I just don't want them to interfere or insert themselves between us."
Jay nods in agreement, "Let's just see how it goes trying not to show them anything has changed between us. Okay?"
"Okay," you breathe.
The back entrance of the restaurant is down a dead-end road with nobody around. You can hear the clattering of the kitchen on the other side of the door, but it's dark and only lit up with a couple of street lamps on the street.
Jay purses his lips, "Can I kiss you?"
Shyly, you nod and spring up on your tiptoes to meet him when he leans his head down to press his mouth against yours. He tastes of mint and that taste that is so very distinctly Jay, but you can't describe. Slowly, gently, he moves his lips against yours as he rests a hand on your hips.
It's only quick because your dinner party is awaiting the both of you inside, but when he pulls away, he keeps his lips ghosting over yours as he says, "My perfect prize."
"You're so cheesy," you bang at his chest as you laugh.
Jay joins your glee as he pecks at your lips, "C'mon, let's not keep them waiting or else they'll moan at us."
Jay enters the room a few steps behind you, trying to keep his expression neutral like he wasn't bursting with happiness from both winning today and then being able to kiss the prettiest girl in the world as his prize.
Your mother bemoans at the two of you anyway, "What time do you call this? We've been waiting forever!"
You know she's not serious but you say anyway, "Traffic."
"Did you two come together?" Jay's mother asks as she kisses your cheeks in greeting.
"No, we're staying in different hotels. Our cars arrived at the same time," you tell her. It's partly the truth- you were staying apart from each other, but Jay had been waiting a while at the back door for you to arrive.
"Our champ," your dad hugs Jay, "Order whatever you want."
"He always does anyway," your teasing carries a bit of a lighter tone and when Jay would usually scowl in return, he just scrunched up his face to fight a smile.
"Thank you for inviting us to dinner," Jay says to your parents instead, taking the seat beside you. It wasn't actually unusual for Jay to find himself in the seat beside you at dinner. It was the only spaces left at the table anyway.
"I just had a good feeling you would win," your dad grins proudly, "I'm sorry if you wanted to be out celebrating instead. I wouldn't have taken offence if you didn't come."
"I'm perfectly fine right here," Jay snakes his hand under the table to rest on your knee. You place your own hand on top and rub over the back of his hand.
"It's a good day for all of us," Jay's dad and CEO of Belift claps, "A win for my son and the rest of the podium for Y/N's team. What a good weekend to have come to watch."
"Yes, you needed that after that crash in Spain," your mother frowns, "You're okay now, right?"
"Never better, I promise," he reassures her.
"It was so scary that we weren't there," his mother sighs after, "We hate seeing Jay crash, but he told us not to come and see him because it was only a small incident."
"It's so important to be have people you know around you when things like that happen," your father agrees, "Jay, I know you have Jake and your team, but we always tell Y/N that she has to be there for you if anything happens and we know you'll do the same."
You stay quiet, eyes scanning the same words on the menu over and over again. Now that Jay's in your corner, you try to push away the feeling that your dad seems to show favour to him a lot of the time. It's something that you know you'll have to work on with Jay and your dad in the years to come, no matter how long it will take.
Jay rubs at your knee, "Yes sir."
"It's another week and a half to Austria," Jay's dad comments, "Any plans you two?"
"I didn't say but I was just gonna chill at home for a couple days while I'm on this side of the planet," Jay shrugs, referring to his original home of Seattle.
Your mother claps, "Oh perfect, Y/N is coming home too. Maybe you can arrange to go back together on your jet."
"Mom, he's gonna have to go back to Monaco and I'm going back to England. No need to bother him like that," you try to say.
Jay's quick to reply though, "That's the luxury of a private jet, it can go wherever you want it to go and make as many stops."
His mother claps him on the back in surprise, "Ah, well done Jay. That's very kind of you to Y/N for once! Are you kids finally growing up?"
Your parents laugh together when you both roll your eyes in unison. You avoid eye contact with him, but he squeezes at your thigh to reassure you nevertheless.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
Seattle is sweltering in the June heat. You've spent the past three days of your small break beached on the side of your swimming pool under an umbrella, or inside said pool trying to cool off. Other than that, you've mostly also been napping with the AC blasting in your childhood bedroom.
Your father has left for a business trip, which wasn't unusual at all. While you were hoping to spend some time with your family while you were in the city, your mother accompanies your father wherever he goes. It's endearing, but you're lonely in a big house now.
The day before you were going to fly back to Europe, Jay insists on taking you out for your first official date in Seattle.
Of course, he picks you up in his favourite Ferrari, making sure to collect you at your doorstep and then open the passenger door for you. You're praying that your parents are too preoccupied to watch the cameras that cover every inch of their property.
He shoots off into the distance and then quickly entwines his hand with yours, driving with just one hand, "Good break?"
"You know what I've been doing the past few days," you've started a small habit of calling each other in the later hours of the evening to try and get used to talking to each other normally and updating each other on your life.
Jay smiles to himself, "Mhm. Are you excited for our date?"
You fight back an identical smile, not wanting to come off too eager or sappy, "You won't tell me what I even have to be excited about."
"Does it matter? Isn't spending time with me the most important part?" he teases, "But you'll love it, trust me."
Growing up in Seattle until you moved away for university, you don't think there's anything in the city that you haven't done. Even when your life revolved around karting when you were younger, you still found time to appreciate the city that you were born into.
You spent a lot of your poolside lounging trying to guess what Jay had planned for you, but you decided that it was better to take the surprise as it is as he put a lot of effort into planning a day out for you.
The entire drive until he parks up is calm- a word not often used to describe the environment between you and Jay. But he's singing along softly to the old rock songs on his playlist and you get to appreciate the talent you long forgot he possessed. In your pre-teen days, Jay would always sing and play the guitar at your school talent shows, but praising him was something unfathomable to you, so you blocked all positive traits he had from your memory.
When the car stops in a parking lot, Jay sends you a look that you know means 'don't you dare move out of your seat' so that he can run over to the passenger side and open the door for you. He leads you down the street, walking on the road-side of the pavement to shield you from the whizzing cars passing by.
It's a popular street you know you've visited in the past, lined with various cafés, small stores and service shops. There's façades you recognise, but also a lot that you don't considering a lot will have changes over the years that you have lived away.
"Where are we going?" you whine to him.
Jay rolls his eyes at your impatience and abruptly stops to reach for a door, "We're here now actually."
He pushes the glass door open and you gasp as soon as you see past the window.
"Do you like it?"
You excitedly squeeze his arm, "There's no way you took me to a cat café! This is the best day ever!"
Jay laughs, "What can I say? I'm just that good."
You don't even bother to banter back because you spot a small kitten walking over curiously to the edge of the gate that protects the cats from the front door leading out into the street. You fumble with the gate and Jay murmurs behind you that he'll close it and order food for you guys so you could play with the kitten.
On a weekday early afternoon, the café is relatively quiet, but you choose a table tucked into the corner of the shop instead of a window table in case anyone walks by and recognises your companion. The kitten trails behind you and you spot various feline friends curled up in different places around the room - in cat trees, cat hammocks, beds, café seats and on ledges.
The tabby cat is so small, it could probably fit into the palm of your hands and you have to fight the urge to pick it up and kiss it all over- the café owners probably wouldn't like that. But it jumps up onto the bench you're sat on anyway and circles the spot before curling up into your thing. You brush your fingers through it's soft fur, squealing inside as it begins to purr lowly.
You're so engrossed in giving the kitten affection that you don't notice how much time passes when Jay comes back to the table with a tray of milkshakes and an excessive selection of cute-ly decorated cakes and desserts.
You look up at him and he smiles sheepishly, "I couldn't choose and all proceeds go towards the care of the cats."
You cave, "If you put it like that, then we can buy the whole store."
Instead of sitting across from you, he sits on the same bench on the other side of the kitten so he could also pet the purring cat. Jay's cooing about how cute the kitten is when an older, larger cat snakes over, tempted by the food.
"Oh, that cat looks like a big version of that kitten we rescued slash kidnapped when we were young!" it's a grey-furred cat with piercing yellow eyes, locked into a slice of cake.
You move to both distract it from the food and also stroke it at the same time, "Hiii, you're such a cutie."
"What did we call that kitten again?" Jay ponders.
You laugh out loud, "I think we actually called it Mercedes!"
Jay claps, softly as to not wake the kitten, "Yes! Foreshadowing, maybe?"
"No, cause it was grey," you say back.
"Here I am, trying to be poetic and you're here being literal," Jay scoffs playfully.
You smooth your fingers over the soft hairs, "How am I gonna go home without a cat, Jongseong? How do I not kidnap these babies?"
He's looking at you in awe, "You ever think about getting a pet like our parents said? There's plenty of dogs in the paddock."
"First of all, I don't own a private jet to take an animal around the world comfortably. Second, the pets are all owned by drivers- imagine a strategist lugging around a dog!" you point out.
"Luckily, I both have a private jet and am a driver,"
he says smugly, watching as the kitten he was stroking stretches and then settles itself back into his lap, "Oh my goodness, so cute!"
"I don't think co-parenting a pet at races screams 'keep it private'," you snort, "Don't move- I need to take a picture."
You manoeuvre around the grey cat to grab your phone and try to take a picture. You don't even realise it, but you find yourself subconsciously smiling to yourself as you focus the photo and as Jay's grin spreads across his whole face. You don't even know how long you went in life without seeing a genuine, real smile from him.
"Why are you looking at your phone like that? Do I look stupid?" he pouts.
You click on the photo and admire it, "No! You actually look... cute."
Jay snickers at your reaction, "Is it painful for you to call me cute?"
"It's torturing me inside," you drawl.
He lets out this laugh- full-bodied and hearty- that makes your stomach twist with glee. You'd have never ever imagined in a million years that Park Jongseong could make you feel this way, yet it felt somehow natural.
His eyes crinkle together as he throws his head back, baring all of his teeth. The lines around his mouth deepen as the corner of his lips tug all the way up. It's something so surreal and welcome all the same.
It's so strange to feel so invigorated when his face relaxes to this soft, easy smile instead of the pinched, tight scowl he used to always wear around you. Something about this moment has you feeling so light inside and all the more sure that yes, this was the right decision.
🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
AUGUST SUMMER BREAK
Love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Two emotions so intense and so powerful that they activate the same areas of the brain.
It's something so many people have regurgitated to you whenever you talked about how much you hated Park Jongseong.
First, your childhood best friend when you were a teenager, who was convinced you were going to marry Jay one day. Then, your college housemates at your kitchen table whenever Park Jongseong and his family were in town and you'd have to entertain them. Your best friend Jungwon too- he's the biggest believer of that. Even your trusted nail lady, who you occasionally spill all your secrets to, redacting names and hoping she would never find out who the annoying childhood enemy in your rants grew up to be. She would always tut at you and say that you only felt this intense hatred for him because hate was a much easier feeling to digest, sit with and accept than its counterpart.
When Park Jongseong tells you he loves you for the first time, instead of the usual 'I hate you', something clicks into place and it feels just right.
You're in his bedroom in his family's Monaco apartment, the one just step from your own family's place. You've spent more time in his apartment this summer break than yours because really, every moment without him when he's just across the hall feels pointless.
It's astounding how close the two of you have got over the 3 months since Monaco. You still bicker about small things like no end; that's something that's never going to change. But at the end of the day, he kisses your forehead so tenderly and wraps his arms around you so tightly that you forget all the years behind you.
Late in the morning, light floods the room through the opulent windows and the AC is blasting to try and combat the fiery heat of a Mediterranean summer. It's cold in the room, so you're wrapped up tightly under his duvet that you've stolen to only cover your own body.
"Y/N, I'm cold too," he whines, tugging at the soft material, "Let me get under!"
"Noooo, you shouldn't have got up to go to the toilet then!" you protest back, burying yourself deeper into the bed, trying to turn away from him.
You don't know what time it is and with the luxury of a summer break, you don't have to know what time it is. You woke up to Jongseong playing with your hair, who proceeded to pepper your face in kisses the moment he saw you were awake. Then, you spent God-knows how long just talking, cuddling and drifting in and out of slumber. It's the perfect morning- one that you wish you can re-live with him over and over again until you both are grey.
He flops his arm over the top of your duvet-covered body and tries to pull you back over to face him, "Baby, please! I'm freezing."
You tuck your whole head under the sheet, letting out a muffled, "No!"
He humphs above you, "Fine. I'm gonna go lay down in the guest room then if you don't wanna share."
His (empty) threat has you jumping off the bed and throwing the sheets over him, "No, don't leave!"
Jongseong laughs instantly, wrapping his freezing arms around your torso and pulling you tight to his chest, "You're so weak. I love you so much."
You let out this automatic laugh too, until you realise your heart skips a beat and your mouth snaps shut in a shock your brain doesn't register until a moment later.
Jay doesn't even realise as he places one palm on your cheek instead to admire your features in the mid-morning light- a personal favourite past-time of his.
"Jjongie," you whisper, heart suddenly starting to beat fast. It's the nickname you used to call him when you couldn't pronounce Jongseong and the one retired not so long after that. It's the nickname you now call him in certain situations- when you want something from him, when you're sad and when you're feeling intense emotions.
His face twists in sudden worry, "What's wrong, angel?".
And then his eyes widen as he remembers what he accidentally blurted, "Wait, did I just tell you I love you?"
A shaky laugh escapes your lips, "You did."
He pulls back a little from you, but with one hand still keeping you flush to him, "Oh. I didn't mean to say it like this for the first time-" he watches as your face turns unreadable and then catches himself, "But that doesn't mean I don't mean it. Cause I do. I know it's early and we've only been together for like 3 months, technically even just 2, but I've known you my whole life and y'know, I used to hate you for a long time, but now it feels like I'm meant to love you for the rest of my life instead and I know that sounds really scary but there's no pressure-"
You cut his ramble off with a kiss placed on the very centre of his mouth, "I love you, Jongseong."
The way his face lights up and then softens in awe is immortalised in your memory. It's a moment you'll replay in your head forever and ever.
"Good," the worry of his accidental confession just immediately evaporates from his body as his thumb runs over your cheek delicately, "Thank you for giving me the chance, Y/N. I love you and it's the best feeling ever."
He cranes his neck down to press his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss that feels like home to you now. You know for certain now that your once-broken heart stitched itself back up and gave itself to your Jongseong- the one who was forever by your side.
fin. 🏎️𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪
a/n: thank you thank you thank you for reading. find my masterlist here & all likes, comments, reblogs and feedback are so, so appreciated <3
pairing: park jay x f!reader
genre: fluff
synopsis: babysitting with boyfriend, who knew he was so good with kids?
word count: ~800
warnings: suggestive
writer's note: getting this out of my system </3 the f in f!reader stands for freaky. mildly.
today was supposed to be a day out with your boyfriend jay. a day away from work and any other commitments, just staying together and spending some quality time with each other.
supposed to. until your aunt begged you to babysit her kid for the day, a little girl who was about six years old and had the energy of a well-fed monkey. since you were a very good niece, you had to accept.
so you called up jay and apologized for having to cancel the date.
"is that all, my sweet? i can come over and help you, if you'd like," he offered gently. "i really don't mind."
sigh, what a dream man.
which was why you were now sitting on the couch and cutting up an apple for your little cousin while jay sat on the floor with her and held a very serious business meeting with her and her stuffed bear barry. he had no idea how cute he looked, playing with a child. so girl-dad coded. scratch that, so husband-coded.
jay was an amazing boyfriend. he cooked for you, took your needs and wants seriously, had serious aspirations and achievements, and was always putting your feelings before his. how you even managed to bag someone like him was a mystery to you. he'd just say that it was inevitable, with how eye-catching and dazzling you were the day you two met.
and now he was trying to audition for a dad role in front of you.
your cousin got up and went to the next room to grab something, and jay sat down beside you on the couch. "apparently, barry and co. are planning to release some new lipstick shades. how do you feel about the blue from that raspberry ring pop? her suggestion, not mine."
you laughed, handing him an apple slice. "i don't know, sounds like you'll be making profits."
"maybe i'll buy you a gorgeous something with the profits we make," jay replied as he wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. "that is, if she decides to share."
"i suppose barry and co. will need more employees, then?" you asked slyly.
"well, i said the same thing. no company can work with three members, one being a stuffed toy. i fear i'm the only competent member, and your cousin is the creative mind behind it all. would you like to apply for a position?"
"i know a position where you can put a baby in me."
"i beg your pardon?" jay asked immediately, ears turning significantly red. "i mean— not that i'm against it— but surely, marriage—"
you burst into laughter at his flustered reaction. "you look like you'd make a great girl dad, with how you treat my cousin and all..."
"is that the root of all this? if you insist, i'd definitely assist you, of course. but i think marriage is in line first." he gently pulled you closer to his side and placed a kiss on your cheek. he didn't move away and continued speaking against your skin softly. "what do you say, sweetheart? a beautiful white gown, flowers, a delicious buffet, music swelling..."
just then, your cousin ran up behind him with the little pat-pat-pat of her footsteps, making him pull away from you, and began brushing his hair with her bright pink barbie comb. "barry says you need to style your hair," she informed. jay carefully scooped her up onto his lap and let her continue her professional hair-brushing without any complaints.
he hummed. "no doubt. barry knows what is right."
"i wish you could always play with me. she never lets me brush her hair," your cousin said to jay as she pointed her tiny finger at you. it was true, but it was only because she would try to purposefully ruin your hair to get revenge on that one time you accidentally ate her pudding. little devil.
jay laughed in response, gently tapping her chubby cheek. "i promise to get you a play buddy who'll let you brush their hair, maybe in about one or two years, okay?"
"really?" she asked in disbelief. "i want a play buddy! is it a girl or a boy?"
he let out a slow sigh and pretended to think. "we'll just have to wait and see. just let me and [y/n] sort it out, okay?"
she nodded at his words slowly. "okay... can we draw some lipsticks in my secret diary now? i want to draw a pink lipstick!"
you looked at jay as he let her jump off his lap and run to fetch her 'secret diary' and crayons. he turned to you and shrugged as if he hadn't suggested the idea of marriage a few moments ago. "she's a darling. so are you."
"yes, of course..." you said slowly. he simply smiled at your words and leaned close until his nose brushed against yours.
"i'll fulfill any wish you have, sweetheart, no need to lift a finger. this one, just give me a little bit of time."
Heeseung :
Heeseung was playing some games with the other members when Roza came into his room to bother him. “Hey baby, what's up?” He said, barely taking his eyes off his screen. “Nothing, just wanna hang with you…” She whispered, before climbing into Heeseung’s lap. “Woah” He quickly wrapped his arms around Roza’s waist. “You okay, baby?” “yeah, just tired.” Roza yawned as she put her head in his neck.
Heeseung tried to focus back on his gaming but as time went on he couldn't ignore the subtle movements of Roza’s hips. “Stop moving, baby.” He groans, hands trying to hold her hips still. “I'm not doing anything.” “I'm trying to play my game.” “play with me instead…” Roza pulled back, pouting at Heeseung.
“You’re difficult.” Heeseung smirked, pulling Roza in for a kiss. One hand wrapped around her waist and the other moved up to hold her jaw. Roza grinded her hips down to try and tease Heeseung, when he stopped her hips. “Not yet, baby.” He watched as her eyes glimmered at him. “Just a little…” she begged. She was too hard to resist.
“Just put your cock in, I won't move I promise.” Roza whispered. “Really, I don't believe you.” Heeseung smirked. “I promise, please. I need you…” Roza’s hips moving slightly. “Fuck… you’re irresistable.” He threw his head back before unzipping his pants just enough to pull his cock out. Roza pulled her panties aside and moved her skirt out of the way.
“Fuck, you’re wet.” Heeseung moans, rubbing his tip against her entrance. “Remember, no moving.” he said, slipping in slowly. “I'm so full…” Roza whined as she fully sunk down on his cock. “Hmmmm.” she whined into his neck trying to stay quiet. “Be good now, baby.” Heeseung put his headphones on and went back to his game with the members.
He had been playing for a couple of rounds when he felt Roza moving again. “Baby.” he warned. “I'm sorry..” she whispered. Her hands gripped Heeseung’s shirt tighter, trying to stay still. Heeseung focused back on the game as Jake yelled in his ears. “Dude, what are you doing hurry up!”
Once again more rounds went by, before Roza started moving again. “I'm sorry…” Roza whines as she continues to move her hips. “Aghhh.” Heeseung groans right into his mic, soon realizing his mistake. “What was that?” Sunghoon asked and Heeseung quickly turned his mic off and exited out of the game. “Get on the bed.” He demanded, standing up as Roza smirked at him.
Jay :
Jay was fast asleep when Roza came into his room, looking a little disheveled. He looked over at his clock and read “3:23, what are you doing up doll?” “I need you.” She didn't hide her intentions as she climbed into Jay’s lap. “Wanna be full.” “Can I make you some food?” Jay asked, trying to understand what she wanted.
She covered her face, embarrassed. “No, not food. You… I want you to fill me up.” Jay immediately understood. “Yeah, doll. Missed me, did you?” “Yeah, please.” she begged, eyes getting glossy. “Oh my pretty. You had a hard day, huh?” He watched as she nodded her head and hid in his shoulder. “Wanna be close to you.” He stroked her hair and laid her down on her back.
Jay kissed down her neck as his hands moved down her legs and pushed her pajama pants to the side. His fingers rubbing over her panties before slipping his hand into them. “Hurry, please…” He laughed as she whined. “I gotta prep you, doll. Hold on.” his fingers teasing her entrance, pushing in and opening her up.
“I don't care, need you so bad…” Jay couldn't say no. He pulled his cock out and lined himself up with her entrance. “Ready?” “Hurry up!” He pushed in and watched as relief washed over Roza’s face. “You needed this, didn't you?” “yeah.” Roza pulled Jay by his shirt into a kiss. He felt her smile against his as his hand wandered over her body. “So pretty.” he whispered between kisses, tongue slipping inot Roza’s mouth. “Hmmmm, I feel so good.” she whined.
The kisses continued until Jay could tell that Roza was getting sleepy. “Sleepy?” “yea.” Jay moved from above Roza, to her side. “Night night, pretty.” “night night, Oppa.” He listened as Roza’s breathing slowed and eventually became even. He left a kiss on her head and fell asleep himself.
Jake :
Roza was currently on her phone, mindlessly scrolling through tiktok’s when Jake came into her room practically begging for some sort of relief. “I need you.” His hands wrapped around her waist as he pushed his bulge into her. “Jake, calm down.” “no, please.” he whined.
Roza was stunned, she had never seen Jake this needy before. “What's got you so worked up, huh baby?” Her hands pulled his chin up, so he could look at her. “Saw one of you fancams and fuck… it got me worked up. Really bad…” Roza laughed as she moved to climb into Jake’s lap.
“Yeah, you need me.” she teased. Jake nodded and moved Roza’s hips to try and relieve some of his tension. Roza pulled back and smirked as Jake whined once more. “Wanna try something?” she asked as Jake nodded, desperate to get any sort of attention. “I'm gonna cock warm you. You have to try your hardest not to move, okay baby.” Jake nodded and quickly moved to release his cock from his pants.
His hands moved quickly and soon his cock was pushing inside Roza. “fuck, so warm…” Jake groaned and went to move out of instinct. “Remember, no moving baby.” Roza pulled his head back by his hair, stopping him from kissing her neck. Jake moaned at feeling. “You like that, huh?” Roza smirked as she went to pull his hair again. Jake’s hips pushed up in pleasure as Roza pulled his hair once more.
“You’re not gonna stop moving, are you?” She questioned as Jake whined, eyes glossy. “You’re too far gone, look at you.” Roza teased Jake once before deciding to give him what he wants. Jake wasn't built for cock warming.
Sunghoon :
The members had just woken up and were getting ready before they had some schedules for the day. Roza was doing her makeup when she stopped due to a knock at her door. “Come in.” Sunghoon came in and once thing was obvious. He was hard. “Hi…” “are you hard?” she looked down at his crotch, at the large bulge in his pants. “Can you blame me, I'm a man.” He laughed. “Why are you here? “Why do you think I'm here?” She eyed him. “It's too early and I'm doing my makeup.”
“just let me put in…” Sunghoon begged, coming closer. “No.” “Come on princess, you don't want to leave me high and dry.” “How is cock warming gonna make you feel any better?” “You can continue doing your makeup. Just let me, please.” Roza sighed as she moved to let sunghoon get underneath her. “You're unbelievable.”
Sunghoon settled beneath Roza and pulled his hard cock out. “Move those panties, pretty.” Sunghoon groaned, so close to losing it. “Calm down, jesus.” Roza pulled her panties aside and slowly slid down on Sunghoon’s cock. “Fuck, princess.” His hands moved to her waist, tempted but stopping himself from moving Roza up and down on his cock.
Roza continued on with her makeup, trying her hardest to block out Sunghoon’s whines and groans. “Can you be quiet?” She watched as Sunghoon leaned his head against her back. “No… you’re squeezing me just right. Fuck.” Roza sighed before deciding to tease Sunghoon.
Her hips only moved slightly. “Stop, fuck princess. Don’t tease me.” Roza laughed as Sunghoon’s groans got louder. Right as Roza went to move again, Heeseung walked into her room. “Hey, manager said he'll be here in 10 minutes, so be ready.” he said before noticing the red cheeks of the pair. Their activities hidden under Roza’s skirt. But that didn't matter, Heeseung knew. He eyed them and just smirked as he left the room.
“He knew.” Roza blushed as Sunghoon laughed. “It's okay we got 10 minutes, let's just go full out.” He smirked. “No.” Roza quickly shut him down and continued her makeup before forcing Sunghoon to get ready. Not wanting another member to walk in on them. “Still hard by the way.” He sighed dramatically. “Not my problem anymore. Maybe Jake can help you out if you're desperate.” “shut up…” Sunghoon laughed.
mdni!! LESBIANS, fem!jay you guys, fluff, holding hands (awww), kissing, smut, scissoring nghngn, pussy eating (a little), not proofread!!
vampiregf!jay who first only observed you from afar, always sitting in the quiet corner of the coffee shop, waiting for the pretty girl that has taken over her head to walk in.
vampiregf!jay who is delighted when on a busy day you ask to sit with her, practically beaming up at you.
vampiregf!jay who talks with you for hours on end that day, the barista had to throw you out since you couldn't stop talking to each other, it was a match made in heaven.
vampiregf!jay walks you to your bus stop and asks for your number. the shy expression on your face almost makes her coo because how can something be this sweet??
vampiregf!jay takes you on a nightly walk under the moon as your first day. gently reaching for your hand while she explains the constellations.
vampiregf!jay kisses you after walking you home, loving how your hands fist the fabric of her jacket. she could've stood on your doorstep and kissed you all night long :((
vampiregf!jay who asked you to be her girlfriend in the most casual way. you were lying on her couch, head on her chest, fingers intertwined. once the words have left her lips you look at her with the sparkliest eyes. who could blame her for attacking you with kisses?? you're her light in the dark.
vampiregf!jay who just can't help but feel protective over you. she knows you're an adult to human standards, but she's lived such a long time to know how mean people can be to delicate souls like you.
vampiregf!jay stares down all men and women, no one is safe from her icy gaze. isn't her hand on your hip enough? the neck kisses she likes to press onto you every now and then? she knows you're utterly hers, but it still pisses her off. “you're mine, all mine. they'll never take you from me now that i've found you.”
vampiregf!jay who in a quiet night confessed all the terrible things that have happened to her. her turning, the loss of kin, the loneliness. she promised herself to not get attached but you? you broke down all the walls as soon as her eyes landed on you.
vampiregf!jay who was hesitant to feed off of you. not that she didn't want to, no she feared she couldn't ever drink something other than you once she had. she didn't expect you to once day bite your tongue on purpose just to pull her into a kiss and have her finally taste you ngnhngn
vampiregf!jay who loves scissoring because it gives her space to roam her hands alllll over you, play with your pretty tits, squish your cheeks and wipe the drool off your chin :((
vampiregf!jay leaves kisses on your tummy, and is such a tease when she starts kitty licking her way down to your pussy.
vampiregf!jay cannot tease you for too long because she just wants her pretty baby to feel good, sigh she's such a service top.
vampiregf!jay loves when you try and pretend you're in control. you were straddling her, teasingly rocking your hips against her core. she let you have your fun, but after a while you got tired and whiny so she took charge. you're still on top, but she's the one guiding you, hands steady on your hips, deliberately forcing you to slow down when she feels you get extra whiny ugh
vampiregf!jay can spend hours, and i mean HOURS between your legs. she practically hums once her lips meet your pussy, this is her happy placer and after a few hours she might even just start talking to her. “always so tasty, you just know how to make a girl addicted huh?
vampiregf!jay who i need in my bed right now omfg.
lin's note: for my deeply beloved @sweethoons <333 i love u 4eva (i reached flow state while i wrote this)
