#foryoupageシforyou | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hameesstuff · 1 month ago

Text

“Marriage on Paper”

Title: “Marriage on Paper”

Pairing: Husband Doctor!Jaehyun x Wife CEO!Reader | Single dad! Jaehyun

Preview: Jaehyun hated her. Why does he need a wife when he's happy with his daughter? Another nuisance, just like his first wife. And she hated everything about him. But they clearly can't stay away.

Genre: Arranged marriage, Slow Burn, Single dad! Jaehyun | Enemies to Lovers | Humor | Domestic | Smut, Tension

Word Count: ~9.3k

___________________________________________

PART 1: THE MARRIAGE THAT LOOKED GOOD ON PAPER

Your lawyer had said it was a “mutually beneficial merger.”

You said nothing, mostly because you were too busy fixing your lipstick before the press conference that announced your arranged marriage to Seoul’s most annoyingly attractive surgeon—Dr. Jeong Jaehyun.

He, on the other hand, stood beside you like you were a mild inconvenience. Like he had better places to be—like an OR table or a luxury car headed away from this mess.

“Smile,” you hissed through your teeth as cameras clicked.

“I am,” he replied, deadpan.

You glanced sideways. “You look dead.”

He looked back. “That’s still a smile compared to you.”

The flashbulbs exploded. You two were golden. On paper, of course.

The marriage was arranged for reasons that made sense to your board of directors and his hospital’s board of trustees. Power couple image. Medical research grants. Business sponsorships. Tax benefits.

You? You were Seoul’s youngest and most intimidating CEO, known for firing underperformers in stilettos. You didn’t need a husband.

He? He was a brilliant cardiothoracic surgeon with a God-complex, a tendency to ghost family events, and a four-year-old daughter named Jiyeon who looked like a doll and talked like a drill sergeant.

The man was cold. Distant. But unfortunately, stupidly good-looking. Which made it worse.

The wedding was private, clinical. A few papers signed. A few photos taken. Your designer dress was stunning, and so was his smug silence.

The next day, you moved into the penthouse apartment you were now legally required to share.

You saw the child before you saw him.

Jiyeon sat at the kitchen island, eating Cheerios from a pink bowl.

She looked up at you with big round eyes and said, “You’re the lady who married my Dad. ”

You blinked. “Yes.”

She nodded like a CEO. “Okay. I’m not allowed to watch horror movies. I like strawberries. And don’t touch Mr. Bubbles.”

“Mr. Bubbles?”

“My bear” she said, pointing to a stuffed animal on the counter.

Right then, Jaehyun walked in—hair messy from post-call exhaustion, in scrubs, rubbing his eyes.

He looked at you like the flu.

You looked back like antibiotics.

“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly.

“Afternoon,” you corrected. “It’s 2 p.m.”

He gave a faint smirk. “You really don’t know how to rest, do you?”

You ignored him, turned to Jiyeon. “I brought you strawberry jam.”

She grinned. “Okay, nevermimd I like you now"

At work, you crushed negotiations and led meetings like a queen. At home, your mornings began with accidental run-ins and arguments about kitchen cabinets.

He liked silence. You liked music.

He liked Jiyeon’s toys in one corner. You let her play wherever she wanted.

He liked routine. You liked control.

You both hated each other.

But Jiyeon?

She made it hard to stay angry.

One night, you came home late from a board dinner, heels in hand, headache pounding—and found her asleep in your bed, Mr. Bubbles’ tucked beside her.

A sticky note on your pillow read:

“You looked sad this morning. I saved you a place. — Jiyeon”

You didn’t cry.

You just laid down beside her and let her tiny hand wrap around your finger.

And somewhere around night fourteen, Jaehyun came home early, leaned against the kitchen counter while you reheated soup.

“You work too late,” he muttered.

“You don’t say much.”

Silence.

Then he added, “She likes you.”

You turned, surprised. “She’s easy to like.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze unreadable.

“She didn’t like my ex.”

You blinked. “Was she her mother?”

A long pause.

“No. Her mother left before Jiyeon turned two.”

A strange ache stirred in your chest.

And that was the first time Jaehyun ever told you something personal.

No sarcasm. No sharp wit. Just the truth.

Later that night, you passed each other in the hallway.

He didn’t say anything.

But his hand brushed yours.

And he didn’t pull away.

PART 2: TENSION BETWEEN WALLS

You’d thought it was easier—pretending.

Pretending the apartment wasn’t too quiet. That you didn’t hear Jiyeon’s tiny feet running to greet him. That your heart didn’t shift, uninvited, at the sight of Jaehyun brushing her hair back like he’d done it a thousand times.

You weren’t looking for softness.

But somehow, it kept slipping through the cracks he never meant to open.

He came home late that Tuesday.

Jiyeon was asleep on the couch, curled up with Mr Bubbles. You were in the kitchen, pacing, still wearing your pencil skirt, blazer flung over a chair.

Jaehyun entered silently, a gym bag over one shoulder, shirt clinging damp to his skin from a post-op workout.

You stared at him. “You forgot to text.”

He blinked. “Didn’t know I had to.”

“You didn’t. But Jiyeon waited by the door for two hours.”

That silenced him.

He exhaled, dropped the bag, and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quieter than you expected. “There was a code blue. I couldn’t leave.”

Your jaw locked, arms crossed. “I’m not asking for explanations. I’m just—”

“Worried?” he cut in, gaze sharpening. “Or mad because it disrupted your schedule?”

You bit your cheek. “Do you always push away people who care?”

He didn’t answer.

Just looked at you.

And for a second, neither of you breathed.

The tension in the room pulsed like a heartbeat. You could see it in his eyes—that restrained edge, that wall he kept up even when he wasn’t trying to.

Then he said, “She listens to you more than me.”

You blinked. “She’s four. She likes strawberry jam and picture books. That doesn’t make me her mother.”

“No,” he agreed. “But she smiles when you come home.”

Your heart stuttered. “That’s not love.”

“No,” he murmured. “But it’s the beginning of something.”

The next night, you found him asleep on the couch, Jiyeon curled against his chest. His arm wrapped protectively around her, lips parted slightly, brow relaxed. It was the only time he ever looked peaceful.

You brought him a blanket.

You didn’t wake him.

You just stood there for too long—watching the man who was supposed to be your husband feel like the stranger you were starting to understand.

At breakfast, he poured your coffee without asking.

“You drink it black,” he said, not looking up.

You stared. “How did you—?”

“You mutter in the mornings.”

You blinked again, flustered.

He finally looked at you, and it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t guarded. It was… warm.

You looked away.

This wasn’t in the plan.

PART 3: FRACTURES AND FLAME

The event was meant to be formal—clinical, even.

Your company’s healthcare merger dinner, filled with glass clinks and conversations too polished to mean anything real. You wore navy silk backless, sharp heels, and a CEO’s smile. Controlled. Charming. Unshakable.

You hadn’t expected Jaehyun to come.

But there he was—tall, poised in black, medical charm polished with just enough distance to draw eyes without asking for them.

He stood out like a mistake you wanted to make twice.

Your assistant whispered, “Is that your husband?”

You gave a tight smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Jaehyun, on cue, raised a brow from across the room. Heard it.

You stood beside each other for the first half hour, exchanging polite pleasantries with investors. He only spoke when needed. Let you lead.

But his eyes?

They didn’t leave your face.

Not once.

Enter David Seo—your firm’s latest clinical advisor and an old college flirtation turned slightly unhinged admirer. Handsome. Wealthy. Dangerous in that loud, performative way Jaehyun never was.

David leaned too close as he spoke to you, fingertips brushing your lower bare back once. Twice.

Jaehyun’s glass tapped the table with a soft clink. Not loud. But pointed.

When David asked, “Are you happy, though?”—Jaehyun was no longer beside you.

He was behind you.

Shoulders squared.

Voice calm. “She is. But thanks for checking.”

David blinked. “Doctor Jung, I presume?”

Jaehyun’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I don’t recall you being relevant in her life.”

“Jaehyun —please.”

David scoffed and walked off with a muttered “territorial.”

You glared. “Was that necessary?”

Jaehyun’s gaze was hard. “He was touching you.”

“I can handle it.”

He stepped closer. “I know. But you shouldn’t have to.”

That silenced you.

Because it was… sincere.

And it rattled you more than his jealousy.

Later, in the town car home, silence sat thick between you.

You looked out the window. “You don’t get to be jealous.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then, softly: “I’m not jealous.”

You turned to him.

He added, “I’m angry. That someone thinks he can touch you like you’re available.”

You scoffed. “I am available. Our marriage is fake, remember?”

His voice dropped to a low murmur.

“Don’t say that in past tense. Not when you look at me like that.”

You turned your head quickly.

But you didn’t deny it.

PART 4: FRACTURE

The hospital walls blurred around him.

All he heard was the voice on the phone.

“Dr. Jung, your daughter’s been in an accident—hit by a distracted driver near the school exit. She’s stable. But she’s asking for you.”

He didn’t remember how he got there.

He barely remembered throwing off his white coat, running through traffic, or leaving his car at the ER entrance with the keys still inside.

His chest cracked open the moment he saw the door labeled Pediatric Trauma – 407.

And then—

Her voice.

Soft. Frayed.

“Sweetheart, you’re so brave. I’m right here, okay? It’s gonna be okay.”

He stepped in like the air wasn’t heavy with fear.

You sat on the bed beside Jiyeon, her tiny hand gripped in yours, your blouse torn at the shoulder, a gash on your forehead bleeding down the temple. Your blazer draped over her legs. You looked wrecked—but calm. Like you’d been crying for hours and were holding it in just for Jiyeon.

Jaehyun stopped in the doorway.

You turned.

And for the first time—there was no sarcasm. No teasing. Just you. Holding his daughter like she was yours.

“She wanted ice cream..” you said softly. “The cab drove through a red light. I protected her the best I could Jaehyun. I'm sorry.”

His knees almost buckled.

He knelt beside the bed and brushed Jiyeon’s bandaged forehead. Her eyes fluttered.

“Dad…”

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

Her fingers loosened from yours—and slowly found his. She fell back asleep.

Later that night, the nurse gave them clearance to leave.

But Jaehyun didn’t drive home.

He booked a nearby hotel. For Jiyeon’s comfort, he told himself. For rest.

But truthfully—it was because his hands were still shaking.

You stood by the window, changed into one of his spare shirts, hair damp from the hospital shower, bruised and tired and more beautiful than he ever remembered.

“You could’ve died,” he said, quietly.

You looked at him. “So could she.”

“She asked for you before me.”

“She was scared.”

“I’m scared.”

The confession was quiet. Raw. And terrifying.

You didn’t reply. Just walked over.

“I thought I lost her,” he murmured. “And then I saw you with her—and it hit me. She’s not the only one I’ve been afraid of losing.”

You looked up.

And in one moment, every wall shattered.

He stepped forward, cupped your face gently—brushed his thumb over the cut at your temple like it hurt him to see you hurt.

And then—

His lips found yours.

Not gently.

Not softly.

But like he was making up for every second he hadn’t.

You reached up and cupped his jaw. “You don’t have to be afraid. Not with me.”

His breath hitched at that, and then he kissed you — slowly, reverently, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted in case this was all a dream.

He lifted you onto the counter gently, standing between your knees as he kissed you again, slower this time — not with urgency, but with weight. Your fingers slid into his hair, his hands resting on your thighs, thumbs rubbing soft circles against your skin like he was grounding himself in the reality of you.

“I want you,” he whispered back. “But not just like this.”

“Then how?”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Like I’ve finally found my home.”

Your eyes stung, but you smiled.

“I want you too,” you breathed. “Like that.”

The world faded around you as he lifted you from the counter and carried you, lips brushing your temple, your shoulder, your hand. He laid you down in bed like you were something fragile — not weak, but precious. His shirt fell away, yours followed. No rush. No tension. Just layers falling away until only skin and breath remained.

His touch was slow. He kissed down your collarbone, between your breasts, over your stomach — pausing at every place his fingers had once only brushed. He whispered soft praises, nothing crude, just tender confessions: You’re so soft. I’ve never wanted anyone this way. I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make you feel safe.

When he finally entered you, it wasn’t the stretch you noticed first — it was the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, not even for a second.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as he moved inside you with the kind of patience you didn’t know existed. Every roll of his hips felt like a promise. Every brush of his lips, a vow.

It built slowly — heat pooling low in your stomach, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes because it wasn’t just pleasure anymore. It was release. It was love.

You whispered his name like a prayer.

And he whispered yours back like it was the answer to everything he’d been missing.

When you came, it was soft and trembling, your breath catching in his mouth as you kissed him through it. He followed, moaning low and deep into your neck, his arms tightening around you like he was terrified to let go.

But he didn’t move away after.

He stayed on top of you, inside you, his fingers tracing your face like he was trying to remember this version of you forever.

“I love you,” he finally whispered, voice breaking.

You touched his lips with your fingers.

“I know. I feel it.”

And in that bed — skin to skin, heart to heart — you weren’t just lovers, or husband and wife.

You were something softer. Something sacred.

You were his again.

And for the first time… he let you be.

Final Epilogue – “Moonlight & Laughter”

The birthday dinner had ended with cake crumbs on everyone’s clothes and frosting in Jiyeon’s hair, but none of you wanted to go home just yet.

So Jaehyun had driven the four of you to the quiet park near the hospital, the one that stayed open late — the one with the soft lanterns that hung from the trees like sleepy fireflies.

Now the air was crisp and cool, the sky navy and full of stars. And you sat on a picnic blanket in the middle of the park, the soft hush of grass beneath you, your newborn cradled against your chest.

Jiyeon was running in wild little circles nearby, her pink dress now stained with ice cream, her laughter rising into the trees like music.

“Dad! Look!” she shouted, pointing to the stroller where Jaehyun had tucked the baby’s diaper bag. “He smiled at me! Baby smiled!”

Jaehyun, sitting beside you, chuckled and called back, “That’s because you’re his favorite.”

“I know!”

She bent down and kissed her baby brother’s forehead — all sticky fingers and warm cheeks — and whispered, “You were my birthday wish”

The End.

Feedback is welcome :)

___________________________________________