pairing: lawyer heeseung x criminal female!oc
contains: dark romance, psychological manipulation, lawyer au, intense interrogation, physical trauma mention, forced proximity
status: on-going, chapter six (preview)
❥——————
The digital clock on the desk read 2:14 AM.
Hera stood perfectly still a few feet behind his leather chair, the oversized black t-shirt swallowing her frame. Her damp hair clung to her neck, sending cold shivers down her spine, but she didn't dare move.
Heeseung was acting as if he hadn't nearly taken the bathroom door off its hinges ten minutes ago. He was ruthlessly focused on his laptop, his long fingers typing out strings of legal jargon while his other hand reached blindly for a ceramic mug. He took a long drag of whatever heavy, bitter caffeine was inside, set it down with a soft clink, and went right back to typing.
He didn't offer her a blanket. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't even acknowledge that she was standing there.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until the scratching of his pen finally stopped.
"So," Heeseung murmured, his voice rich and entirely conversational as he stared at his screen. "Did you find a spider in my pristine shower, Miss Hera, or did you finally remember something useful?"
Hera's heart skipped a beat. She gripped the hem of the oversized shirt, her knuckles turning white. She felt a sudden, sharp spike of suspicion.
"Is this another one of your tactics?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Heeseung paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He didn't turn around, but his shoulders relaxed into a predatory, elegant stillness.
"What makes you say that?" he asked smoothly.
"The clothes," Hera countered, her courage bubbling up through her fear. "You forced me to keep my blood-soaked sleepwear on for two days. You didn't give me anything else to change into until I was already at your mercy. You wanted me to keep wearing it. Why? Was it so I'd stay in that state of panic? Was it so I'd break?"
Heeseung finally swiveled his chair around. The harsh light of the monitor cast deep, dramatic shadows across his face, making his expression look carved from stone. He didn't look offended. In fact, he looked pleased-as if she had finally passed a test.
"You're sharper than you look, little Hera," he said, a slow, dangerous smile curling his lips. "Yes, I insisted you keep that ruined sleepwear. It keeps the trauma fresh. It keeps you desperate. And more importantly..."
He stood up, his tall frame looming over her, and leaned down until his lips were inches from her ear.
"It kept you from looking at your back. If you had changed sooner, you might have realized what you were hiding from yourself long before I wanted you to. I needed you to be in exactly the right state of mind to trigger that memory."
Hera recoiled, but he caught her arm, his grip firm and inescapable.
"I don't just solve cases, Miss Hera," he whispered, his voice like velvet over a blade. "I win them. By whatever means necessary."
Before she could even process the terrifying weight of his confession, his hand moved. He didn't let her step back. With one swift, effortless pull, he dragged her forward, pulling her right off her feet and directly onto his lap.
Hera gasped, her hands flying up instinctively to brace against his broad chest. The sudden, overwhelming physical proximity was paralyzing.
"Don't move," he commanded softly.
His large, cool hand slipped beneath the hem of her oversized black t-shirt, trailing up the center of her spine. Hera shivered violently as he gathered the fabric and lifted it up to her shoulder blades, exposing her ruined back to the chilled, air-conditioned air of the penthouse.
A heavy silence stretched between them. Heeseung studied the horrific canvas of mottled purple and black flesh. Then, he simply clicked his tongue.
He casually reached across the desk with his free hand, grabbing his phone. The sudden, harsh flash of the camera illuminated the dark room for a split second, blinding her.
"That should do it," he murmured, tossing the phone back onto the desk.
Hera waited for him to let her go, to push her away now that he had his evidence. Instead, he simply adjusted his hold. He let her shirt fall back into place but kept her firmly anchored on his lap. His arm wrapped securely around her waist, trapping her against him as if she were completely weightless.
Her heart hammered so violently against her ribs she was certain he could feel it right through his shirt.
"Now," Heeseung began, his tone shifting back into something terrifyingly casual. "Let's do a proper interview, shall we? Did you have many friends growing up? Anyone you were engaged to? Anyone who might hold a grudge?"
Hera swallowed the dry lump in her throat, her mind racing as she tried to ignore the sheer heat and dominance of his body beneath hers.
"No," she breathed out, keeping her voice as steady as possible. "I didn't make many friends... not anyone to hang out with, anyway. But I was always friendly with everyone."
"And your parents?" His thumb brushed a slow, absentminded circle against her waist, a gesture so intimate it made her head spin. "Were they nice to you?"
The phantom pain throbbed in her back. The memory of her sister's blood-curdling scream and the heavy thud of a strike flashed vividly behind her eyes, but she pushed it down. She was terrified of what the memory meant, and even more terrified of letting this man see her break again.
"They were..." Her voice trembled slightly before she caught herself. "They never raised their voices at me. I have younger siblings too, and they were nice as well. We always got along, despite me not being one of them."
Heeseung tilted his head, his dark, calculating eyes searching her face, completely dismantling her lie.
"Oh?" he mused, a dark, knowing amusement coloring his tone. "Are you sure?"
Hera forced herself to hold his gaze. She gave a stiff, single nod.
He stared at her for a long moment, letting her sit in the crushing weight of her own denial. He knew she was lying, and he wanted her to know that he knew. Then, his hand on her waist flexed. His long fingers pressed deliberately, almost possessively, into her side as he tightened his hold, pulling her chest just a fraction closer to his.
"One last question, then," he whispered, his dark eyes dropping momentarily to her lips before meeting her gaze again. "Have you ever been in a relationship, Miss Hera?"
"N-no," she answered, her voice shivering despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
Heeseung tilted his head, a dark, amused glint catching in his eyes. "Really? Not once?"
Hera shook her head, shrinking slightly under his intense gaze but entirely unable to escape his hold. "All I ever did was try to be a girl my parents could be proud of," she explained, the words rushing out in a quiet, desperate breath. "I never went anywhere with anyone. I... I stayed away from boys."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with a sudden, suffocating heat. Heeseung studied her face, taking in the flustered pink dusting her cheeks and the frantic, erratic pulse beating at the base of her throat.
"Does this mean you're a virgin?"
Total silence.
Hera's breath completely stopped. Her eyes widened in sheer disbelief, her face burning so fiercely she was sure it was glowing in the dim light of the office. She stared at him, desperately trying to find a trace of a joke in his expression, but his dark eyes were dead serious.
"Why...?" she stammered, her voice barely a squeak as she tried to press herself back, only to hit the solid wall of his arm. "Is that necessary for the case?"
Heeseung didn't blink. He just stared at her lips for a second too long before his gaze flicked back up to her terrified eyes. His grip on her waist tightened just a fraction, pulling her flush against him and completely knocking the wind out of her.
"You just have to say yes or no," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, velvet whisper that sent a dangerous thrill straight down her spine. "Or perhaps... you want us to check it out?"
"Out there, you sit at the defense table, and I play your savior. But behind these doors, your seat is on my lap... and I will be the judge
contains: possessive, extreme jealousy, "tutor" dynamic, forced proximity, mutual pining, touch-starved, heavy sexual tension, pinning/cornering.
status: completed (available in wattpad) @wonique-
CHAPTER 25
She needed a distraction. Anything to pull her out of her own head before the guilt completely consumed her.
She reached across the island and snatched up her phone, her thumb swiping quickly across the screen. She opened a social media app, then a news site, scrolling blindly through feeds and headlines she wasn't actually reading. She just needed digital noise to drown out the deafening silence of the house.
But her thumb betrayed her.
Almost on autopilot, she closed the apps and opened her contacts, her scrolling slowing until it stopped completely on one specific name.
Jake.
She stared at the letters on the screen, the harsh light reflecting in h hopeer eyes. Since he had walked out her front door, leaving her breathless and thoroughly marked against the entryway wall, there had been nothing. No text to say he made it to the city safely. No call. Just complete, agonizing radio silence.
He must be really busy, she thought, the rational part of her brain trying to soothe the sudden, sharp ache in her chest.
She tapped into their message thread and typed out a single letter—H—before her courage completely failed her. She hit the backspace key, her thumb hovering over the screen.
Suddenly, a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around her bare ankle.
Arabella shrieked, the sound tearing through the dark, silent kitchen as she nearly launched herself off the barstool. Her phone slipped from her grip, clattering onto the island counter as she scrambled backward, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
A low, deep rumble of laughter broke through the shadows.
A figure stepped into the dim light cast by her laptop screen. Jake was standing there, a dark duffel bag slung over one shoulder, looking entirely too amused by her near heart attack.
"Jake!" Arabella gasped, clutching a hand over her chest. She grabbed a dish towel from the counter and swatted it hard against his arm. "Are you insane?! You scared me half to death!"
Jake caught the towel effortlessly, his lips twitching into a wicked grin. "I called your name three times from the hallway, Bella. You didn't even hear the front door open. You were completely in a trance."
He stepped closer, dropping his bag onto the floor. The scent of him—city air, woodsmoke, and something undeniably him—instantly filled her senses, making the two days of absence feel like a lifetime.
"What had you so distracted?" he murmured, his gaze dropping to where her phone lay face-up on the counter.
Arabella’s stomach dropped. He's going to see that I was staring at his empty contact page.
"Nothing!" she panicked, lunging forward to snatch the phone. But in her frantic fumble, her fingers swiped wildly across the screen just as Jake reached out, smoothly plucking the device from her grasp with an infuriatingly easy grace.
"Hey! Give that back!"
"Let's see what was so important that you didn't hear me walk in," Jake teased, holding the phone out of her reach. He glanced at the illuminated screen.
For a second, Arabella braced herself for the teasing smirk when he saw his own name. But the smirk never came. Instead, the amused light in his eyes vanished, replaced instantly by a sharp, calculating darkness.
Arabella blinked. What was he looking at?
Jake let out a short, dark laugh that held zero humor. He looked up at her, his jaw ticking.
"Well," he rasped, reading the screen aloud. "Hi, sexy, it's me... the guy from the mall."
Arabella froze. In her panic, she had accidentally swiped out of Jake's contact and opened the message notification that had been sitting unread in her inbox.
Jake's eyes dropped back to the screen, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "Would you like to hang out... in a bar?"
The silence in the kitchen was sudden and absolute. Jake stared at the text message for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he looked back up at her, a sharp click of his tongue echoing in the quiet room.
"A bar," he repeated, tossing the phone onto the counter with a heavy thud. He took a slow step toward her, trapping her between the edge of the island and his body. "Tell me, friend... is that what you were so busy doing while I was away? Making plans?"
Arabella shook her head frantically, her hands gripping the edge of the counter behind her. "No! Jake, I swear. I hadn't even opened the message. I left him on unread until—"
"Until now?" he interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, vibrating hum.
He didn't give her space to breathe. Jake stepped flush against her, his hands coming down to grip the granite on either side of her hips. He leaned his weight forward, effectively pinning her legs against the kitchen island so she couldn't retreat a single inch.
"Were you actually planning to answer him?" he asked, his gaze tracking the frantic pulse jumping in her neck.
Arabella’s breath hitched. The sudden, overwhelming heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cold marble at her back, completely short-circuiting her brain.
"I was..." she managed to stammer, her eyes locked on the dark, unyielding intensity in his lenses. "Planning to reject him..."
Jake tilted his head, a slow, dangerous smirk finally breaking through his dark expression. He leaned in closer, until his lips were just a breath away from hers, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
"Oh?" he murmured, the word laced with dark, challenging amusement. "In the middle of the night?"
Arabella’s mind raced. She couldn't tell him the truth. She would literally rather die than admit she was staring at his empty contact page because the silence of the house was driving her crazy.
So, her defense mechanism kicked in. She lifted her chin, trying to channel the woman who had worn that pinstripe suit.
"Well... it’s considered rude to leave people on read," she managed to say, though her voice was embarrassingly breathless. She pushed a hand weakly against his chest, trying to create an inch of space that he absolutely refused to give. "Besides, you’re the one who told me I needed to practice being bold. What's bolder than... going to a bar?"
Jake’s smirk vanished.
The teasing glint in his eyes was instantly swallowed by a possessive, territorial darkness that made the air in the kitchen feel dangerously thin. Her attempt at boldness had spectacularly backfired.
"Practice," he repeated, the word sounding like a threat. He leaned in closer, his chest flush against her hands, completely immovable. "Let me make one thing very clear, Arabella. My curriculum does not involve you testing out your new confidence on random men in dimly lit bars."
"It doesn't?" she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"No," he rasped. His hand slid from the counter, his large fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her jaw, tilting her head up so she couldn't look anywhere but his eyes. "You don't get to use what I taught you on anyone else. If you want to practice being bold in the middle of the night... you practice on me."
Chapter 26
Arabella couldn't breathe. The weight of his gaze was a physical pressure, pinning her in place just as effectively as his body.
But Jake wasn't finished.
Without breaking eye contact, he reached blindly onto the counter and picked up her phone. He swiped the screen, opening the camera.
"Jake," she breathed, watching his jaw tick. "What are you doing?"
"Correcting a misunderstanding," he murmured darkly.
He slid his free hand down, his long, veiny fingers wrapping firmly around her bare thigh. He angled the phone down and snapped a picture—just a tight, faceless shot of his hand branding her skin, the heavy silver of his signature watch and the prominent veins mapping the back of his hand stark in the dim light. It was a clear, undeniable, and utterly arrogant physical claim.
He attached the photo to the stranger's thread and typed a single, devastatingly blunt sentence to go with it: She's busy being pinned against her kitchen counter. Lose the number.
He hit send, locked the screen, and tossed the device carelessly onto the marble.
Jake leaned back in, his hand sliding up from her thigh to grip her waist. "Now," he whispered, the possessive edge in his voice sharpening. "Where were we? Ah, right. Your practice."
He expected her to melt. He expected her to drop her gaze, flush a deep crimson, and let him completely take over the pacing of the night.
But as the initial shock of his jealousy faded, something else flared in Arabella’s chest. It was the intoxicating, dizzying memory of two nights ago—the memory of this exact same man, stripped of his control, groaning under her touch.
She wasn't just the shy author anymore.
Arabella lifted her chin. She brought her hands up, resting them flat against the solid expanse of his chest. She felt the heavy, thrumming rhythm of his heart beneath her palms—fast, agitated, and completely betraying his cool exterior.
"Practice on you," she repeated, her voice dropping into a soft, private murmur. She dragged her nails lightly down his chest, watching his pupils blow wide in the shadows. "Are you sure about that, Jake?"
His hands tightened on her waist, his breath catching almost imperceptibly. "Bella—"
"Because as I recall," she interrupted softly, tilting her head as she looked up through her lashes, "the last time I 'practiced' on you... you could barely breathe."
The silence in the kitchen shattered.
Whatever thread of discipline Jake had been holding onto snapped completely. A dark, jagged sound escaped his throat. In one fluid, devastatingly quick motion, he hooked his hands under her thighs and lifted her clean off the ground, sitting her heavily onto the cold marble of the kitchen island.
He stepped between her knees, crowding her into the edge of the counter until there was absolutely zero space left between them.
"Is that a challenge?" he rasped, his face inches from hers, the predatory tutor fully unleashed. "Because you are dangerously close to finding out what happens when the lesson plan gets thrown out the window."
The sudden shift in altitude left Arabella momentarily breathless, but the adrenaline surging through her veins kept the newfound spark of defiance alive. She was sitting above him now, but with him stepping so flush between her knees, the dynamic felt entirely equal.
She decided to push her luck.
Instead of shrinking back from his dark, predatory glare, she let her hands slide from his chest up to his shoulders, her fingers lightly grazing the collar of his jacket. She tilted her head, offering a soft, teasing smile that masked the frantic beating of her heart.
"Did you miss me that much?" she murmured, her voice laced with a playful challenge. "You aren't usually this aggressive."
It was meant to be a tease. A way to playfully poke at his iron-clad discipline and keep the upper hand. She expected a sharp retort, a sarcastic deflection, or a command to be quiet.
She did not expect the absolute, devastating honesty that followed.
The dark amusement faded from Jake’s eyes, leaving behind a stark, raw intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. He didn't blink. He didn't look away. His hands simply tightened their grip on the curve of her hips.
"Yes."
The single word hit the quiet kitchen like a physical blow. There was no hesitation, no prideful shielding—just the low, gravelly admission of a man who had spent two days in a city feeling like a phantom because his mind was stuck in this house.
Arabella’s playful smile vanished. The tease died on her lips, completely derailed by the sheer weight of his confession. She stared down at him, her heart doing a frantic stutter-step as the reality of his admission washed over her. He actually missed her. The unflappable, disciplined tutor had been just as miserable as she was.
Before she could recover enough to form a coherent response, Jake’s expression shifted. The raw vulnerability vanished behind a mask of dark, calculating satisfaction. He had knocked her off balance, and he knew it.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as his thumb pressed deliberately into the soft skin of her waist.
"Well?" he whispered, his voice a dark, vibrating hum that sent a shiver straight down her spine. "Did you miss me too... my friend?"
The mocking edge in his voice was designed to corner her, to force her to squirm under the weight of that stupid label she’d given him at the mall. A few days ago, Arabella might have fought back or tried to deflect.
But after his own devastatingly simple “Yes,” she didn't have it in her to play games anymore. He had surrendered a piece of the truth; she owed him the same.
Arabella let out a shaky exhale, the last of her defensive tension leaving her body. Her hands, which had been resting lightly on his shoulders, slid inward. Her fingers curled tightly into the lapels of his jacket, gripping the fabric like it was an anchor.
Slowly, she let her forehead drop forward until it rested heavily against the solid curve of his shoulder.
Jake went perfectly still.
"I couldn't even write a single word," she whispered into the dark fabric, her voice small and raw in the quiet kitchen. "Every time I tried to type out a scene, I just kept thinking about you. About this."
She took a shuddering breath, her grip on his jacket tightening. "You ruined my book, Jake. You ruined the quiet. And yes... I missed you so much I was staring at your empty contact page just trying to figure out how to say hello."
The silence that followed was entirely different from the heavy, suffocating quiet of the past two days. It was charged, but incredibly fragile.
The mocking, predatory tension instantly drained from Jake's frame. The "friend" taunt was forgotten. The man who had pinned her against the counter melted away, replaced entirely by the man who had driven back from the city just because he couldn't stand to sleep in another bed without her.
He let out a jagged, unsteady exhale. His hands, which had been resting on her waist, slid around to her back, pulling her flush against his chest with a crushing, desperate grip. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his nose brushing against her skin as he breathed her in like she was the only oxygen in the room.
"Good," he rasped roughly against her pulse point, the word sounding like it had been torn out of him. "If I had to lose my mind in that city, I wasn't about to let you keep yours."
I’M NOT A PARK ANYMORE, I TOOK MY WIFE’S NAME … ❤︎ park sunghoon
PART ONE. TWO. THREE ─── bored of your life, you go on tinder and match with a hot guy named park sunghoon, who in his bio, states that he’s “date to marry.” but he offers you a deal: fake a marriage with him to annoy his obnoxious family and he’ll pay you for it.
or you’re in a fake marriage with sunghoon and he takes your last name to piss his relatives off. oh and did i tell you that he’s lowkey obsessed with you? even though he’s just your “fake husband.”
starring husband!sunghoon x wife!reader ₊˚⊹♡ genre smau, romcom, strangers to lovers, fake marriage au, obsessed!hoon, opposite of slowburn 𑣲⋆ warnings use of y/n, profanity, suggestive jokes /•᷅•᷄\੭ -> check out mayor!jake's story ♡
( ℰ🪽 ) —— srry 4 the wait </3 pt3 is js hubby freakhoon & wife in love era (real) but anw i hope u guys enjoy this one 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 likes, comments, & reblogs r always appreciated <3 mwahh also there's a video part ! make sure to view it
( ℰ🪽 ) —— TY FOR READING <3 not the last part, but the next part will be the last one! im not really satisfied with this part, but i'll pour my heart out for the last one hehehe . this is lowk rushed since ik i've been postponing the update because of school but i think this part is kinda cute!
Synopsis: Forced into an arranged marriage with the cold and distant Crown Prince, you struggle to survive palace life while trapped in a loveless union built on duty instead of choice. But beneath Heeseung’s icy exterior lies something far more complicated than you expected—and getting too close to him may destroy you.
series warnings: Arranged marriage, emotional angst, emotional neglect, loneliness/isolation, toxic family dynamics, cold/avoidant love interest, unhealthy communication, royal court politics, power imbalance, abandonment issues, jealousy, emotional repression, anxiety, verbal arguments, themes of duty over love, grief, manipulation, social pressure, and slow-burn romance. eventually smut and fluff.
AN: alexa play confessions by usher…. lol okay sorry also sorry for the delayyy ive been busy
series masterlist , enhypen masterlist , previous chapter
After the banquet, things somehow became worse.
Not louder. Not crueler.
Just emptier.
The palace still buzzed with gossip, still breathed secrets through its endless corridors, but now there was something heavier sitting beneath it all. Something tense and fragile that seemed to follow you everywhere.
Because people noticed.
They noticed the way Heeseung watched you when he thought no one could see him. They noticed the way you stopped speaking during meals whenever he entered the room. They noticed how neither of you stood close to each other anymore despite being husband and wife.
And unfortunately, palaces thrived on distance.
Distance gave people room to invent stories.
The worst part was that none of the rumors actually came close to the truth.
No one knew Heeseung kissed you like he was starving.
No one knew he touched you like he was terrified you would disappear beneath his hands.
No one knew the prince who looked so cold in court completely unraveled every time his feelings slipped out accidentally.
And somehow that made everything lonelier.
You stood alone in your chambers late one evening staring blankly at your reflection while servants pinned silver jewelry into your hair.
Another royal gathering.
Another exhausting night pretending your marriage wasn’t slowly breaking apart before it had even properly begun.
“Your Highness?”
You blinked slowly toward the maid beside you.
She hesitated carefully before speaking again. “You don’t have to attend if you feel unwell.”
A quiet laugh escaped you.
Unwell.
That was one way to describe it.
“I’ll survive.”
The maid looked unconvinced but wisely stayed quiet afterward.
Outside your chamber windows, rain poured heavily against the palace rooftops. The storms had become constant lately, turning the kingdom gray and cold.
It matched your mood perfectly.
hehehehs
By the time you entered the ballroom, music already echoed through the enormous hall while nobles drifted across polished marble floors in expensive silks and jewels.
And immediately—
Your eyes found him.
Of course they did.
Heeseung stood near the king speaking with several advisors, dressed entirely in black again. Sharp shoulders. Perfect posture. Expression unreadable.
Untouchable.
Your chest tightened painfully.
As if sensing you, his gaze shifted across the room.
The second your eyes met, something flickered across his face.
Gone almost instantly.
But there.
Your pulse stumbled anyway.
Then, just like always recently, he looked away first.
Coward.
The thought came bitterly this time.
Because you were getting tired.
Tired of this endless cycle.
Tired of almosts.
Tired of loving someone who looked at love like a battlefield.
You moved farther into the ballroom, forcing polite smiles onto your face whenever nobles greeted you. Every conversation blurred together after a while until eventually you escaped toward one of the quieter side balconies overlooking the gardens.
Cold air hit your skin immediately.
Finally.
Silence.
You leaned against the railing with a tired sigh, staring out at rain-soaked palace grounds below.
“You disappeared.”
Your eyes closed briefly.
Of course.
You didn’t even need to turn around anymore.
Heeseung’s presence had become something your body recognized before your mind did.
Slowly, you faced him.
He looked unfairly beautiful standing there beneath dim lantern light, dark hair slightly damp from the humidity outside.
But tonight there was something different about him.
He looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The realization softened some of your anger immediately despite yourself.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said quietly.
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I’ve been busy.”
You laughed softly under your breath. “Right.”
Silence settled heavily between both of you.
Heeseung stepped closer eventually, resting one hand against the stone doorway behind him. Close enough that your pulse reacted instantly.
Annoying.
“You left dinner early again,” he said.
You stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
His brows furrowed slightly.
“That’s what you wanted to talk about?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Silence.
Heeseung looked away briefly before finally admitting, “I wanted to see you.”
Your chest betrayed you immediately.
One sentence.
That was all it took.
God.
You hated how easily he affected you.
“You’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you take them?”
The frustration cracking through your voice made something shift in his expression.
Guilt.
Real guilt.
“You make this difficult.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped you. “Me?”
“Yes.”
His answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
You stared at him.
Heeseung stepped closer again, voice quieter now. “I can’t think clearly around you anymore.”
Your heartbeat stumbled painfully.
“You’re saying that like it’s my fault.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.”
The rain outside intensified softly around you, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance.
For several long seconds neither of you spoke.
Then quietly, you asked, “Why are you here, Heeseung?”
Something flickered across his face.
Fear maybe.
Or vulnerability.
Possibly both.
Then softly—
“Because I miss you.”
The confession hit you like physical impact.
Your breath caught sharply.
Heeseung looked almost angry after admitting it. Angry at himself. At the situation. At the fact that loving you had become something impossible for him to control.
Your chest physically hurt.
“You’re the one staying away from me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
The words came out more desperate than intended.
Immediately, silence crashed between both of you.
Heeseung stared at you.
Something raw moved behind his eyes.
“You don’t understand what happens if I let myself want this fully.”
“Then tell me.”
His jaw tightened sharply.
“You become the one thing capable of destroying me.”
The honesty in his voice shattered something inside your chest.
Because he meant it.
Completely.
You stepped closer before thinking.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is.”
“No,” you whispered. “It’s human.”
Heeseung looked genuinely conflicted now. Torn painfully between instinct and emotion.
Then quietly—
“My father loved my mother more than the crown.”
Your brows furrowed slightly.
Heeseung rarely spoke about his parents personally.
“He trusted people he shouldn’t because of her,” he continued softly. “He spared enemies because she asked him to. He made emotional decisions.” Bitterness flashed briefly across his face. “And when she died, it destroyed him.”
Your chest tightened immediately.
“He never recovered,” Heeseung admitted quietly. “The kingdom suffered for it.”
Understanding settled slowly into place.
Oh.
Oh.
This wasn’t just fear.
It was conditioning.
Grief inherited from someone else.
“Heeseung…”
“I watched love ruin a king.”
The vulnerability in his voice nearly broke your heart.
And suddenly, for the first time, you realized something devastating:
He genuinely believed loving you would make him weak.
Not because he thought you were unworthy.
Because he thought love itself was dangerous.
You swallowed hard.
“You’re not your father.”
His expression tightened instantly. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because your father stopped loving the kingdom after losing someone.” Your voice softened. “You’re trying to stop loving someone before you can lose them.”
Silence.
Real silence.
The kind that shakes something loose inside a person.
Heeseung stared at you like you’d reached into his chest and exposed something he spent years hiding.
Your pulse pounded painfully.
Because maybe you had.
The rain hammered against the palace rooftops harder now, cold wind slipping through the balcony arches around you.
Still neither of you moved.
Then quietly, almost broken—
“You make me want things I promised myself I’d never need.”
Your chest ached so badly it became difficult to breathe.
“What things?”
His eyes locked onto yours.
“Peace.”
The single word destroyed you.
Because suddenly you understood.
Heeseung wasn’t afraid of passion.
Or desire.
Or even heartbreak.
He was afraid of dependence.
Afraid of needing someone enough that losing them would destroy him.
And somewhere along the way—
He had started needing you.
The realization settled between both of you heavily.
Dangerously.
You stepped closer again.
Close enough now that you could feel warmth radiating from him despite the cold night air.
“Heeseung,” you whispered softly, “I’m already yours.”
His breathing changed instantly.
The sentence hit him hard.
You saw it happen in real time.
The crack in his composure.
The panic.
The want.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how to survive hearing them.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Slowly, carefully, you reached for his hand.
Heeseung froze immediately.
Like even this small amount of affection overwhelmed him now.
Still—
He let you touch him.
Your fingers slid gently against his.
Warm.
Real.
The contact alone made your heartbeat stutter.
Heeseung looked down at your joined hands like he couldn’t believe it was happening.
Then his fingers tightened around yours instinctively.
And that tiny movement nearly shattered you completely.
Because it felt honest.
Not controlled. Not guarded.
Just honest.
“I’m tired of fighting you,” you whispered.
His eyes lifted toward yours again.
“I’m tired too.”
The confession came softer this time.
More fragile.
Thunder echoed loudly overhead.
Neither of you moved away.
And maybe that was the problem.
Maybe both of you were finally reaching the point where distance hurt more than vulnerability did.
Heeseung stepped closer slowly until almost no space remained between you.
Your pulse exploded immediately.
He looked down at you with an expression so conflicted it physically hurt to see.
“I don’t know how to do this correctly.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because if I love you,” he whispered roughly, “I need to do it properly.”
Your breath caught violently.
Everything inside your body stopped.
Heeseung seemed to realize what he admitted only after the words left his mouth.
Panic flashed sharply across his face.
Too late.
Your heart slammed painfully against your ribs.
“You love me?”
Silence.
Heeseung looked trapped now.
Cornered by his own honesty.
You stared at him desperately.
“Heeseung.”
His eyes closed briefly.
Then finally—
“Yes.”
The world stopped.
Actually stopped.
Rain. Music. Thunder. Breathing.
Everything disappeared except him.
Yes.
Your chest hurt so badly it almost felt unbearable.
Because after months of distance and tension and almosts—
There it was.
The truth.
Raw and terrifying and finally spoken out loud.
He loved you.
Heeseung opened his eyes slowly, looking almost furious with himself now.
“You shouldn’t look so happy about that.”
A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“Why?”
“Because loving you feels like standing on the edge of something catastrophic.”
Your smile trembled despite yourself.
“And yet you still do.”
Silence.
Then quietly—
“Yes.”
The second confession somehow felt even more devastating than the first.
Emotion climbed painfully into your throat.
You stepped toward him instinctively.
Heeseung’s hand moved immediately to your waist like muscle memory now.
The touch sent heat rushing through your entire body.
“You’re terrifying,” he whispered softly.
“You’ve mentioned.”
“No,” he said quietly, eyes fixed completely on yours now. “You terrify me because I would destroy myself for you.”
Your breath caught sharply.
Every emotion inside your chest tangled together painfully.
Love. Relief. Fear.
Because somehow his confessions sounded less romantic and more like surrender.
Like he genuinely believed loving you would ruin him eventually.
Still—
He loved you anyway.
You lifted your hand carefully toward his face.
This time he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t freeze.
He leaned into your touch slightly before he could stop himself.
The tiny unconscious movement shattered your heart completely.
“You’re allowed to love me,” you whispered.
Pain flickered across his face instantly.
“You say that like it’s simple.”
“It should be.”
A sad smile tugged briefly at his mouth.
“You still don’t understand what you’ve done to me.”
Your pulse quickened again.
“What did I do?”
Heeseung stared at you silently for several long seconds before answering.
“You became home.”
The confession ruined you.
Actually ruined you.
Because Heeseung said it like it frightened him.
Like home had never been a person before.
Your eyes burned suddenly.
And unfortunately, he noticed immediately.
His expression shifted at once.
Softened.
“Hey.”
The gentleness nearly broke you further.
You laughed shakily under your breath. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Apparently I can’t stop.”
The honesty in his voice wrapped painfully around your chest.
God.
This man.
You had spent so long thinking Heeseung felt things quietly.
Carefully.
But now that the walls were finally cracking—
Everything inside him seemed overwhelming.
Intense.
All-consuming.
Like he loved the same way he did everything else.
Completely.
Heeseung brushed his thumb gently against your waist absentmindedly. The tiny movement sent warmth through your entire body.
Then suddenly his expression shifted.
Sharp.
Alert.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
Heeseung glanced back toward the ballroom entrance.
Voices echoed faintly nearby.
Someone approaching.
Immediately, his entire body tensed again.
The warmth between both of you cracked sharply.
You felt it instantly.
That awful shift back toward control.
Toward fear.
Your chest dropped.
“Heeseung—”
“I should go.”
The words hit painfully fast.
You stared at him in disbelief.
Again?
After all that?
Anger flickered hotly through your chest.
“You just told me you love me.”
His jaw tightened immediately. “Lower your voice.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped you.
“There it is.”
Pain flashed sharply across his face.
“That’s not fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is you acting like loving me is something shameful every time another person gets too close.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence.
And suddenly—
You understood.
Not fully.
But enough.
Heeseung confessed to you privately because private love felt safe.
But public love?
Public love meant vulnerability.
Witnesses.
Weakness.
Your chest tightened painfully.
“You still can’t stand beside me openly, can you?”
The words landed hard.
Heeseung looked genuinely stricken now.
“Y/N—”
“You love me when no one’s looking.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then prove it.”
Silence crashed down immediately.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
You watched panic flicker across his face again.
And slowly—
Your heart started breaking all over.
Because he couldn’t do it.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
The realization hollowed your chest painfully.
You stepped backward first this time.
Away from him.
Away from the warmth.
His hand slipped from your waist slowly.
Reluctantly.
“Y/N.”
The way he said your name almost stopped you.
Almost.
But exhaustion won this time.
“I can’t keep loving you in secret,” you whispered shakily.
Pain crossed his face instantly.
Real pain.
“You don’t understand the consequences.”
“No,” you said quietly, eyes burning now. “I understand them perfectly.”
Your voice cracked near the end.
“You’re just choosing fear over me again.”
The sentence shattered something inside him.
You saw it happen instantly.
But before he could respond—
Voices echoed closer nearby.
And just like that, the walls returned.
Heeseung stepped away from you immediately.
Cold composure sliding back into place like armor.
The movement hurt worse than anything else tonight.
Because it proved you right.
You stared at him for one awful second longer before turning away completely.
I’M NOT A PARK ANYMORE, I TOOK MY WIFE’S NAME … ❤︎ park sunghoon
PART 1, PART 2─── bored of your life, you go on tinder and match with a hot guy named park sunghoon, who in his bio, states that he’s “date to marry.” but he offers you a deal: fake a marriage with him to annoy his obnoxious family and he’ll pay you for it.
or you’re in a fake marriage with sunghoon and he takes your last name to piss his relatives off. oh and did i tell you that he’s lowkey obsessed with you? even though he’s just your “fake husband.”
contains husband!sunghoon x wife!reader. smau, romcom, strangers to fake lovers to real lovers. fake marriage au. obsessed!sunghoon. sunghoon is a multi billionaire. use of y/n l/n for the reader's name (+ nicknames like baby, my love, angel, pretty..) opposite of slow burn. feat mayor!jake, grocery store owner!jay (hoon's opps) :D
( 🪽 ) —— this is more chaotic than part 1 lol. hoon is EXTREMELY downbad for reader (and she's in denial), we meet hoon’s mom, & we see their relationship progressing >< despite it being a fast-burn, they’re just fake dating/fake flirting (but actually like eo) #fakedatingbesttrope #sorryforanytypos. anw hope y'all like this one likes, comments, & reblogs r greatly appreciated <3
( 🪽 ) —— reached my pic limit so i didnt get to add the divider LMAOOO. but here u guys go! ALSO THX FOR READING! im thankful for everyone who liked the first part! tell me if u guys want angst or js romcom for part 3 hehe >< (i also thought of making sunghoon jealous or smth but ill think abt it)
ty to my taglist i love y'all <3
taglist 1: @cokewithcameron @pumrikku @sunnysidesins @hongtyong @taesansnovia @fein4hoon @samvagejkflxhrt @yurilover249 @honeymoonave777 @ohmymelon @run2min @nyfwyeonjun @foreveronez @dina-10s-blog @enhapagluuuuu @iiunique @12e45 @all4moi @sleepymochiiii @mijjinthefridge
@vanheee @idkhahaha1234 @mysticalmf @hyunjinslongasslegs @ryukumi @gracesalvatore @somuchdard @megamatt43 @jakeycakeys @enhapocketz @autumnsgr3ysolace @satorus-slut @tamedhoon @sharknadoooo0 @nonchalantkumi @xoalzox @marianaconta123 @itsgigi444 @sarinhaluvskats @yangflavor1009 @heehee67 @sunnotes @gae-ping-boosay @bmbivan @mailovesreading @510-5 @gayterry1000 @nonachoss @isa942572 @mynameistakenfml
PART ONE ─── you run a hate account against mayor!jake, but in real life? you’re his one and only favorite journalist that he has a big fat crush on. he’ll also do anything to get you to interview him again and again (๑°o°๑)
pairing downbad/mayor!jake x manhater/journalist!fem reader: you’re jake’s #1 hater, while jake is your no 1 fan 𔘓 genre romcom crack smau, let’s not idolize politicians, same universe as my hoon smau ✶ warnings profanity, use of y/n, very chaotic lol𓂃˖ ࣪⊹
( ℰ🪽 ) —— after husband!hoon, we have mayor!jake (as i teased in my hoon smau) <3 i had to delete some tweets bcuz the limit is till 30 only arghh T__T users hotgirlssupremacy & angelkisses r reader's acc!
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( ℰ🪽 ) —— no divider again bcuz of the pic limit LMFAOO i didnt realize i went over 30 :'(( so for part 2, i'll add those parts that didnt make the cut ! ALSO after i post this, im making the hoon smau part 3 !
Park Jongseong or more known as Park Jay is the one of the youngest professor for neosurgery and the only child of the director from the biggest hospital from south korea.
Bae Jihye, the youngest attorney ever to put more than 3 corrupt politicians behind the bars in the decade and the daughter of a lovable politician.
it was a like a fate they met but their first impressions on each other weren't great. they may bickered alot but deep down in their heart, they care for each other but don't know how to show it and kept hurting each other with their words and actions...
it's the finale book for OFF series... i need to execute it better (cries)
SUMMARY: being married to a boxer is frightening— twice as much when you’re raising a child (or two) with that very same man. but none of it matters, not really, because your love for him is unconditional, stronger than fear, deeper than doubt, and it has always lived beyond the reach of worry.
WARNINGS: boxing, mentions of blood and wounds, mentions of pregnancy, morning sickness, pet names (baby, love), fear, love making (it’s just the last scene and barely narrated, but you can choose to skip it), starring yunjin huh (lesserafim), babies (jihoon/james & jiheon/jane). lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
NOW PLAYING: Brisbane by Youth in Revolt & Heavenly by Broadside
a/n: the meds against allergy the doctor gave me make me feel high so sorry if there are any errors or shit. anw let me know your thoughts on this fic! 🩷 i honestly like it sm (my search history is full of synonyms lol) and please, if you haven’t, read the sunghoon!dad fic i wrote too!
You always woke up first. That was just the way it went.
The early sun never failed to warm your face through the slightly cracked blinds of your shared bedroom, golden light slipping across the foot of the bed like it belonged there.
Jake’s arm was slung heavy around your waist, his breath slow and deep against the nape of your neck, and just a little too warm. One of his legs was tangled with yours, as if even in his sleep he couldn’t stand to be far from you.
And at the foot of the bed, curled up with a stuffed gray bunny that was beginning to unravel at the seams, was James— Jihoon when he was in trouble.
Five years old. Barely able to tie his shoes right, but already carrying Jake’s stubbornness in his bones.
You shifted gently, trying not to wake Jake as you slipped out from under his hold.
He grumbled something incoherent in his sleep and reached out for you, but you were already halfway to the kitchen.
It wasn’t long before little feet padded after you, and then James was clambering onto a chair at the table, face still puffy with sleep, hair a mess.
“Toast?” you asked.
He nodded, rubbing at one eye. “With honey.”
You ruffled his hair before turning to the counter. “You’re getting too used to sweet things in the morning.”
“It makes me run faster,” he insisted, already kicking his legs under the table like he had a hundred miles of energy to spend.
Behind you, you heard Jake’s heavy steps thudding down the hallway, groggy and shirtless, his curls a wild mess. He kissed your shoulder as he passed, then bent over to ruffle Jihoon’s hair too.
“Morning, champ.”
“Morning,” James beamed. “Can we box today?”
Jake laughed as he sat down. “You wanna box again?”
James nodded so hard his curls bounced. “I’m gonna be a boxer just like you!”
You didn’t say anything at first. Just buttered the toast. Carefully.
Jake noticed. Of course he did.
After six years, he could read you better than anyone. “We’ll be careful,” he said softly, glancing at you over James’ head.
“Boxing’s not a game,” you replied quietly. “It’s not— it’s not something I want him dreaming of every night.”
Jake’s eyes softened, and he reached for your hand as you placed the plate of toast down. “I know, I know it scares you. But he doesn’t see the blood or the bruises. He just sees his dad being strong.”
You looked at him, feeling your chest ache. “That’s exactly why I’m scared.”
James munched on his toast without a care in the world, his feet swinging. “Can I come to your next match?” he asked suddenly, crumbs on his lips. “Please, please, please, pleeeeeease?”
Jake blinked, surprised. “What, the next one? That’s in two days, James.”
“I’m big enough,” he declared, sitting up straighter. “I wanna watch, I wanna cheer. Please, mommy?”
You looked at him, at his big, pleading eyes.
At the innocence behind them.
And then you looked at Jake, with the same eyes who looked torn between pride and guilt. It wasn’t fair— how much James looked like both of you at once, how easily he could tug at your heart.
You sighed. “We’ll see.”
Which really meant yes. Because you were never good at saying no when it came to them.
That night, you helped James into Jake’s old boxing gloves. They were far too big, slipping past his wrists, practically swallowing his arms.
He tried to throw punches, but they were mostly flailing motions that made Jake laugh until he was nearly wheezing on the floor.
You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to smile too much.
Jake caught your eye, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his collarbones from messing around with James. “See? He’s a natural.”
“He’s five.”
“He’s my kid, he’s gonna be unstoppable.”
James fell over trying to jab at Jake’s leg. “Gotcha!” he shouted.
Jake swooped down and scooped him up, holding him upside down while James shrieked with laughter. “You got me, huh? You sure about that?”
“Daaaaaaad!”
“You gonna knock me out one day, champ?”
“Yeah! One punch!”
You bit back a laugh as you walked over, flicking Jake’s shoulder. “Put him down before he vomits dinner.”
“Fine,” Jake groaned, dropping James onto the couch. “You both take all the fun out of my life.”
James poked his tongue out at him. “No I don’t. I’m your best fun.”
Jake looked at him for a long second, eyes warm, and then over at you. “You both are.”
Two nights later, the arena smelled like sweat and nerves.
You had James on your lap, his little legs tucked close to his chest, his hands gripping a paper cup of juice too tightly.
The crowd was loud, the lights bright, and your heart was beating way too fast for someone who wasn’t even in the ring.
Jake stepped into the spotlight wearing his mouthguard and gloves, robe slung low over his shoulders.
He looked fierce. Serious. Beautiful. Like the fighter you’d first met back in college, when he was reckless and full of fire, but still somehow managed to be the kindest boy you’d ever known.
Jihoon bounced excitedly. “There he is! Look, mom, look!”
“I see him, baby.”
The bell rang.
The fight started.
And something was wrong.
You could tell, even if the others couldn’t.
Jake’s steps weren’t as light, his dodges not as quick. The other guy was aggressive, coming in hard and fast, and Jake—he was getting hit. A lot.
Your stomach twisted.
“Mom,” James said, his voice small now. “Why’s dad not winning?”
“He’s trying,” you whispered, arms tightening around him. “He’s okay, he’s— he’s just warming up.”
But then Jake stumbled. His lip was split.
His shoulder sagged like he’d pulled something.
And your son started to panic.
“Mom, he’s hurt. We gotta go help him.”
“James, no, listen to me— he’s gonna be okay, you can’t—”
But your words weren’t fast enough.
James wriggled out of your arms before you could catch him, ducking under the security rope, sprinting across the edge of the crowd.
Someone shouted. You were on your feet, your heart in your throat, but James was already halfway to the ring.
“Jihoon!”
He scrambled up through the ropes, small enough to slip between them, and ran straight to his father.
Jake didn’t even notice at first, too dazed by the last punch.
“Stop the fight!” you screamed. “Stop it, my son’s in there!”
The ref blew his whistle furiously, waving his arms. The other boxer dropped his stance immediately, confused.
Jake blinked down— and froze.
“Champ?”
James launched into his chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his waist. “Don’t let him hit you again! I’ll fight him for you!”
Your vision blurred with tears as you rushed down toward the ring.
Someone opened the gate for you, and you ruan inside, breath shaking, legs trembling.
Jake had dropped to one knee, one arm around James, the other shaking as he pulled his mouthguard out.
“Hey,” he whispered. “What are you doing, buddy? You can’t be in here.”
“You were losing,” James mumbled, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
Jake let out a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “I’m okay. It’s just a match.”
“You were bleeding.”
Jake looked up at you then, and his face — Lord, his face —he looked so sorry. So wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve never let him come. This was too much.”
You knelt down beside them, pulling James into your arms, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me,” you whispered. “You can’t run off like that, Jihoon. Ever.”
“I’m sorry,” he sniffled. “I just— I didn’t want him to lose.”
Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to both your foreheads. “I’ll never lose anything that matters, okay? Because I’ve already got you.”
The crowd was murmuring. Officials were everywhere. The match was called off.
Jake was disqualified, but he didn’t care.
All he cared about was you. And James. Safe. In his arms.
Later, in the locker room, after everyone had gone, Jake sat with James asleep in his arms, still wearing one glove that dwarfed his hand.
You sat beside him, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Promise me,” you murmured, “that if he really wants to fight when he’s older…you’ll teach him how to be smart. How to be safe.”
Jake nodded, kissing the top of Jihoon’s curls. “I promise. But for now…I just want him to dream about anything else. Anything safer.”
You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “You scared me tonight.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I love you, Jake.”
He turned, eyes soft. “I love you too.”
And in that quiet moment, with your son snoring softly between you and the world finally still, you felt it again— that fragile, powerful kind of happiness that could only exist when you had everything you loved right there in your arms.
☆.
It was supposed to be your morning to sleep in.
The deal was sacred: on Sundays, or holidays, or any day the world wasn’t demanding something from the two of you at dawn, one of you got to stay in bed while the other kept James entertained.
It had been years of trial and error, balancing exhaustion with parenting, love with chaos, but you’d found your rhythm.
This morning, you were supposed to be nestled in the warmth of the blankets while Jake took James to the kitchen for cereal and cartoons.
You’d heard them shuffling around in the other room— Jake’s low, sleepy voice, and James, wide awake, asking if he could have two bowls because he was ‘super strong today’.
But instead of dozing off again like you usually did, a sharp pain twisted through your stomach, a heat blooming behind your navel and spreading like fire.
You jolted upright, cold sweat already rising on the back of your neck, and before you could think or breathe or blink, you were rushing out of bed.
The bathroom door hit the wall when you shoved it open, and you barely made it to the toilet in time before your stomach gave out.
Violent, sudden.
Your knees hit the tile hard as your body curled in on itself.
“Baby?” Jake’s voice, thick with sleep, came from the hallway.
You couldn’t answer. The retching had stolen all the air from your lungs.
There were small footsteps, bare feet padding quick against the floor, and then James’s voice, high and worried. “Mommy?”
Jake was there a moment later, crouching beside you, his hand on your back.
“Shit— hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was rubbing gentle circles into your spine, his other hand brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead.
You forced yourself upright, gasping, “Phone. Get me my phone.”
Jake didn’t waste time asking questions. He was up in a flash, bolting down the hall.
But it was James who surprised you.
He knelt beside you, mimicking his father’s earlier movements, his tiny fingers clumsy as they gathered your hair and held it back.
“I’m here, Mommy,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Daddy’s coming.”
You shut your eyes for a second, heart swollen even through the pain. “Thank you, baby.”
Jake returned a beat later, sliding to the floor with your phone in one hand, his other reaching out to feel your forehead. “You’re burning up. Do you want me to call the doctor? What do you need?”
You didn’t answer at first, just searched the appa until you found the period tracker one.
You looked at him — really looked at him — and said, hoarse and quiet, “My period’s late.”
That madew him pause.
He glanced briefly at James, still by your side, loyal and worried and trying so hard to be brave.
“Late?” he asked.
You nodded. “Like…late late. And I know July’s always weird for me, and sometimes it skips, but this… this isn’t like that. This is…”
Jake caught on. He stood and reached for the bathroom cabinet before you could finish.
His hand went straight to the little white box buried behind cough syrup and cotton pads. The spare test.
He held it up. “This?”
You nodded, pressing a palm against your stomach as another wave of nausea rolled over you.
Jake knelt again and gently coaxed James to his feet. “Hey, buddy. Can you go watch TV for a bit? I’ll bring you snacks soon, I promise.”
“But—Mommy—”
“She’ll be okay,” Jake said, smoothing a hand over James’ss head. “I promise. Just give us a few minutes.”
James hesitated, looking from you to Jake, before finally nodding and stepping out of the room with one last glance over his shoulder.
You leaned back against the wall, breath shaky. Jake helped you up and steadied you with an arm around your waist.
“I’ll wait out there,” he said quietly, placing the test in your hand.
“No,” You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Don’t go.”
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Alright. I’m here.”
The test took less than a minute to take. But it felt like a year.
You placed it on the edge of the sink, both of you staring at it like it might jump to life and scream the answer at you.
You were still sitting on the toilet lid, knees tucked up, your arms hugging them to your chest.
Jake sat across from you on the closed tub, elbows on his thighs, eyes flicking between the floor and your face and the tiny plastic stick.
You broke the silence. “We weren’t planning this.”
Jake gave a breathy laugh that had no humor in it. “We weren’t really planning anything back then, either… when we had James.”
“That was different,” you said.
He met your eyes. “Was it?”
You bit your lip, chest tightening. “It feels scarier now.”
Jake didn’t say anything for a second. Then he moved closer, kneeling in front of you.
His hands found yours, his fingers cold from the tile but steady. “Whatever it says…you’re not alone in this. You’re never alone, love.”
“I threw up everywhere.”
“Still not alone.”
You buried your face in his shoulder, and for the first time since the pain had woken you up, you let yourself cry.
Just a little.
Jake held you through it, fingers curling into your hair, his lips pressing against your temple.
When the ten minutes were up, the test was still face-down on the sink.
Jake turned it over.
He didn’t say anything at first.
You looked at his face, trying to read it. He was too still. His jaw clenched once, then loosened.
His eyes flicked up to yours, wide and stunned.
You stood slowly, walking to the sink, feeling your heartbeat rattle in your ribs.
You saw the two lines.
Pregnant.
Your stomach swooped. Your hands trembled.
“Oh my god.”
Jake was behind you in a second. His hands came around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder.
“That’s real,” you whispered.
“Yeah.”
“That’s real.” you said, more convinced.
Jake nodded, kissing your cheek softly. “Looks like we’re doing it again.”
You turned in his arms, eyes brimming, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “What if I can’t handle it? What if it’s too much?”
“You will handle it,” he said firmly. “Because you’re strong. And because I’m here, and we already made the best little human in the world. We can do it again.”
You clung to him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “He’s gonna be a big brother.”
Jake pulled back just enough to smile at you. Really smile. “Can you imagine him? With a little sibling running after him?”
“He’ll boss them around.”
“He’ll protect them.”
You laughed again, eyes still blurry with emotion. “We need to tell him.”
Jake looked toward the door. “Now?”
You paused. “Not yet. Let’s just…hold it, just for a little bit. Just ours.”
He nodded. “Just ours.”
There was still pain. Still nausea. Still fear.
But Jake was here. You were here. And there was life, again, starting inside you.
Another heartbeat waiting to be loved.
☆.
You never liked hospitals.
They always smelled too clean, too sharp, like something was being covered up.
But you went anyway, let Yunjin drive you in her little too-fast-for-comfort car with her playlist blaring.
She didn’t let you argue. Not when she saw the look on your face after the test. Not when she showed up with a fresh croissant and a determined, no-bullshit attitude.
“I’m not letting you stay in bed and Google symptoms until you give yourself a panic attack,” she said. “We’re going to the doctor. I’ll hold your hand, throw up with you, whatever you need.”
True to her word, she was there when you lay back on the crinkly white paper of the exam table, heart in your throat, the sonographer squeezing warm gel onto your skin.
She didn’t let go of your hand once.
AAnd there it was.
That flickering heartbeat.
Tiny. So small it didn’t feel real until it pulsed across the screen like a drum.
You stared at it, lips parted, heart unraveling. The image was hazy, grainy, but it was there, this new, growing piece of you. Of Jake. Of your family.
You cried, of course. You always cried at these kinds of things, even if you tried not to.
Yunjin blinked hard a few times herself. “You’re really doing this again, huh?”
You laughed, a watery sound. “God, yeah.”
“You’re stronger than me.”
“No I’m not,” you said. “You’d be amazing.”
She squeezed your hand. “But right now, this baby’s gonna have the coolest mom on earth… and well, aunt, duh!”
When you finally did tell your son, Jake was the one who brought it up.
James had been building a Lego tower in the living room, lying on his stomach in his little dinosaur pajamas, humming to himself.
Jake sat beside you on the couch, his hand on your thigh, a soft press of reassurance.
“Hey, bud,” Jake said, ruffling his son’s hair, “we’ve got something kinda cool to tell you.”
James looked up, blinking, pieces of Lego clutched in each hand. “What?”
Jake looked at you. You nodded, and he smiled. “You’re gonna be a big brother.”
James blinked again. “What?”
You leaned forward. “There’s a baby growing in my tummy, sweetheart.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, “A baby? In there?” He pointed, alarmed, at your belly, which still looked more like you’d eaten too much lunch than anything else.
You laughed. “Yeah. In there.”
His mouth dropped open. “Is it gonna pop out soon?”
“Not soon,” Jake said. “You’ve got a few months, but eventually, yeah.”
James crawled closer, pressing his little hand against your shirt like he was trying to feel the baby through your skin. “Is it a girl?”
“We don’t know yet,” you said.
He tilted his head, clearly deep in thought. “Will it like dinosaurs?”
“I hope so,” Jake said, laughing.
James was quiet again for a moment, looking at you, then Jake, then back to you. “Do I have to share my snacks?”
You smiled. “Only if you want to.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said solemnly. “But only if it doesn’t touch my T-rex.”
“Deal,” Jake said.
And just like that, James accepted it.
Sort of. He had questions, of course— How does the baby breathe? Will it be loud? What if it’s a girl and doesn’t like trucks?
But in the end, he was still the sweetest baby boy on earth.
☆.
The first trimester was cruel.
The toilet became your closest companion.
Mornings were the worst: your body felt hijacked, your stomach constantly roiling, everything smelling too strong or too wrong.
Jake woke up every day with you, even when his eyes were heavy with sleep and his matches were approaching.
Even when his training hours stretched him thin. He still tried to take up time to stay with you, to train younger boxers instead of boxing himself.
But what surprised you most was James.
He’d peek into the bathroom every morning, hair sticking out in wild directions, clutching his little stuffed dinosaur by the arm.
And if Jake wasn’t already holding your hair back, James would quietly step in and do it.
He never complained.
He just stood there with a serious look on his face and said things like, “You’re doing a good job, Mommy,” or “It’s okay. Sometimes I throw up when I eat too much candy, too.”
Jake started calling him your bodyguard.
James puffed his chest with pride every time.
Sometimes, when the nausea got bad enough, Jake would carry you to bed, settle behind you, and James would crawl in on your other side and whisper stories to the baby. “Today I drew a robot. When you come out, I’ll draw you, too.”
It was in that moment that you realised you had won in life.
.
☆.
Valentine’s Day wasn’t usually a big deal for the two of you.
You’d never been the candlelight-dinner, wine-glass-clinking, heart-shaped-everything type of couple.
Your love was built on early mornings and grocery runs, on whispered goodnights and holding hands during hospital appointments, on parenting and partnership and choosing each other again and again, even on the days when your patience was thin and the dishes were stacked high in the sink.
But this year felt different.
You woke up to the soft creak of your bedroom door opening and the quiet shuffle of socks across the floor.
Your belly was heavy, so round and taut it felt like you were a balloon stretched to its final inch of give.
And you were tired. So tired.
But when you opened your eyes, you saw them— Jake, holding a bouquet of slightly squashed red roses, and James peeking from behind his leg with something hidden behind his back.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Jake murmured, kneeling on the edge of the bed and brushing a kiss against your forehead.
James stepped forward, biting his lip, then presented you with…a crayon drawing of what looked like three lopsided people holding hands. “This is us,” he explained proudly. “That’s you, and that’s Daddy, and that’s me, the little one in your belly is a circle. I didn’t know if it’s a girl or a boy.”
You took it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe it was.
Jake handed you the flowers with a sheepish smile. “James wanted to get you chocolates, but I told him flowers are important too.”
“Mommy should have both,” James declared.
“You taught him well,” you said, kissing your husband’s lips. Then you reached under in the bedside table drawer and pulled out a wrapped box you’d hidden last night. “And so did I.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”
“Open it.”
He unwrapped it to find a tin of dark chocolate truffles and a new pair of wraps for training —embroidered with Best Father Farter across the edge.
His smile cracked wide. “Oh my god.” he laughed loudly “I love them!”
James clambered onto the bed between you both. “Can we eat cake now?”
Jake cooked lunch while you sat on a stool in the kitchen, rubbing your belly and trying to ignore the low ache that had been bothering you all morning.
James danced around in his socks, insisting on wearing a tie for ‘the special day’c and you let him because he looked too cute not to.
The cake was store-bought, a simple one with little pink sugar hearts, but James was excited about it like it was some magical treasure.
You stood up to grab a knife to cut the first slice.
You didn’t even make it to the drawer.
Pop.
The sound wasn’t loud, but you felt it in your body, a deep, sudden release of pressure.
Warmth gushed down your legs.
You froze.
Jake, mid-laugh, stopped. “Did you— did you drop something?”
You looked down at your soaked pants. Then up at him.
“Oh my god.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Is it happening?!”
“Yes! Jake, yes— go grab the hospital bag!”
James gasped, horrified. “You peed yourself?!”
“I didn’t pee myself, baby,” you said through gritted teeth as the first cramp twisted through your belly. “The baby’s coming.”
James blinked. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Jake was moving at light speed— or maybe no speed at all.
He dropped the bouquet. Nearly tripped over James.
Grabbed his phone, then the car keys, then forgot both again.
“Okay, bag— hospital bag, where’s the— where did we—where did you put it?”
“By the door, Jake!” you snapped. “Where it’s always been.”
He stumbled off, yelling back, “I knew that! I’m calm!”
“You’re not calm!”
James was clinging to your leg like a baby koala. “Is the baby falling out right now?”
“No,” you hissed, hand gripping the table as another contraction hit, sharp and fast. “But soon if we don’t move.”
“Should I call someone?” Jake shouted from the hall.
“Yes! Call Yunjin. She needs to come stay with James!”
“I’m already on it!” he yelled back, fumbling his phone.
Yunjin picked up after two rings.
“You’re gonna want to get here,” Jake said, voice too high. “It’s happening. She’s— her water broke. Like actually broke. It’s go time.”
You grabbed the phone from him as he rushed back in. “Yunjin, please— just get here.”
“I’m on my way, don’t panic,” she said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “Tell James I’ll bring candy.”
“I’ll tell him if I survive.”
You handed the phone back to Jake, your hands trembling. “Get the car ready. I’ll get shoes.”
“You’re not getting anything. I’m carrying you.”
“Jake—”
“I’m carrying you,” he repeated, gently but firmly.
James watched the whole scene unfold like a movie, his eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”
You knelt down, wincing, brushing his cheek. “Yeah, honey. It’s going to hurt. Daddy’s going to be with me, don’t worry. you’re gonna be the best big brother ever.”
He nodded, lip trembling. “I’ll tell the baby that I love her.”
Jake kissed his forehead, voice thick. “You tell her that in person. We’ll be back with your sister soon.”
The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and quick footsteps and voices that felt like they were underwater. m
The pain hit in waves, and each time it crashed, you wanted to scream— but you didn’t.
Not yet. Not until it got worse.
And god, it got worse.
Nine hours of it.
Jake never left your side, not for a second.
You yelled at him at least three times.
“Stop talking,” you growled at him during hour five, when he was trying to distract you with some nonsense story about his first amateur fight.
He shut up. Immediately. Nodded like a soldier.
Later, when you were gripping the rail of the bed so hard your knuckles went white, you hissed, “I hate you.”
“I know,” he said.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Got it.”
“Wait, no— touch me again.”
He grabbed your hand without hesitation. “Right here.”
You screamed. He let you crush his fingers.
And when it finally happened,.
the world shrank to pressure and burning and breathless, broken sounds, you gave one last push and everything stopped.
Then—
A cry.
High and raw and brand new.
They placed her on your chest, and your hands shook when they curled around her tiny, wriggling body.
She was pink and warm and squalling like she was furious about the whole ordeal.
You sobbed.
Jake sobbed more.
Your forehead pressed to hers as you whispered, “Hi, baby. Hi, Jane… Hi, Jiheon.”
Jake kissed your temple a hundred times, his face wet with tears. “You did it. You did so good.”
“She’s so small,” you whispered.
“She’s perfect.”
You looked at her again, this little piece of you and Jake and everything that had ever been good between you.
You were exhausted, ripped open and aching, but she was here.
Your daughter.
And she was worth it all.
☆.
The world came back slowly.
Not in one clean breath, but in fragments, blinking against the dim hospital room light, the hum of machines, the sterile scent of disinfectant layered beneath something warm.
Familiar.
Jake’s cologne.
Your throat was dry, lips cracked, body heavy— wrecked didn’t even begin to describe it.
Your stomach ached with the aftershock of labor, your muscles trembling in the stillness, and for a moment, you couldn’t even tell what time it was.
Everything had blurred together into hours of pain, blood, cries, and the weight of her tiny body on your chest before darkness finally pulled you under.
But now—now it was night.
The sky outside the narrow window was ink-dark, the city lights dulled by the thickness of the glass.
You shifted just slightly, wincing at the soreness that radiated through your hips and spine, and turned your head.
He was there.
Jake was sitting in the corner chair beside your bed, hunched forward with a blanket cradled against his chest, shoulders curved inward like a shield.
His hair was a mess,, and his eyes were fixed on her with an expression so full of awe it punched the breath right out of your lungs.
He was crying. Quietly.
Not the dramatic, shaking kind of crying— just slow, steady tears, running along the curve of his jaw and down to his neck as he stared at his daughter.
“Jaeyun…” Your voice cracked like ice underfoot.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look at you at first.
“She’s sleeping,” he whispered, brushing one callused thumb over her cheek, his voice so soft it barely stirred the air. “She has your nose.”
You watched him from the bed, your vision still cloudy, but yourr heart was awake now.
He looked so still, so unlike the chaotic Jake you’d known for years.
Not the boy who forgot his keys five times a week.
Not the man who cheered too loud at James’s school recitals. This was something different.
This was a father. Again.
You reached out with a hand that shook from effort. “Let me see her.”
Jake finally turned, startled like he hadn’t realized you were awake.
He sniffed, blinking hard as he carefully got up. “You’re awake,” he said, voice cracking. “God, you— are you okay? You fainted right after they took her. They said you were just exhausted, but you were out. I thought—” He paused. Swallowed. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.”
You blinked slowly. “You’re not supposed to say that like it’s romantic, stalker.”
That got a breath of laughter out of him, ragged and wet. He came to the side of the bed, kneeling so he could ease Jane down into your arms. “Here,” he murmured. “Hold her again.”
You adjusted your pillow, barely able to sit up.
But he helped, supporting your back, brushing the strands of hair away from your damp forehead. And then she was there, small and warm and impossibly real in your arms again.
“Hi, baby,” you whispered. “Hi, little Jane.”
“Jiheon,” Jake added softly. “That’s what I’ve been calling her. She likes it… i think. She keeps making this face when I say it— look.” He leaned in and repeated it again in a whisper, “Jiheon.”
Jane shifted slightly, scrunching her face before relaxing again. A barely-there smile tugged at Jake’s lips.
“You look like a dad of two now,” you murmured, brushing your finger along her hair. “There’s something different in your face.”
“I feel different.” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder and just breathed there for a second. “Like… more breakable.”
You rested your cheek on top of Jane’s head and closed your eyes. “You’re not. You’re stronger than you think.”
He pulled back and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle either of you. “Do you remember what you said during hour seven?”
“Which part? I said a lot of things.”
“You said if I ever touched you again, you’d break my nose.”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “Still stands. For a while.”
Jake grinned and leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Fair. I’ll wait.”
You both sat there for a while, in the stillness that only came in the dead of night, surrounded by beeping monitors and the soft breathing of your daughter.
After a while, he reached out and brushed the back of his finger over Jane’s tiny fist. “She’s got my ears.”
You snorted. “Poor girl.”
He laughed, pulling the blanket higher around your shoulders. “James is gonna love her.”
“He already does,” you said. “He kept talking to my belly like it was a walkie-talkie.”
Jake smiled again, softer now. “He’s gonna be the best big brother.”
You were quiet for a while.
Just breathing. Just holding her.
And him holding you.
Then, your voice cracked the silence, barely a whisper.
“Thank you.”
Jake blinked. “For what?”
“For giving me them.” You looked down at Jane. “For giving me you.”
His face crumpled a little. “You gave me everything back.”
☆.
Coming home was a blur of motion and scent and warmth—soft clothes, white noise, the lingering chill of February air clinging to your coats and hair as you stepped into the house with a car seat cradled between both hands.
Jane was still asleep.
That delicate, floating sleep only newborns seem capable of, where their tiny chests rise like feathers and fall again, their mouths puckering occasionally, eyelashes still damp against their cheeks.
Your arms ached from holding her, your legs felt like jelly, and your stomach was a quilt of stretched skin and healing muscle, but lord— you were finally home.
Jake carried the bags in with one arm and hovered behind you like you might fall at any second.
His hand was low on your back. “You okay?”
“I’m… tired,” you admitted, your voice raspy with lack of sleep and recovery, but your eyes were clear. “But yeah, I’m okay.”
“Good. I want this moment to be good.”
You looked over at him. “It will be.”
James had been waiting by the window.
The second you stepped inside, his feet came skidding over the hardwood floors in his socks, eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.
“Where is she?” he breathed, like he was waiting to see a mythical creature.
Jake gently nudged the car seat toward him. “She’s sleeping. Be soft, okay?”
James crouched like it was some sacred ritual, his tiny fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.
He peeked in with a squint, nose wrinkling, face twisted in deep thought.
He blinked.
Then frowned.
“…She’s kind of ugly,” he declared.
Jake choked on a laugh, reaching to ruffle his hair. “Hey.”
“But it’s okay,” James continued with a shrug. “She’s a baby. I heard some people get plastic surgery when they grow up. She can do that if she wants.”
You pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling a snort. “She’s not ugly.”
“She looks like a wrinkly potato.”
“That’s cause she just came out,,” Jake said solemnly, kneeling beside him. “She’ll look better after some milk and sleep.”
James tilted his head, clearly unsure how to feel. “She smells like butt.”
You bent down beside them both, the ache in your legs sharp but ignorable.
Jane stirred a little, her mouth making a soft sucking noise, her hands twitching. “You smelled worse when you were born.”
James’s eyes widened like you’d just told him he was adopted. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Jake chimed in. “You pooped on me twice in the first week.”
James’ face lit up. “Can I hold her?”
“In a bit,” you said, brushing your fingers along his hair. “After she’s fed. And once we’re on the couch.”
He nodded, serious. “I’ll wait.”
☆.
The days passed like smoke curling around your head—soft and slow and smothering all at once.
Jane didn’t sleep unless she was on someone’s chest.
Your chest. Jake’s chest. Occasionally James’s, when he insisted on sitting perfectly still on the couch, puffed up with responsibility.
Your nights bled into mornings, your mornings into afternoons.
You could barely tell what day it was anymore. You were always either nursing, changing, soothing, or trying to catch a moment of quiet to breathe.
But even in the chaos, there were moments that glowed— small, quiet glimmers of peace.
James tiptoed more than he used to. He would pad into your bedroom at two a.m., rubbing his eyes, clutching his dinosaur plushie under one arm.
“Is she okay?” he’d whisper.
“She’s just hungry,” you’d whisper back.
Sometimes he’d crawl into the bed next to you and lie on Jake’s other side, close enough to reach for your elbow. He didn’t ask for lullabies anymore. Just your presence, closeness.
Sometimes he’d doze off again before Jane had even finished nursing.
Other times, he’d stay awake. Just watching.
“I think she likes when you sing,” he murmured one night.
You paused, fingers stroking Jane’s back. “You think?”
He nodded seriously. “Even if you’re a little out of tune.”
And Jake— Jake was different, this time.
The first time around, he’d tried. He really had.
But he was younger, more nervous, too rough around the edges, and there were nights when you’d cried in the shower because you were the one holding everything together.
But not now.
Now he was soft in the ways that mattered.
He remembered the towel you liked best and warmed it in the dryer before you bathed.
He memorized your medications, prepped your bottle without you asking.
He rubbed your feet while Jane fed, whispered affirmations when you broke into tears at 3 a.m. for no reason except that your body wasn’t yours and your brain was drowning and you missed sleeping for more than two hours at a time.
He wasn’t perfect.
He still forgot to put lids back on properly and he still knocked over the baby lotion bottle three times in the same week.
But he had learned you. Learned your limits. Your moods.
What words would help and which wouldn’t. He never made you feel like a burden. Not once.
And when you had nothing left to give— he gave you back to yourself.
You came down one night after a long nap you hadn’t even realized you’d taken, hair sticking to your forehead, your robe askew.
You expected disaster. Bottles unwashed, a screaming baby, maybe Jake asleep on the couch with James up way too late playing video games.
Instead, you found the living room lit in warm lamplight, quiet.
Jake was shirtless, Jane pressed to his chest in the baby wrap, bouncing slightly on his feet as he whispered a lullaby in half-Korean, half-english.
James was curled on the rug with dinosaurs his book, whispering the words to himself, a blanket pulled over his lap.
Your heart cracked open.
Jake looked up and smiled. “She just finished feeding. I pumped from the stash in the fridge, you looked like you needed rest.”
“I did,” you whispered.
“Go back up,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”
You hesitated. “I feel guilty.”
“Don’t. You gave her a whole body, we’ll take care of you now.”
You did cry then.
And when Jake wrapped you in his arms that night, you believed him.
You believed that this family, this messy, tired, beautiful family, was being held together not just by your hands, but by all three of theirs.
And that was everything.
☆.
Two years later, the kitchen smelled like strawberries and sunscreen.
It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, sun slanting through the window blinds and painting long, golden stripes across the tiled floor.
The fan hummed softly in the corner, spinning slow circles that barely stirred the air, and Jan e your little girl with her chubby hands and mismatched socks was sitting in her high chair, smearing strawberry juice across her cheeks like war paint.
Jake was crouched beside her, wiping her chin with one of the soft, floral-patterned cloths you insisted on keeping in the drawer.
His hair was still damp from the hose-outside chaos that had been an hour ago— James, laughing as Jake sprayed him down while Jane screamed and clapped from the porch.
Now everything smelled of damp grass and sweetness.
You were at the sink, rinsing a bowl, humming under your breath, tired but soft around the edges with that summer kind of fatigue that didn’t bite.
James sat at the kitchen table, arms folded, face twisted in a look of intense concentration, like he was on the verge of solving the meaning of life.
“Dad?” he said suddenly, sharp like a question he’d been chewing on all morning.
Jake looked over, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, bud?”
James tapped a finger against the table. “How did you and Mom meet?”
You froze mid-rinse, hand still under the stream of water.
Jake blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Why do you wanna know?”
James shrugged, suddenly bashful, eyes darting to the side. “Just curious.”
But you saw the pink flush in his cheeks.
The way he pressed his lips together.
You turned the water off, grabbing a towel, and leaned against the counter just to watch it unfold.
“Wait.” Jake narrowed his eyes playfully. “Did something happen at school?”
James groaned. “Noooo.”
Jake smirked. “Oh my god, it did. Who is she?”
James covered his face with both hands. “Dad, no.”
“She sits next to him,” you supplied, grinning into your towel. “Pretty little thing with the pigtails and glittery pencil case, right?”
James dropped his head to the table with a muffled moan. “You guys are the worst.”
Jake cackled, reaching out to flick his son’s ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you how we met, but only if you promise not to laugh.”
“I won’t.”
“You will.”
James lifted his head, expectant. “Tell me anyway.”
Jake stood, walking toward the fridge to grab a handful more strawberries, before leaning his hip against the counter and settling into storyteller mode.
Jane babbled, still chewing her fruit with delight.
“Well,” Jake began, “your mom hated me.”
“What?” James blinked. “Why?”
You crossed your arms. “Because he was cocky. And late. Constantly.”
“I wasn’t that late.”
“You were twenty-two minutes late to our first study session.”
“Okay, one time—”
“Every time.”
Jake huffed dramatically. “Anyway, we were in college. Same class, I noticed her first. She had this oversized hoodie and earbuds in every time she walked into the lecture hall, and she never talked to anyone.”
“I was tired.”
“Exactly. So mysterious.”
James giggled.
“I tried to sit near her a few times,” Jake continued. “You know, see if I could catch her attention, but she never looked up. So I asked to borrow her notes.”
You raised a brow. “You mean you spilled coffee on your own notes and then cornered me after class.”
Jake grinned at James like it was a badge of honor. “It worked.”
James’ eyes were wide now, totally absorbed. “Then what?”
“She agreed to help me study,” Jake said, placing a hand to his heart like he was reciting poetry. “And the rest… is history.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, it took a while,” Jake added. “Your mom wasn’t easy, she made me work for it.”
“Darn right I did.”
“But then we started spending more time together,” he said. “And she started smiling more. Laughing, she used to pretend she didn’t like me, but I could tell.”
“I didn’t like you.”
Jake shot you a look, grinning. “Tell that to the time you skipped your morning class just to meet me for coffee.”
You scowled playfully. “That was one time. And you had a cold.”
“You brought me soup.”
“Because I’m not a monster.”
James cut in. “Did you kiss?”
Jake opened his mouth, smirking, his eyes shining as if to say and not just that.
You threw a towel at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Jake caught it, snorting. “Yes, we kissed. A lot.”
James made a face. “Ew.”
“And we fell in love,” Jake added, softer now, his smile turning real, almost quiet. “Like, the kind of love where you still want to see their face even when they’re mad at you. The kind where everything feels like home when they walk into the room.”
Your chest squeezed a little.
“She’s still my best friend,” he added. “Even when she makes fun of me for how many times I lose my keys.”
You rolled your eyes. “He’s gotten better.”
“Only because you put a tracker on my keychain.”
James giggled again.
“And then,” Jake said, grinning now, “we had you.”
“Wait— how did that happen?” James asked innocently.
Jake froze. You shot him a warning glance. He paled.
“Uh—well, that’s a whole other story.”
James squinted. “Why?”
“Because it’s for grown-ups.”
“But—”
“Nope,” you said firmly, swooping in to pick Jane up from the high chair as she started getting fussy. “You’ll learn in science class.”
James groaned. “Ugh. But science is so boring.”
“Not always,” Jake said under his breath.
“Jaeyun.”
Jake raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”
Jane curled against your chest, sticky hands tugging at your shirt, and you kissed her forehead before shifting her to your hip.
“Is that really how you fell in love?” James asked quietly, looking between you both.
Jake looked at you, and you looked at him— and your heart did that warm, foolish little flip it had been doing since the first time he held your hand, since he first made you laugh until you cried.
“Yeah,” you said, brushing your fingers through James’s hair as you passed. “It really is.”
Jake came up behind you, his hand sliding to the small of your back. “Still in love, too.”
You looked up at him. “Even after I threatened to cut your head off if you gave me another baby?”
“Even then.”
James groaned. “You guys are so embarrassing.”
☆.
It was past midnight and the rain hadn’t stopped all day. It tapped gently against the window, like fingertips drumming over glass, soft enough now that it no longer sounded like thunder, but like a lullaby to the tired world.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlight that spilled in from between the curtains.
The warmth of the bed wrapped around you both like a cocoon.
The scent of rain still clung faintly to your skin from earlier— just from standing by the door too long, shoes soaked, children loud and chaotic and cooped up.
You were fast asleep now, curled beside Jake under the heavy blankets, your body drawn instinctively to his.
Your hand had found its way to his chest, fingers splayed just over where his heart beat steady.
He could feel your breath on his collarbone, soft and rhythmic, your nose cold against his neck.
He didn’t move. He never did, not when you laid like this.
He only let his arm fold around you tighter, holding you like something sacred.
His eyes didn’t close.
It had been a long day, sure— Jane had tried to flush her brother’s dinosaur down the toilet, James had gotten stuck halfway under the couch trying to retrieve a Lego piece.
But that wasn’t what was keeping Jake awake.
It was your sigh. The small one you let out just minutes ago, right before curling closer to him in your sleep.
It had sounded like comfort. Like home.
And that’s what triggered it.
That memory.
The one he couldn’t forget, even if he tried.
The one from before the house, before the kids, before everything.
The night he almost lost you.
It had been raining then, too. Harder than this. Sharper.
You stood in the middle of a soaked parking lot, your hoodie clinging to your skin like paper, hair plastered to your face, eyes wet with more than just the downpour.
You had just stormed off, away from him.
Jake had followed you out of the gym, his steps echoing behind yours, water sloshing in his shoes, fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re not listening to me!” you shouted, spinning around to face him, voice breaking over the sound of the storm. “You never listen to me!”
“I do!” Jake yelled back, stepping closer, teeth clenched. “I always do! But you’re asking me to be someone I’m not!”
“I’m asking you to stop killing yourself in the ring every weekend!” you cried, your voice raw. “I’m asking you to choose something, anything, that doesn’t make me wonder if I’ll get a call saying you won’t come home!”
Jake’s jaw tightened.
Water ran down his face, indistinguishable from the tears in your eyes.
His chest heaved, soaked through, breath misting in the cold air.
“This is all I know,” he said. “Boxing is all I have.”
“No,” you snapped, stepping toward him. “You have me. You have someone who stands outside every goddamn fight praying you don’t bleed out, you have someone who waits up, and worries, and loves you so much it hurts.”
Jake blinked at you, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.
And you shook your head. “But maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe this… us, was a mistake.”
The silence that followed made the rain sound louder. It filled the space between you like a wall.
Jake stepped forward, one slow step at a time, until he was standing in front of you, his hands shaking.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered.
You stared at him, your face trembling, your eyes full of everything you couldn’t say. “Jake—”
“I know I’m reckless, I know I’m a mess, I know I don’t always think. But you…” His hand rose, not touching you yet, hovering like you were a flame he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch. “You’re the only thing that ever made me want to slow down.”
“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I’m so scared of losing you.”
Jake’s hand finally reached you.
His fingers slid into your hair, soaked strands between his knuckles. He leaned in until your foreheads touched.
“I’m scared, too,” he said, eyes shut tight. “Of not being enough. Of being too broken to hold onto you.”
“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re not broken.”
“I am,” he said, voice cracking. “But I’m better with you.”
The rain came harder then, a sudden gust slamming sideways into your bodies, but neither of you moved.
You were shivering. He was freezing.
The whole world felt like it was falling apart, but Jake looked at you like he’d found the eye of the storm.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t clean.
It was desperate and messy and full of everything you’d both been trying to say. His mouth found yours like he’d been drowning and just found air.
Your hands clung to his soaked hoodie, your body pressed to his like you’d never let him go.
Jake remembered how your tears had mixed with the rain, how his fingers gripped your waist too tight, how you’d gasped his name between kisses like it was a lifeline.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you’d whispered into his mouth.
“You won’t,” he’d vowed, breathless. “Not ever.”
And even back then, before promises and rings and babies with strawberry-stained mouths, he had meant it.
Now, in the warmth of your shared bed, he felt you sigh again.
Just a soft one. Almost imperceptible.
Your leg slid against his beneath the blankets, your head nuzzling deeper into the space between his shoulder and neck. Your fingers curled softly against his chest.
Jake swallowed hard. His hand moved to your back, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, his lips brushing your hair.
He breathed you in.
You were here. You were warm and whole and safe.
And so was he.
☆.
The light was soft when you stirred awake.
You shifted, your body stretching slow beneath the blankets, the cotton sheets warm from shared heat. And then you felt him.
Jake.
Pressed against your back, his chest bare, skin hot and solid.
His arm was around your waist, the other resting on the pillow beside him.
Your hand reached down, brushing over the blanket until you found his fingers resting over your stomach.
You laced yours through them, holding him there. And then you turned, slow and gentle, so you wouldn’t wake him. But he was already awake.
His eyes were open, dark under the faint shadows of morning. He was lying on his side, hair mussed from the bed, jaw dotted with the faintest stubble.
His eyes met yours right away.
“Hey,” you whispered.
“Hey.” His voice was husky, low from sleep… or maybe lack of it.
You frowned softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. “You didn’t sleep.”
He didn’t answer. Just watched you. As if he was trying to memorize the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes cast shadows beneath your eyes.
You let your palm slide down to cup his cheek.
“What’s on your mind?” you murmured.
He hesitated.
Then, finally: “Nothing I can say without sounding selfish.”
Your brows drew together gently. “Try me.”
But instead of answering, Jake looked down. And you followed his gaze.
The scars. They were always there— some faint and faded, some newer. One near his ribs from that one brutal match three years ago.
Another near his shoulder, still pinkish, like a memory that hadn’t finished healing
You reached out slowly, letting your fingertips trail over the ridges of old pain, old bottles.
He didn’t flinch. He never did, not with you. But his breath did hitch slightly, the tension in his body curling tighter.
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the one just below his collarbone. “I love these,” you whispered.
Jake’s throat bobbed with a swallow.
“They’re ugly,” he muttered, half-hearted, like he’d already lost the argument.
You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “They’re proof you survived. Every one of them means you came back to me.”
Something in him broke a little at that. His mouth opened, maybe to argue, maybe to say something tender, but the words didn’t come. His hand came up instead, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over the apple of it.
“I thought about you last night,” he said softly. “Back when you almost left. Out in the rain…. that fight.”
You nodded, heart aching at the memory. “It was a long time ago.”
His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, fingers splaying out along the curve of it, then down your spine, slow and reverent. “I didn’t sleep because I kept thinking what if you had left. What if I’d pushed it too far, if we never made it here.”
You shifted closer, pressing your body to his fully, your forehead resting against his. “But I didn’t. I stayed. You fought for me.”
His lips touched yours then— barely. A brush, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.
Even after all those years.
Your hand slid down between you, over the swell of his chest, your palm flat and warm against his heartbeat.
“Still fighting for you,” he whispered, eyes on yours.
And it was then, without another word, that you leaned in and kissed him.
It was soft at first. Slow. Like a secret.
Your lips moved over his with a quiet kind of hunger, not the desperate kind from that night in the rain, but something deeper.
The kind that comes after years of waking up next to each other. After babies. After late nights and early mornings and scars.
Jake kissed you back like he needed you. Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in that moment.
His hand slipped under the fabric of your shirt, finding the skin of your back, pulling you closer until not even air could live between your bodies.
You pressed yourself to him, your hand roaming his torso, fingers tracing over his skin like you were memorizing the feel of him.
He let out a shaky breath against your lips, his hips shifting forward just enough for you to feel the truth of his want, hard and insistent against your thigh.
“I missed you,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw. “Even with you right next to me.”
You shivered under his mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging gently to bring his face back to yours. “Then take it,” you breathed. “Take me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
Jake rolled you onto your back slowly, carefully, his body hovering over yours, warm and heavy and familiar. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world and you let him, eyes fluttering shut, breath uneven.
His hands slipped under your shirt and you arched into his touch, letting him pull the fabric up and over your head. He looked down at you like you were art.
You tugged his mouth back to yours.
When he finally slid inside you, it was slow and careful. You both gasped— every time felt new, felt real, like the first and last and only time.
You clung to him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist.
He rocked into you gently, his mouth finding every part of you he could reach: your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to yours.
“Always,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.
The rhythm between you built slowly, nothing rushed. You moved together in sync, bodies finding each other like they were made to.
You moaned softly into his ear, hands trailing down his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shiver.
“Lord, I love you,” Jake breathed, pressing his hips deeper. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“I know,” you whispered, blinking through the haze of your pleasure. “I know, baby.”
You held on to each other through it all, the high and the fall, the quiet panting breaths after, the way your hearts beat wildly in sync beneath the mess of limbs and blankets.
After, when your breathing slowed and he was still inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, face buried in your neck, you stroked his back softly.
You didn’t say anything. Just kissed the top of his head.
And somewhere down the hall, a floor creaked.
You both froze.
Jake groaned into your shoulder. “Ten dollars that it’s Jane.”
You smiled, lips against his hair. “Or James looking for cereal.”
Jake sighed. “We need a lock on this door.”
“Yeah,” you chuckled, pulling the blanket over both your heads as if it could delay reality for just a few more minutes. “Later.”
“Later,” he agreed, pressing one last kiss over your heart.
