#kim gitae

A dislocated shoulder, bruised bones and multiple lacerations of varying depths all over his body, painful but not too life-threatening with proper treatment.

You didn’t like making up stories about your patients’ lives (not where they can hear you, anyway), but you were 80% sure this man was involved with the cartel, which was bone-chilling in more ways than one because aside from being Korean, this man was handsome to inhuman degrees. With your luck that can only mean one thing, he was part of the Lookism cast. Unfortunately, your memories about the lore weren’t reliable. They were all from a lifetime ago. You couldn’t find a name to match the face.

You leaned over a little closer. “He really does have a nice face.”

“Thank you, señorita.”[1]

“Shit!” You clutched your chest. 

Deep breaths.

You glared at him. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to feel your eyes on me.”

“Well, as you can see, I kept you alive as promised. Thank you for destroying my balcony door, by the way.”

“Apologies, I was desperate.”

“Clearly.”

He smiled and moved to sit up but he paused, no, he was stopped. The bed creaked as he struggled to move. He then gawked at you.

“I tied your joints down, I hope you don’t mind.”

“While it’s one of my life’s pleasures to receive…such care from a beautiful woman, I prefer doing the restraining instead.”

You made no effort to hide your disgust. 

“Untie me, señorita.”

“Put yourself in my shoes for a moment: a stranger breaks into your home, bloodied and beaten, and threatens to kill you. There is no way you’d leave them free to roam after that, would you?”

“No,” he said, his forced smile flashing dangerously, “if it were me, I would’ve killed them.”

You shook your head. “You just lost credibility, you’re staying tied down until—”

“—until the police arrive?” His playful tone vanished, his smile now a scowl.

“No, I didn’t call them.”

“You didn’t?”

“Do you want me to perform a hearing test too? No, I didn’t call the police.”

“Why not?”

You recalled his earlier vulnerability and sighed. “You told me not to.” Besides, he might’ve been avoiding them now, but there was a non-zero chance that this man had connections that would let him go, free to get his revenge on you. 

The intruder turned patient stared at you, wide-eyed, then he threw his head back with a guffaw. His laughter filled the air until his wounds began bleeding again. 

“You done?” You walked over to examine his torso. The bastard tore his stitches. 

You cleaned the blood off and prepared the thread.

“I think I like you.”

“Surely you will understand that the feeling is not mutual—stop laughing already.”

“What’s your name, señorita?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

He chuckled and you nearly punctured yourself with the needle. “Fine, then I’ll just call you mi vida.” [2]

“And I will call you Juan Pérez.”[3]

“That’s harsh.” He watched as you resumed stitching. “Your accent is unique. You’re one of those foreign medical personnel, aren’t you?”

“I may not be from here, but I still know a lot of people and when I go missing, they won’t stand idly by.”

“I’m not so boorish that I’d hurt my savior, especially when it’s such a charming lady. Tell me, where are you from?”

“Not from here.”

“Don’t be like that. Tell me.”

Annoyed and eager to end this conversation, you said the first thing that came to mind, “Philippines.”

“I don’t think I’ve been there before.”

You said nothing, which he didn’t appreciate.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I got these injuries?”

“It’s not my business.”

“I’m beginning to like you even more, which is why I’m going to tell you.”

“Really, you don’t have to—”

“I’m part of the cartel, you see. The men in my area didn’t like the way I was running things so they put a bounty on my head. Did you find the stab wound under my shoulder blade? That’s from my right-hand man, so you know what I did? I carved his heart out.” 

You tried to focus on stitching.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him smirking. “You’re not very good at poker, are you, señorita?"

“Humans usually become colder when they’re afraid.” He then whispered, “but I can feel your hands heating up, mi vida.”

You cut the thread and put away the first aid kit. “I need to study. Get some rest.” You didn’t wait for his reply and locked the door behind you.

You hated your softness. You also hated your brain for not remembering the original story, and you hated the author for having so many characters in the first place. 

How were you going to remove that psycho without calling the police? How were you supposed to fight that guy once the ropes were gone?

You didn’t get any studying done, but at least you cleaned the blood from your walls and got your shower.

Deciding to just get this day over with, you made dinner half-awake and carried a serving for your detestable patient. 

“I didn’t have time to go grocery shopping so I hope you like crab and corn soup.” After some thought, you decided that you’d put him in a wheelchair while he was unconscious and then move him to a nearby inn. Hopefully, by the time he was strong enough to walk, you were back in Asia. 

“About time.” Your patient, “Juan,” gave you an eerie smile. “You didn’t even give me water before you left, I was scared that you were going to leave me to starve. Although, I hope you don’t plan on using a feeding tube on me.”

Your heart thumped but you swallowed down all emotions and approached him. “Don’t be overdramatic.”

You took a seat next to him.

“I’ve always dreamed of having my own personal nurse, but where’s your tight, white skirt?”

“I have never cursed a patient before, don’t make me do it now.”

“I’m only teasing. Thank you for the meal.”

You rolled your eyes and then lifted the spoon to his mouth. “Blow it yourself.”

He flashed you another smile before pursing his lips and blowing ever so softly on the soup. 

“Hm.” Lapping his lips, he leaned back on his pillow. “So what did you put in there?”

You flinched, but then you quickly answered, “I don’t know, just everything in the packet—”

“Not that, mi vida—” his face was right in front of you now “—you put sleeping pills in this, right?”

The bowl shattered on the floor, hot soup burned your legs but you couldn’t feel it as you scrambled away.

He caught your ankle.

“Juan” was standing up now and he pulled until you were between his legs. “You’re hurting my feelings, you promised you wouldn’t call the police.”

“I didn’t!”

He knelt down on the floor and pinned your wrists with one hand. “You were going to put me to sleep then hand me over to the cops.”

“No, I wasn’t!” You tried to knee his crotch but he was straddling your waist. 

“I don’t like hurting women, especially when they’re as lovely as you.” He cupped your cheek. “If you were going to betray me like this then you should’ve just left me to die.”

“Listen to me, dammit!”

“Well, you are my savior. Let’s hear your final words.”

“I wasn’t going to hand you to the police—though I can see that’s a mistake—” you sputtered “—I was going to put you in a wheelchair then have you checked in a motel or inn.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you will, but it’s the truth. Why would I go to all the trouble of patching you up after you broke down my door, stained my place with your blood and threatened to kill me, only to backstab you in the end?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’re petty.”

You let out a frustrated scream. Then you lay limp on the floor. “Augh, whatever. I don’t care anymore.”

“Giving up?”

“You won’t listen to reason and it’s not like I can fight you. I’m tired.”

You learned a few things as a child of the yakuza. Number one: you’d rather die than be captured, so you installed a cyanide capsule at the back of your teeth. Not the most glamorous way to go, but certainly better than getting cut open alive. 

He squished your cheeks and then forced your face towards him.

So this was how you die again…

Once he let go of your jaws you just needed to bite down on the capsule. You didn’t close your eyes though. 

Well, at least your murderer was hot.

He cocked his head and then let go—

Now—

“All right, I believe you.”

You blinked. “Serious?”

“Yes, serious.” He rose to his feet and then offered a hand. “I’m sorry, señorita. I lost myself for a moment.”

You smacked his hand away. “Get out.”

***

After that intruder fiasco, you fixed the balcony door yourself and then applied for a different dorm room and contacted several hospitals back in Korea for any job openings. Unfortunately, he was back before you could move. 

“Accept my apologies.” Pink and white roses obscured the view on your peephole, but you knew that voice. 

You refused to unlock your door. “Look, I don’t want any trouble so let’s just forget that this ever happened. I already swore that I wouldn’t tell anyone about this, please just go.”

“I can’t just forget you.”

“Try vodka, works like a charm.”

“Please open the door, mi vida.”

“No! Go away—and stop calling me that.”

“At least let me buy you dinner. I’ve never laid my hands on a woman before at least feeding her. Let me treat you right—”

“I don’t sleep with men without a blood test.”

“Perfect, you already have my blood—”

“Get lost!”

You then went to barricade the balcony. 

Hours passed and it was almost time for your shift. You reluctantly opened the front door, finding only the bouquet but no man. 

The rest of your days continued like this: intruder turned patient turned borderline stalker would visit you at dawn with a bouquet of fresh roses pressed to your peephole, you would tell him to fuck off, and by the time it was time for your shift, he was gone, leaving only the roses to keep you company and a copy of his medical history; including his most recent blood test results. 

Your application for a new dorm was rejected, but you didn’t bother to re-apply.

In some twisted way, the man had enmeshed himself in your life and a part of you was expectant—maybe even happy to hear him behind the door, to see the roses he left for you.

But you were adamant on keeping him at an arm’s length. Well, you were, until that fateful day.

***

It was your birthday. 

You were used to celebrating on your own, but was it possible to feel extra alone?

When you tapped your ID at the hospital entrance, the computer was the first to say ‘happy birthday.’ The security guard was asleep. 

Maybe you were just being selfish. 

The hospital had been busier than usual the whole week. Today there was a six-vehicle collision plus a robbery gone wrong and a man with a shotgun finding out that his wife was having an affair. You and everyone at the ER were on your feet from evening to dawn. 

The only bright side lately was that a job opened up back in Seoul. The moment you got their email, you packed and sent most of your things back home.

Now, you weren’t going to throw a tantrum over having no one but a computer to greet you on your birthday. You refused to feel pathetic, so after work, you showered, put on makeup and went to a bar. 

The bartender was a jovial-looking middle-aged man. “Greetings.”

“Hello.”

“What can I get you?”

You took a seat at the bar. “I’ll have an old fashioned, and do you have any cake?”

“I’m afraid not.” He looked genuinely apologetic.

“That’s okay.”

You checked your phone multiple times. No messages. You expected as much, you weren’t exactly Miss Congeniality back at school or at the last hospital you worked. You were just reaping what you sowed.

You didn’t know how much time passed, but by your fourth drink, the store bell rang and the bartender looked like he was about to wet his pants.

“How much did she drink?” 

You swiveled on your barstool. “Hey, it’s you, Mister Stalker.”

The bartender hiccuped behind you. 

Your stalker smiled and bent down to check your face. “Are you drunk?”

“You’d think so, but no, not yet.” You wagged a finger. “I wish I was, but I’m still two drinks away from that. I’m tipsssy at best. Hey, have you tried their Bloody Maria? It's a Bloody Mary but with tequila instead of vodka. Blew my mind.”

“You’re done.”

“Like hell I am.” You spun around. “A martini next—”

Stalker-man gently pulled your chair until you faced him again. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk, if I were I’d be throwing up all over your shoes from all this spinning. Let me go, I mean it.”

He examined your face again, then he sighed. “Fine, let’s drink. But we’re moving to a booth.”

The bartender nodded. “Of course, please, sit anywhere you like. I’ll get you your usual and the lady’s martini right away.” 

You were getting tired of having no back support so you held onto your stalker’s shoulders and hopped off the stool. 

He put his hand behind your back and guided you to a booth by the window. 

“Why are you drinking here alone?” he asked, sitting across from you. 

You drew circles on the wooden table with your finger. “Is that not allowed?”

“I’ve just never seen you here before.”

“Well, today’s a special day so I wanted to celebrate it somehow.”

“Special?”

“It’s my birthday. It’s also my sort of death anniversary.”

“What?”

“Shh. No one’s supposed to know that—they all think I’m dead. Maybe, I think.”

He put his elbows on the table and leaned over. “What’s gotten into you, mi vida? You look lonely.”

Lonely? You?

You laughed heartily.

Lonely?

You licked your lips, the taste of wet salt stinging your tongue. 

“I guess I am.” 

You walked your fingers over the table until they found his. “Will you comfort me?”

You vaguely recalled getting into an elevator and then kicking off your shoes and then falling into the softest mattress in the world. 

“Your friends are fools to leave you alone.” His kisses were never-ending, floating from your ear to your neck to your collarbones, but never meeting your own lips. “Dressing up like this, drinking alone, you were just asking to be taken, weren’t you?”

“I’m just tired…” Your hands moved from his biceps to his shoulders. You combed through his pitch-black hair and moaned when he found that special spot on your throat. “I don’t want to be alone tonight—just for tonight, please hold me.” 

You gently lifted your thigh, brushing him with your knee.

He groaned at your caress and snuck a large hand under your blouse, pushing your bra upward. He took one breast in his mouth, tongue drawing circles over your nipple, and kneaded the other with his hand. 

You traced the lines of his body under his shirt. He was rough and hard everywhere, scars over his chest and belly. You moved lower and lower—

“No,” he said, grabbing your hand, “let’s focus on you first, mi vida.”

He joined your wrists together and pinned them above your head. He continued kissing your chest and his free hand crept down to unbutton your pants.

“Wait,” you panted. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Not yet.”

“What?”

He loosened his grip and you sat up. “Is this how you always make love?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“When you make love with me, you need to start with this—” you tipped your chin and captured his mouth. 

The kiss took him by surprise and he pulled back, staring down at you, wide-eyed. 

You put a hand over his chest. “Please?”

His lips parted, but no words left. It felt like he stopped breathing.

A sobering moment, you almost stood up and left, but then he moved; slowly, he bent down until his nose touched yours again and—in one fluid motion—his hand tipped the back of your head and pulled you in for another kiss.

He tasted like whiskey and tobacco.

He squeezed your waist. You pulled on his hair. 

He tore open your blouse and bra, you ripped off his shirt. Your bare skin slid against each other, slick with sweat.

Every part of you was on fire, each second, each touch intoxicated you.

You pressed a hand on his chest again, signaling for him to stop.

He was panting more than you now, face flushed and eyes drunk. He glared at you and you laughed lightly. 

“Lie down.”

He let you push him down, his head nearly hitting the headboard. At the same time, perhaps as petty revenge, he grabbed your waist belt. “Take it off.”

You let him pull your pants down and then you discarded it on the floor with a kick.

“Mi preciosa—” [4]

You pressed two fingers over his lips. You then gave his Adam’s apple a quick peck before you turned around, throwing one leg over his torso.

You kissed down his belly, following the thin trail of hair leading towards his bulge. 

His cock was bigger than you anticipated, but your mouth only watered and you swallowed as you admired the long veins that covered him. 

You dragged your tongue from the base, along the shaft, and to the tip. His pulse was fast and hot and you licked him like he was your last meal. 

He groaned and buckled beneath you. Then he slid his hands from your thighs to your waist, pulling you close and holding you steady above him. 

His nose pressed against your clothed arousal as you kissed his tip.

He then pulled your underwear to the side and dug his tongue into you. 

You moaned but didn’t stop or slow down. Your hands cupped and circled the rest of him as your mouth enveloped his length.

One thick finger pushed through you and you cried. You almost moved away but his hold on you was firm as a vice. 

“You need to get used to it,” he said, teasing you. 

You rolled your eyes.

He was proficient enough, moving his finger slowly while his tongue slithered inside you. 

His finger stopped for a second, then he flicked your clit. Your own knees buckled but he held you in place. He kissed and licked you and then shoved in two fingers.

You gasped.

You felt your pulse move with his as you bobbed your head. His thighs tightened underneath you. 

His fingers and tongue worked in tandem. Your own belly tightened.

You sucked in and he curled his knuckles.

White-hot pleasure shot through you, your entire body jerked with his. Your moans filled the room and you collapsed on top of him. 

Not a second has passed when you felt him move, growing and standing right next to your cheek.

“Already?”

He rubbed circles over your thighs. “You’re not tired, are you? We’re not even done with the main course.”

Your exhaustion was beaten only by your competitiveness and you struggled to get up.

“Don’t force yourself, mi vida.” He rose to a sitting position and then lifted you back on his lap. He kissed the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Let me handle the rest.”

You reclined against him.

You heard something plastic tear. He slipped on the condom and then guided your hips above him. 

For some reason, he looked way bigger now. “Wait—”

“Shh.” He nuzzled your neck. “You can take it.”

He then pushed you down and filled you and your hands scrambled to grab onto something.

“It’s okay, I got you,” he whispered, sucking on your throat. 

He reached under your knees and pulled them so close they touched your ears.

“Wait—”

Then he rammed into you. All traces of gentleness were gone. 

He was definitely bigger than he was before! 

“You did ask for this, didn’t you?” he muttered against your skin. “I’ll hold you until you forget everything else.”

You clawed at his arms, feeling the fullest you’ve ever been. “H-hey—nhn—wait—” 

He caught your protests with his mouth, stealing your breath until you surrendered to him. Until you forgot about the loneliness. Until all that was left was pleasure. 

***

When you woke up, you realized three things at the same time: you needed to invest in a vibrator, no more drinking alone, and the crazy bastard that you begged to hold you was none other than Gitae Kim. You didn’t remember much, but one thing was for certain: it was a good thing he liked you, otherwise you would’ve ended up as steak tartare. 

When you tried to sit up, something heavy anchored you down, Gitae’s arm was strewn over your waist. 

You then saw the scratches and bite marks on his back and, despite everything, you laughed. You thought back to those cringy lines you said to him. “Hold me?” “Comfort me?” You laughed and laughed until your stomach ached.

Your partner didn’t seem to hear you though, and to make sure, you even poked his cheek. 

The man was out cold. 

Good. That made things easier.

You put on your clothes, though you were forced to go without a bra, and searched for your purse. You thought about leaving money for the drinks you knew he paid for, but then you remembered you saved his life afterhe broke into your dorm. Paying for your drinks was the least he could do.

You set down 68 pesos[5] on the nightstand, flipped him the finger and left without looking back.

Gitae Kim had a problem. No matter how many beautiful women threw themselves at his feet, no matter what they did, what they offered, none of them could satisfy him, not in the way you did—

You, the little minx that seduced him and disappeared before morning like Cinderella. 

It was like he’d been cursed.

He looked over at his desk. The irreverent paper bills and coins you left him remained in an otherwise empty ashtray. They weren’t just money anymore, they became part of his personal collection, something he treasured. 

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

His assistant bowed. “Sir.”

“Well?”

He shook his head. “Our guys in Cebu and Manila didn’t find anyone who fit her description.”

Gitae poured himself another whiskey. That day, when he found his bed empty and your dorm uninhabited, he realized that he didn’t even know your name. 

He spoke with the building manager, the security guards, and eventually, the hospital administration, but aside from a name, they were strict about not giving too much. Not even the threat of bodily harm was enough to sway them. Something about requiring your permission to even access the info. 

At least he had a name and an illustration courtesy of a police sketch artist. But it had been months since he last saw you.

“Sir?”

Gitae finished his whiskey. “Well, those aren’t the only cities in the country, are they?”

His assistant bowed. “R-right! I’ll get to it. Pardon me.” He stepped back and closed the door, leaving Gitae alone again.

He was certain that you were lying about your country of origin, but what else did he have to go on? He wasn’t going to let you get away with cursing him.

He was going to find his ill-mannered Cinderella no matter what, even if he had to search every corner of Asia. 

[1] Señorita. Spanish for "miss."

[2] Mi vida. Spanish term of endearment meaning "my life."

[3] Juan Pérez = "John Smith" or "John Doe"

[4] Mi preciosa. Spanish for "my precious/lovely."

[5] 68 MXN = 214.81 PHP = 3.69 USD

taglist: @sm3156, @placid-plastic, @yin-yun, @ixchelhernandez4, @janeisnotonline, @cocooola

Disclaimer:

The first image was lifted from Ep. 497 - Lookism manhwa.

The second image was lifted from https://www.reddit.com/r/lookismcomic/comments/1kn9mza/chinese_gitae_was_having_more_fun/.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

“Rest,” he says, not even bothering to look up at you as you watch him make another conconction—whatever you and the little one (as he likes to call her) craved for today. It was a little mix of everything, and while Gun had wanted to tell you that this is not healthy, he could not resist you and your cute little face.

So what if he had gone soft for you? You were the only one who could see that softness anyway, and it’s not like he had lost his edge. He still makes a living, completely barricading this part of life away from prying eyes and loud mouths—namely Goo and the rest of HNH—while ensuring that the Four Major Crews aren’t doing shit that could possibly tarnish whatever he had worked so hard for.

All that matters now is you and your daughter.

“But what if I don’t want to?” you argue lightly, though it sounded more of like a tease. Gun had a tendency to be overprotective, making sure that you’re comfortable. If you wanted a massage now, he would almost immediately drop the baking sheet to go and wash his hands before tending to you.

He was quite literally the textbook definition of a househusband.

“Aren’t you a little hardheaded this afternoon?” he asks, looking up to see you glowing. Gun thinks he might have a heart attack with how adorable you look in your maternity dress, how you have that cheeky expression in your face that he loves looking at.

And while he initially was fearful of the pregnancy, it looked good on you. Looked good to the point that he wanted another kid because you being so round with his daughter made his heart ache in the best way possible. “You should go and take a seat on the sofa. It’s like sitting on a cloud,” he says, knowing damn well that he had it imported from whatever country it came from only because he wanted you to be comfortable during this whole pregnancy.

“Yeah, but,” you start, sitting on the bar stool as you watched him pipe animated designs on several pieces of cookies. “It won’t be the same without you,” you say, happiness evident in your tone as you put a hand on your stomach. “And our princess wants to see her dad create a masterpiece on those cookies.”

That was enough to make Gun smile—a rare one to his colleagues, quite normal to you—and while he thought that was cheesy yet adorable, he has his own lines ready to quip.

“How funny,” he says as he finishes piping one of the cookies before handing it to you to taste. “Because our princess needs to know that she,” he points at your tummy. “Is mom and dad’s magnum opus.”

GOO KIM

Goo has done a lot of stupid things, and while they are stupid, they are well-calculated. He doesn’t make a move where he knows he’s on the losing end because Goo will always benefit in the end.

This, however, is not something that he had calculated. He was also unsure if he was going to benefit from this because he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe it was also the panic and anxiety talking because he’s not supposed to talk and think like this whenever you’re involved—making it sound like you’re just some random business deal that he needs to get over with when you’re not.

You’re worth more than whatever pile of money was waiting for him at the end of every goal he has.

Still, he can’t even deny it himself—the news had shaken him up. Though thanks to years of masking his feelings, he’s definitely a lot better at not showing whatever emotion that was about to consume him because you look so happy.

You look so happy at the fact that you’re giving him a child at this age. Goo wonders if you’re as crazy as he is because holy shit, the two of you were only, what? In your 20s?

You should be partying at the club and not getting knocked up by him because: a) he’s got a lot of shit to do in the underworld and he’s involved with incredibly dangerous people, b) he’s an idiot that wanted to go raw, and c) he’s unsure if he can be a great father to this kid.

Goo, at most, plans 5 steps ahead, but with you wanting to keep the baby, he must plan at least 10 steps ahead because God knows whatever life is going to throw at him next. He was still unsure about the pregnancy—the thought of being a father—but he sure as hell would give you everything to ensure that you only have a smooth and less-awful pregnancy.

So, months later, his protectiveness shows.

Really.

“Jungoo, I’m fine!” you argue with your boyfriend as he held your hand, the two of you descending down the stairs of your new home.

He was insane enough to get you a house—away from prying eyes so that you and your beloved baby girl will be safe, not worrying about anyone who could possibly attack the two most important people in his life. “I can go down the stairs just fine!” you exclaim.

And while you almost push him down the goddamn stairs, Goo keeps a tight grip on your hand, the other on the small of your back. “You don’t know that, cupcake,” he says gently, eyes flitting from your face to your pregnant tummy. He feels his heart swell a little because going through the ultrasounds, the parenting books, the look of the nursery—everything made him excited.

A far cry from his initial response to when he found out you were pregnant. “Let me do this for you, okay?” he says gently, trying not to trigger a possible mood swing from you. “Ugh, fine,” you retort, letting him dote over you. “Only because you look funny begging,” you say, in which you receive a face from him.

You think about how Goo had always been so mobile, always in one place and then another because he has business deals all over Seoul. But with you, he’s been so patient, the most he’s ever been considering he always liked to get things done in the quickest, Goo-est way possible.

“Thanks, Goo,” you murmur as he safely helps you down the stairs, your hand immediately resting on your stomach. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead before placing his hand on top of yours. “And for our sweet little angel too.”

JAKE KIM

Jake hadn’t really thought about being a father at such a young age.

Considering his lifestyle and as the leader of Big Deal, Jake had wanted to make sure that before anything like a pregnancy happens, or at least progresses, he had removed himself from the gang life.

Sure, he treats Big Deal like family because that’s what they are to him, but at the end of the day, there’s always a sick reminder in his head to never ever forget that it was still a gang—and the two of you having an unplanned pregnancy while he’s still the leader of the said gang makes him want to spiral into the abyss.

But even if he was in a state of shock and in worry, he doesn’t show that to you—not when you looked so horrified right in front of him, hands trembling, your tears instantly filling your lash line as you broke the news to him. You confirmed that you were indeed carrying his kid after a trip to the clinic.

“Hey,” he says as he holds your hand in his, engulfing them. “We’ll be okay,” he assures you in a quiet whisper, hunched down a little as makes a promise.

That’s what he tells you—often does, anyway. Jake was the type of person to reassure everyone around him that things were going to be okay, even if he himself was unsure of what the future holds. But he knows he’ll do something about it, make a plan—he had always been the type to step up no matter what challenge was thrown towards him.

A few weeks in your pregnancy, you began experiencing its symptoms. Jake could hear you retching your guts out in the bathroom, his immediate instinct was to get out of bed and quickly follow to help you. The swinging of the door was heard as you were keeled over, feeling his large hands help you with your hair before letting the other rest on your back.

His expression softens as he rubs your back. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, and you only hum a response in return because you didn’t feel like talking—the weight and realization of becoming a mother slowly sinking in with the symptoms.

Shit, he feels bad. Jake knows you well enough to know that you’re in deep thought, and he thinks that you wouldn’t have to carry majority of the burden if the two of you had been careful enough. But you wanted to keep the baby, and it’s your body therefore it’s also your choice. In the end, all Jake can do was be there for you and be the best support system for you.

“I’m here.”

GITAE KIM

Fatherhood is a foreign concept to Gitae.

If anything, he thinks—knows, that he’s not meant to be a father. He doesn’t have the gentleness and patience of a parent. Sure, maybe he can be stern, but never in his life did he think that he would be a father. Can you blame him if he didn’t know how to be one, given how he was born out of wedlock? How his own father barely acknowledged him, his first born, and so he turned into whatever this is.

All Gitae knows is that he was a man made to remove people—a man who resented his own parents; resenting them for giving him life when he didn’t ask for it.

He knows that being a parent isn’t for him. So when you told him you were pregnant, a multitude of thoughts had come to his head.

It was as clear as day whenever Gitae recalls the moment you broke the news to him.

How your voice trembled when you spoke to him, pupils looking like they were about to spill salty tears. How you were visibly shaken, making yourself look smaller in his presence, utterly distraught at the fact that you were pregnant when the two of you have been so careful. How you had endless apologies slipping from your lips, not bothering to look at him out of fear that he might get rid of you and your unborn child.

Gitae doesn’t know if the odd pain in his chest was normal whenever he remembers that devastated version of you that day. Even if the two of you had such an unconventional start in your relationship, at the end of the day, he still chose to risk it all with you despite not knowing the first steps in loving someone—in caring for someone other than himself.

At the end of the day, he still wants you in his life no matter how dangerous it was—because he had a silent promise not just to you, but to himself.

That he will protect you because he wants you standing by his side.

“You’re pregnant,” is what Gitae says as he looks down on you, the sentence he utters sounds more like a statement than a question. It was as if he doesn’t completely register the revelation you just told him—the look in his eyes could be described as two things: distant and hollow.

But this is you, not some random woman—not a concubine. So he tries to take it easy on you.

“Do you want to keep it?” Is the first thing he asks, and when you take a while to respond, he leans forward to hug you—a moment of reassurance and affection, quite rare. An unspoken I’ll be here for you. And once you said yes, Gitae steels himself for nine long months of pregnancy—and a lifetime of fatherhood.

Though, he thinks he’s faring better than expected.

Months later, he finds himself massaging your feet as you tell him about how your daughter was giving you a hard time today, constantly kicking, making you want to lay down constantly. And apart from that, pregnancy in itself made it quite heavy for you on your day-to-day, so you asked Gitae to give you a foot massage.

To which he surprisingly obliged.

He only hums as he listens to you, a grunt and even a small chuckle escaping from time to time. “Mi flor,” he speaks, looking at your stomach. “Don’t give your mama such a hard time. She’s already dealing with papa as it is,” he jokes lightly, but he doesn’t notice the slight look of concern that you give him.

He makes it sound so horrible dealing with him. Maybe to his enemies, yes, but Gitae had been nothing but different with you in the best way possible. “I’m sure our little flower just misses you,” you assure him lightly. “After all, papa had been gone majority of the day. She hasn’t heard your voice as much,” you tell him, and he glances at you with a softened expression.

“Is that so, mi flor?” he says, halting in his movements of tending to your feet as he sits next to you. “Well, papa’s here now,” he murmurs, rubbing your stomach gently, feeling his daughter kick, and that instantly brings a small smile on his lips.

“Should I tell you what mama and I plan on giving you when you’re born?” he asks his daughter.

Jake

You wake up in the middle of the night from the cries of your son, tiredly you crawled in bed until reaching the baby crib that was next to you, grabbing your baby with care into your arms, soothing him "shh, shh, I'm here, let daddy and mommy sleep hm?" you found him searching for your breast so you just started breastfeeding him.

Jake felt guilty since day one about the fact that he could rest more than you, so, every time you wake up he followed you, accompanying you in your tiredness.

You felt the bed moving and two strong arms hugging you from behind, his head fell on your shoulders "go to sleep" you nagged him, but it fell into deaf ears "my beautiful wife is such a good mom" he praised you, his eyes focusing on his son, his finger playing with his cheeks while he kept drinking, a tiny smile formed, Jake was so proud your son was so healthy all thanks to you.

Your son seemed to be starving, it already passed half an hour, and he still continued drinking, your head was falling from sleepiness and Jake seemed to notice it. He positioned yourself to rest your back against his chest, he grabbed your son and moved him to eat from your other breast, palming his back softly "rest a bit honey" he whispered "you deserve some rest" and with his words you fell asleep on him "I love you so much".

Gun

Your daughter made sure she was hungry, after some ugly crying you finally could get her to drink from your breast, her fingers grabbing strong at your flesh "ouch" Gun who was washing the dishes moved his head to you, he watched how you tried to position your daughter uncomfortably. Gun dried his hands and approached you, watching your daughter pinching angrily your breast, he got closer and got surprised about the marks that decorated it, worry got him, what if she also inherited his violent nature?.

Nonsense

Gun, walked towards your room and grabbed a pair of baby socks, putting them on your daughter's hands "you're grounded young lady" you giggled "you're grounding her already?" Gun sat next to you, his hand exploring your breasts watching both of them marked "you have to love your mom, not hurt her" he kept scolding her.

You kissed his cheek "thanks for putting her on sock jail" he patted your head "thanks for making that stubborn child healthier every day"

Gitae

You were celebrating with your husband and his men on an expensive restaurant, you were happy you could hang out with your husband again after giving birth, you put on a cute and elegant dress that matched with your daughter's, making you both shine among all the people who were there.

While eating, your daughter gained appetite, and she showed it by crying, Gitae smiled proud "she has strong lungs" all his men laughed with him, you excused yourself and walked with her towards the bathroom being stopped by your husband "where do you think you're going?" he asked you serious, the room turned silent "I-I'm going to feed-" before you could talk Gitae made you sit on the chair and signaled all the men to leave.