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Trope: Jake house husband?!! X readerbread winner!??
Summary- After a rough dinner with her judgmental family, you and your husband Jake return home for a cozy weekend togetherâfull of healing, cuddles, and cheesy romance. As a house husband, Jake showers you with affection, late-night kisses, and pancakes, while your dog Layla does her best to keep you both humble. Between laughter, a little spice, and messy baking, you find peace in the life you've built after heartbreak. A soft domestic slice-of-life with love, healing, and lots of whipped cream../ă„~ đ
Warming: if you don't like it not my problem, just whine and sulk idc but not in my comments love đ byeeee!!!đŻđ»đźđȘđŽđ shit here guys hahahaaa....
Ummm just so you know this fanfiction is kinda messy idk why i feel like that but please message me if something it wrong
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Morning light spills through the curtains, golden and warm, as the world outside slowly begins to stir.
But in here, wrapped up in soft sheets and the comfort of a familiar heartbeat, the world feels quiet. Safe.
You blink your eyes open, greeted by the sight of messy dark hair and a sleepy smile. Jakeâs arm is already around you, pulling you close before you can even roll over.
âYou always wake up before the alarm,â you mumble, voice raspy with sleep.
âOnly when I get to see this pretty face first,â he says, grinning. His voice is low, teasing, a little too cheesy for six in the morningâbut it makes you smile anyway.
He leans in, peppering your face with soft kissesâyour forehead, your cheek, your noseâbefore finally landing on your lips. You let out a soft giggle, pushing lightly at his chest.
âOkay, okayâcalm down, Mr. House Husband.â
He gasps, hand to his heart. âIs that how you see me? Just a hot man in an apron?â
âWell, you do make good pancakes.â
Jake sits up and stretches, the sheet falling off his toned chest as he yawns. âSpeaking of pancakes⊠I already started breakfast. Youâve got an early shift, right?â
You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. âDouble shift today. Emergency ward. I wonât be back until late.â
âThen youâre getting the works. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and coffee exactly how you like it. Doctorâs orders.â
You hear a bark and turn your head just in time to see Layla trot into the room, tail wagging excitedly. She leaps onto the bed like itâs her kingdom, crawling straight into your lap.
âShe missed you,â Jake says, standing to head toward the kitchen. âAnd so did I.â
You lean down to cuddle Layla, pressing a kiss to her soft fur. âAww, well I missed you both my babies.â
Back then, things werenât this soft. This easy.
It started in collegeâwell, it almost started there. You met Jake during your second year, when you were overworked, burned out, and trying to survive med school with no sleep and too many expectations.
He was the campus barista. And a college dropout.
âIâm not a failure,â heâd said once when you were studying at the coffee shop late at night. âI just didnât belong in a place that made me feel like one.â
You didnât know what drew you in at firstâhis quiet confidence, his warmth, his silly jokes that somehow made your long nights bearable. It started as casual conversations. Then weekend study breaks. Then you started waking up in his hoodie.
Your parents found out when you brought him home for your birthday dinner. They didnât say much at firstâbut their looks said enough.
âHeâs not on your level.â
âHe doesnât have a future.â
âHeâs not one of us.â
Still, you stayed. Through the whispers. Through the tension. Through the storm.
And then⊠the two lines on the pregnancy test.
You were scared. So was he.
But he didnât run. He didnât even hesitate. He held you and said, âWeâll figure it out. You donât have to do this alone.â
Marriage wasnât your parentsâ idea of a solution. But after seeing you stand your ground, with Jake at your side and a fire in your eyes, they backed off. And you guys got married
The miscarriage came quietly. A bleeding that wouldnât stop. A room full of doctors where you were the patient this time. Jake held your hand the entire time. He didnât cryânot until you were asleep and he thought you wouldnât hear.
You both grieved differently. But you grieved together.
Now, months later, your apartment smells like pancakes and coffee. Thereâs a dog snuggled in your lap, and a man in the kitchen who looks at you like youâre his entire world.
Youâre not whole yet. But youâre healing.
You hear the sizzle of something on the pan and the occasional hum of Jake singing to Layla, whoâs now curled at the foot of the bed. You smile to yourself. Thisâthese mornings, this peaceâit almost doesnât feel real sometimes.
âBreakfast is served, mâlady,â Jake announces, reappearing with a tray in hand. Pancakes stacked like a tower, eggs fluffed to perfection, and a perfectly brewed cup of coffee that smells like home. He sets it down beside you, then leans in with a soft kiss to your temple.
âEat before it gets cold,â he says, ruffling Laylaâs ears. âYou need energy to go save lives today.â
You try not to laugh with a mouth full of syrupy pancake. âYou act like Iâm some kind of superhero.â
Jake looks at you with eyes that leave no room for doubt. âYou are.â
Thereâs a pauseâwarm, but heavy with something unspoken. You donât have to say it. He already knows. Some mornings still ache with the weight of what couldâve been. Some mornings you wake up and your hands drift to your belly, like they remember before your mind does.
Jake gently brushes a crumb from your lips, then slides next to you on the bed, pulling you into his arms.
âI know youâre tired baby,â he murmurs. âI know it still hurts. But I want you to know⊠you never have to carry it alone.â
You nod against his chest. His hoodie smells like fabric softener and safety.
And for a moment, the world stops spinning.
Flashback â One Year Ago
The bathroom floor was cold. You sat with your back against the wall, the test still clutched in your shaking hands.
Your fingers trembled. You werenât ready. You didnât even know how Jake would react. All the voices in your headâyour parentsâ, societyâs, even your ownâscreamed doubt.
He showed up in ten minutes, hair messy, shirt half-buttoned, panic in his eyes.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asked the moment he walked in.
You didnât speak. You just handed him the test.
Not big. Not loud. Just soft. Steady. Reassuring.
âOhh my love, it's okay,â he said, kneeling in front of you. âWeâll figure this out. Iâve got you.â
You broke thenâright into his arms.
You didnât know it then, but that was the first time you realized: love isnât always about grand gestures or perfect plans. Sometimes, itâs about the person who kneels on a cold floor beside you and whispers, youâre not alone.
Youâre halfway through your commute, coffee thermos in hand, when your phone buzzes. The early sunlight streaks across the dashboard as you reach for it during a red light.
Jake [7:42 AM]: âDonât forget youâre amazing. Also Layla misses you already.â
You smile despite the tired in your bones.
You [7:44 AM]: âShe probably just wants my toast crumbs.â âAlso thank you, cheesy man. I love you.â
Jake [7:45 AM]: âI love you more. Come home safe, Doctor Hot Stuff.â
You laugh quietly and tuck the phone away as the light turns green. Your heart feels lighterâeven if the day ahead promises to be long.
The hospital is already buzzing by the time you walk inânurses moving with purpose, pages beeping, and the thick air of urgency hanging everywhere. You change quickly into your scrubs, tie your hair up, and get to work.
But between rounds, somewhere between chart updates and check-ins, your thoughts always drift.....
Youâd brushed it off at firstâprobably something you ate. But by the time Jake got home from grocery shopping, you were curled up on the bathroom floor again. This time, it wasnât a pregnancy test in your hands. This time, there was blood.
âY/N?â His voice was sharp, full of panic the second he saw you. He dropped the bags, rushed over, scooping you into his arms without a second thought. âWeâre going to the hospital. Right now.â
You barely remember the car ride, only the sound of your name being called through waves of pain and the trembling in Jakeâs hands as he held yours the entire time.
At the hospital, the world became a blurâbright lights, cold walls, hushed voices. You were wheeled into a room, and Jake was told to wait outside.
He paced the hallway like he couldnât breathe.
His hands shook as he called your fatherâs numberâdespite everything, despite the coldness and judgmentâbecause in that moment, nothing else mattered but you.
âMr. Y/L/N,â he said, voice rough, barely steady. âItâs Y/N. Sheâs in the hospital. Weâwe lost the baby.â
There was silence on the other end.
Then your fatherâs voice, quiet. âWhat hospital?â
They arrived forty minutes later. Your mother in pearls and panic, your father in a coat he clearly grabbed without thinking, no matter what he still loved you a lot. Jake stood when they entered the waiting room, unsure if he should speak first. He hadnât seen them since the wedding.
Your fatherâs eyes were red-rimmed, and your motherâs lips trembled when she looked at him.
âWhere is she?â she asked, voice tight.
âTheyâre keeping her for observation,â Jake answered. âSheâs asleep.â
Your mother sat down slowly, as if her knees were about to give out. For a moment, nobody said anything.
Then your father looked at Jakeâreally looked at him. The bags under his eyes, the blood on his shirt from when he caught you, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself together.
âYou did the right thing,â he said quietly. âThank you⊠for calling.â
Jake just nodded, swallowing hard.
Later that night, when they were allowed into your room, your mother walked straight to your side. She smoothed your hair, tears slipping down her face. âMy baby girlâŠâ
Your father stood at the foot of the bed, silent but shaken. You were still asleep, unaware they had come. But Jake never left your side. He sat there, holding your hand, as if tethering you to the earth.
It was the first time your parents saw him not as the dropout or the disappointment, but as the man who loved their daughter enough to break, to beg, and to stay.
You stirred in your sleep, eyelids fluttering open slowly. The room was dim, quiet except for the rhythmic beep of the monitor and the faint rustle of someone shifting beside you.
Your head ached. Your body felt heavy. And then it hit you.
You gasped, sitting up suddenly, hands flying to your stomach. âJake?â
He was already there, springing up from the chair and leaning over you in a heartbeat. âHey, hey, itâs okay darling, Iâm here. Iâm right here.â
You looked into his eyes, and just like that, it all came crashing back.
âThe babyâŠâ Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Jake nodded slowly, his own eyes wet. âI know. Iâm so sorry.â
You felt Jakeâs grip tighten. He didnât speak. Not even as you sobbed into his chest, not even as the machines beeped around you like a cruel reminder of everything slipping away.
You felt it againâthat unbearable pressure in your chest. The grief, the guilt, the disbelief. But before the sobs could take over, you felt something else.
Your motherâs hand wrapped gently around yours. You turned your head and blinked in surprise.
âMom?â your voice trembled.
She looked like sheâd aged ten years since you last saw herâlike her heart had cracked the same way yours had. âSweetheart, weâre here.â
Your father stepped closer. He didnât say anything at first, just stood there quietly, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder.
âWeâre sorry,â he said. âFor everything.â
Your mother nodded, squeezing your hand. âWe shouldâve been there sooner. Not just today. For all of it.â
You didnât know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream, to ask why it had taken so much pain for them to finally look at you like their daughter again. But the other partâthe exhausted, broken, bleeding partâjust needed the comfort. Even if it came late.
Jake stayed beside you the whole time, letting you lean on him, his thumb brushing small circles into your wrist.
That night, no one left the hospital. The four of you stayed in the room in silenceâeach processing the loss in your own way. And though nothing could undo what happened, the walls between you and your parents had begun to crack.
Grief had a way of doing thatâstripping away pride and expectations, leaving only what mattered: love, even if bruised.
You blink back the sting in your eyes as a nurse hands you a chart.
âDoctor Y/N? Room 307ânew patient just came in.â
You nod. âOn my way.â
You slip the chart under your arm, straighten your posture, and move.
But inside, a part of you still carries that night. A part of you always will.
And yetâyou keep going.
Because love didnât end with the loss. It stayed. It grew. In Jakeâs arms. In your laughter with Layla. In the quiet mornings. In the healing.
You unlock the door with a tired sigh, shoulders heavy and feet aching. The house is dimly lit, golden light spilling from the living room, soft music humming in the background. Laylaâs nails click excitedly against the floor as she rushes to greet you, her tail wagging like itâs been years instead of hours.
âHi, baby,â you murmur, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. âDid you miss me?â
âShe waited by the door for like an hour,â Jakeâs voice floats in from the kitchen.
You smile without lifting your head. âSounds like someone I know.â
He appears a second later, drying his hands with a towel, his hair a little messy, apron still on. âGuilty.â
You stand, and in an instant, his arms are around you. Tight. Warm. Like heâs been holding his breath all day.
âYou okay?â he asks, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes.
You nod, but your face gives you away. He sees itâthe exhaustion in your bones, the sadness that still lingers under the surface. Without another word, Jake gently takes your bag and sets it aside, then guides you to the couch.
âI made dinner,â he says softly. âNothing fancy. Just what I thought youâd crave after a day like this.â
You smile, a little shy. âYou made kimchi fried rice?â
âAnd miso soup. And your weird obsession: cold sliced fruit.â
You let out a breath of laughter. âYou really are trying to win âHusband of the Year,â huh?â
He winks. âNah, I already won the second I married you.â
You donât reply. Instead, you press your face into his chest, letting him hold you in that quiet, safe way only he can. Layla hops up beside you both and curls into a ball.
And just like that, youâre home. Really home.
Youâre curled up on the couch, legs tangled with Jakeâs under the blanket. Laylaâs snoring softly at your feet, and the low hum of the TV fills the space. Itâs peacefulâone of those rare quiet evenings where the world feels distant.
You glance at the screen and feel your stomach drop. Dad.
You exchange a quick look with Jake before answering. âHello?â
âY/N,â your fatherâs voice comes through, calm but with that usual formality, âthereâs a family dinner this Friday. Your brother just signed a major deal, and weâre having a small celebration at the house.â
âOh.â You hesitate. âThatâs... nice. Iâll check with my scheduleâ
âBring Jake,â he adds, cutting you off gently. âItâs important.â
Your eyes flick toward your husband. He raises a curious eyebrow but doesnât ask anything yet.
âIâll... let you know soon,â you say, and hang up before the silence stretches too long.
Jake tilts his head. âFamily thing?â
You nod, rubbing your temple. âMy brother closed a big deal. Theyâre having a dinner to celebrate.â
He says nothing at first. Then quietly, âDo you want to go?â
âI donât know,â you admit. âTheyâre trying, I think. But I also know how it gets... especially when it comes to you.â
He doesnât flinch, but you see the flicker in his eyes.
âHey,â you reach for his hand. âYou donât have to go if itâs too much.â
He squeezes your fingers. âYouâre my wife. Thatâs your family. I can handle a few snide comments.â
You smile, even though your heartâs heavy. âYou always say that.â
âAnd I always mean it.â He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. âLetâs show up and remind them why you chose me.â
Jake stands in front of the mirror, fussing with the collar of his shirt like itâs personally offended him. âDo I look like a decent househusband or a desperate ex-boyband member?â
You stifle a laugh, walking over to fix the slightly crooked button. âOhh no, my baby looks absolutely perfect.â
âI still think Layla wouldâve been better company for this dinner.â
At the sound of her name, Layla trots over with her leash in her mouth, tail wagging hopefully.
Jake bends down and pets her head, voice full of mock drama. âSorry, princess. Itâs an invite-only event, and sadly, they didnât include VIPs like you.â
Layla lets out a small whine, flopping dramatically onto the floor.
"Sheâs going to hold a grudge,â you murmur, grabbing your coat.
The house hasnât changedâwhite pillars, manicured lawn, an air of constant formality. Jake steps beside you just before you reach the door.
âYou ready?â he asks.
You nod. âAs ready as Iâll ever be.â
Your mother greets you with a smile that doesnât quite reach her eyes. âYouâre late.â
âSorry traffic,â you reply simply.
Jake offers a polite nod. âGood evening, Mrs. Y/L/N.â
She gives him a once-over before stepping aside. âDinnerâs in the main hall.â
As you walk in, the murmurs begin. A few relatives smile at you with forced politeness. Others donât bother pretending. Your brother stands near the fireplace, glowing with pride, surrounded by a cluster of uncles and family friends.
âY/N!â he calls, genuine warmth in his voice. âYou made it!â
You hug him. âCongrats. Heard the deal was huge.â
âThanks. And Jakeâglad you came too, man.â
Jake gives him a handshake, trying not to seem awkward. âProud of you.â
The evening moves slowlyâchampagne glasses clink, dinner is served, and conversation circles around business, vacations, and children. You cling to Jakeâs hand under the table.
âSo, Jake,â your aunt says, eyes sharp and too interested, âwhat are you doing these days?â
Jake smiles patiently. âI take care of things at home.Cooking, errands. Laylaâs got a lot of energy, soââ
âA househusband,â she interrupts, lips curving just slightly. âHow modern.â
Someone laughs softly. You canât tell who.
âI suppose itâs easy, not having to work while your wife plays doctor,â another uncle adds.
Jake opens his mouth, but you cut in sharply. âHe runs our entire household better than half the companies represented in this room. Donât mistake care for weakness.â
The table goes quiet for a beat.
But the silence is shattered when she speaks.
Sheâs always been jealousâof your career, your marriage, your spotlight. And she picks her moment with poison precision.
âIâm surprised you even showed up,â she says with a sugary smile. âAfter everything... I mean, some couples donât recover from something as devastating as a miscarriage.â
The entire table freezes.
Your fork drops against your plate. Jakeâs hand tightens in yours, jaw clenching.
You feel like the airâs been knocked from your lungs.
âMinseo,â your father says sharply, but she only shrugs.
âIâm just saying, it must be hardâlosing a baby and being the breadwinner.â
You stand up, slow and calm but shaking on the inside.
âExcuse us,â you say, taking Jakeâs hand.
You donât wait for their reactions. You walk straight out of the dining room, out of the house, out of their judgmentsâbecause tonight wasnât about celebrating.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click. You donât even take off your shoes. You just stand in the entryway, staring at nothing, your hand still wrapped tightly in Jakeâs.
Jake sets the keys down and gently untangles your fingers from his. âY/N,â he says softly, âcome sit.â
You follow him wordlessly to the couch, where Layla perks up and whines softly, sensing something's off. She curls up by your feet, resting her chin on your ankle.
Jake kneels in front of you, his hands warm on your knees. âTalk to me.â
You shake your head, blinking fast. âIâm fine.â
He just stares at you, quiet and calmâlike heâs learned not to push, but also not to let you slip too far.
âThey always do this,â you whisper. âEvery time they look at you like youâre not good enough⊠and now this.â
âThey brought up our baby, Jake. Like it was gossip. Like it was some⊠some stain Iâm supposed to cover up.â
You donât even realize youâre crying until Jakeâs thumb brushes your cheek, catching the tear before it falls too far.
âYou donât have to carry this alone,â he says. âYou never did.â
âI just wanted to be enough for them,â you breathe, âand I still couldnât protect you from them. Or our baby.â
âDonât,â he says, a little sharper now. âDonât say that. You didnât fail anyone. You loved with everything you had. You still do.â
He moves beside you on the couch, pulling you into his arms. You let your body fold into his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt.
âI hate that it still hurts,â you admit into the fabric.
âItâs supposed to,â he says softly. âLove like that doesnât just⊠disappear. But weâre healing. Together. Day by day.â
You nod, tears wetting his shoulder. âIâm so tired, Jake.â
âI know,â he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âLet me carry it with you.â
Layla shifts closer, one paw resting on your leg as if sheâs promising the same.
And in that small, quiet living roomâwith heartbreak behind you and healing aheadâyou finally allow yourself to feel it all.
Grief. Anger. Love. Safety.
Because you were never alone in this.
The next morning. You wake up to the smell of something sweetâcinnamon, maybe vanillaâand the sound of a soft playlist humming from the kitchen.
The sunlight sneaks through the curtains in golden streaks. while the other side of the bed is warm but empty.
You sit up slowly, the ache from last night still sitting in your chest, but itâs⊠softer now.
A loud clatter from the kitchen followed by Jakeâs panicked voice, âNo! Layla, thatâs not for youâdrop the pancake! that's for my babyâ
Layla barks at Jake kinda in an angry way, definitely trying to say, "Bruh, i was your baby before her"
"Oops, I mean you're my baby too but~"Jake said.....
You canât help but laugh.
You swing your legs over the bed and shuffle toward the kitchen.
Jake is standing there in his cozy checkered pajama pants and one of his oversized hoodies, flour dusting his cheek and syrup on the counter. Laylaâs sitting obediently nearby with the most innocent expression everâeven though thereâs pancake batter on her nose.
âOh good, youâre up,â Jake says, grinning when he sees you. âDonât judge the chaos. This is all part of the master plan.â
He lifts a tray dramatically. âWeekend breakfast in bed for my wife. But the wife is now in the kitchen, ruining my big reveal.â
You giggle, heart already lighter. âI think the wife prefers breakfast with the chef anyway.â
He leans down to kiss your forehead. âI figured after last night⊠you deserved to start today with sweetness.â
You sit at the table, watching him plate everything. Cinnamon pancakes, fresh berries, hot coffee in your favorite mug, and a tiny vase with a single daisy.
âYou really did all this?â
âI bribed Layla with peanut butter to stay out of the kitchen. Failed miserably.â
Layla wags her tail like she knows exactly what she did.
You both sit and eat, warm and quiet, like the outside world doesnât exist. You donât realize how much you missed feeling peace until it fills you again.
This, this was home, your home , your actually true fucking home and you wouldn't trade it for anything
Umm i hope you liked this, ahh it was definitely a very messy story i wrote idk if i personally like this so I hope it was good or at least okayish, but okayyy ahhh byee myyy babiesss MWAHHH..
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