#Single-sign-on Authentication

[otiskeene]

Pomerium Announces $13.75M Series A Led By Benchmark And Launches Pomerium Zero

Pomerium, a cutting-edge access platform, has successfully secured $13.75 million in a Series A funding round led by Benchmark, with Eric Vishria, a general partner, joining the company’s board. The funding round also included investments from Bain Capital, Haystack, SNR, and Oleg Rogynskyy, the founder of People.AI. In addition to this funding news, Pomerium has unveiled its latest security platform, Pomerium Zero, which provides on-premise and hosted solutions for securing clientless connections to web applications and services without requiring a corporate VPN.

Established by Bobby DeSimone, who has more than ten years of experience in cybersecurity, Pomerium aims to tackle the weaknesses in traditional enterprise security methods. Unlike the typical network-centric security models, Pomerium adopts an application-centric approach for seamless, context-aware access. This approach eliminates the necessity for a corporate VPN and offers quicker, more secure access to resources.

DeSimone stresses that Pomerium's security solutions prioritize user-friendliness. He argues that if security measures are complex, employees will seek ways to bypass them. Pomerium's clientless access approach ensures that security measures are invisible to the user, encouraging compliance and boosting security.

Pomerium functions as an access platform that serves as a bridge between users and the resources they require, guaranteeing that only authorized individuals can access protected assets. The platform acts as a proxy for the traffic between users and resources, continually verifying identity, access permissions, and context. This approach provides a more secure option to traditional session-based access solutions and significantly improves productivity by ensuring smooth and secure access.

Read More - https://www.techdogs.com/tech-news/business-wire/pomerium-announces-1375m-series-a-led-by-benchmark-and-launches-pomerium-zero

[pohyuck]

where pretend becomes real

lee donghyuck x reader — a variety show marriage. a fake spouse. cameras in your face every day. (5.9k)

• in celebration of our fullsun’s birthday!! this story is inspired by the show we got married, though please note that it may contain some inaccuracies, as it’s not strictly based on the show’s actual format or segments

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

you almost didn’t sign the contract.

the offer had come out of nowhere. an email from your manager, phrased with cautious excitement. 'we got married' was being rebooted after years off air. you’d be one of the main couples, if you agreed.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

you reread the email several times before closing your laptop and calling your best friend. “do i look like i have time to fake a marriage right now?” “you’ve literally been single for two years,” she said flatly. “yeah, but at least that’s authentic.”

the truth was, your agency thought it would be good exposure. and part of you, deep down, was curious. about what it would feel like. to pretend to fall in love. about whether pretending might start to feel real.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

donghyuck said yes because he thought it’d be funny. the managers barely got the words out. “they want you for we got married” he started laughing before they finished. “you’re joking. that’s the show where idols act in love for strangers, right?”

but later that night, lying in bed, he scrolled through old clips of the show. something about the way those couples looked at each other in the last episodes stuck with him.

he could fake chemistry. easy. he’d been doing that for stages and fan signs since he was fifteen.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the camera lens captured everything.

your nervous fidgeting, the way your eyes darted around the unfamiliar set, the tiny puff of breath you let out when the PD said, “action.”

you weren’t a stranger to the industry, but this was different. this wasn’t acting. this was you, paired with someone you’d never met, pretending to be newlyweds on national television.

and then he walked in.

lee donghyuck. better known to most as haechan—nct’s infamous sunshine with a mischievous streak and a smile that could disarm even the toughest senior idol.

you have seen clips of him before: teasing his members and turning charm into a weapon. and now, he stood in front of you, grinning like he already knew all your secrets.

“oh?” he said, head tilting slightly. “they really blessed me with a pretty wife.” you blinked. “they told me my husband would be cute, but i didn’t expect him to flirt five seconds in.”

he laughed, hand coming up to hide his mouth. “gotta give the fans what they want. don’t worry, i’m not always like this.”

“…actually, i am”

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the first few shoots were awkward, as expected.

you learned quickly that haechan had no shame in front of the camera. he was a professional flirt, tossing out compliments and jokes with effortless precision. every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d flip the script.

"you’re not wearing your ring," he pointed out during episode two, eyes flicking to your bare finger as the two of you sat across from each other in a café.

"i forgot," you said, deadpan. "i left it next to the dignity i lost when they made us do couple yoga yesterday." he cracked up, but you caught the flicker of something behind his smile. maybe he hadn’t expected you to match his energy.

after that, it became a rhythm. witty back-and-forths. glances that lingered a second too long. moments that should’ve been harmless, like sharing an umbrella, decorating your "married" apartment, brushing flour off his cheek during a baking segment, but somehow weren’t.

you told yourself it was the cameras. the setting. the editing. they were supposed to make it look romantic.

still, you couldn’t help but notice the way haechan’s teasing softened when the staff weren’t around. how he started remembering the smallest things about you. how, during the fourth shoot, when your heel broke and you stumbled slightly, he caught you with an ease that felt too natural.

he blinked down at you. you blinked up at him.

then someone yelled "cut" and the moment disappeared like smoke.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it was around episode six when things started to shift.

you were filming a camping trip. just the two of you, a tent, a rented suv, and several production crew members pretending not to exist.

after the marshmallow roasting and scripted couple games, you found yourselves sitting by the fire, wrapped in matching blankets. it was one of those rare lulls where neither of you felt like performing.

"are you always like this?" you asked. he glanced at you. "like what?"

“like you’re constantly trying to win some imaginary flirting competition."

haechan smirked. "would it kill you to admit i’m charming?" "i think the entire population already knows that," you said flatly.

his smile widened. "so you do think i’m charming." you groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. "regret. immediate regret."

but he didn’t tease you further.

instead, he sat in quiet beside you. the fire crackled. you could hear distant rustling, maybe a staff member adjusting the camera angle, but the world felt oddly still.

you peeked out from under the blanket. haechan was watching the flames, his expression unusually unreadable.

"you know," he said after a moment, voice low, "i thought this would be easier."

you turned to him. "what do you mean?"

he didn’t look at you. "i thought i’d be better at pretending."

you didn’t answer. you weren’t sure you could.

because the truth was, you were struggling too.

not because you didn’t like him.

but because maybe you did.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the next few shoots blurred together.

the couple trip to busan. the matching outfits. the accidental hand-holding that neither of you pulled away from. the unscripted glances. the too-long hugs. the inside jokes that the cameras didn’t catch.

you still called it acting. he still called it fan service.

but the way his hand always found the small of your back? the way you leaned into his shoulder when you were tired between takes?

that wasn’t in the script.

neither was the night he texted you after filming, a message that simply said:

"are you okay? you seemed quiet today."

you stared at it for too long before replying:

"yeah. just tired. thanks."

he didn’t say anything else.

but the next shoot, he brought you your favorite coffee order without asking.

you didn’t thank him. he didn’t mention it. the moment passed quietly, like all the others.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it happened on an off day. no cameras. no script. just the two of you, killing time between schedules.

your manager had dropped you off early at the company building. haechan’s studio was just a floor above, and somehow you ended up in the practice room together. music played low from the speakers, nothing specific, just some playlist on shuffle. you were stretched out on the wooden floor with a water bottle pressed to your cheek, eyes closed.

"you know you’re allowed to sit on the couch," haechan said, voice light.

"i’m cooling off," you mumbled. "this floor has healing properties. don’t question them."

he laughed, sitting cross-legged beside you, watching as the sunlight through the window caught the edge of your hair.

for a while, neither of you said anything. it was easy, being quiet with you. easier than it should’ve been.

he leaned back on his hands, eyes tracing the outline of your face.

you were still in your casual clothes, makeup faded from earlier, a faint sheen of sweat on your skin from dance practice. there was nothing particularly special about the moment.

you opened one eye, looking at him sideways.

"what?"

"nothing," he said, too quickly.

you sat up a little. not fully, just enough to look at him properly.

"do i have something on my face?"

"no," he said again, quieter this time. "you just... look different when you’re not acting."

you blinked. "we’re not acting most of the time."

"aren’t we?" he asked. and then smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "sometimes i forget what’s real."

you watched him carefully, the air going still between you.

"i don’t think it matters anymore," you said eventually, voice soft. "real or fake. you’re still here."

he looked at you like you’d said something too big. like he hadn’t expected you to cut through him so cleanly.

you turned away after a second, brushing your hair out of your face. he didn’t move.

and that’s when it hit him.

not with fireworks. not with a romantic soundtrack or some grand emotional monologue. just a quiet, breathless awareness that settled into his chest like gravity.

he liked you.

he thought about you even when he didn’t have to. texted you jokes late at night, rehearsed conversations he wanted to have with you while waiting in traffic. his mood shifted depending on whether you smiled at him that day. he’d started looking forward to filming, not because of the exposure or the paycheck, but because it meant he got to stand next to you for a few hours and pretend you were his.

and it wasn’t pretend anymore.

haechan looked down at his hands. his palms were a little sweaty.

he was in trouble.

he stayed quiet after that, afraid that if he opened his mouth, the truth might spill out too fast.

you didn’t notice the way he looked at you after that.

but he did. and he didn’t stop.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

he didn’t flirt as much anymore.

at least, not in the same way.

it was subtle, the way things shifted. haechan still joked, still teased, but his words started landing softer. less edge, more care. the things he used to say to get a reaction out of you—calling you pretty just to see you roll your eyes, leaning too close just to fluster you— were all starting to feel real.

you didn’t notice.

or maybe you did, but refused to mind it.

when you got a sore throat from overworking and showed up to set with a raspy voice, he handed you a warm honey drink without a word. you assumed a staff member gave it to him.

when you forgot your phone charger during an overnight shoot and muttered about your battery dying, he offered you his without hesitation.

"don’t you need it?"

"i can live without my phone for one night," he said, smiling.

when your hands were cold in the middle of winter filming, he tucked one of them into his coat pocket with his.

you laughed. "you’re just doing this for the cameras." "yeah," he said. but he wasn’t looking at the cameras.

you brushed it off. he was haechan. playful, dramatic, full of unnecessary skinship. you’d seen him flirt with microphones, charm auntie fans, do aegyo on command like it was second nature.

so when he started waiting for you after your other schedules, just to walk you out, when he started sending you good morning texts before call time, and good night ones after wrap, when he got weirdly quiet whenever someone on set joked about you two being a real couple, you didn’t think too hard about it.

because thinking too hard would mean acknowledging that it felt different now. that he felt different now.

you told yourself it was still fake. that he was just that good at his job.

you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you when you weren’t looking.

didn’t catch how he started memorizing your moods, your habits, your silences. how he stopped filling every silence with jokes and started letting you be.

you stayed blissfully, stubbornly unaware.

and haechan let you.

because even though he wanted you to see it—even though his feelings were starting to rise up like a tide, impossible to hold back—he was still scared.

scared that if he said it out loud, the spell would break. scared that you didn’t feel it too. scared that you’d laugh, like it was just another punchline.

so instead, he kept showing you in all the quiet ways.

and you, heart fluttering in ways you still refused to name, kept calling it coincidence.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

episode thirteen.

you weren’t nervous, exactly. but you did reapply your lip tint twice in the van on the way over.

the producers had teased a surprise guest for today’s shoot, and variety shows loved nothing more than forced love triangles. you braced for awkward. but you didn’t brace for him.

cha sungwoo.

tall. handsome. charming in that effortless, trained-for-this way. you’d filmed a drama together almost two years ago, and for a brief moment, fans thought the on-screen chemistry might have spilled off-camera. it hadn’t. but the rumors stuck anyway.

"look who it is," sungwoo said as you stepped onto set, voice warm. "didn’t think i’d get to see you again on a fake honeymoon."

you smiled automatically. "long time no see."

beside you, haechan shifted his weight.

he didn’t say anything at first. just watched. his expression was unreadable, but his silence was louder than anything.

finally, he spoke.

"should i be worried?" he asked, light tone cutting sharp beneath the surface. "or is this just good tv?"

"depends," sungwoo said, amused. "are you the jealous type?"

haechan smiled. not the usual, teasing kind—the one that reached his eyes. this one was smaller. flatter.

"only when i have a reason to be."

you laughed, trying to brush it off, but your fingers tightened slightly around the sleeve of your jacket.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the shoot moved on. it was supposed to be funny and competitive—three of you cooking dinner together like a sitcom setup.

you were chopping vegetables when sungwoo leaned in behind you, his hands brushing yours.

"still bad with a knife?" he said, voice low near your ear.

you didn’t even flinch. "i’ve improved."

but behind you, haechan dropped the spatula he was holding.

you turned. "you okay?"

he bent to pick it up, muttering, "yeah. slipped."

but when he stood again, his eyes didn’t meet yours.

they were still on sungwoo.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

later, the three of you sat at the low table, eating what barely passed as a meal. the cameras were still rolling, but things had turned quiet.

sungwoo was telling a story—something about a late-night shoot and a prank. you were laughing, loose and warm in a way you hadn’t noticed before.

and haechan was watching you.

his chopsticks hung in mid-air. his shoulders tense. his jaw set like he was biting back words.

you looked at him. "what?"

he blinked. "nothing."

you tilted your head. "you’re acting weird."

"just tired."

"you sure?"

he didn’t answer right away. then he leaned in, low voice meant only for you.

"you act like none of this matters," he said quietly.

you stared at him. "what?"

"this." he gestured, vague. "the show. the pretending. him."

you searched his face, unsure if this was part of the bit or something else entirely.

"we’re just filming, haechan."

his eyes didn’t leave yours.

"maybe you are."

the words hung there. suspended between you, fragile and real.

you opened your mouth to respond—but the PD clapped, announcing a break, and the spell broke with it.

haechan stood up without another word and walked off set.

you sat there, blinking, unsure why your chest felt so tight.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

you didn’t call haechan after the shoot.

you almost did. twice.

once, when you got home and dropped your bag on the floor like something was missing.

once more, in the middle of the night, when you were staring at your ceiling and couldn’t stop replaying the way he looked at you before he walked off set.

you didn’t call. you couldn’t.

so instead, you called her. your best friend. the one who knew the before version of you, before the show, before the cameras, before him.

"hey, everything alright?" chiya asked, her voice quiet over the line. soft with sleep but already worried.

"can i come over?"

"always."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

her apartment was warm. messy in the way homes should be. you sat on the floor wrapped in an old hoodie you’d left there months ago, your fingers curled around a mug of tea neither of you remembered making.

you told her everything. not just about today, but about all of it.

the way filming used to feel like a joke, like a role you could slip into and out of without thinking.

how that changed.

how he changed.

how you changed.

"today… he looked at me like he didn’t recognize me," you said. "like he was hurt, and trying really hard not to be."

she didn’t speak, letting the silence hold space for you.

"and when sungwoo showed up, it felt like the air shifted. like i’d stepped into a room i didn’t belong in anymore."

"because of haechan?" she asked gently.

you nodded.

"he didn’t say much. just… one thing."

"what’d he say?"

you swallowed.

"he said, ‘you act like none of this matters.’"

the words still echoed in your head. they’d been soft, almost careful. like he wasn’t trying to pick a fight. like he was asking you to see him.

"and i didn’t know what to say. because i didn’t know how to tell him that i think it does matter. more than it should. more than i want it to."

your voice shook.

"and i’m scared. i’m scared that maybe this isn’t just acting anymore. not for me."

your best friend moved closer, resting her chin on your shoulder like she used to when you were both teenagers, crying over things that felt too big for your hearts to hold.

"have you ever been in love before?" she asked quietly.

"not like this."

you weren’t even sure it was love. but it was something. something that blossomed slowly, and then all at once, when you weren’t looking.

"he makes me feel like i’m being seen. not the version of me that the cameras want. just... me. and when he looks at me, sometimes i feel like he’s about to say something he doesn’t know how to say."

"and what do you want him to say?"

you paused. the answer hurt to admit.

"that i’m not just imagining it."

your friend reached over, squeezing your hand.

"you’re not," she said. "i don’t even need to meet him to know. you’re not the kind of person who gets confused about this stuff. you’d never fall for someone unless it was real. and it sounds like you already have."

your eyes stung.

"i didn’t mean to."

"you never do."

she pulled you into a hug, and for the first time since you wrapped that scene, you let the weight of it press down on you. not the confusion. not the fear. just the feeling.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

episode fourteen

you weren’t sure how to act around him now.

you told yourself you’d just play it cool. do what you always did: slip into character, smile when you were supposed to, laugh when the producers gave you a cue, go home.

but when you saw haechan waiting on set, leaning against the kitchen counter in the little “home” you’d built together over the past months, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from styling, something inside you stilled.

he looked up when you walked in.

and then he smiled.

small. real. tired, maybe. but his eyes softened the way they always did when he looked at you.

"hey," he said, voice gentle.

"hey," you replied, and the word felt different in your mouth. too small for how much you’d missed him in just a few days.

he opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but the PD clapped loudly and called for standby.

you both moved into position like professionals.

but you couldn’t stop glancing at him.

and he didn’t look away when you did.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the day’s concept was domestic bliss.

folding laundry. grocery shopping. making dinner together. things that looked boring on paper but, somehow, felt like the most intimate parts of the fake marriage.

just pretend it’s real, the writer joked before you started rolling.

you wanted to say, it’s getting harder to pretend it’s not.

you were standing beside haechan at the sink, rinsing vegetables, when your fingers brushed under the running water. you flinched slightly.

he didn’t.

his hand stayed against yours just for a second too long.

your heart skipped, and you hated how noticeable it felt. how loud it became in your own chest.

"you okay?" he asked, voice low.

you nodded too quickly. "just cold water."

he didn’t call you out on it. but his eyes didn’t leave yours for a long time.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

after filming, you stayed behind for a bit. the cameras were off, the crew busy packing up equipment. haechan was still in the kitchen, stacking plates to be returned to props.

you didn’t know why you lingered. only that you didn’t want to leave yet.

he looked up, sensing you there.

"you didn’t call," he said quietly.

you froze. "what?"

"after the last shoot. i thought maybe you would. or… maybe i hoped you would."

you opened your mouth. closed it again.

"i didn’t know what to say," you said eventually.

he nodded, like he understood. like he’d expected that.

then, after a long pause

"you don’t have to say anything," he murmured. "but i need you to know… i wasn’t acting. not with that."

you met his eyes. for once, there was no smirk. no sarcasm. nothing playful to hide behind.

just him.

just the truth.

your breath caught in your throat.

but before you could speak, a crew member popped their head in.

"you guys done? we need to lock up soon."

haechan glanced away. the moment passed like a held breath.

he nodded slowly. "yeah. we’re done."

but as you walked out of that little house, your fingers still tingling from the brush of his, you knew something had shifted for good.

you weren’t just playing pretend anymore.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it was the last shoot before the final week.

the set felt more quiet than usual, like the whole crew was holding their breath. maybe because everyone knew this was the last stretch—the end of the show, the end of pretending.

you and haechan moved through the day’s scenes with practiced ease, but the easy rhythm from before was gone. now, everything between you felt heavy, like invisible strings tugging tighter with every look and every touch.

you were sitting on the couch, pretending to scroll through your phone, but you weren’t really looking at the screen. your eyes kept flicking to haechan, who was sitting beside you, hands folded awkwardly on his lap.

he glanced at you once, then quickly looked away, face unreadable.

the silence between you stretched longer than usual, thick and uncomfortable.

finally, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper.

“are you okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. then, without meeting your eyes, he said, “i’m fine.”

you didn’t believe him.

he shifted in his seat, fingers twitching like he wanted to say more but couldn’t.

the director called “cut,” and the crew buzzed quietly as they reset the next scene, but you and haechan stayed still, caught in a space where neither wanted to cross the line first.

he looked over, voice low, almost rough.

“this… all of this. it’s harder than i thought.”

you swallowed, heart racing.

“yeah.”

“i don’t want it to end,” he said, eyes finally locking with yours.

you felt your breath hitch. everything inside you was screaming to reach out, to tell him you felt the same, but the words stuck.

“me neither,” you whispered.

he gave a small, sad smile.

“what do we do now?”

you looked down, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“i don’t know.”

but maybe that was okay.

maybe the not knowing was the start of something real.

the cameras might have been off for the moment, but the space between you was alive with everything you couldn’t say—and everything you both desperately wanted to feel.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the last day of filming felt like the end of something you weren’t ready to lose.

the set was buzzing with energy, but for you and haechan, it was heavy. heavier than before. the playful teasing, the easy smiles—they were all there, but beneath them was a current you could no longer ignore.

during a break, you found yourselves alone in the quiet corner of the studio. the noise of crew and cameras faded, and suddenly the space between you felt too small.

haechan looked at you. his usual grin gone, replaced by something softer, vulnerable.

“i’ve been a coward,” he said, voice low, almost breaking.

you blinked, heart pounding.

“me too,” you whispered back.

he took a slow breath, stepping closer, hands trembling slightly at his sides.

“i was supposed to be the one who didn’t fall,” he said, “but it’s me. it’s always been me.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in.

“why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“because i was scared,” he admitted. “scared you wouldn’t feel the same. scared it was just me.”

your eyes stung. “it’s not just you.”

the silence stretched, thick and full of everything you hadn’t said before.

finally, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “can i.. hold you?”

your breath hitched, but you nodded.

as he pulled you close, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.

for the first time, pretending wasn’t enough. this was real.

and somehow, it left you feeling both lucky and appalled.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the studio emptied quickly, the usual noise fading until you and haechan were left alone. the silence between you felt thick, heavy with everything neither of you had dared to say.

he led you to the rooftop garden, the soft glow of string lights wrapping around the space like a secret only the two of you shared.

you sat close, shoulders brushing, every tiny movement sending sparks you could feel deep under your skin.

his fingers found yours, slow and deliberate, thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. the warmth of his touch spread, setting fire to nerves you didn’t know you had.

he tilted his head, eyes dark and searching. “you feel it too, right?”

your breath hitched, heart pounding. “i do.”

his hand slid from your palm, fingers grazing your wrist, then up your arm, light as a whisper.

“this,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “this isn’t just for show.”

you swallowed hard, the heat in your chest rising. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, daring you to say no.

instead, you leaned in, letting your breath mingle, the space between you crackling with anticipation.

when he finally closed the gap, his kiss was slow, teasing—like he was savoring every second.

his hand cupped your neck, thumb stroking softly, sending shivers down your spine.

you curled into him, the world narrowing to the press of skin on skin, the heat of his breath, the ache building in your chest.

he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “i’ve wanted this for so long.”

your voice barely a whisper, “me too.”

the night wrapped around you, every touch, every glance loaded with a promise neither of you was ready to say out loud.

but both of you knew.

this was only the beginning.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

soft light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room.

you stirred slowly, the weight of haechan’s arm draped over your waist anchoring you in place.

for a moment, everything was still, the world outside paused, and there was just this—the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the quiet rhythm of breath and heartbeat.

you turned your head slightly, catching his profile in the morning light. his eyes were closed, lashes resting softly against his cheeks, peaceful and completely unguarded.

a gentle smile tugged at your lips.

careful not to wake him, you traced lazy circles on his arm, memorizing the feeling of skin beneath your fingertips.

he shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but didn’t open his eyes.

you let yourself soak in the quiet intimacy, the kind of closeness you hadn’t dared imagine before.

finally, haechan blinked open his eyes, meeting yours with a soft, sleepy smile.

“good morning,” he whispered, voice rough but warm.

“good morning,” you replied, heart fluttering.

he tightened his arm around you just a little, as if afraid you might disappear.

“last night was… real,” he said, voice low, full of something like awe.

you nodded, feeling the same weight of it.

“yeah,” you said softly. “it was.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke, just held onto the fragile newness of what had started between you.

and in the quiet of that morning, everything felt possible.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the studio was buzzing again, crew rushing, cameras rolling, but for you and haechan, the world felt different.

you caught each other’s eyes across the set more times than you could count, every look loaded with a secret neither dared say out loud.

during a break, haechan slipped beside you, voice low enough that only you could hear.

“you okay?” he asked, thumb brushing lightly over your hand.

you nodded, heart pounding. “yeah. just… tired.”

he gave a small, knowing smile. “me too.”

the silence between you felt full, like an unspoken understanding.

filming felt harder now. not because the scenes were difficult, but because the line between acting and feeling was thinner than ever.

when the director called cut, you both lingered, reluctant to step back into the roles you’d played for so long.

haechan caught your gaze, eyes searching.

“we need to talk,” he said quietly.

your breath hitched.

“about us,” he added, voice softer now.

you nodded, the weight of it settling in your chest.

“after this is over,” you whispered.

“of course,” he agreed.

the cameras might have been rolling again soon, but in that moment, the world outside could wait.

because finally, you were ready to stop pretending.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the days after filming ended felt like a strange in-between.

you and haechan were no longer pretending, but everything else still felt like uncharted territory.

text messages came more often now, sometimes just a good morning or a meme that made you laugh, other times long, quiet conversations about fears and hopes.

you met up after practice one evening, somewhere quiet—a small café off the main streets where no one knew your names.

he was a little awkward, fumbling with his words like he was nervous all over again.

“i’m not great at this,” he admitted, stirring his coffee.

“neither am i,” you said, smiling softly.

he reached across the table, taking your hand. “guess we’re both beginners.”

some days were easier than others. sometimes, a glance or a touch spoke louder than any words.

other times, the weight of schedules, the constant eyes watching, made it hard to find space just for the two of you.

but slowly, you learned to navigate the new rhythm—stealing moments between rehearsals, quiet calls in the middle of the night, little jokes shared just between you.

there were missteps, too—missed calls, misunderstandings, moments where the fear of losing what you had made you both pull away.

but every time, you found your way back.

because beneath it all was something real, something neither of you wanted to let go.

and as the days turned into weeks, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this was more than just a story.

it was your story.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

it started with a headline.

nothing scandalous, but enough to stir the internet—a fan account posted a blurry photo of you and haechan leaving a café, the caption dripping with speculation.

are they dating for real?

fake marriage turned real?

what does this mean for their agencies?

the messages flooded your phone—some from friends, some from fans, some from strangers.

you stared at the screen, heart pounding.

haechan was beside you, phone in hand, face tight.

“they’re going to spin this into a mess,” he muttered.

you nodded, biting your lip.

it was the first time your private feelings had become public territory, and neither of you knew how to navigate it.

that evening, you met at haechan’s dorm, wanting to face it together.

“what do we do?” you asked, voice trembling.

he took your hands in his, eyes steady and fierce.

“we don’t let rumors define us,” he said. “we keep being honest. with each other, and when we’re ready, with everyone else.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of the moment.

“i’m scared,” you admitted. “of losing what we have.”

he pulled you close, forehead resting against yours.

“me too,” he said. “but whatever happens, i’m not walking away.”

in that quiet room, surrounded by the noise of the world outside, you found a promise that felt stronger than any headline.

you weren’t just partners on a show anymore.

you were something real.

and you would face whatever came next—together.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

the room was tense as you and haechan sat across from your agencies. the conversation was careful, cautious, filled with questions you’d both anticipated but dreaded.

“are you sure this isn’t just for publicity?” one manager asked.

“this is real,” haechan said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “we want to take this seriously.”

your own manager nodded slowly, “then we’ll support you. but you need to be prepared for everything.”

the words hung heavy in the air, a mix of relief and new pressure settling over you.

once the meetings ended, you didn’t speak much on the way back. the city lights blurred past the windows, your hands finally finding each other’s in the quiet.

as soon as you stepped inside haechan’s apartment, the tension broke.

he pulled you close, fingers threading through your hair, lips pressing soft and sure against yours.

“no matter what they say,” he murmured between kisses, “this is ours.”

you traced his jawline, heart pounding in your chest.

“ours,” you echoed.

the night wrapped around you, a sanctuary from the world.

in the quiet between heartbeats, you’ve found a place—a fragile world where pretend becomes real.

[skillmine1]

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[prettygirl-gabi]

Correction, Baby

Pairing: Suagr mommy turned gf!Nika Mühl x sugar baby turned gf!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Seattle Storm

Summary: maybe it’s all too much at once

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsavg

There are few things more exhausting than a double shift with barely any tips and a throbbing lower back. But that’s what I signed up for when I picked up extra hours at the restaurant. School fees don’t pay themselves, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna ask Nika.

Especially not after Croatia.

A dream of a vacation—five-star hotels, private boat tours, designer boutiques in every major city we hit, and a suitcase I could barely zip because Nika kept stuffing it with things she thought would look good on me.

I didn’t even ask for half the things she bought, and yet she dropped money like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

I heard the little jingle of the bell above the restaurant door and didn’t even need to turn around to know it was her.

My spine straightened on instinct.

She always had that effect—commanding without even trying.

Even when dressed in joggers and a tee, she looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

“Hey, your hot mafia wife’s here,” my coworker Aisha whispered with a smirk.

I laughed under my breath, tired and sore, the weight of tuition hanging over my shoulders. “I’m not asking her for it,” I mumbled, wiping down the counter. “We just got back from vacation. It feels wrong.”

“Y/N, you’re literally her girlfriend. And for like… a year now? Ask her.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m still in sugar baby mode.”

“Girl, she lives to spoil you.”

I didn’t notice Nika standing just behind the pastry case. But she definitely heard that.

She didn’t say a word the entire car ride to her place.

Not a single word.

Her jaw was tight, hands on the wheel a little too firmly, and her silence was louder than anything she could’ve said.

I hated it.

I hated the guilt clawing at my stomach and the ache in my chest. I also hated that I knew I was partially wrong, and partially not.

Once we were inside her place—the condo she kept telling me was ours even though I still hadn’t moved in fully—she tossed her keys on the table and leaned against the kitchen island.

“You really weren’t gonna ask me?” she finally said, voice low, even.

“Nika…”

“No,” she interrupted, standing straight. “You weren’t going to ask me for help with your tuition because you think I do too much?”

My arms crossed defensively, even though I hated when I got like that with her. “We just got back from a vacation where you spent—what—like ten thousand dollars minimum on me? You bought me shoes I didn’t even say I liked, and then you saw me glancing at a bracelet and got it in two colors.”

“And?”

“And before we even left for Croatia, you bought me a new laptop, clothes for the trip, skincare, a carry-on—Nika, you spoiled the hell out of me. And it was… beautiful. But it was a lot. It started feeling like I was just a sugar baby again.”

Her jaw twitched, but she didn’t raise her voice. She just came closer, her hands gentle as they reached up to cradle my face. “Baby. Love. That’s kind of the point.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Whether you’re my sugar baby or my girlfriend—or both, like you are now—my job is to spend a shit ton of money on you. No matter how ridiculous or important it is. You need something for school? You ask me. You wanna set up a date? I’ll pay for it. I don’t care how much Croatia cost me. You’re not an expense. You’re an investment. My investment. My girl.”

It should’ve melted me.

And it did… until she really started getting petty.

The first time I paid for dinner, she didn’t even say a word.

Next morning? A blush-pink LV bag set on my bed. Wallet, phone case, cardholder, tote. Custom monogrammed. I wanted to scream.

Then I paid for her coffee on a random Tuesday. That weekend, she sent three crates of my favorite drinks to the apartment. THREE. C R A T E S. Of little canned lattes and obscure matcha blends that cost more than groceries.

I tried to outdo her once—set up this elaborate, romantic, expensive date night for her. I planned it down to the lighting and the playlist.

She stole my phone while I was in the bathroom, removed my cards, added hers, went into my shopping apps… and BOUGHT EVERYTHING in my cart.

Skincare.

Lingerie.

A random kitchen appliance I’d been debating for months.

Everything.

Packages started showing up like it was Prime Day for a week straight.

I confronted her. Furious, overwhelmed, borderline humiliated.

“Is this some kind of punishment?” I asked.

She laughed. Laughed. “Punishment? Babe, this is normal. You’re just not used to being treated right.”

But it wasn’t normal for me.

So I stopped.

Stopped going out. “Wanna go on a date?” she’d ask. I’d say no.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Nope.

Stopped replying to her ‘what do you need today?’ texts. Ignored the packages. Politely asked our doorman to return anything in Nika’s handwriting.

And for the first time in a year, she stopped sending gifts.

Our relationship shifted. Became… off.

She’d stare at me from across the room, confused and frustrated, like she was waiting for me to come back to her. And I was trying.

I was.

But she didn’t hear me.

Until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sit.”

I looked up from my laptop, sitting at her kitchen island with homework sprawled out. “What?”

“Sit your ass on the couch. We’re talking. Now.”

Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. So I went.

She sat next to me, close but not touching. “I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, I just—”

“Let me finish.”

I shut my mouth.

“I thought I was being a good girlfriend. A good… whatever we are. You said you needed something, and I fix shit. That’s what I do. That’s what I did from the beginning. I don’t know how to stop. But when you pulled back, it felt like you were punishing me. And I didn’t understand why. Not until I realized… you were scared.”

My throat closed a little.

“You think I’m trying to make you dependent on me.”

I nodded slowly.

“I’m not.” Her voice broke a little. “I just want to love you the only way I know how. And yeah, maybe it’s through buying you dumb shit and sending you drinks I know you like. But I never want you to feel like you owe me. Or like you’re just a sugar baby again. I want to be your girlfriend first. And if you need space, I’ll give you that. But don’t shut me out.”

I didn’t even realize I was crying until her thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

“I felt like I was losing myself,” I whispered. “Like I was slipping into someone who only existed because you funded her. I love you for how you love me, Nika. But I need to know that even if I couldn’t accept a dime from you… you’d still want me.”

She pulled me into her arms like she was afraid I’d disappear.

“I’d want you broke, rich, in debt, or even if you made me split a salad on date night.”

I laughed through the tears. “You’d never split a salad.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t,” she grinned. “But you get my point.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her. “You promise to let me pay for things sometimes?”

“Not even a little.”

“Nika.”

“Okay, fine,” she sighed. “Only if you let me add stupid shit to your cart after.”

I kissed her softly, then grinned. “Deal.”

But the next day, I paid for her lunch.

That night, I came home to find a car key on the counter.

“Nika!”

“You paid. I punished.”

“YOU SAID IT WASN’T PUNISHMENT!”

“It’s correction, baby.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[ms-demeanor]

I'm not the most security savvy but two-factor authentication makes me deeply suspicious. Is it actually more secure or is it just annoying? Especially the ones that send a code to your phone that pops up in your notifications.

It is genuinely, massively, TREMENDOUSLY more secure to use 2FA/MFA than to not use it.

One of our clients is currently under attack by a group that appears to be using credential stuffing; they are making educated guesses about the accounts they're trying to lot into based on common factors showing up in the credentials in years of pastes and breaches and leaks. Like, let's say it's a professional arborist's guild and their domain is arborist.tree and they've had three hundred members who have had their credentials compromised in the last ten years and the people looking at all the passwords associated with arborist.tree noticed that the words "arboreal" and "conifer" and "leaf" and "branch" show up over and over and over again in the passwords for the members of the professional arborist's guild.

So they can make an educated guess for how to log in to accounts belonging to the tree-loving tree lover's club, combine that with the list of legitimate emails, and go to town.

And they are in fact going to town. We're getting between 1000 and 4000 login attempts per hour. It's been happening for a couple weeks.

And every single one of those attempts is failing - in spite of some pretty poor password practices that believe me, I have been doing some talking about - as a result of having MFA enforced for the entire group. They all use an app that is synced to their individual accounts with a mobile device, except that sometimes you have trouble getting a code when you're up in a tree so some of them have physical MFA tokens.

People try to sign into my tumblr sometimes. To those people I say: lol, good luck, I couldn't guess my own password with a gun to my head. But if I *did* have some password that was, like "tiny-bastard-is#1" they would also need access to my email address because I've got MFA set up on tumblr. And to THAT I say: lol, good luck, it's complex passwords and MFA all the way down.

Of the types of MFA that most people will run across, the most secure to least secure hierarchy goes physical token>app based one-time-passwords>tie between email and SMS. Email and SMS are less preferred because email is relatively easy to capture and open in transit and cellphone SIMs can be cloned to capture your text messages. But if you are using email or SMS for your authentication you are still miles and miles and miles ahead of people who are not using any kind of authentication.

MFA is, in fact, so effective that I only advise people to turn it on if they are 100% sure that they will be able to access the account if they lose access to the device that had the authenticator on it. You usually can do this by saving a collection of recovery codes someplace safe (I recommend doing this in the secure notes section of your password manager on the entry for the site in question - if this is not a feature that your password manager has, I recommend that you get a better password manager, and the password manager I recommend is bitwarden).

A couple weeks ago I needed to get into a work account that I had created in 2019. In 2022, my boss had completely taken me off of managing that service and had his own account, so I deleted it from my authenticator. Then in 2024 my boss sold the business but didn't provide MFA for a ton of the accounts we've got. I was able to get back into my account because five years earlier I had taken a photo of the ten security codes from the company and saved them in a folder on my desktop called "work recovery codes." If you are going to use MFA, it is VITALLY IMPORTANT that you save recovery codes for the accounts you're authenticating someplace that you'll be able to find them, because MFA is so secure that the biggest problem with it is locking people out of their accounts.

In any kind of business context, I think MFA should be mandatory. No question.

For personal accounts, I think you should be pointed and cautious where you apply it, and always leave yourself another way in. There are SO MANY stories about people having their phones wiped or stolen or destroyed and losing MFA with the device because they didn't have a backup of the app or hadn't properly transferred it to a new device.

But it's also important to note that MFA is not a "fix all security forever" thing - I've talked about session hijacking here and the way you most often see MFA defeated is by tricking someone into logging in to a portal that gives them access to your cookies. This is usually done by phishing and sending someone a link to a fake portal.

That is YET ANOTHER reason that you should be using a good password manager that allows you to set the base domain for the password you're using so that you can be sure you're not logging in to a faked portal. If your password manager doesn't have that feature (setting the domain where you can log in to the base domain) then I recommend that you get a better password manager (get bitwarden.)

In 2020 my terrible boss wanted me to write him a book about tech that he could have run off at a vanity press and could give to prospect customers as a business card. That was a terrible idea, but I worked on the book anyway and started writing it as a book about security for nontechnical people. I started out with a very simple statement:

If every one of our customers did what we recommend in the first four chapters of this book (make good backups, use a password manager and complex unique passwords, enable MFA, and learn how to avoid phishing), we would go out of business, because supporting problems that come from those four things is about 90-95% of our work.

So yes, absolutely, please use MFA. BUT! Save your recovery codes.

[enhaflixer]

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 2

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC PART ONE HERE

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Should I be concerned?"

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

The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

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

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

"Is that significant?"

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

-

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

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

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

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

Family. The word kept surfacing in unexpected contexts.

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

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

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

It was Danny who finally explained what was happening.

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

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

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

"The Pack?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that concerning?"

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It sounds... well-planned."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught. "An amendment?"

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

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

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

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

A weighted silence fell between you, charged with possibility.

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

"Yes?"

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the car afterward, heavy silence hung between you.

"That was..." you began.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Everything okay?" you asked.

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

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

"Babe, come on.."

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

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

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

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

"Who is she?" you asked directly.

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

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

"And?" you prompted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do we do?" you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your pulse quickened. "Complicated how?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

His smile faded. "That was the agreement."

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

The question hung between you, dangerous in its directness.

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

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

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

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

"You know which one I mean."

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

Another silence, this one charged with possibility.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So?" you prompted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This changes things," he said quietly.

"Yes." There was no denying it.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He guided you away with uncharacteristic urgency, his composure fractured.

"What was that about?" you whispered.

"Nothing. Just Seraphina being Seraphina." But his eyes kept scanning the room, tracking her movements like someone monitoring a bomb.

-

The presidential suite at the Grand Hyatt was everything Jay had promised—lavish, private, with discreet staff who delivered champagne then vanished.

Yet the tension from the reception followed you. Jay paced by the windows, making calls in rapid Korean, his tone increasingly agitated.

When he finally ended the last call, you confronted him directly.

"What's going on? And don't say 'nothing' again."

He stared at you for a long moment, conflict evident in his expression.

"I need to check something at the office," he said finally. "A document that shouldn't exist."

"Shouldn't exist?" You frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I'll explain when I return." He was already reaching for his jacket. "Please, Y/N. This is important."

"It's our wedding night!"

"I know." He paused at the door, genuine regret in his eyes. "Two hours, maximum. Then I'll tell you everything."

After he left, you paced the suite, frustration mounting. Whatever game he was playing with Seraphina clearly went deeper than corporate rivalry.

On impulse, you opened his laptop—the one he always kept with him, password protected and closed whenever you approached.

The password prompt glowed accusingly. You tried his birthdate. Access denied. His mother's name. Access denied.

Then, on a hunch: YN-contract-date.

The screen unlocked, revealing dozens of folders meticulously labeled and dated. One caught your eye: "Original Timeline - Evidence."

Heart pounding, you clicked it open.

News articles. Court documents. Photos of Jay looking years older, haggard, defeated.

A marriage announcement with Jay and Seraphina, dated three years earlier.

Headlines about corporate espionage, Jay's disgrace, his removal from Park Industries—all dated years in the future.

The room seemed to tilt as you opened a video file.

It showed Jay—older, with strands of gray at his temples—standing in an empty apartment, speaking directly to the camera.

"If you're watching this, it worked," the Jay in the video said. "I don't know if the consciousness transfer will be complete or if I'll remember everything, so I'm recording key details. The Hanjin merger is the trigger point. Seraphina orchestrated everything through her connection with Chairman Kang..."

He continued methodically outlining his downfall, his eventual disgrace, names and dates and evidence.

"Time travel is theoretically impossible," he concluded. "But so is the pain of having your entire life stripped away in a single day. If there's any chance of preventing it..."

The video ended abruptly.

You stared at the dark screen, heart racing. Time travel? Consciousness transfer? Future knowledge?

"I'm losing my mind," you whispered to the empty room.

You closed the laptop, then opened it again, half expecting the folders to be gone. They weren't.

Maybe this was an elaborate fiction—research for some project, a game, a psychological exercise. Because time travel couldn't be real. That would mean...

The implications made your head swim. That would mean Jay had known about meeting you at the gallery before it happened. That he'd orchestrated everything—your meeting, your relationship, your marriage—as part of some grand design to change a future that had already happened.

It would mean everything between you was calculated, predetermined, false.

"No." You shook your head. "This isn't real."

But the evidence on the screen didn't vanish. Future dates. Future events. Things that hadn't happened yet detailed with journalistic precision.

By the time Jay returned, you'd gone through half the champagne and were sitting on the floor, back against the bed, laptop open beside you.

"Y/N." He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. "What are you doing?"

"Having a psychotic break, apparently." You gestured vaguely at the laptop. "Either that or marrying a time traveler. I'm not sure which is more concerning."

His face drained of color. "I can explain."

"Explain what? That you're from the future?" You laughed, a brittle sound. "That's literally insane, Jay. I'm insane for even considering it."

He approached slowly, as if you were a frightened animal. "You're not insane."

"Then you're saying it's true? That you—what? Traveled back in time to avoid marrying Seraphina? To prevent some corporate disaster?" The words sounded ridiculous as you spoke them. "Do you realize how that sounds?"

"I know it sounds impossible." He knelt in front of you, keeping a careful distance. "But you've seen the evidence."

"I've seen elaborate fiction. Or I'm hallucinating. Because time travel isn't real." You ran your hands through your hair. "People don't just wake up five years in the past with a chance to redo everything."

"I didn't think it was possible either." His voice was steady, gentle. "Until it happened."

"So what am I to you?" The question escaped before you could stop it. "A convenient pawn in your time-travel chess game? A random variable you introduced to change your precious timeline?"

Pain flashed across his face. "Initially? Yes. I sought you out deliberately at the gallery. I remembered our brief conversation from my original life, and you seemed...perfect. Outside my world. Beyond manipulation."

The confirmation hurt more than you expected. "So you manufactured everything. Our relationship. Our connection. All of it."

"No." He moved closer, carefully taking your hands. "The plan, yes. The contract, yes. But what's grown between us? That wasn't planned. That wasn't strategy."

"How can I believe that?" You searched his face. "How can I believe anything now?"

"Because I'm telling you the truth when I could keep lying." His grip tightened. "Because I'm risking everything by admitting this to you."

"Or I'm having a complete mental breakdown and none of this is happening." You pulled your hands away. "Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and be back in my apartment in New York. Maybe this whole thing—you, Korea, all of it—is some elaborate delusion."

"It's not," he said firmly. "You're not crazy, Y/N."

"Prove it." You met his eyes. "Tell me something that will happen. Something specific. Something I can verify."

He hesitated. "The stock market—"

"No. Something personal. Something that matters to me."

Jay thought for a moment. "Priya and Jake will announce they're expecting a baby next month. Earlier than they planned to tell anyone, but there will be complications and they'll need support."

Your heart stuttered. "That's cruel. Using my friends—"

"Call her tomorrow if you don't believe me. She took a test two days before our wedding but didn't want to steal your moment."

"Stop it." You stood up, needing distance. "I can't—this is too much."

"I know." He remained kneeling, looking up at you. "And I'm sorry. I never intended for you to find out like this. Or at all, honestly."

"That's worse! You were just going to lie forever?"

"I was going to fulfill our contract. Two years, then release you with everything promised." He rubbed his face. "The timeline is already changed beyond recognition. My purpose was accomplished."

"Your purpose." The words tasted bitter. "Which I was instrumental in without my knowledge or consent."

"Yes." No excuses, just raw admission.

You moved to the window, staring out at Seoul's glittering skyline. Everything suddenly felt alien—the city, the marriage, the man behind you.

"I need time to process this." Your voice was steadier than you felt. "I need to... I don't know, call Priya tomorrow. Verify your claim. Try to determine if I'm actually having a psychotic break."

"Of course." He stood but didn't approach. "Whatever you need."

"I'll sleep in the second bedroom tonight."

He nodded, accepting this without argument. "For what it's worth, Y/N, whatever brought us together—time travel, fate, strategic planning—what's grown between us is real. At least for me."

You couldn't respond to that. Not yet. Not when you weren't even sure what reality was anymore.

As you gathered your things for the night, one question burned through the confusion.

"Why did you do it? Why come back?"

Jay's answer was simple and devastating in its honesty.

"Because I lost everything. And I couldn't bear to live through it again."

You closed the bedroom door between you, then pressed your forehead against it, tears finally escaping.

Either your husband was a time traveler who had manipulated your entire relationship, or you were completely losing your grip on reality.

You weren't sure which possibility terrified you more.

Sleep proved impossible. Around 3 AM, you gave up trying and reached for your phone, scrolling until you found Priya's number. It would be afternoon in New York.

Your thumb hovered over the call button. This was ridiculous. You couldn't just ask your friend if she was pregnant based on your time-traveling husband's inside information.

But you needed to know. Needed some external verification that either confirmed you were sane or confirmed you weren't.

With a deep breath, you pressed call.

"Y/N!" Priya answered on the third ring, her voice bright. "Should you be calling me on your wedding night? Shouldn't you be, you know, occupied?"

"Just checking in," you said, aiming for casual. "How are you feeling?"

A pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." You pressed on. "You seemed tired at the wedding. Jake was hovering more than usual."

Another, longer pause. "Okay, that's weird. We literally told no one."

Your heart stopped. "Told no one what?"

"Y/N..." Priya's voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you psychic or something? I'm pregnant. Six weeks. We weren't going to tell anyone until the second trimester, but I've been spotting, and the doctor says..."

The room tilted as she confirmed exactly what Jay had predicted. Exactly what shouldn't be possible for him to know.

"That's wonderful news," you managed, though your voice sounded distant to your own ears. "I'm so happy for you. And whatever's happening, I'm here, okay?"

After reassurances and promises to talk soon, you ended the call and sat motionless in the dark.

It was real. All of it. Which meant Jay had truly traveled through time. Had truly sought you out as part of his plan. Had truly married you to prevent some alternate future.

You moved to the door, pulled it open, and found Jay sitting on the floor in the hallway, back against the wall.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you asked.

He looked up, dark circles under his eyes. "Not really."

"I called Priya."

Understanding flashed across his face. "And?"

"She's pregnant. She's spotting. Everything exactly as you said." You slid down the wall to sit beside him. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know." His honesty was strangely comforting. "I went to sleep in my apartment five years in the future and woke up here, in the past. I've spent every day since then trying to prevent the sequence of events that destroyed my life."

"Including marrying me instead of Seraphina."

"Yes." No hesitation, no sugar-coating.

You both sat in silence for a long moment, shoulders almost touching.

"I'm still angry," you said finally. "And confused. And honestly, a little terrified."

"I understand."

"But I also..." you struggled to find the words, "I also can't deny what's happened between us. That feels real, even if the foundation was a lie."

Jay turned to face you. "It is real. The beginning was calculated, yes. But everything since—the late night conversations, the moments when no one was watching, the things we've shared—those weren't strategy. Those were just... us."

"Is that even possible? To find something genuine inside a manufactured situation?"

"I don't know." He reached for your hand tentatively. "But I'd like to find out."

You stared at his outstretched hand, the wedding ring glinting in the dim light. A contract. A strategy. A lie.

And yet, underneath it all, something had grown that neither of you had planned.

After a long moment, you took his hand.

"I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having some elaborate psychotic break," you said with a shaky laugh.

"If it helps, in my extensive experience with both time travel and mental breakdowns, this feels more like the former."

That surprised a genuine laugh from you. "Oh well, if you're an expert..."

His answering smile was hesitant but real—the smile of the man you'd grown to care for, time traveler or not.

"So what now?" you asked.

"Now we figure this out together," he said simply. "No more secrets."

"No more secrets," you agreed.

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, a question in the look.

You answered by leaning forward and pressing your mouth to his—your first real kiss, not for show, not for strategy, but because despite everything, you wanted to.

His response was immediate and overwhelming, arms pulling you against him as the kiss deepened. Months of performed affection crystallizing into something genuine and urgent.

"Y/N," he breathed against your mouth. "Are you sure?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But I want this. I want you."

He stood, pulling you up with him, searching your face one more time before lifting you into his arms and carrying you toward the master bedroom.

Whatever came next—whatever impossible reality you were living in—at least this part would be real.

Jay carried you to the bedroom, his movements both gentle and urgent. In the dim light filtering through the windows, his eyes never left yours—searching, questioning, even as he lowered you onto the bed.

"Are you certain?" he asked again, hovering above you. "With everything you now know..."

You reached up, tracing the contour of his face. This face you'd come to know so well, yet belonged to someone with secrets you were only beginning to understand.

"I'm not certain about reality anymore," you whispered. "But I'm certain about wanting you."

Something broke in his expression—the careful control he'd maintained since you met him fracturing completely. He lowered his mouth to yours with an intensity that stole your breath, his kiss no longer measured or performative but raw with need.

Your bodies had been close before—staged embraces for photographs, choreographed affection for observers—but this was different. His weight pressing you into the mattress felt like an anchor in a world suddenly unmoored from everything you thought you knew.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your neck, his voice rougher than you'd ever heard it. "No script. No strategy. Just us."

"Everything," you breathed. "I want everything that's real."

His hands trembled slightly as they moved to the zipper of your dress—the man who negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking suddenly unsteady with wanting. The vulnerability in that small tremor undid you.

You helped him with the fastenings, the dress soon forgotten on the floor. He paused to look at you, his expression almost reverent.

"I've imagined this," he confessed. "Not as part of the plan. Just as a man wanting a woman."

Your own fingers worked at his shirt buttons, needing to feel skin against skin. "How long?"

"Since Washington Square Park. When you laughed at that Ukrainian restaurant. I wanted to kiss you then, contract be damned."

The admission sent heat spiraling through you. All those controlled touches, those careful boundaries—beneath them, he'd been wanting this too.

When his shirt joined your dress on the floor, you ran your hands over the planes of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. Not the measured rhythm of Park Jongseong, corporate heir, but the accelerated tempo of Jay, the man who wanted you.

His mouth found yours again as his hands explored with increasing boldness—tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breast, his thumb circling your nipple through delicate lace until you arched into his touch with a soft moan.

"I need to taste you," he murmured, trailing kisses down your neck, between your breasts, his tongue tracing patterns that made you shiver. "I've thought about this for months."

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he unhooked your bra with practiced ease, his mouth closing around your nipple while his hand kneaded your other breast. The careful restraint he'd always shown was nowhere in evidence now—replaced by hunger barely contained.

"Jay," you gasped as his teeth grazed sensitive flesh. "More."

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Say it again."

"More," you repeated, understanding he meant something else.

"My name," he clarified, voice hoarse. "Not for show. For me."

"Jay," you whispered, then louder. "Jay."

Something fierce and possessive crossed his features. He moved lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, his fingers hooking into your underwear and slowly drawing them down your legs.

When he settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your most intimate place, he paused again, looking up at you.

"This isn't strategy," he said softly. "This is just me wanting to taste every part of you."

Your answer was lost to a gasp as his mouth closed over you, his tongue exploring with deliberate precision. This was Jay applying the same focused attention he gave to corporate acquisitions to your pleasure—finding exactly what made you tremble, what made your breath catch, what made you cry out his name.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as you began to unravel beneath his relentless attention. When he slid one finger inside you, then another, curling them forward while his tongue continued its assault, the tension building inside you shattered.

You came with his name on your lips, your body arching off the bed, one hand fisted in his hair while the other clutched desperately at the sheets.

Before you'd fully recovered, he was moving up your body, his expression almost feral with need. He shed his remaining clothes with uncharacteristic urgency, his erection heavy against your thigh as he positioned himself above you.

"Protection?" you managed, your mind still hazy with pleasure.

"Nightstand." He reached over, retrieving a condom and sheathing himself with efficient movements. Then he was there, poised at your entrance, searching your face one last time. "Y/N?"

You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer. "Now, Jay."

He sank into you with a groan that sounded almost pained, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes open—connection beyond the physical as he filled you completely.

"You feel..." he began, words failing him for perhaps the first time since you'd known him.

"I know," you whispered, understanding perfectly.

He began to move, slowly at first, each thrust measured and deep. But as your bodies found their rhythm, as your hips rose to meet his, the careful control he prided himself on began to slip.

His movements grew more urgent, his breathing ragged against your neck. You ran your nails down his back, urging him on, needing more of whatever this was—this genuine connection amid so much calculated deception.

"Y/N," he gasped, his rhythm faltering. "I can't—"

"Let go," you urged, feeling yourself climbing toward another peak. "Just let go."

Something inside him broke at your words. His next thrusts were almost desperate—hard, deep, relentless. One hand slipped between your bodies, finding where you were joined, his thumb circling your sensitive flesh.

"Come with me," he commanded, his voice raw. "I need to feel you."

The intensity in his eyes, the command in his voice, the precise circles of his thumb—it was too much. You shattered around him with a cry that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have been a curse at the universe that had brought you to this impossible moment.

He followed moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure through your still-pulsing body. His arms gave out, and he collapsed against you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most grounding way possible.

For long moments, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing gradually slowing, his heart pounding against yours.

"That wasn't in the contract," you finally said, a hint of laughter in your voice.

He lifted his head to look at you, a smile spreading across his face—genuine, unguarded. "I believe that qualifies as an amendment."

"A very thorough amendment," you agreed, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

He rolled to the side, taking you with him, keeping your bodies connected. "I may require multiple amendments. To ensure complete clarity."

"Very prudent," you murmured, tracing patterns on his chest. "Contracts should be explicit."

His expression sobered slightly. "Y/N, what happened between us just now—"

"Was real," you finished for him. "Whatever else isn't, that was."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing your forehead. "I didn't travel through time expecting to find you. That wasn't part of the plan."

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed. His hand traced lazy circles on your back. "I'm still not entirely sure how it happened. The time travel or...this."

You settled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I'm still not entirely convinced I'm not having an elaborate psychotic break."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "If so, it's an exceptionally vivid one."

"Maybe that's all life is," you mused. "Vivid hallucinations we choose to believe in."

His arms tightened around you. "Then I choose this one. With you."

You lay together in comfortable silence, the questions and complications temporarily held at bay by the simplicity of skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Tomorrow would bring reality crashing back—Seraphina's machinations, the timeline Jay was trying to alter, the complex web of truth and deception that had brought you to this point.

But for now, in the quiet darkness of a wedding night never meant to be real, you'd found something neither of you had anticipated in your carefully constructed arrangement.

Something genuine in a world of strategic fabrication.

Something true in a reality bent by impossible physics.

Something neither time nor planning could have engineered.

Epilogue: Three Years Later

"I said I wanted to relax on the beach, not hike up a mountain," you grumbled, one hand braced against your lower back, the other resting protectively over the prominent curve of your seven-month pregnant belly. "This babymoon was supposed to be about pampering, not cardio."

Jay looked back at you from several steps ahead on the winding trail, his expression softening as he took in your flushed cheeks and the slight breathlessness in your voice.

"It's hardly a mountain, angel," he said, immediately returning to your side. "More of an elevated pathway with strategic viewpoints. But we can turn back if you're uncomfortable."

You leaned into him as his arm slid around your waist, supporting some of your weight while his other hand came to rest alongside yours on your belly. "A 'strategic viewpoint' is what you called that cliff in Santorini last year, and I nearly had a heart attack."

"You said the photos were worth it," he reminded you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I was being polite. I was actually contemplating pushing you over the edge for making me climb all those steps."

His laugh rumbled against you, warm and genuine. In three years of marriage—one beyond your original contract—that laugh had become more frequent, less guarded. When you'd first met, Park Jongseong's calculated public chuckle had been as meticulously controlled as everything else about him. Now, Jay laughed openly, especially with you.

"The Park heir doesn't back down from challenges," you added, perfectly mimicking his mother's crisp tone and slight accent. "Isn't that what your mom told me last week when I complained about the nursery color palette meetings running four hours? Who needs eighteen shades of 'celestial' anyway? They're all just... blue."

Jay winced. "If you quote my mother again while we're on vacation, I'm flying Danny out here to keep you company. He's been dying to revisit that story about my high school talent show performance."

"The K-pop cover?" Your eyes lit up with mischief. "With the leather pants and the hair gel? Please do. I've only seen the photos, but the video footage would make excellent blackmail material for the next twenty years of parenting."

"I looked good in those pants," he defended, though his hand moved to massage the sore spot on your lower back that had been bothering you since morning.

You groaned appreciatively as his fingers found exactly the right spot. "Keep doing that and I might not share the existence of those photos with our daughter when she's old enough to be mortified by her father."

"Negotiating already? She's not even born, and you're forming alliances against me." His tone was playful, but the tenderness in his expression whenever he referenced your unborn child made your heart flutter. The man who had once approached marriage as a tactical business arrangement now spent evenings reading pregnancy books and speaking Korean lullabies against your belly.

"Another ten minutes to the overlook," he promised, thumb working circles against your lower spine. "Then we'll head back to the villa. I promise it's worth it."

You sighed dramatically but allowed him to guide you forward. "Our daughter better appreciate all this hiking I'm doing for her. She's been practicing her taekwondo moves on my bladder all morning."

"She's already plotting her corporate takeover strategy," Jay said, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "A true Park."

"God help us all," you muttered, though your free hand squeezed his in affection. "One strategic mastermind in the family was enough."

"You forget your contract negotiation tactics. You extracted a villa in the Maldives with private chef, daily massages, and no conference calls for two weeks. Our daughter is getting the best of both of us."

"Speaking of strategies," you said, pausing to catch your breath, "I've been thinking about names again."

Jay groaned dramatically. "Not this again. We had a system. A spreadsheet with weighted attributes and cultural significance metrics."

"I'm vetoing the spreadsheet." You continued walking, leaning heavier on his support. "No child of mine is going to be named via algorithm."

"It's not an algorithm, it's a—"

"Strategic naming methodology with comparative analysis," you finished for him. "I've heard the pitch, Mr. Park. Still vetoing it."

He sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "What names are you considering now?"

"I like Mina."

"That's actually on the spreadsheet's top five. Strong in both cultures, elegant, historical significance—"

"I don't care about your spreadsheet points. I like how it sounds."

"Alright, angel. Mina stays on the list." His easy acquiescence was still something you were getting used to. The Jay you'd first met would have defended his methodical approach for at least another ten minutes. "We still have two months to decide. Unless she makes an early entrance."

"Don't even suggest it," you warned. "After what your mother said about Park babies always arriving precisely on schedule, like their corporate acquisitions? I think she'd be personally offended if this baby came early."

"Chairwoman Park does not acknowledge the existence of unscheduled deliveries," he agreed solemnly, though his eyes danced with amusement. "Though she did order the hospital's maternity wing renovation completed a month ahead of schedule, just in case."

"Your mother terrifies me," you admitted. "And somehow I still adore her."

"She feels the same about you. She told Uncle Jimin you're the only person who's ever successfully changed her mind during a board meeting. He said she sounded proud."

"She should be. That sustainable investing initiative is going to increase profits by twelve percent next quarter."

Jay grinned at you. "Look at you, talking profit margins and quarterly projections. Remember when you said you'd rather die than become a 'corporate drone'?"

"I maintain that position," you insisted. "I'm an independent consultant who happens to occasionally advise the largest conglomerate in South Korea. Completely different."

"Of course," he agreed diplomatically. "Just like I'm not a workaholic, I just have 'dedication to operational efficiency.'"

You bumped your hip against his. "You've been better. Only three midnight emails this month."

"All emergencies," he defended.

"The color of the fonts on the annual report was not an emergency, Park."

"Brand consistency is critical to market perception," he began, then caught your expression and laughed. "Fine. Not an emergency."

When you reached the overlook, the view did indeed steal your breath—crystal-clear waters stretching to the horizon, the private cove of your Maldives villa visible in the distance, pristine white sand contrasting with vibrant turquoise.

"Damn it," you murmured.

"Excuse me?" Jay raised an eyebrow.

"You were right. It was worth it." You leaned back against his chest as his arms wrapped around you, hands cradling your belly. "Don't look so smug."

"I would never," he said, not bothering to hide his satisfied smile. "Besides, being right is just part of my charm."

You elbowed him gently. "Your humility is what I love most about you."

"That and my strategic viewpoint selection."

"And your modesty. Clearly."

His hands splayed wider across your belly, and as if on cue, your daughter kicked sharply against his palm. The look of wonder that crossed his face at the contact never diminished, no matter how many times he felt it.

"That was a strong one," he said softly.

"Tell me about it. I'm pretty sure I'm growing a future taekwondo champion in here."

"Like her mother," he said, his voice warm with admiration. "Strong. Determined."

"Cranky when hungry?" you suggested.

"I was going to say 'formidable when provoked,' but your phrasing works too." His chin rested on your shoulder, and you felt his smile against your neck. "She's already perfect."

The simple sincerity in his voice made your hormones send tears threatening. You blamed pregnancy emotions, but the truth was deeper. This man—who had literally traveled through time to avoid destruction—was now embracing a future neither of you could predict or control, with complete certainty that it was exactly where he wanted to be.

"Did you ever imagine this?" you asked, gesturing vaguely at your belly, at the two of you standing on this pristine outlook. "When you made that original contract proposal at that ridiculously expensive restaurant?"

"It was hardly ridiculous. Their wine list was impeccable." His deflection was automatic—the old Jay momentarily surfacing.

"You know what I mean," you persisted. "Did time-traveling Jay ever see this coming?"

He was quiet for a moment, his chin resting on your shoulder. "No," he finally answered with characteristic honesty. "This was never part of the strategy. My plan ended with avoiding the merger, preventing Seraphina's sabotage, maintaining family control of the company."

"Very romantic objectives."

"I didn't believe in romance then," he reminded you. "I believed in risk management."

"And now?" you asked, turning slightly to see his face. "Disappointed that your perfect plan got derailed by unforeseen variables? Namely, catching actual feelings for your contract wife?"

His eyes met yours, that intense gaze that still made your heart skip. "The plan was to avoid disaster," he said seriously. "I got happiness instead. That's not a detour, angel. That's a miracle."

"Don't go soft on me now, Park. What would the shareholders think?" you teased, though you leaned into his touch as his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"They'd think I finally made a sound investment with appropriate long-term growth potential," he replied, matching your business terminology while his eyes remained soft.

"Oh? And what's the projected ROI on this particular acquisition?"

"Immeasurable," he said simply, the single word holding more genuine emotion than the countless practiced speeches he'd given over the years.

"A time-traveling corporate heir and a skeptical journalist walk into a gallery..." you began, a reference to how you often joked about your improbable origin story.

"Sounds like the setup for a terrible joke," he finished, smiling against your lips as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Or the perfect story," you countered when you separated. "Though no one would believe it."

"Danny believes it," Jay said dryly. "After walking in on us arguing about whether my future knowledge of the 2024 Olympics constituted gambling when I placed those bets."

"In my defense, it absolutely was cheating."

"In my defense, we donated all the proceeds to charity."

"After I made you," you reminded him.

"A minor detail." His hand moved in slow circles over your belly, soothing both you and the active little one inside. "Speaking of details, that cloud formation suggests a weather change within the next hour. Ready to head back? I've arranged for a prenatal massage at the villa."

You narrowed your eyes. "Did you plan this entire hike timing based on weather patterns?"

"I may have consulted three different meteorological reports and timed our arrival at the overlook for optimal viewing conditions before the afternoon clouds moved in," he admitted without a hint of shame.

"Your level of extra never ceases to amaze me." You shook your head, but couldn't suppress a smile. "This is why I keep you around, Park. Your strategic planning has its advantages."

"Just fulfilling the terms of our renegotiated contract," he replied, guiding you carefully back toward the path. "Section four, paragraph three: 'Husband agrees to ensure wife's comfort during pregnancy with particular emphasis on lower back support, regular food provision, and optimal weather condition monitoring.'"

"You need to stop letting your legal team draft our personal agreements," you laughed. "But I appreciate the thoroughness."

"The legal team wanted to include a footnote about reasonable expectations regarding my ability to control weather patterns, but I refused. I have standards."

"Of course you do." You laced your fingers with his as you began the descent. "Tell me more about this massage. Did you fly in some exclusive practitioner from Sweden who only treats royalty and tech billionaires?"

"Of course not," Jay scoffed. "She's from Norway, and she primarily works with Olympic athletes. Royalty is just her side clientele."

You burst out laughing. "You're impossible."

"I believe the term you used last week was 'extra but endearing.'"

"I was being generous."

"You usually are," he said, his tone shifting to something more sincere. "With your patience. Your understanding. This journey hasn't been... conventional."

"Conventional is overrated," you replied, squeezing his hand. "Though I do plan on writing a book someday. 'How to Negotiate Your Way from Fake Marriage to Real Happiness: A Time Traveler's Guide.'"

"Catchy title. Limited market though."

"You don't know that. There could be dozens of time travelers out there, all looking for contractual arrangements that evolve into genuine love stories."

"Dozens seems optimistic."

"Says the man who literally bent physics. You don't get to talk about 'optimistic.'"

The banter continued as you made your way back to the villa, a luxurious beachfront property that somehow combined Jay's taste for refined elegance with your insistence on comfortable practicality. Like your relationship, it shouldn't have worked on paper, but in reality, it was perfect.

Later, after the Norwegian masseuse had worked miracles on your pregnancy-strained muscles, you lounged on the villa's private deck while Jay prepared dinner—another evolution that would have seemed impossible three years ago. Park Jongseong, corporate heir and strategic mastermind, now insisted on cooking for you at least twice a week, a skill he'd developed with the same methodical precision he applied to business acquisitions.

"Your mother called while you were in the shower," you mentioned as he served grilled fish with a mango salsa he'd perfected over the past year. "She wanted to know if we'd considered her suggestion about the trust fund structure."

Jay paused, wine bottle hovering over your glass of sparkling water. "Please tell me you didn't discuss financial planning during our vacation."

"Of course I did. I told her your idea about the educational milestone incentives was better than her straight distribution plan, and that the sustainable investment portfolio she proposed needed more diverse clean energy holdings."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a laugh. "Three years ago, you called investment banking 'legalized gambling for people with too much money.'"

"I stand by that assessment," you replied primly. "But if our daughter is going to have Park money, it might as well be responsibly managed Park money that does some good."

"Our daughter," he repeated, a smile softening his features as he set down the wine and rested a hand on your belly. "I still can't quite believe it sometimes."

"Which part? That we're having a baby, or that you're having one with the woman you initially approached as a strategic human shield against corporate sabotage?"

"Both," he admitted. "Though more the latter. When I found you at that gallery, I was looking for a solution to a problem, not..." he gestured between you, "whatever miracle this is."

"A solution to a problem," you echoed thoughtfully. "That's not the most romantic description of your future wife I've ever heard."

"Would you prefer 'tactically advantageous alliance partner'?" he offered with a straight face.

"Much better. I'm swooning."

His expression grew more serious. "You know what I mean. I wasn't looking for connection then. I didn't think I needed it—or deserved it, after what happened."

"After what was going to happen," you corrected gently. "A future you prevented."

"Semantics," he said with a slight shrug, though you both knew it was more than that. The guilt he carried for actions his alternative self might have taken had taken months of conversations to address.

"Did I ever tell you," you said, changing tactics, "that I almost didn't go to Priya's gallery that night? I had a deadline the next day and was planning to skip it."

"You hadn't mentioned that." He looked up, intrigued.

"I finished the article early and decided last minute that I should support my friend." You took a bite of fish, appreciating the perfect balance of flavors. "One small decision. Go to a gallery or stay home. And here we are."

"The butterfly effect."

"More like the exhausted-journalist-who-finished-work-early effect, but sure." You smiled at him across the table. "Time travel or not, I think we were supposed to find each other."

"I don't believe in destiny," he reminded you.

"Says the time traveler."

"Time travel is physics. Theoretically. Destiny is..."

"Also physics, if you think about it. Predetermined paths, fixed points in spacetime."

He raised an eyebrow. "Have you been reading physics journals again?"

"Maybe. The baby likes quantum mechanics. She kicks when I read about wave-particle duality."

"Of course she does," he said proudly, as though your unborn child's apparent interest in physics was a personal achievement. "She's brilliant like her mother."

"And modest like her father," you countered, though you couldn't help the warmth that spread through you at the compliment.

That night, as you lay in bed with Jay's body curved protectively around yours, his hand resting on your belly where your daughter occasionally pressed a foot or elbow against his palm, you reflected on the strange, wonderful path you'd traveled.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured against your hair, always attuned to your shifting moods even when you thought he was drifting to sleep.

"About how sometimes the best futures are the ones we can't plan," you replied, covering his hand with yours. "Even for time travelers."

He chuckled softly. "Especially for time travelers."

"Do you ever miss it?" you asked. "The certainty of knowing what comes next?"

"Never," he said without hesitation, his arm tightening around you. "The future we're creating is better than any I could have foreseen. Besides, certainty is overrated. Where's the excitement in knowing every outcome?"

"Says the man who made a career of eliminating variables and calculating risk."

"I've developed a taste for the unpredictable," he murmured, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind your ear that still made you shiver. "A certain journalist taught me the value of beautiful chaos."

"Chaos theory," you murmured. "Small changes in initial conditions leading to wildly different outcomes."

"Exactly." His hand splayed wider across your belly. "One gallery opening. One conversation. One impulsive dinner invitation that wasn't in my original plan."

"Was anything about that night not calculated?" you asked, genuinely curious. After all this time, there were still pieces of his original strategy you occasionally discovered.

"The way you looked at me," he said softly. "When I made that comment about the abstract painting being 'deliberately obtuse to mask the artist's technical limitations.'"

"I remember. I laughed and said you were 'refreshingly honest for someone wearing a watch that cost more than my rent.'"

"That's the moment I deviated from the script," he admitted. "In my original timeline, we had a brief, pleasant conversation and never saw each other again. But something about your reaction made me want more. That dinner invitation afterward wasn't planned."

"So I have your impulsive deviation to thank for all this?" You gestured vaguely at your life together.

"That, and your capacity to negotiate a marriage contract like you were dismantling a hostile takeover bid."

"I was thorough," you defended. "Anyone would be when being asked to marry a virtual stranger for business purposes."

"You demanded a custom sleep number bed, a language tutor who specialized in colloquial rather than business Korean, and a contract clause about maintaining your own journalistic independence even when writing about companies connected to Park Industries."

"All reasonable requests."

"The Hawaiian pizza provision was a bit much."

"A woman has to draw the line somewhere. No pineapple on pizza in our household is a hill I'm willing to die on."

His laugh vibrated against your back, comfortable and familiar. "I love you, angel. Unreasonable pizza restrictions and all."

"I love you too," you replied, shifting to face him despite your unwieldy belly. "Strategic time-traveling and all."

As you drifted toward sleep in his arms, your daughter shifted inside you, a gentle reminder of the impossible journey that had led to this moment—a contract transformed into commitment, strategy evolved into love, calculation giving way to the beautiful chaos of a life built together.

Sometimes the best vows were the ones you never planned to make, but discovered you wanted to keep anyway.

And sometimes the most calculated beginning led to the most wonderfully unpredictable destination.

fin.

Taglist: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @zzhengyu @naurwayyyyy @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @jaeyunsbimbo @cutehoons02 @deluluscenarios @bubbletaeq @lamin143 @dearestdreamies @heeheeyeoiizz01 @heewhoresimp @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @loudpeachdetective @cristy-101 @ash-engen @miuwonis @pinkglitterpuke @theothernads

[daportalpractitioner]

leo degrees in the natal chart (5°, 17°, 29°)

5° = gifts that you are here to express passionately in the world. the inner child. carefree. independent. doesn't care what anyone thinks of them. child-like innocence before the corruption. very creative. entrepreneurial spirit. authenticity before the corruption. big dreams + visions. expansive imagination. hair is significant quality of the native. hot head. family person. fierce + protective. autoimmune disorders. lives from the heart. family favorite. playful + curious, similar to gemini. feels free to express honestly. use your heart as your compass and you'll never be strayed away. desires freedom yet doesn't know how to attain it. jack of all trades when it comes to hobbies.

17° = fame + the corruption that comes with it. cares too much about what people think. strategic with their generosity. wants everyone to like them. popular girl/guy. hyper-focused on romance. serial dater. love bomber. narcissistic tendencies. entitlement. impatient. natural spotlight. very sexy + attractive. it girl vibes. trendsetter. socialite. presence adds value to the atmosphere. knows how to command a room. interested/well versed in psychology. confidence issues stemming from childhood. traumatic relationship with parent(s). single parent household vibes. hypersexual. hook up culture. rejection wounds. crucifixion for being your true self (you can't please everybody). people will try to dim your light because not everyone can handle the sun. sheep behavior. don't stray away from your passions in order to appeal to others.

29° = eldest sibling syndrome. the example of who or who not to be. the only way you'll be fulfilled is if you live for you, not everyone else. choose the life you want — give yourself that autonomy. resurrection energy. the ultimate freedom of christ consciousness. artistic. life should be a pure reflection of the heart. heart is as light as a feather. strong connection to the spirit world + the dead. keep your heart healthy — get into some cardio. death is a common theme in this lifetime as one closes out many cycles. given the responsibility of ending certain cycles that hold the bloodline back. lover of children + could play a parental role, mentor, etc. chaotically concentrated energy of whatever sign this degree is in. use the energy of this sign to free yourself. iconic + legendary. talked about for many generations afterwards. extremely talented + well known for talent(s).

[princesseilish]

QUITE LIFE

Billie Eilish x Fem!Reader

Warnings: readers sensitive, no mentions of y/n? Billie is in love

Synopsis: in an interview things dive deep into billie’s wife who she mainly talks about but never shows

The studio was calm, the air filled with the faint hum of production equipment. Billie sat in the spotlight, her blue eyes shadowed with something unspoken, though her posture remained steady. The interviewer, a seasoned journalist known for navigating both the light and heavy topics with grace, leaned forward, voice warm but curious.

“Billie, you’ve always been vocal about mental health, authenticity, and protecting your space, but I have to ask—your engagement and wedding, both of which you managed to keep incredibly private, came as a surprise to many. Why did you decide to keep something so personal away from the public eye?”

Billie tilted her head back slightly, as if searching for words on the ceiling, her lips pressing together before a quiet exhale escaped her. “Because she’s my world,” she said softly, her voice cracking just enough to betray her emotion.

The interviewer didn’t interrupt.

Billie’s hand rose to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her gaze dropping momentarily to her lap. “Look, I’ve been in this industry long enough to know how it works,” she started. “And I know what happens when people think they’re entitled to every piece of you. I signed up for this; she didn’t. And I’ve seen what the world can do to someone who isn’t prepared for that kind of… attention, especially someone as sensitive as her.”

A faint, almost wistful smile curved her lips. “She’s not built for it. Like, she can’t even handle the car radio being too loud without constantly feeling overwhelmed.” Billie let out a small laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “I used to tease her about it—how her world is so quiet, so calm. But now I see how much better that is. She’s taught me to appreciate that quiet.”

The room seemed heavier now, Billie’s words painting vivid images of the love she carried for her wife. The interviewer hesitated before speaking, sensing the depth of what Billie was sharing. “It sounds like you’re very protective of her.”

“I am,” Billie said without hesitation, her voice firm but tender. “She saved me. And I don’t mean in some cheesy, fairytale way—I mean she literally saved me. She loved me when I couldn’t even look in the mirror. When I was at my lowest, when I felt like I was drowning and dragging everyone down with me, she stayed. She didn’t have to, but she did.”

Her voice broke slightly, and she swallowed hard, taking a moment to gather herself. “I don’t think people realize how terrifying it is to be loved like that. It’s… humbling. And it makes you want to do everything, anything, to deserve it.”

The interviewer’s voice softened. “Do you feel like you deserve it now?”

Billie’s laugh was quiet, almost self-deprecating. “I’m trying,” she admitted. “But I know one thing for sure: I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. The thought of her being overwhelmed, of people shoving cameras in her face or saying cruel things about her online—it would break her. And if that happened, it’d be my fault for not shielding her from it.”

The interviewer nodded, her eyes glistening. “That’s a lot of love, Billie.”

“It is,” Billie agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. “But she’s worth it. Every single bit of it.”

The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that, but Billie’s words hung in the air, raw and heavy with emotion. Fans who watched the interview would later flood social media with their admiration for her vulnerability, but in that moment, Billie wasn’t thinking about the audience or the cameras.

She was thinking about her wife—her quiet, sensitive wife who was probably curled up on the couch at home, reading a book or humming softly to herself.

And she meant it. Protecting her wife wasn’t just a choice—it was a promise, one she’d keep for the rest of her life.

[patientreflections]

The Failure of Manufactured Momentum

In 2025, can Hollywood continue with the same old party tricks and expect applause? It’s a question I found myself pondering after stumbling upon an onslaught of post BAFTA social media content where one continuous storyline piqued my interest…and not in a good way. 

I don’t usually wade into fandom conversations, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Bridgerton—and Colin and Penelope’s story was my favourite from the books. Beyond that, I’ve kept my distance. I don’t ship actors or keep up with stan drama. But something about this weekend’s BAFTAs, and the very deliberate press rollout that followed, caught my attention. Not just as a viewer, but as someone who’s worked in a corporate public relations adaject role for over a decade and finds the Hollywood machine endlessly fascinating (and completely outdated).

What we’re seeing right now with Luke Newton and Antonia Roumelioti is a textbook example of trying to manufacture momentum when there’s no organic traction to begin with. The cracks are showing. With every single post and article that popped up on my FYP and Instagram feed these past 48 hours, the more I felt like I had a bad case of deja vu. Did I just read the same headline over and over again? Yes…but from different outlets and yet it all felt the same. Interest piqued. Clearly the press kit made the following demands: 

Couple Focused; Antonia is to be treated in the headlines with the same level of celebrity as Luke

Curated Images - the same set of approved images over and over again

Approved language. We get it, Antonia is “glamorous” 

Ah, manufactured momentum, the Hollywood PR machines old faithful approach when you have nothing of substance. Let’s be honest: Antonia is being positioned as a public figure, but the foundation is incredibly thin. There’s no significant modeling campaign to anchor her in that world. Her dance history, beyond being a teenage contestant on Greece’s Got Talent, hasn’t evolved into any noteworthy professional credits. And as an “influencer,” an angle that feels unconvincing, the aesthetic is curated, sure, but there’s no substance—no strong personal voice, no visible passion, no cultural or philanthropic cause to connect with. The identity being presented is vague, and vague doesn’t hold attention for long. Did it ever?  

This isn’t a case of the public being harsh. It’s that there’s nothing anchoring her presence outside of proximity to Luke. And for a rollout to work, there has to be something to build from—an existing spark of interest, a story, something people can latch onto. Right now, that just isn’t there. In PR terms, it’s a classic case of a lack of narrative coherence. 

It’s also not helping that the timing feels off. One year out from Bridgerton S3, and Luke’s visibility has been notably muted.  While Nicola Coughlan has gone from strength to strength since then, Luke’s career has remained.... steady at best. He’s the only Bridgerton lead with a season of the show not signed to one of the major agencies, and despite being positioned as a romantic lead, his trajectory feels… stalled.  So this moment, framed as a kind of visibility push, doesn’t feel rooted in authentic career growth. Instead, it reads as strategy: tie this reveal to a known milestone, hope for carryover attention. The fact that Nicola’s name had to be threaded into nearly every headline surrounding this weekend’s appearance says a lot - borrowed equity. It suggests his team knows he doesn’t generate enough coverage on his own—and that’s a hard truth, but it’s one the public is picking up on.

Unsurprisingly, the reaction has been indifferent at best. Well until it took a turn for the worse. Take the Entertainment Tonight instagram post. When a media push goes a bit too far, it can lead to consequences. Using Nicola’s name here and sidelining her accomplishments to push a couple narrative, well, it was a choice someone made. A bad one at that. Viewers are seeing through the strategy, and instead of buying in, they’re disengaging. That’s the risk when you try to force relevance without real public demand. If anything, this rollout has highlighted just how little genuine excitement there is around either of them right now.

So the question is: where does this go from here? Because from a PR perspective, you can’t build long-term interest on shallow foundations. At some point, there needs to be actual growth—either from Antonia showing a clearer sense of self, or from Luke stepping into a stronger career phase that doesn’t rely on nostalgia or association.

Until then, this push will likely keep feeling exactly as it does now: calculated, hollow, and a little too late.

[lucy-literates]

Hi 👋🏻☺️, hope your doing well. I was wondering if you could possibility write something were reader is redhead with curly hair and also dating Arthur Leclerc, and so she feels bit insecure because his known for dating blondes and she feels like she not his type and she gets a bit of hate especially when she's seen with Arthur at the Monaco gp.

Hello :) I am doing well thank you, and I hope you are too! I love this, it feels so sweet yet authentic at the same time. I hope this is what you had in mind, enjoy! My inbox is open :)

Red

Both your parents have red hair so, naturally, you do too. You loved your hair. It curled perfectly, sparkled like a flame in the sun, and brought out the colour in your eyes. You had always copped a bit of flak about your hair growing up, but you blocked it out. They were just jealous and didn’t know it yet.

You would come home after school every Friday and get ready for the race weekend, if it was one. You had your Ferrari shirt and cap on, posters of drivers and car hung on your walls as you cheered for Ferrari to win.

You smiled whike the fond memories flooded your mind. You were at yet another practice where your now boyfriend and Ferrari reserve driver, Arthur Leclerc, was speeding around the track. Wearing red with your red hair did give the outfit an odd look, but you loved being your authentic self.

You hadn’t gone public yet, but you love being with Arthur. He’s sweet, kind, thoughtful, loyal, everything you could ever need or want in a boyfriend. Occasionally you saw pictures of Arthur with last girlfriends, how the public missed them going together. That made you worry. Were they going to like you just as much?

You didn’t notice it at first, but after a while, you found a similarity. All of them had blonde hair.

Every

Single

One

That made you nervous.

Arthur had asked you to join him at the Monaco GP. It would be your first public outing together, as a couple, and you were worried out of your mind.

Would the public like you?

Would they hate you?

What would they say to you? To Arthur?

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

Your hands shook slightly as you adjusted your curls in the mirror of the hotel room. You’d taken extra care with them today — even using the serum Arthur swore made your hair smell like vanilla and sunshine — but your reflection still felt unfamiliar.

Red on red. Hair like fire, cheeks flushed with nerves, cap in hand. The Ferrari shirt that had once felt like armor now made you second-guess everything.

Why hadn’t he dated anyone who looked like you before? Would people tear you apart online? Would they think you didn’t belong at his side?

The sound of the door unlocking made you jump. Arthur strolled in, face flushed and hair messy from the sun. He grinned the moment he saw you — and it was like the world stopped spinning for half a second.

“You look like a flame,” he said, stepping closer, dropping a kiss to your temple. “My flame.”

You forced a small smile and looked down. “I feel more like a warning sign.”

He stilled. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Just nervous about today.”

Arthur was quiet for a second, before his fingers gently caught your chin and tipped your face up. “Mon cœur, talk to me.”

You hesitated.

Then it all spilled out in a low whisper. “You’ve dated so many girls before. And they’re all… blonde. Beautiful. Everything I’m not. And now we’re going public and I just… I don’t want to embarrass you.”

His face softened immediately — that familiar tilt of his brows when he was both surprised and heartbroken you’d ever feel that way.

“You think I’d ever be embarrassed by you?”

You shrugged. “I’ve seen the comments already. Some of them are nasty. They don’t think I’m your type. That I don’t fit.”

Arthur’s voice was quiet but certain. “The world doesn’t get to decide my type. I do. And you are it.”

You blinked at him.

“I mean it,” he continued, brushing a soft curl back behind your ear. “The way your hair lights up in the sun? How you never pretend to be anyone else? You’re real. You’re fire. You’ve got more passion in your pinky than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re mine. And I’m proud of that.”

Your throat closed up for a moment. “But what if people say awful things today? What if they hurt me?”

“Then I’ll be right there,” he said. “Holding your hand. Kissing your cheek. Giving them even more to talk about.”

You laughed a little through your nerves. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m in love,” he replied easily. “It does that to me.”

And just like that, the fear didn’t vanish — but it shrank. With Arthur’s hand in yours, it always did.

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

The sun glinted off the water, and the paddock buzzed with energy and camera flashes. Arthur walked proudly beside you, hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like you were the most important person in the world.

There were whispers. There were stares.

And then Arthur turned to you, lips brushing your cheek as he smiled for the cameras.

“You’re stunning,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

The internet would probably have a meltdown.

But you didn’t care.

Not when his love felt louder than the noise.

[the-shipper-center]

How to know if you've been manipulated into believing you are an anti

> Guilt by Association:

If you've been told that liking certain content automatically makes you a bad person or aligns you with harmful groups, that's a red flag. This tactic plays on guilt and can push you to reject things based on fear, not your own beliefs.

> Pressure to Conform

Have you ever felt like you must agree with a group or face being ostracized or attacked? Manipulation often relies on social pressure to force people into one perspective.

> Misinformation

If the arguments against proship rely on scare tactics or misinformation (like over-generalizing harmful behavior or falsely equating fiction to reality), that’s a sign that you may have been influenced through fear rather than facts.

> Silencing Nuanced Conversations

If you’ve noticed that discussions around proship/anti-ship in your circles discourage nuance, critical thinking, or even hearing out differing opinions, it’s likely you’ve been steered into a rigid belief system.

> Disconnecting from Your Own Likes

If you once enjoyed certain ships or fictional works but now feel uncomfortable or ashamed to admit it(without any clear personal reason)ask yourself if that shame was imposed from outside.

> Shaming for Thought Crimes

If you've been made to feel guilty or ashamed for simply thinking about a ship or idea, even if you’ve never acted on it, that’s a form of thought policing. This tactic implies that even private enjoyment of fiction is wrong and that you're only “good” if your thoughts align with a certain group.

> Cult-Like Group Dynamics

Does the community you’re involved in enforce strict rules about what can and can’t be enjoyed, isolating or attacking anyone who doesn’t follow the norm? Manipulative groups often demand loyalty to a single cause or belief system, punishing deviation with social exclusion, harassment, or cancellation.

> You Feel Conflicted

If deep down you still enjoy certain ships or fandom content but feel torn between your personal enjoyment and the pressure to conform, take this as a sign. Internal conflict often arises when you’re being pushed into beliefs that don’t align with your authentic self.

> Over-reliance on “Influencers”

If you’ve formed your opinions solely based on what online personalities or fandom influencers have said, you might want to rethink. Influencers can sometimes push their own agendas, and it’s important to critically evaluate their claims rather than blindly accepting them.

> Redefining Terms

Have you noticed how certain communities redefine words like “abuse” or “harm” to fit their agenda? Manipulators often blur the line between fiction and reality by changing definitions. For instance, enjoying a fictional ship doesn’t mean supporting real-life harm, but some people will try to convince you otherwise to gain control over the narrative.

> Fear of Being “Canceled”

If your fear of being attacked or “canceled” is driving you to adopt anti-proship views, then your stance is likely based on external pressure, not personal conviction. The fear of social backlash can force people into silence or compliance, even when they don’t truly agree with the anti-proship movement.

> Gaslighting

If people in your fandom spaces make you question your own enjoyment of ships, telling you that your feelings are “wrong” or that “you don’t realize how harmful that content is,” you might be experiencing gaslighting. They’re trying to make you doubt your own tastes and values, convincing you to adopt theirs instead.

> Virtue Signaling

Does your involvement with anti-proship ideas feel more about proving that you’re “good” or “moral” in the eyes of others? Virtue signaling often relies on outwardly showing alignment with the “correct” opinion without encouraging deeper thought.

> Isolation

If you’ve been cut off from friends or fandoms that are proship, ask yourself if this was really your choice. Manipulators often push you to distance yourself from people or spaces that don’t align with their views, isolating you in a controlled environment where your new beliefs are constantly reinforced.

> Moral Panic Culture

Have you noticed how anti-proship rhetoric mirrors larger societal moral panics, where certain ideas or interests are exaggerated to be dangerous or harmful? These movements often rely on fear-mongering, claiming that enjoying fictional content can lead to real-world harm, without concrete evidence to support it. Being swept up in a moral panic can make you feel like you’re doing the “right” thing, but it often stifles critical thinking.

> The “Right Way” to Fandom

If you’ve been told there’s only one way to enjoy fandom and that anything outside of those strict guidelines is wrong, you’ve likely encountered gatekeeping. Fandom is about exploring different interests, genres, and relationships. There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to engage with fictional content, but manipulation tactics thrive by enforcing rigid boundaries and shaming those who deviate.

Vs the ACTUAL Antis - how they behave?

In many fandom spaces, the term "anti" refers to individuals or groups who position themselves against certain ships, content, or fan activities, often on moral grounds. However, beneath the surface of this "moral crusade," many antis engage in harmful behaviors that revolve around bullying and censorship rather than promoting genuine discourse or protecting others from harm.

> The Focus on Bullying

Antis often claim their actions are about "protecting" people, especially minors, from harmful content. However, what they’re really doing is targeting and harassing individuals who enjoy certain ships or tropes they dislike.

Public Shaming: Antis will often single out and publicly humiliate individuals over their fandom interests, especially if they engage with “problematic” ships or tropes. This public shaming can include doxxing (releasing personal information), starting harassment campaigns, and rallying others to dogpile their target.

Harassment and Threats: Instead of engaging in productive conversation or respecting different views, antis frequently resort to sending hate messages, insults, and even death threats to people who engage in content they think is inappropriate. This extreme bullying behavior shows that the goal isn’t about morality—it’s about control.

Name-Calling and Labels: Antis are quick to label anyone who disagrees with them as dangerous or morally corrupt. They’ll often call people “abusers,” “pedophiles,” or “incest apologists” simply for enjoying certain fictional ships, even if those claims have no basis in reality.

> Censorship Over Discussion

Antis don’t engage in thoughtful dialogue or debate—they aim to censor and silence any opinions that don’t align with theirs.

Mass Reporting: One common tactic is organizing mass reporting campaigns to get fan art, fanfiction, or even entire blogs taken down. They’ll flag content they disagree with, often manipulating platform policies to enforce bans or removals, regardless of whether the content actually violates terms of service.

Policing Tags and Spaces: Antis frequently attempt to take control of fandom spaces by policing tags, platforms, and even fan events. They demand that certain ships or content be removed or banned, claiming that those things "shouldn't exist," and attacking creators who refuse to comply with their demands.

Gatekeeping: Antis often act as gatekeepers, deciding who is “allowed” to participate in fandom and who isn’t. They’ll dictate what types of content are "acceptable" and label any content or creator they disagree with as problematic, often pushing for full exclusion of that person or fandom from certain spaces.

> Hypocrisy in Morality Policing

Claiming to Protect While Harming: While antis claim they are trying to protect marginalized groups or young people from harmful content, they’re actually perpetuating harm by bullying, attacking, and driving people away from fandom spaces.

Attacking Minors: Ironically, many antis target the very people they claim to protect. Minors who engage with fandom content—whether they’re artists, writers, or just fans—are often harassed, attacked, and shamed for their interests, even if those interests are completely harmless. Antis frequently ignore the well-being of the people they supposedly advocate for, focusing instead on being “right.”

> Bullying and Censorship Aren't Fandom Values

At its core, fandom is about creativity, exploration, and community. It’s a space where people can engage with fiction in personal ways, often as a means of expressing themselves or processing difficult emotions. Antis, however, turn fandom into a battleground for moral purity, where bullying and censorship are used to force conformity.

If your fandom experience is being dictated by fear of harassment or being censored, it’s important to step back and recognize that this behavior is not normal or healthy. Fandom should be a place of joy, not a place of judgment. No one should be bullied for their fictional preferences, and everyone deserves the freedom to engage with media in their own way. Don’t let antis rob you of the freedom to explore and create.

[andy-wm]

How to speak without words

a simple guide, by Jikook

This post is all about context, so for context 31 March is Trans Day of Visibility.

Its a day be your authetic and true self and to show the world that trans people exist.

I'm also going to use it as an opportunity to talk about something that comes up over and over, especially with Jimin & JK.

How do we share our story if we can't speak directly?

In the spaces around Jimin & Junkgook, there's a lot of discussion about the messages they are or aren't sending.

For some people these messages aren't significant enough to validate or even to make them wonder. They don't see the broader context or the cumulative effect of the many small moments. Its easy to dismiss it all as isolated incidents.

But for those of us who are seeing the whole picture, nothing is lost or ignored or dismissed.

We understand how these small moments fit together to create a complex story because we see the wider context. They are individual threads in the tapestry of their lives.

When JK goes live on Weverse on White Day wearing a white shirt and not much else and has a drink with ARMY, and we know Jimin is not around, we get what's happening. When Jimin posts a photo of the two of them wearing white on White Day, he doesnt need to say anything else.

When JK sends a thirst trap birthday message for Jimin and ends it with a clunky 'happy birthday bro', we know why.

When he uses the sign language for love on a stage in front of the whole world and directs it at Jimin, we see what hes doing.

When Jungkook presents himself as the vampiric stereotype - lusting for the forbidden - in his photo folio and Jimin parallels this with his own mythic themes and darkly sensual imagery in the same project, we can't misunderstand the symbolism.

When Jimin says "hurry up and be me soon", when he presents feminine for one concept and masculine for the next, when he stands on the Miss Dior red carpet in a cape and full face of make-up but with his bloodied knuckles on full display, we can't pretend we don't see it.

When Jimin & Jungkook wear matching outfits, even even when they're not together...

When they publicly conform to couple stereotypes - off stage and outside of BTS...

We know. We see it all as a single woven story and we know.

And like any truly committed couple, they're there for each other in good times and bad. They celebrate their successes, comfort each other, and stick together when times get tough.

And no, they've never verbally confirmed or denied. The context of their lives makes any such declaration incredibly difficult, if not impossible. Regardless, they owe no explanation. But being so visible would be confirmation enough for almost any other couple to be acknowledged.

They tell us over and over who they are.

Showing so undeniably that they are always there for each other is more than enough, honestly. If you can accept all the things you cannot see, how can you look at these two and not see love?

💜💛

That's essentially what the Trans Day of Visibility is about.

Showing that you exist.

Being seen and believed.

You don't needs to make a speech or an announcement. You can if you want to of course. You can go to a rally if you want to be with the trans community, and in the current political climate that might be safer if you want to be seen.

Maybe you just want to drop a hint ... iykyk

But you don't have to be seen at all if you choose not to...

Shout out to all the trans, gender diverse, gender questioning, and gender non-conforming humans in the world and all our allies and supporters too.

On this year's Trans Day of Visibility, I understand more than ever why people might prefer to remain invisible. It's dangerous out there.

Nevertheless, celebrate yourself today and every day. Being authentic and living your life as your genuine self in a way that makes you happy is your right.

If you aren't there yet, take your time, be brave where you can but be safe, and know that you are amazing.

Trans right are human rights.

And in case it's needed, here's a message for the haters: You will never win. We've always been here and we will always be here. Just like every other human, we belong here too 🏳️‍⚧️

[payblogs]

DARK SMS - DRAGON+

In today’s fast-paced digital landscape, maintaining privacy and security while communicating is more important than ever. Introducing DarkSMS, a cutting-edge virtual SMS platform designed to streamline your messaging experience without compromising your personal information. With our innovative virtual number service, users can receive SMS messages securely and anonymously, eliminating the risks associated with sharing private phone numbers. Whether you’re signing up for online services, verifying accounts, or simply looking to keep your communication confidential, DarkSMS has got you covered. 

Virtual SMS

Virtual SMS refers to the messaging service that enables users to send and receive text messages through a virtual phone number rather than a traditional mobile line. This service is particularly useful for individuals and businesses looking to maintain privacy while communicating or verifying accounts.

One of the key advantages of using virtual sms is the ability to receive SMS without revealing your personal phone number. This is especially beneficial for online transactions, sign-ups for apps, or any situation where you might need to provide a phone number but want to protect your privacy.

Furthermore, virtual numbers can be easily managed from a web-based platform, allowing users to organize and store messages effectively. Many service providers offer features such as message forwarding, where received SMS messages can be redirected to your email or other platforms, ensuring you never miss an important notification.

In addition to privacy and convenience, virtual SMS services are often cost-effective. They eliminate the need for extra SIM cards or mobile contracts, allowing users to only pay for the services they actually use. This flexibility makes virtual number services highly attractive for startups and individuals working from remote locations.

As businesses increasingly adopt digital communication strategies, integrating virtual SMS into their operations can enhance customer interaction and improve engagement through instant messaging capabilities.

Virtual Number Service

A virtual number service offers a practical solution for individuals and businesses looking to maintain privacy while receiving communications. By using a virtual number, you can receive SMS messages without exposing your personal phone number. This feature is especially useful for those engaged in online transactions, such as e-commerce, as it safeguards against unwanted spam and protects your identity.

One of the key advantages of a virtual number service is its capability to function seamlessly alongside your primary phone line. Users can receive messages from various platforms effectively, whether it's for verification purposes, two-factor authentication, or simply keeping in touch with clients. The convenience of managing multiple numbers through a single device cannot be overstated.

With options to select numbers from different geographic locations, this service caters to users looking to establish a local presence in different markets. Moreover, these numbers can be set up quickly and easily, providing instant access to receive SMS without lengthy contracts or commitments.

To optimize your experience with virtual SMS and virtual number services, consider features like call forwarding, voicemail, and the ability to choose your own number. Such functionality enhances user experience by offering flexibility in communication while maintaining professional boundaries.

Ultimately, investing in a virtual number service can significantly enhance your business's communication strategy, allowing you to receive SMS reliably while focusing on building relationships with your clients.

Receive SMS

Receiving SMS through a virtual number is a convenient service that allows users to get text messages without needing a physical SIM card. This is particularly beneficial for individuals and businesses looking for privacy or those who wish to avoid exposing their personal phone numbers.

The process is straightforward: once you obtain a virtual number through a reliable virtual number service, you can start receiving sms messages. This service is essential for various reasons, including:

  Account verification codes: Many online platforms use SMS to send verification codes. A virtual number allows you to receive these codes securely.

  Business communications: Companies can use virtual SMS to receive client inquiries or feedback without revealing their primary contact numbers.

  Privacy protection: By receiving SMS through a virtual number, users can protect their personal phone numbers from spam and unwanted solicitation.

Moreover, the get SMS feature of a virtual number service ensures that you don’t miss any important messages, even if you are on the move. Messages are often stored digitally, which means you can access them anytime and anywhere.

In summary, the ability to receive SMS through a virtual number enhances both privacy and accessibility, making it a valuable tool for users in various contexts.

Get SMS

Getting SMS messages through a virtual number service has become increasingly popular due to its convenience and versatility. Whether you need to receive texts for verification purposes or want to maintain privacy while communicating, virtual SMS provides a robust solution.

With a virtual number, you can easily get sms from anywhere in the world without needing a physical SIM card. This feature is particularly beneficial for businesses that require secure communication with clients or customers, as it ensures that sensitive information remains confidential.

Here are some advantages of using a virtual number to get SMS:

Privacy Protection: Using a virtual number helps keep your personal phone number private.

Accessibility: You can receive SMS messages on multiple devices, including tablets and laptops.

Cost-Effective: Virtual SMS services typically come with lower costs than traditional SMS plans.

Global Reach: You can get SMS messages from international numbers without incurring roaming fees.

Easy Setup: Setting up a virtual number to receive SMS is straightforward and often takes just a few minutes.

In summary, leveraging a virtual number service for SMS communication allows you to manage your messages efficiently while maintaining privacy, enhancing accessibility, and reducing costs. This is particularly useful for both personal and business communications, making it a smart choice for anyone looking to streamline their SMS functions.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Simple Astrology Observations

People with Leo placements often feel very self-assured. Since Leo is ruled by the Sun, which represents one’s core self, those with Leo placements tend to have a strong sense of identity. You cannot tell a Leo who they are—they are more likely to tell you who you are.

If you have Cancer placements, emotions play a significant role in your life—not just in how you feel, but in the emotional themes that guide your decisions. You need to feel emotionally clear and balanced in whatever you pursue. The energy of a space matters to you, and you seek to create a sense of peace, both for yourself and those around you. Cancer placements are deeply caring, prioritizing emotional security and the well-being of others.

For those with Gemini or Virgo placements, communication is incredibly important. Virgo, ruled by Mercury, values precision in speech, ensuring that their ideas are conveyed clearly and accurately. They take communication seriously, paying close attention to the words they use and how they structure their thoughts. Gemini, also ruled by Mercury, thrives on expression. The worst thing for a Gemini is feeling unheard or unable to share their thoughts. Communication is the outlet through which they process their many ideas, and without it, they can feel restless and unsettled.

Taurus and Libra, both ruled by Venus, prioritize love and connection. Taurus dislikes being single, as love is deeply ingrained in their nature. They seek to nurture and nourish those they care about, especially their closest relationships. Similarly, Libras thrive in love. They value bonds and daily communication with those they cherish. For a Libra, talking regularly with loved ones—whether friends or a romantic partner—is essential to their well-being.

Aries and Scorpio share a strong, feisty energy due to their Mars rulership. People with these placements are more prone to conflict, including physical altercations, even if they aren’t the ones to initiate them. Additionally, Mars’ influence heightens their desire for physical intimacy, making it a central aspect of their personality and emotional well-being. Aries and Scorpio placements often feel a deep need for consistent and passionate physical connection to maintain their spirits.

If you have Sagittarius or Pisces placements, you are driven by an insatiable desire for more—more experiences, knowledge, and growth. These signs do not settle easily, and even when they appear to, their minds are often wandering, imagining new possibilities or planning their next adventure. Stagnation is unsettling for them.

Aquarius and Capricorn, ruled by Saturn, often feel as though they are walking an uphill battle in life. Whether due to strict parenting, restrictive work environments, or self-imposed limitations, they frequently experience a sense of constraint. Aquarius, in particular, craves change and can be unpredictable, making them difficult to keep up with. Their transformations tend to be sudden and unexpected rather than gradual.

For Pisces placements, imagination is everything. Attempting to force a Pisces to be more “realistic” or grounded disrupts their natural flow, making it difficult for them to feel at peace. It is often better to let a Pisces exist in their dreamlike state rather than trying to pull them down to reality. If you do, you may encounter their less pleasant side.

Those with Scorpio placements experience profound transformations throughout life. Who they once were often feels distant from who they become. Their journey involves peeling back layers of buried emotions and illusions until they finally uncover their deepest truth. At some point, every Scorpio placement undergoes a powerful awakening where they recognize and embrace their authentic self.

If you focus on your rising sign, you may find it to be one of the hardest placements to internalize. The rising sign represents how you show up in the world, but it may not feel like an accurate reflection of your true self. For example, if you have an Aries rising but a water sun and moon, you might struggle to keep up with the fiery, bold energy others perceive in you. On the other hand, if your rising sign aligns closely with your sun sign, it will likely feel more natural.

The Midheaven (MC), though often associated with career, represents a broader sense of achievement and purpose. An Aries Midheaven may indicate a life goal of cultivating independence and authenticity, while a Libra Midheaven might strive for harmony, balance, and meaningful relationships. Rather than dictating a specific career path, the Midheaven reflects the aspirations that align with one’s true self.

Pluto is a planet of power, but many people develop an imbalanced perception of it based on how they were raised. Your relationship with your Pluto placement is deeply influenced by your upbringing. However, Pluto ultimately reveals where your power and influence lie in this life, making it one of the greatest tools to harness for your career, relationships, and daily life.

Neptune is the planet of the unseen, and your Neptune placement reveals where you lack clarity. It represents areas of life that feel elusive, confusing, or difficult to grasp. For example, having Neptune in the fifth house may indicate struggles with understanding romance, self-expression, courting, or dating. These aspects of life may feel unclear or difficult to navigate.

Uranus is the planet of progression, and your Uranus placement reveals the areas of life where you feel driven to grow and evolve.

Jupiter is the planet of satiety, representing what you need in life to feel fulfilled, satisfied, and content.

Saturn is the planet of long-term goals, which is why it brings restriction and obligations—these are the challenges we face when pursuing long-term objectives. In this lifetime, Saturn represents what you should aim to achieve.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Sun in the 10th House or in aspect to the MC (Midheaven): When the Sun is in the 10th House (the house of public image), you are literally designed to be seen. People notice you, even when you're not trying to attract attention. It's like wearing a spotlight all the time. Fame? Possibly. Influence? Definitely.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Sun, Ascendant, or Midheaven in Leo: Leo is the sign of spectacle, well-directed drama, and pure charisma. If you have Leo dominating key areas of your chart, life can feel like a stage where you are the main star. You are effortlessly magnetic, and people simply gravitate toward you.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Venus in the 1st House or in aspect with the Ascendant: Beauty, charm, a celebrity aura… Venus in the 1st House is that placement that makes everyone want to know more about you. It's not just about physical appearance (although it helps), but about that irresistible vibe you give off. It's the energy of those people who walk into a room and immediately elevate the people around you.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Mercury in the 10th House or in conjunction with MC: This is the placement of great speakers, communicators, writers, and charismatics in general. If you have Mercury in the 10th House or touching your Midheaven, the world needs to hear you. Whether through social media, television, radio, or simply in everyday life, your voice has the power to influence and leave a mark.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Neptune in the 1st House or in aspect with MC: If you've ever been told you have a "magical aura" or that you seem like you're from a dream, check if you have a strong Neptune in your chart. This placement gives off an enigmatic energy, as if you were ethereal or difficult to define. Many artists and celebrities have this because they project an almost mystical image, and people can't help but idealize them.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Moon in the 5th House or in aspect with Neptune: This is a placement for an Oscar-winning film actor. If you have the Moon in the 5th House (the house of creativity and entertainment), you express emotions so authentically that you could bring tears to anyone's eyes with a single glance. This placement also indicates a deep connection with art and self-expression.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Pluto in the 10th House or in Conjunction with MC: When Pluto touches the 10th House, there's an intensity in your presence that no one can ignore. You have the power to transform the environment just by entering the room. It can bring fame, but it also makes you unforgettable, because people perceive you as a person of impact. You're the type of person who leaves a mark, for better or worse.

๋࣭ ⭑🎸⊹ ࣪ ˖Jupiter in the 1st House or in Aspect with MC: Jupiter is the planet of expansion, luck, and great energy. When it's in the 1st House or touching the Midheaven, people sense that you bring good vibes. They see you as optimistic, successful, and with the ability to attract opportunities without much effort. It's a placement that gives a warm and magnetic presence, ideal for those looking to excel in the world of entertainment, teaching, or leadership.

[starsandsuch]

Aries through the houses: where are you self-made?

Aries is ruled Mars. The planet that represents our ability to be independent and self sufficient.

The Aries archetype in our charts shows where we are bold, independent and take self-initiated efforts to achieve something.

Where as Aries’ opposite sign: Libra, is how we collaborate with others to achieve something. Aries is about how we do it on our own.

———————————————————————-

Check your see where you have Aries in your chart!

*Can work for tropical or sidereal chart*

ARIES 1H: self made in terms of your lifestyle. Choosing your life path based on your own mind vs the hive mind of society. Gaining independence is a key life theme for you. Being your own person, being authentic and expressing that to the world. Developing your identity independently. You’re not influenced by the masses, you influence the masses. A leader with an independent mind.

ARIES 2H: self made with your finances. Gaining financial independence because of your own efforts. Not having anything “handed to you”, but having to create wealth on your own. Your journey leads you to being self sufficient financially.

ARIES 3H: self made with your thoughts and ideas. Having your own opinions formed from doing your own research. You don’t rely on what you’re told, but you do your own investigating and question tradition. You’re a independent thinker.

ARIES 4H: self made amongst your family. Learning how to be self sufficient at a young age. Raising yourself, being your own parent. The first in your family to go to college, achieve success, break toxic patterns, own a home etc. Independent approach to parenthood, being single parent. Owning property independently.

ARIES 5H: self made when it comes to your creativity. Expressing your creativity boldly and uniquely. Creative talents that are so authentic to you they can’t be mimicked. Instead of being influenced by others creativity, you influence other’s creativity. Pursuing passions independently and assertively.

ARIES 6H: self made in terms of your work ethic. Being extremely hardworking until you achieve your goals. Choosing to be self employed and have your own business. Becoming a leader/boss due to your own efforts. Self made with health and routine. Following your own health habits instead of society’s norm. Independently overcoming obstacles and enemies.

ARIES 7H: self made in terms of business partnerships. Defending oneself in partnerships. Setting boundaries, and maintaining them. Looking out for your own self interests in partnerships. Negotiating in a way that you always come out on top.

ARIES 8H: self made in terms of shared resources. Having enough of your own resources so that you aren’t dependent on others, but they’re dependent on you. Independent when it comes to your sexual power. Having strong boundaries s3xually. Self made approach to occult knowledge, doing your own research independently instead of accepting mainstream information.

ARIES 9H: self made in terms of your spiritual beliefs. Deciding your destiny on your own. Holding your own spiritual beliefs you discovered through self initiated efforts. Discovering knowledge on your own. Being your own “guru”. You are your own spiritual teacher. You have an independent mind that is not influenced by others.

ARIES 10H: self made with your career. Owning your own business, being self employed, being your own boss. Self-made with your reputation. Building a name for yourself from the ground up. Being a leader to others. Independently achieving your long terms goals.

ARIES 11H: self made with your goals and desires. Achieving them through your own efforts. Independently gaining success in life. Your dreams and aspirations are unique to you and your authenticity. Creating your dream life despite what is considered the mainstream for your socioeconomic status/demographic. Fulfilling your dreams on your own.

ARIES 12H: self made with your subconscious mind. Creating your own thought patterns not influenced by anyone else. Independent approach to spirituality and interacting with the spiritual world. Implementing your own spiritual practices without a guru. Your psyche is your own creation, you’re not easily brainwashed or psychologically manipulated.

-starsandsuch✌️💕