LUNA

Kiss Me If You Can 💋

[starryuns]

Luna’s MASTERLIST 🐾💜

✨ to MOA 🍀 & ZEROSE 🌹

TOMORROW X TOGETHER 🌙 :

| Thoughts - 💭 | Drabble - 🪻 | One-Shot - 🤍 | Fluff - ✨ | Angst - 💧| Smut - ❤️‍🔥 | Series - 🕊️

• CHOI SOOBIN

💭 : CEO Husband!Soobin ✨

🪻: Want A Ride? ❤️‍🔥

more member coming soon…

ZEROBASEONE ⭐ :

• RICKY

🕊️ : Tied To You Masterlist

more member coming soon…

ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

[creativepromptsforwriting]

good traits gone bad

perfectionism - never being satisfied

honesty - coming off as rude and insensitive

devotion - can turn into obsession

generosity - being taken advantage of

loyalty - can make them blind for character faults in others

being dependable - always depending on them

ambitiousness - coming off as ruthless

optimism - not being realistic

diligence - not able to bend strict rules

protectiveness - being overprotective

cautiousness - never risking anything

being determined - too focussed on one thing

persuasiveness - coming off as manipulative

tidiness - can become an obsession

being realistic - being seen as pessimistic

assertiveness - coming off as bossy

pride - not accepting help from others

innocence - being seen as naive

selflessness - not thinking about themself enough

being forgiving - not holding others accountable

curiosity - asking too many questions

persistence - being seen as annoying

being charming - can seem manipulative

modesty - not reaching for more

confidence - coming off as arrogant

wit/humor - not taking things serious

patience - being left hanging

strategic - coming off as calculated

being caring - being overbearing

tolerance - being expected to tolerate a lot

eagerness - coming off as impatient

being observant - being seen as nosy

independence - not accepting help

being considerate - forgetting about themself

fearlessness - ignoring real danger

politeness - not telling what they really think

reliability - being taken advantage of

empathy - getting overwhelmed with feeling too much for other people

[atinybitofau]

S A N ➪ the breakup

THE ONE WHERE YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU REALLY NEED

warnings: may contain triggering content. (non-suicidal, social anxiety, depression)

• it’s not your relationship.

• it’s not.

• it’s definitely you.

• and San will fight like a soldier in battle,

• with no other reason to live,

• just to keep you forever.

• but you can’t take it anymore.

• because sometimes when your heart hurts too much,

• you forget about the people who are really trying to help.

• he just wants to hold you forever— his baby.

• he’s holding you.

• shaking.

• trembling.

• scared.

• just like you are.

• “No. No. Hey, baby. Hey look at me. I can help you. Help you through this.”

• but you don’t let him.

• you think it’s wrong.

• wrong to let him suffer helping you because you’re so broken.

• you think he’s cutting himself by holding you.

• “San! Let go of me!”

• you flail trying to pry your boyfriend’s hands away as he tries to keep you steady—

• gentle all the same.

• he loves you.

• “I love you.” he’s crying to you, trying to cup your crying face in his hands. “I love you. And I’ll be here for you, baby. You just have to let me.”

• you shove him harder than you think.

• it’s hurting him.

• how you hard you push him away.

• and seeing you so frustrated that it’s driving him insane.

• “No, San! Stop helping me. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you.”

• you keep insisting.

• you don’t know that he’s keeping you together.

• you’re so torn by hurting him because you’re so broken,

• that you don’t see that you need him as much as you love him.

• “Get out. Get out! Leave me alone and please for the love of god, San. Don’t come back.”

• so he leaves you.

• but not because he wants too.

• but because he can’t watch you tear yourself apart because you think you don’t need him.

• months pass and you aren’t any happier.

• no actually—

• fuck you, because you’re selfish, is what you’re thinking.

• losing San might be the worst thing.

• the worst feeling.

• you’re sad enough as it is.

• and you do that to San?

• the biggest ball of sunshine to ever live.

• the only thing ever to put a smile on your face.

• his.

• now you want him back?

• you’re dumb.

• “H-he’s dating her?”

• Seonghwa sips on his coffee while he confesses to you. “It wasn’t something he wanted to do. His parents just think that maybe since you aren’t in the picture anymore that he’d be willing to marry into family benefits. Of course, he’d never say no to his mom.”

• it kills you.

• Seonghwa knows you aren’t suicidal.

• just sometimes not always there because you feel different from others.

• like, crying before you sleep.

• hiding in a locked room for days because you’re afraid of hurting people’s feelings.

• he knew that your heart was weak.

• that you need someone who can hold you even though you push them away.

• no better than San. EVERYONE knows that.

• “You okay, y/n?”

• “Hm?” you blink up through wet eyes and smile. “Yup, happy. Happy for him.”

• the handsome boy raises an eyebrow at you not convinced. “He’s not happy. I just told you his parents forced him into it.”

• “H-he deserves somebody.. who can take care of him too.”

• Seonghwa knows what you mean.

• knows too that you broke up with San because you didn’t WANT him to take care of you anymore.

• that you think you’re a burden in his life. Much less of a child.

• but he also knows that’s not true.

• “You know, y/n.” Seonghwa reaches over to hold your hand, something you didn’t know you needed for a long time. “It’s okay to be with San. To tell him you aren’t okay and let him hold you.”

• a tear falls from your face from his reminder.

• “There’s no one. NO ONE. In this world that can tolerate the pain of holding a broken glass like San can.”

• he’s telling you softly in a way he’s not direct. so he doesn’t hurt your feelings. “Don’t wait for the glass to break completely where he’d have to pick up the pieces, y/n. A little cut here and there won’t hurt anyone. Won’t if they’re trying to save someone.”

• you’re nervous.

• biting down on your lip as you hold the fluffy stuffed animal San gave you years ago to ease your griefs— your panics.

• but when a woman very familiar to you opens his door.

• you can’t help but think the plush pillow wasn’t going to do much.

• “H-hi, is San home?”

• her eyebrow arches eyes raking you up and down before sneering.

• “And can I ask why you need to know?”

• “Oh.” You look down at your feet tightening your grip on the pillow.

• seeing white, dizzy,

• for a moment pretending it’s San’s hand holding yours.

• “U-um. I.. I just want to.” you stutter over your words. “I thought I could.. I could come and talk to him? I-is that okay? Is it a wrong time?”

• she looks disgusted at your presence.

• it doesn’t help your anxiety.

• the little devils in your head that grew when San was away.

• you feel like falling and your eyes are blinking more.

• lost— completely lost and just looking for San.

• “Is this your way of trying to run back to him? After what you did breaking up with him?! You think coming here to my boyfriend’s house would be okay?”

• you stumble back and you don’t notice.

• how hysterical this woman was being.

• and the normal right thing to do was punch her sqaure in the face.

• but your heart is too weak, it really is.

• especially when hearing someone else call him her boyfriend.

• you see a glimpse of pure black before someone hoists you up.

• holds you tight before you fall to the ground.

• you’re shivering in his arms and he’s more scared than you are.

• “Baby? Hey baby, no look at me. Look at me, you’re okay.”

• you gulp, eyes wide when San’s holding you.

• one hand on your back and the other on your cheeks.

• he’s frantic and hot, worried like hell when his arranged girlfriend attempts to hurt you.

• hurt his baby.

• “She’s nothing, okay?” he’s moving so he meets your wavering eyes to keep you from looking to the woman behind him. “Her mouth is shit. Doesn’t know what’s good for her. Don’t listen to her dirty words. Baby, look at me.”

• you frown, fumbling with his shirt when your panic settles.

• settles when you look at him in his glowing eyes.

• like a crystal ball that hypnotizes you to serenity.

• “I love you.” his forehead’s pressed against yours now that your breathing has calmed.

• likes to feel it when your heart goes from fast to slow against his chest.

• “You love me too, that’s why you’re here right baby?”

• you nod hands moving so you could hold him back.

• rare.

• he knows it.

• knows you don’t give him much affection sometimes, not that he minds.

• but he feels you finally try.

• and girl does it SEND him.

• “Don’t cry.”

• he’s caressing you like fine glass that’s so thin he could break it any second.

• but he’s the only one.

• only ONE who can touch it without breaking it.

• “I love you so much and I’m so glad you’re here. You came to find me all by yourself.”

• you kiss his lips.

• now that he’s brought you back.

• “I’m sorry.” you mumble to look straight up at him the way he deserves. “I’m sorry for saying fucked up shit that could’ve ruined you. Could’ve made things worse for me and you. I’m so sorry, San.”

• “No.” his eyebrows furrow. “You didn’t make anything worse. Don’t say that to me.”

• now that you’re back.

• you’re ready to take care of him too.

• “San, I’m not all there sometimes.” You admit even though his girlfriend’s watching from behind. “I know I’m a lot of trouble. Hard to handle— when I have my attacks and I’m about ready to break. And you’ve always been there.”

• “I don’t mind. You know that.” San’s always ready for you no matter what you throw at him. “I don’t give a shit even if you think you don’t need me. If I know you do, you do. Alright?”

• “I feel bad. For making you have to take care of me sometimes. I’m not a child and you should never feel like you have to take more care of me than you actually do.”

• “I’d take care of you forever.”

• you chuckle because sometimes San’s more hopeless than you are.

• “I have no idea.” you tell him. “I have absolutely no idea how you can put up with my crap sometimes.”

• “But I know though. I know.”

• he presses another kiss to your lips not removing his as he pulls his now ex girlfriend out of his house and replaces her with the both of you.

• arms tangled and body against the door.

• “It’s because I love you. So fucking much. No one can take care of you like me.”

• you giggle under his lips fingers grazing his flawless jaw.

• “I want to take care of you too this time. This time if you let me.”

• he lifts you up so your legs are wrapped around him and your arms rest on his shoulders on each side of his head.

• “Baby you’ve always taken care of me. You just never knew it.”

• you didn’t know that.

• didn’t realize cause you think you’ve got bigger problems than him.

• but he gets sad too.

• get’s angry too.

• states of panic too.

• but you’ve always been there to hold his hand.

• “I was thinking I lost you.” he’s pressing you so close, you feel like if you move you might break him. “Thought I’d never have you hold me again. That I’d never be able to take care of my baby again. That maybe you really didn’t need me anymore.”

• you shake your head against him, your laugh sending him to places better than heaven if they existed. “Even if I tell you I don’t. I think at this point we both know I do.”

• he kisses you again.

• more for closure than anything else.

• “I love you, y/n. So much it’ll kill me. So will you take care of me for a long time? As long as you can. As long as you’re able.”

• you obviously can’t say no.

• not when he needs you as much as you need him.

@atinybitofau

[xuchiya]

ANGST arranged marriage San please 😖 like so angsty my heart drops but also please like allude to comfort at the end otherwise my heart might stop

the contract husband || choi san || request

| genre: angst with comfort. husband! choi san. | mentions: marriage of convience. mean san but he will be soft soon. mention of san has a lover before he got married.

word count: 5.7k

The rain didn’t stop the day you married Choi San.

It didn’t drizzle or soften into something romantic—it poured, relentlessly, as though the sky itself was mourning. The clouds had wept from morning until now, thick and heavy sheets hammering the earth like sobs no one dared to speak aloud. The wedding bells rang, but their sound—meant to symbolize joy and new beginnings—was hollow, clanging like distant echoes in a tunnel you couldn’t escape. What was supposed to flutter your heart only worsened the pounding in your head.

This wedding wasn’t a celebration. It was a performance.

The reception had long begun, though you felt like a guest in your own life. You wore a second dress—something lighter, shinier, stitched with elegance—but no amount of fabric could hide how stiff your smile felt. Your cheeks ached from holding it up, a porcelain doll carved into place. You wanted to peel the day off your skin like a costume that clung too tight.

Weddings were supposed to be unforgettable—a core memory carved into the heart. But this one, you knew, would haunt you instead. A memory that would replay in your mind like a scratched record—over and over again, even when you begged for silence.

Outside, guests huddled under umbrellas, their hems soaked and shoes squelching against the marbled floors. They filed in one by one, murmuring polite congratulations with smiles more rehearsed than heartfelt. These weren’t your friends. These weren’t even strangers. They were your father’s loyal employees—people who bowed more to power than to people.

You remembered standing at the altar, the garden outside drowned in grey, the flowers you chose weeks before now beaten down by rain. You had looked out at that storm and thought, “How fitting.” The heavens cried louder than either of you could.

You glance down now at the ring on your finger—a thin gold band that shone with cruel clarity under the reception lights. It gleamed like a joke. A promise without a heart behind it. Your happily ever after had been reduced to ink on a contract. San’s signature, your signature. Two strokes of a pen and a lifetime of pretending.

This wasn’t love. It was logistics.

A union not of souls but of stocks and legacy. It had always been this way—your life negotiated by others, your future traded like currency for someone else’s security. You were the daughter. The heir. The bargaining chip.

You sighed, quickly catching it and smoothing your features again as another guest approached. A man with a wrinkled smile and distant eyes—the type of man who shook hands with your father in boardrooms, not the kind who remembered your name. You nodded, playing the part. You always did.

But then—amidst the blur of suits and champagne flutes—you heard a voice that pulled you back to something real, “I last remember you—you still had pigtails and two broken teeth.”

You turned, and there she was. Your old neighbor. The woman who used to exchange fruits with your mother over the fence, who slipped you candies and told you fairy tales with wrinkled hands and kind eyes. The only one who ever showed up without asking for something in return.

She didn’t know the full story—didn’t need to. She could feel it. The falseness of this day. The absence of the groom. The ache behind your smile.

She sat beside you, settling quietly in the chair where San should have been. You didn’t even flinch. The word husband still didn’t sit right on your tongue. Not when the boy you once adored had become a man you barely recognized—distant, unreadable, hollowed out by expectation just like you.

Your grandmother figure patted your arm gently, her touch warm and grounding, “Happy endings don’t always wait at the end,” she said softly.

You looked down, brows drawn, the corners of your lips tight. Your voice cracked beneath the weight of everything you weren’t allowed to say, “I won’t even have that… not even in my other lives.”

She only chuckled softly, a knowing warmth in her weathered eyes, “Oh, dear… it’ll just be today. But I promise you—it will get better. Look…” Her wrinkled fingers lifted, pointing across the ballroom. You followed the direction of her gesture and your gaze landed on a small group of men.

Choi San. Your contract husband.

He looked unfairly perfect today. That tailored gray vest hugged his torso like it had been sewn by the gods themselves—crisp lines, subtle sheen, every button carefully done except for the rolled-up sleeves of his striped shirt, betraying a casual arrogance that somehow made him even more irresistible. The pale blue stripes added this quiet, intellectual edge, and don’t even get me started on that black tie—slim, elegant, like he was trying to behave but kept forgetting he was a trouble incarnate.

And those glasses? Please. Wire-thin, perfectly perched on his nose, making his sharp jawline and dark hair look even more devastating. He was talking with his colleagues so easily, tilting his head with that little smirk that said he knew exactly how good he looked, voice low and teasing, like silk over gravel.

He wasn’t just handsome. He was composed, magnetic, impossible to ignore. The kind of man who made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. The kind of man who could make the whole room feel smaller just by glancing in your direction. And the worst part? You were in love and he doesn’t.

And the pain of one-sided love didn’t begin on your wedding day. No, it started long before—when you first learned who your contract husband would be.

Choi San. A name you hadn’t uttered in years, but one that had never truly left your heart. You’d buried those feelings six years ago during your college days, back when love was just a passing ache and not the lifeline you clung to now.

He had been a friend of a friend. You only met him a handful of times, usually when Seonghwa brought you along to small gatherings, campus events, late-night dinners. But even then—just from those few brief moments—you knew. It was love at first sight, or something terrifyingly close to it. You’d find your thoughts drifting back to him for days after, replaying the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his laughter seemed to echo louder than the rest.

He had been warm then. Kind. Effortlessly charming. The kind of person who made you want to believe in timing and fate.

And when the announcement came—when you were told you were to be married for the sake of your family’s legacy—you hadn’t expected it to be him. But the universe, in its twisted irony, had chosen San. You had stood there, stunned, the name echoing in your ears like a whisper from the past. But when you turned to face him, he didn’t even flinch.

There was no surprise in his eyes. No softness. It was just silence, the mere thought of bringing up about your bond back then would only increase the emotions swirling inside his chest, so you kept it to yourself and be more vigilant on your choice of words.

It was as if every memory you’d clung to—every soft smile, every shared laugh—had been erased from his heart. Like they had meant nothing. His features were composed, unreadable. But his eyes were different now—hard, cold, as if they'd forgotten how to look at you the way they once had. From that moment on, he became someone else. A stranger draped in the skin of someone you used to know. The warm boy you fell for was gone. In his place stood a man who kept his distance, who answered with clipped words and silent glances. He was polite when necessary, detached when possible. Cold—almost deliberately so.

And still, you loved him.

A quiet, stubborn kind of love—the kind that didn’t make sense to anyone but you. Those who knew would only shake their heads, whisper behind closed doors about how naive you were. Gullible. Foolish. Blind to the way he treated you. They said you clung to a fantasy, to a man who barely looked at you, who left you with silence and half-hearted gestures.

And maybe they were right. But even so, you stayed. You hoped. You held onto the fragile belief that one day—someday—your feelings would be returned. That beneath all his cold distance, there might still be a part of him waiting to love you back.

When the day of the wedding came, the venue was everything out of a fairytale. Floral arches, soft lights, strings of pearls, and an aisle meant for dreams. A little girl’s fantasy—but a bride’s quiet nightmare.

Because not everything magical is meant to feel real. San stood at the altar like a statue—stone-faced, still. He didn’t turn when you approached. Didn’t smile. He didn’t reach for your hand until the officiant gestured for it, and even then, his touch was mechanical—gentle, but empty. When he slid the ring onto your finger, his jaw was locked tight, his shoulders strained beneath his perfectly tailored suit.

There was no love in his eyes. No pride nor hesitation. Only duty, an obligation he has to fulfil. A role he was forced to play.

And when it came time for the ceremonial kiss, his lips merely brushed your cheek—a formality more than a gesture. Fleeting. Hollow. A ghost of affection that never quite arrived. Then, later that night, he sealed your fate with a single line. “Don’t wait up for me,” he said coolly, loosening his tie with practiced indifference. “This room is yours. I’ll stay in the study.”

And that was three months ago. Three months of pretending. Three months of cold dinners and colder silences. Three months of separate rooms, separate lives, and separate hearts. And yet, somehow, your love for him still lingered—quiet and uninvited, like the echo of a dream you couldn’t forget.

The mansion was too big for silence—and yet, somehow, it echoed with it.

Every footstep felt like it traveled forever, swallowed by the polished floors and tall, hollow ceilings. Even the ticking of the antique clocks seemed louder than your own voice. The halls were pristine, untouched, like a museum of a life that wasn’t being lived. The air was cold, not from the weather, but from absence. It was a house built for grandeur—yet all you could feel in it was emptiness. The loneliness didn’t scream. It settled quietly into your bones.

You passed like ghosts—brushing past each other in the mornings, shoulders nearly grazing, eyes barely meeting. Sometimes you wondered if he even saw you at all. Breakfasts shared in silence. Evenings spent in opposite corners of the same room. You lived parallel lives that never intersected—like two actors stuck in different plays, sharing a single stage. You shared a last name, but not a life. A bed in title only. A love story that never started.

It wasn’t hatred. Not exactly. Hatred, at least, was loud. Hatred burned. This was something colder, something quieter—like fog that never lifted and the clouds of gray stayed still, covering what is left of the blue sky. It wasn’t even indifference, because sometimes he looked at you like he wanted to say something but swallowed it instead.

And that was worse. Because it meant there was something there, something unspoken. But never enough.

When his eyes met yours, there was always a flicker—something sharp and unreachable. Was it guilt? Regret? A memory he didn’t want to hold? Or worse, did he blame you? Did he see you as the lock on the door he never wanted to enter? Every time you searched his face for something—anything—you found only that wall. Cold stone, smooth and impassable.

But you tried. God, you tried—over and over again—to make things lighter, softer, bearable for the both of you. You smiled when he didn’t. You spoke when the silence stretched too long. You left the door open, just in case he ever decided to walk through it.

But every time you took a step forward, he took three back. And nothing echoes louder than the silence of a breaking heart.

Still, you stayed. Still, you hoped. Because you were stubborn—foolishly, fiercely so. Because love, real love, doesn’t die easily. Not when it began so softly. Not when it bloomed from something innocent, untainted by bitterness. Not even when it was one-sided.

Not even when it hurts.

And you were determined to make a change.

You knew you weren’t the strongest emotionally. You weren’t made of steel, and you never pretended to be. But this—this—was where you drew the line. Where you faced the very thing you’d always struggled with: fighting for what you wanted. For what you deserved.

You had loved Choi San since your senior year of college—quietly, patiently, from the sidelines. And though your love had never been loud, never demanding, it had lasted. And now, for the first time, you were ready to try. Not for validation. Not for approval.

But for him.

You were reaching out. You made breakfast once—his favorite, remembered from years ago. You had gotten up before the sun, the mansion still draped in blue shadows. The kitchen light flickered softly above you, casting a golden glow on your quiet effort. Eggs, rice, and seaweed soup. Just like he liked it back in college—when things were simpler, lighter, when the distance between you hadn’t yet turned into a wall. The kitchen smells like comfort food—but it’s not comforting at all. It’s heavy, oppressive. The steam clings to the walls like it’s trying to fill the silence between you, but the silence is too wide. Too cold.

He comes in without a word. Doesn’t even glance your way.

The door clicks softly behind him, and he walks like he’s already miles ahead—his hair still damp, swept back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw, the resolute cut of his cheekbones. He looks every bit the Grand Duke—polished, powerful, untouchable. His vest is pressed, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal expensive cufflinks. The suit jacket slung over his arm completes the picture. Ready for meetings. Strategy. A future that doesn’t seem to include you.

You hear your own heartbeat before your voice even comes out.

“San-ssi… wait.” It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough to make him stop—just long enough to glance over his shoulder. A flicker of acknowledgment. That brief second is all you need, and yet it still takes effort to pull the next words from your throat.

“Please…” You swallow. “Please have breakfast before you go.” The silence stretches between you like a taut thread. His gaze shifts—finally—not to you, but to the table. You’ve laid everything out: a warm soup still steaming, fried eggs arranged neatly, fresh rice, a small plate of pickled radish, even a slice of orange peeled just the way he used to like it. Like muscle memory.

He turns his back to you, “I don’t eat breakfast.” He starts toward the door again, and your fingers twitch—instinctively reaching out, though you don’t move.

“At least,” you say softly, “have the soup. Just a few bites. It’s… it’s cold outside. Your stomach will hurt if it’s empty.”

You curse yourself for the way your voice shakes at the end. You didn’t mean to push. You know better—this is a contract marriage, just ink on paper. Expectations were never part of the deal. But still… you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want to be strangers under the same roof.

There’s a pause—heavy, uncertain. Then, a slow exhale, “…Fine.” He turns and walks toward the table. Shrugs off his coat and drapes it neatly over the chair before sliding into the seat. You hold your breath as he picks up the spoon and lifts it to his lips. A faint puff of steam. One sip. Another. And then… he stops. His hand lowers.

“Now stop pestering me.” The spoon clinks against the bowl as he places it down with surgical precision. He rises to his feet, collects his coat without looking at you, and walks out. No thank you. No acknowledgment. Not even a glance. Only the sound of the front door slamming shut behind him, loud enough to jar the silence he left behind.

You stand there, rooted to the floor. “Take care…” you whisper. You try to smile—try to be the version of yourself who could pretend—but your lips won’t cooperate. The corners tremble. The effort tastes like iron.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to press the ache back into place. The room is still warm from the soup, but you’re freezing from the inside out. It feels like frost coats your ribs with every shallow breath you take. You don’t know what hurts more: the sting behind your eyes or the hollow in your chest that grows heavier with every morning like this. All you wanted was for him to look at you—really look—and remember who you were to him once. Friends. A bond forged before title and duty and distance hardened his heart.

But now there’s only a shadow in his eyes.

And you’re left standing alone in your own kitchen, holding your heartbreak like something fragile you don’t know how to set down. Loving a ghost who doesn’t know you’re haunting him too. The room is so quiet you can hear it—your own heart breaking. And somehow, you wonder if he hears it too. 

If he does… would he even care?

The second time you both shared the same space and time was during a thunderstorm—the kind that blanketed the sky in slate gray and rolled thunder deep enough to rattle the floorboards. Rain lashed against the windows like it had something to say. The power had already flickered twice, the fireplace barely holding its glow. A single book lamp clipped to the spine of your novel cast a soft halo of light onto the page, the only other source of warmth in the room besides the slow-breathing embers.

You were curled on one end of the couch, lost in the unfinished book you bought a few days ago. Words blurred and sharpened between each flash of lightning. Across from you, he sat with his laptop open, glasses slipping down his nose, eyes flicking between email replies and graphs you didn’t pretend to understand. The storm hummed between you—constant and low, a pressure in the air that made your skin buzz.

A bolt of lightning tore through the sky so violently it lit the entire living room like a snapshot—bright and blinding. A second later, the thunder cracked. Sharp. Immediate.

The power cut out. Silence rushed in.

Your breath caught, and instinct took over. You reached out, without thinking—just a small touch, the barest brush of your fingers against his. Not even a full gesture. Just… closeness. Humans. Unspoken. Comfort in the dark. But he flinched. Hard. Pulled away so fast it startled you more than the thunder. It wasn’t loud—but it felt loud. Like something inside you had been exposed and immediately dismissed.

Like your touch had burned. You stayed frozen, hand still halfway between you. The air felt colder somehow, heavier. The rejection sat between your ribs, thudding louder than the storm itself. He didn’t say anything—no apology, no look back.

“I’ll check the fuse box,” San murmur before standing up and disappearing down the hallway, laptop still humming faintly with its battery light. 

And you sat there. Alone again. The storm outside felt smaller compared to the one brewing quietly in your chest. You let your hand drop into your lap, your fingertips tingling from a touch that hadn’t even happened. You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were being dramatic. But the thing about loneliness is that it feels louder in the dark. 

The last words you heard — so simple, so unintended — were what finally shattered whatever fragile thread had been holding you together.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. It was just dinner. His birthday. You had spent the entire afternoon trying to make it feel special, to soften the growing distance that settled like a wall of glass between you. You told yourself it didn’t need to be perfect — just enough to remind him that you were still here, still trying, even when it felt like he wasn’t.

So you climbed the stairs to his study with every step, you rehearsed your lines: something light, something kind. Maybe he'd smile. Maybe he'd look at you the way he used to. Or maybe consider being acquainted instead of being completely strangers.

But right as you reached the door, knuckles hovering mid-air, his voice bled through the wood — low, muffled, but unmistakably his.

“I didn’t want this.”

You froze. At first, your heart knocked louder than your fist ever could. Then silence fell heavy in your chest, as if your ribs had caved in to keep it from breaking. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You never wanted to know like this. But curiosity, or maybe desperation, kept your feet nailed to the floor. Your hand dropped limply to your side as you leaned in, barely breathing.

“I didn’t want any of this,” he said again, voice rough and frayed, like someone who had been holding something in for far too long. There was a tremble in it — not from anger, but from exhaustion. Like he’d been carrying too much for too long, and now it was spilling out in a room where you weren’t meant to hear.

“I didn’t choose this marriage.” The words fall like a blade, slicing through the quiet — and through you. There’s a pause, one that stretches too long, too heavy. Your eyes flick around the hallway as if looking for something to hold on to, anything to make this moment less real. But nothing comes. And when the next words land, it’s like your heart tears straight from your chest.

“Every time I look at her, I think of what I gave up — what I lost. I lost her because of this marriage. She told me to focus on my wife, but I know she’s hurting because of this!”

The breath stutters out of your lungs.  Not like a gasp. Not like a cry. But like something breaking — something vital that doesn’t come back. You don’t wait to hear more. You can’t. Not when the silence that follows feels like it’s cracking open your ribcage, spilling everything you were holding onto.

Who was she? The one he gave up for this marriage?

The thought alone sends a sick, twisting feeling through your gut. Did she come before you? Was she someone he still held in his heart during the vows, the dinners, the nights you tried so hard to believe were real?

You thought you had time. You thought, maybe, love would come eventually.

But now it all feels like a lie wrapped in routine. Your throat tightens. Your vision begins to swim, and your legs start to move — more from instinct than thought. You stumble backward, the hallway suddenly too narrow, the walls too close, like they’re closing in on your every breath.

You don’t know how you make it to the bedroom — or if you even make it fully inside. Maybe you collapse just past the doorframe. Maybe your knees give way the moment your fingers curl around the doorknob. But you hear the soft click of the door shutting behind you, and then—

Your body caves in like it’s been waiting for this moment to fall apart. 

And then the tears came. Not in sobs—no. You gasp, like you’re drowning on dry land. Each breath feels like a battle. Each cry, a jagged thing caught in your throat. It’s the kind of heartbreak that makes you fold in on yourself, arms around your ribs as if you could somehow hold the pieces together. The kind of pain that feels physical, like grief itself is clawing its way through your chest, trying to tear something loose.

You loved him.

God, you loved him. Quietly. Stubbornly. Painfully. For years.

You cradled that love like it was sacred, something worth waiting for. Something that might finally bloom if you just held on long enough. You memorized the shape of his silence, learned how to live in the shadows of his indifference. You reached for him a hundred times with trembling hands, never once asking for more than he was willing to give—and yet, you kept reaching.

Maybe that’s the cruelest part of all. That even now—even after hearing him say he didn’t want this, after realizing he had never truly seen you as someone worth choosing—some part of you still held on. Some part of you still hoped. You cry until your throat is raw, until your body feels hollow, until there’s nothing left but the eerie quiet that follows a storm. And in that silence, the truth settles in like dust on a forgotten shelf.

It all makes sense now.

The early mornings. The late nights. The way he barely looked at you across the dinner table, the way he seemed to flinch when your fingers brushed. It was never you. It was never going to be you. Maybe there was respect—some shred of duty he tried to honor. But love?

No. That had always belonged to someone else. And the worst part isn’t just that he loved another. It’s that while you were trying, giving, hoping—he had already been comforted in someone else’s arms. And that made you sick as your attempts were probably making him uncomfortable while he is still with someone. 

And in that moment, you wished — God, you wished — you had stayed downstairs. Stayed safe in ignorance. Because now you know. This day… this birthday, it wasn’t a celebration. It was either your release — the final sign to let go of whatever love you were still foolish enough to hold — or a curse, proof that no matter what you did, no matter how much you gave, Choi San would never choose you.

And you were alone and a fool this whole time.

When the moon was high and the tears had finally run dry, you found yourself turning toward the window, where pale moonlight spilled across the floor like a silent witness to your grief. Your heart no longer ached—it simply felt... numb. Hollowed out. Every breath you took now came with a subtle stagger, the kind that lingered in the chest long after the sobs had stopped.

You wanted to stay. God knows you did.

But the thought of him loving someone else—being devoted to someone else—settled into your bones like frost. And suddenly, staying felt more like cruelty than courage.

After all, this was never a love story. Just a contract signed in convenience, not affection.

You closed your eyes, took one last breath, and stood.

Your gaze drifted toward the top shelf of the closet, where your luggage waited—untouched, collecting dust like the parts of yourself you had set aside for him. With a heavy heart and steadier hands than you expected, you pulled it down and began to pack. Quietly. Carefully. One piece of clothing at a time, as if folding away the life you never got to fully live.

By the time the first traces of dawn kissed the sky, your feet were already moving—carrying you down the grand hallways of the mansion you once shared. The silence echoed around you like farewell.

Outside, the air was cool. Crisp. Still unfamiliar.

You glanced up toward the bedroom window one last time, heart tightening—but not breaking. Not anymore.

A sigh escaped your lips as your driver hoisted your luggage into the trunk. You apologized softly for waking him up so early. He only offered a tired smile, “It’s my duty to give you proper service.”

You were gone before San ever stirred from bed. Not that he’d notice. Not that he ever truly had.

Three days passed. Not a single word from San. No calls, no messages, not even the faintest sign of worry or regret. The silence on his end said more than any explanation could, and it solidified the truth you had been avoiding: there was no space left in his heart for you. Whatever hope you had clung to was now nothing more than a delusion, one that withered the moment you realized someone else had already claimed what you had been quietly, desperately fighting for.

The only person who showed any concern was Seonghwa, the only friend who had always tried to stay neutral in the middle of your fragile marriage. He stopped by your apartment once, gently asking if you were okay before leaving behind a bag of groceries and a look of quiet sympathy. His presence felt like closure—a soft but firm reminder that you no longer belonged in the world you once shared with San.

That evening, you returned from the convenience store dressed in baggy sweatpants and an oversized sweater, the soft cotton doing little to warm the cold that settled deep in your bones. In your hand was a black plastic bag filled with snacks and two bottles of soju you planned to finish before the night was over. It was a far cry from the delicate dresses and soft perfumes you used to wear around the mansion. There, you adorned yourself with hope, with effort, with the constant wish that maybe, just maybe, he would notice. Here, alone, you wore exhaustion—both emotional and physical.

As you climbed the narrow stairs toward your apartment, your heart jumped when you spotted a sleek, familiar car parked near the curb. It looked just like his—same model, same color, same quiet presence. For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. But just as quickly, you forced yourself to exhale and shook your head in bitter self-mockery.

"Not every car with the same brand is his, stupid," you murmured to yourself, pushing down the flicker of foolish hope that rose uninvited.

You punched in your code, stepped inside, and were met with the dim hum of the apartment light flickering on. The space around you was quiet, almost painfully so. It wasn’t home, but at least it didn’t lie. You took off your shoes, dropped your bag on the floor, and settled onto the carpet, unpacking your snacks one by one with the heavy detachment of someone just trying to pass time.

Scrolling through Netflix, you chose the first series that didn’t remind you of him. You weren’t watching to enjoy anything—you just needed noise to fill the silence. But before the opening credits could even begin, a soft knock interrupted the quiet hum of the TV. You frowned, eyes darting toward the security screen, which had lit up automatically at the sound. You stood up, walking towards the small screen attached to the wall next to the dining area. And there he was.

San.

Soaked from the rain, hair clinging to his forehead, breath uneven, eyes shadowed with something unreadable. For a heartbeat, you stared, trying to convince yourself that maybe it was a glitch. Maybe he had the wrong apartment. Maybe—God help you—he had come here by mistake, looking for her.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You were ready to turn away, to let the unanswered knock echo into the silence, when his voice came through the speaker, soft and raw.

"I'm sorry..." You froze. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest as you stood in the middle of your apartment, unsure whether to stay or ignore. "I just..." he exhaled, voice barely holding together, "I was in love before we got married. And I lost her. Not because of you—just... time. Life."

You are listening now intrigued with the sudden confession—not just hearing, "I resented everything after that,” he continued, his voice shaking. “Especially the things I couldn’t choose. The things I couldn’t control.”

He paused, and the silence that followed carried more weight than all the words that came before, you saw how his eyes shook as if they were looking for your eyes or if you were , listening the whole time, "But I never meant to hurt you."

You move silently towards the door, your heart had taken control of your moves after hearing his side, your fingers twisting the knob as you pushed it slightly open for him to catch a sight of you— out of your normal dresses. You ignore the way his eyes shine, your voice was quiet, not accusing—just tired. “Why now?”

“Why come here now?”

He swallowed thickly, stepped closer, and though he made no move to reach for you, there was something unsteady in his posture, like even standing there cost him more than he’d admit, “Because for the first time, whenever you weren’t in the house,” he whispered. “And it was unbearable.”

Your heart squeezed. It was cruel, how much you still wanted to believe him. But the wounds were still fresh, and your trust was buried somewhere beneath the debris of all the days he chose silence over you, “That doesn’t mean anything,” you said, voice quivering. “You told me you never wanted this.”

He looked down, rain still dripping from his lashes. “I didn’t choose the marriage,” he admitted. “But... I’m choosing you now.”

There was no grandeur in his words. No desperation. Just quiet truth, spoken by someone who finally understood what it meant to lose something they didn’t take the time to see.

His gaze to yours was soft and honest, and this time, there was no wall between you—only the weight of everything left unsaid, “I’m not saying this because I feel guilty. Or because I think I deserve anything from you,” he said slowly. “I came here because somewhere along the way, you became a part of me. And if you’ll let me… I want to stay. This time, for real.”

You didn’t run into his arms. Not tonight. Not yet. The ache inside you hadn’t magically vanished, and the rain outside hadn’t fully stopped. Quietly. Carefully. You opened the door—not all the way, just enough. Enough to let him in from the rain. And in that small moment, something shifted between you. The silence didn’t disappear, but it softened. The space between you didn’t close entirely, but it no longer felt impossible to cross.

The rain stopped not long after.

And this time, as San stepped over the threshold, he wasn’t here because of a contract. He was here because he finally chose to be your husband.

i'm so so sorry, my loves if it's late!!

[hsudus]

Official Misty Invasion Commissions by Papergames

Zayne: [Rocking Chair Massage. Li Shen Theme]

Xavier: [Miss, it's time to go to bed. Shen Xing returns to the topic]

Rafayel: [Mandarin Duck Bath. Qi Yu Theme]

Sylus: [Healthy Shower. Qin Che Theme]

Papergames commissioned different artists on each of the guys. So if you want to know who made it, look closely at the tags 👍🏻

[frontallobemuzik]

kiss you right | l.hj

SYNOPSIS: There’s only one reason why you’d call Hyunjae this late at night, and it was always because of your asshole boyfriend. He’s sick of it. And as your best friend, he knew he had to do something about it.

CONTENT WARNING: fingering, cheating!!, dacryphilia, biting, best friend lhj, he might be a bit obsessive and crazy, all the men in your life are red flags :(

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

A/N: sorry for the long wait! i didn’t like how my first draft turned out so i had to rewrite everything from start to finish </3. tbh, i feel like i couldve also done better with this one but I feel like I've been putting this off for too long sooo.. anw this isn't beta read!

P.S. this was supposed to be cute and sweet but i cant help it !! (is it obvious i have a type)

It’s two in the morning when Hyunjae wakes from the ringing of his phone. It was you calling, of course, and there’s only one reason why you’d call at this time. Despite his body’s unwillingness to move, he forces himself to sit up and reach for his phone on the nightstand.

“Hello?” he answers, groggy from sleep. His voice is rough and his throat feels parched, but he forces himself to speak. 

“Jae…”

The tone of your voice told him all he had to know, confirming his earlier suspicions. It was your boyfriend again, what else would he expect? You probably saw that dick at a bar with another girl and you needed Hyunjae’s comfort as your best friend.

Again. 

“Do you want me to come over?” He asks, already standing up from his bed and heading over to the door. Hyunjae hears your sniffles through the phone as he swipes his motorcycle keys off the kitchen counter, tossing a leather jacket over his figure and slipping his feet into his shoes.

“Please?”

Hyunjae finds you swaddled in blankets when he enters your room, eyes puffy as tears run down your face. Even when you’re like this — sad and crying, he can’t help but think how beautiful you still looked. With your long, pretty lashes wet from tears and your pink lips swollen and red from the constant biting — to Hyunjae, you looked almost perfect.

He almost wished you'd never have another good day in your life.

Gently, Hyunjae calls out your name, taking slow and steady steps over to your bed. You don’t make any sign of acknowledging him as he sits next to you, keeping his silence. He patiently waits for you to say something first, pulling you into a hug as you cry into his chest.

This occurrence was something like a routine for the both of you.

It came natural to him to come over to your place, see you cry, and to comfort you. It was the same old thing over and over again. But weirdly enough, Hyunjae didn’t mind. In fact, he quite liked this little arrangement — liked that he could see up close how your face beautifully contorted as you cried to him. 

Call him crazy or sadistic, but the way tears rolled down your face had always turned him on. Hyunjae found it hot when you’d heave and the breath got stuck in your throat, almost as if you were choking. He likes when you cling to him, scratching his back and biceps as he whispered in your ear. It’s sick how he fantasizes about you when he gets home — stroking his cock to the little sounds you made when you cry, but is it really his fault when you were just... so cute?

If only it wasn’t your boyfriend that made you cry. If only it was him. If only he could make you cry of pleasure and pain.

“I-I saw him with someone else again… at a bar.” You mumble, eyes distant as your hands gripped Hyunjae’s shirt. Seeing as you’ve calmed down enough to talk, Hyunjae pulls you closer and lets you lay your head on his thigh, stroking your hair as you tell him whatever the fuck your boyfriend did wrong again. “It was a different girl from last time.”

“Of course it is. You never learn, don’t you?” It slips out of his mouth before he realizes, and it takes Hyunjae a minute to compose himself before he meets your eyes once again. Only when he sees the tears brimming the corners of your eyes did he recognize his mistake, quick to console you. “Wait, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you cut him off with a sigh, “you’re right, Jae. I really never learn. No matter how many times he breaks my heart, I still come running back to him.”

You cover your eyes with your arm, too afraid to see what face Hyunjae was making at your confession. “Even now, I still miss him. I mean… he was my first, you know? A-and he treated me well.” Feeling shameful, you turn away from your best friend’s figure, cheeks red as you curl yourself into a ball. Despite how embarrassed you feel with admitting that fact to your best friend, it was true. Younghoon took all your firsts, from being your first boyfriend, first kiss, and to your first fuck.

He took all of it.

That’s why it hurt so much when you saw him with another girl the first time. After that incident, he started being hot and cold. Younghoon was confusing. If he wanted something from you, he’d be all sweet and clingy, like when the both of you were new lovers. But after that, he’d be cold again, and you’d catch him out somewhere with a woman clinging to his side.

It was pathetic that you still wanted him with how many times you’ve fought from catching him red-handed — pathetic that even if he already wanted to break up, you kept clinging to him like a leech.

“Is that it..?” Hyunjae whispers, and a beat passes before you could bring yourself to answer.

‘What do you mea—”

“Is that really the only reason? Because he’s good at sex? Baby, of course he is. He’s good ‘cause he fucks everyone!”

“Jae, of course it’s not just—”

“Shit!” Hyunjae runs a hand over his hair, tossing you into the middle of your bed as he slips himself in between your legs. He pins you under his arms, bangs falling over his eyes as he stares you down. As your cheeks flush a rosy red from the proximity, you can’t deny the heat that ran through your body from the way he manhandled you. This side of him was unfamiliar, something that you’ve never seen before, but despite that, you didn’t feel scared.

You felt excited.

But you know you should push him away.

So you put your palm on his chest, trying to push him away but he doesn’t budge.

“Don’t you know how many times I had to hold myself back from pouncing on you like this?” You feel his breath fan over your lips, so close that just one wrong move and your lips would meet. “Don’t you know how hard it was to control myself — to stop myself from pinning you to this bed and fucking you till I can’t tell night from day?”

Your breath hitches in your throat from Hyunjae’s sudden confession, shocked as you stared back at his hooded eyes swirling with want and lust. The feelings of nervousness and excitement pounded in your heart, quickly forgetting about what it is you were crying about. All that ran through your mind right now was the man in front of you and the way he looked at you as if he could devour you whole.

Hyunjae shifts his head to the side of your neck, nose tickling your skin as he inhales your scent. His knee shifts closer to your core, hands sliding up your waist and teasing just beneath your chest

When you feel his lips kiss along the shell of your ear, your breath hitches, spine tingling with anticipation. This feeling was all too new to you. Never in your whole two years with Younghoon did he ever make you feel this way — this zoo running rampant in your stomach, this heat spreading all throughout your body, and the wetness between your legs.

Yes, Younghoon turned you on, but he never got you this wet and wanting — never had your toes curling and fists clenching your bedsheets from just a kiss.

“Tell me you want me,” he whispers, “and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give all of myself to you.”

The warmth of his hand slipping under your shirt elicits a gasp from your lips as you instinctively put a hand between the both of you, but despite you pushing on his chest, Hyunjae doesn’t move an inch. His bangs fall over your face as he continues to stare you down with lust, eyes dark as he waits for a signal, itching to finally move his hand and touch you like he did in dreams.

Although he technically still had to hold back so as to not scare you off, Hyunjae was already happy that he was even given a chance. This kind of scenario was one he never even thought would be happening in real life. He was convinced that you'd never even take a glance his way when you were so blinded with your (soon-to-be) ex-boyfriend. But here he was now in reality, relishing the feel of your smooth skin under his fingertips.

Once you say yes, Hyunjae will make it his life’s mission to fuck you so thoroughly you’d forget you were even in a relationship in the first place. He’d do you so, so well that you’d want to be his instead.

It’s when his fingers slowly trace over the tattoo right under your left chest that you finally speak, out of breath as you pull him closer by his shirt. The temptation in his lips, the lust in his eyes, and the hint of desperation in his voice was all it took to entice you. Like a man at sea to a mermaid's song, he lured you in.

“Yes, please just — fuck! I want you, Jae. I want you so so ba—”

Hyunjae doesn’t give you a chance to finish your sentence when he smashes his lips onto yours, selfish in taking each of your breaths for himself. He lets his greed consume him, pouring all the years of longing for you into this first kiss.

Ever since the day he first laid eyes on you back in high school, he knew it was over for him — knew that he just had to have you. But that stupid fuck just had to step in and ruin everything with his playboy charm, and little ol’ you were just quick to fall for Younghoon’s tricks.

With each bite, kiss, and suck on your neck, Hyunjae lets his jealousy overflow, painting splotches of red, blue, and violet all over your skin. When you gasp in pain, squirming in discomfort, he doesn’t stop, blinded by his selfish desires. You should’ve known Hyunjae was a greedy man — should’ve known that if you let him, he’d take and take and take.

He’ll take all that you can give him until you were wholly his. Be it mind, body, heart, and soul.

As Hyunjae’s lips creep lower and lower, his slender fingers find purchase onto the waistband of your pajamas, making quick work of it as he tosses the garment somewhere in your room. He presses a kiss below your navel before capturing your lips once more, heedless in the way he bites your lip and lets his teeth clash with yours. It was a kiss that only knew how to consume — a kiss that held years of want and desperation.

Hyunjae was unkind with his ways, unfair when he cups your heat and presses his fingers over the wet spot on the fabric of your panties. The smirk on his face was undeniable, you feel it in the way the corner of his lips curl upward when he steals one last peck. You were so turned on by him that it was almost embarrassing. You shouldn’t even be doing this when you're still committed, but once again, Hyunjae steals your attention away when he pushes your panties to the side and inserts a finger. The sudden intrusion catches you off guard, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach.

“W-wait, ah!” your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts another in. The stretch makes you squirm, the feeling almost unfamiliar with how long it’s been since you’ve had something bigger than your fingers in. Hyunjae looks at you from underneath his lashes, observing the way you’d react from each press and thrust of his hand. It almost looks as if he’s in his own world, drunk on the image of you laying beneath him.

Hyunjae’s pace starts off slow, each push of his finger careful and calculated as if testing the waters. When he sees a good response, he continues and when he senses a bad reaction, he finds a better technique. This continuous push and pull and his attention to detail earns him the realization that you liked it deep. You liked it when he plunges his digits to the knuckles and when his fingers tease your clit — like when he whispers the dirtiest and most vile things in your ear.

“You like that? Like when I fuck you with my fingers on the bed you share with your boyfriend?” a devilish smile plasters itself on his face when he feels your walls throb around his fingers, surprised by what just came out of his mouth. “Bet you’ve thought of it when you have sex with him. Have you moaned my name in front of him before, baby? Come on, say my name.”

“J-Jaehyun…” you choke out, but he doesn’t seem satisfied. With mischief sparkling in his eyes, Hyunjae curls his finger upward in a beckoning motion, hitting that one specific spot deep inside you that sends electricity rushing through your body. 

“That’s not what you call me, angel, you know that.” his breath tickles your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Call me by the name you gave me.”

“A-ah, Hyunjae!” satisfied, he quickened his pace, hitting that one good spot over and over again. In the span of minutes, Hyunjae already knew your body like the back of his hand. He knew what made you feel good, the right pace, the right pressure, and the right words to say to get you off.

You’d even go as far to say he knew you better than Younghoon ever did.

Hyunaje’s fingers curl ever so slightly every time he thrusts the length of his fingers in you, pressing on that gummy spot inside your walls. Each moan that he pulls from your lips had him feeling giddy, forcing him to bite his lip to hide the growing smirk on his face.

“So good to me, baby. You gonna come? Gonna come for me like a good girl?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—Jae..!”

And with one last thrust, your climax comes to you in a flash of white light, back arching into your best friend’s chest as he rides out your high, fingers circling your clit and lips pressing gentle kisses over your collarbone. It takes a minute for you to settle down, but Hyunjae waits patiently, gently massaging your thighs and waist as he cooed sweet nothings in your ear.

In the corner of your eye, you see him take the two digits he used on you in his mouth, sucking off the fluids from his hand. The taste of you on his tongue elicits a groan from his throat, sending shivers down your spine.

“You good?” he asks, smoothing both his hands over your body, “We could stop here if you want—”

“No!” it’s the way Hyunjae jolts that you realize your overreaction, and if you weren’t already blushing from what happened earlier, then you are now. God, if only a hole could open from the ground and swallow you whole right now. This might just be the most embarrassing moment of your life!

To make it worse, Hyunjae wasn’t even saying anything, he’s only staring at you with eyes wide like saucers. “I-I mean no… Let’s keep going, please?”

He chuckles, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“That’s my girl.”

[midnightfantasiez]

Babydoll | Lee Hyunjae

SUMMARY: your sugar daddy only wanted a simple request: record a series of sex tapes for him on a weekly basis. but when he finally made the move to meet you in person, it was there and then that you finally realised what he was truly capable of when he was off the screen.

PAIRING: sugar daddy!Hyunjae x f!reader

GENRE: smut (18+ MDNI!!)

WARNINGS: he's literally your sugar daddy 😃, sex tapes, dirty talk, cum play, hickeys, breast play, sex toys (ribbons are used), Hyunjae makes reader dresses up as a doll, praise kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bondage, doggy style, rough sex, missionary, petnames (babygirl, princess, babydoll), reader loses her virginity

WORD COUNT: 2,836

A/N: i am alive yes 😃 dedicating this fic to the miraes @daisyvisions @jinkoh @kyaroscuro 😚

Your hands began to tremble as you dragged the video that you had just recorded into the dropbox on the website, and you mentally battled yourself to click send. 

It shouldn’t have been too hard for you, especially when you have been doing this almost every day for the past couple of months, especially when the sender was your very own sugar daddy who had been sending you more than enough money to survive on a daily basis. 

You met Hyunjae online, and it took a while for you to accept that he’s not someone you would consider a stranger, let alone report to the authorities. Well, at least when you finally convinced him to actually send you pictures in real time to prove that he’s not lying about his true identity. 

Getting a random message from a stranger online seemed scary, but you definitely couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was willing to pay you ten times more than your part-time job at your local coffee shop downtown. You were struggling to pay for your university fees as you finally reached your last semester, and you were this close to taking on another job to pull through if you hadn’t met Hyunjae. 

What was interesting, or rather strange, was that he wanted you to record videos of yourself and send them to him weekly.

Erotic videos of yourself, to be exact.

That idea freaked you out because, for one, you had never lost your virginity, nor were you knowledgeable in conducting any of these sexual acts at all. Second, where and who were you going to go out to be able to find and convince them that you were practically planning to film an actual sex tape with? And of course, you weren’t particularly fond of posting your nude body out there on the internet for everyone to see. 

But before you could even start rejecting the male’s offer as you blabbed out all the potential things that could go wrong, he reassured you that the videos are just meant for him, and you don’t have to film them with anyone else. All you had to do was set up a camera in front of you, pleasure yourself and send the clip to him every weekend, and he would then transfer the agreed amount of money to your bank account. 

You weren’t too sure of the idea and knew from the back of your head that this all felt so wrong, but the temptation of the large sum of money he was willing to pay was too hard to resist, so you told him that you would try it out first to see. 

And he respected your decision, as well as reassuring you that you can always back out later if this isn’t something up your alley. 

The very first time you did it, it felt awkward to say the least. Even before mustering up the courage to record yourself, you had actually gone online and done a little bit of research on what was considered doable for your first-ever sex tape for Hyunjae.

There were definitely many ones that were a little too intense for your liking, especially on your first try, so you decided to choose the most tame amongst them before you began playing out the whole scenario in your head for a couple of days.

The moment you finally recorded yourself doing the act, it felt strange yet so good. You definitely discovered many things about yourself that you didn’t know even existed, especially in certain spots where you felt a lot more sensitive than others. 

It took less than a minute for Hyunjae to reply to your message when you first sent your video to him. Instantly, a large sum of money was transferred into your bank account. Feeling satisfied with your little accomplishment, you decided to try it out a couple of times to get the feel of it. 

Eventually, a month had passed, and you gradually increased the number of times you sent videos to him. What used to be a weekly habit was reduced to sending one every 3 days, and eventually every day from the start of this month. 

Hyunjae made sure that he had an actual conversation with you as well—giving you feedback on how you could do this particular action better or even suggesting new ideas that you could potentially try out the next time. But what really intrigued you the most was his praises—and god, how much those words sounded so sweet to your ears. 

Over time, both of you began talking a lot more than just about sex, and eventually got to know more about one another as well. Hyunjae would send you random photos of his daily life through text, and you did the same with yours. Eventually, you’ve come to realise that he’s actually a pretty goofy guy who loves random cute plushies that you would come across whenever you’re out with your friends. 

There are times when he would whine and actually send you messages that definitely did not seem to have come from a grown adult like him, where he would send you multiple crying emojis and begging you to buy it for him instead.

This childish side of him was lovable, and you giggled whenever he acted in such a way, but it also turned you on when he would suddenly switch to being this cold, yet dominating side whenever you would send your little gifts to him.

As you came back from reality and finally mustered up the courage to hit send, it took him less than 10 seconds to send you back a reply. But this time, it was something that was a lot different from usual, and your eyes widen the moment you read through his messages a couple of times, just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

🐻: shall we meet up in person real soon? 

You immediately started panicking. Being his little sugar baby was one thing, but meeting him in person? God, how your fingers started trembling as you struggled to come up with a proper reply. 

So many questions ran through your head: what exactly will he look like in person, to if he was genuinely as nice as he was online. Part of you wanted to meet him, yet another part of you was scared and reluctant, because if there was one thing your parents had taught you well, it wasn’t always safe out there. 

But before you could even think of a response, Hyunjae immediately sent you the date and location and a rather unusual request. 

🐻: i would love to see you dress up in pink with ribbons tied neatly through your hair. 

🐻: see you then :) 

As you read through that last message a couple of times, you finally threw your phone towards your desk before plunging yourself down onto your bed—burying your face and screaming into your pillow.

Oh god, what will I do now?

The dreaded date has arrived as you stood in front of the designated hotel sent by Hyunjae a week ago. You already knew that some passersby were giving you the looks, and you weren’t too fond of that idea. Ducking your head down the whole time as you tap your feet on the ground, you constantly prayed in your head, hoping that Hyunjae wasn’t just all talk and he really was on his way to you.

Just as 20 minutes passed, you suddenly heard loud footsteps approaching towards your right, and you looked up to see the very same man you had been waiting for. As your intuition was right, he was definitely a lot more attractive in person: his dark brown hair parted towards the side as he wore a black leather jacket paired with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

When he finally stopped right in front of you while catching his breath, he quickly shoved the flowers straight towards your face, bowing down a couple of times while he was at it to apologise profusely towards you.

“I-I’m so so sorry- the train got delayed and I had to go pick up the order I made for these flowers and-” 

“Oh my god! Don’t be, I just got here not too long ago as well,” you reassured the male, but he was able to wipe off that little lie you had just made towards him.

“My dear, Y/N. You don’t have to lie to me, and I should be the one who’s all embarrassed for making a lady wait,” he grunts before running his hand through his hair. And god, did that simple action make him look hot as hell. 

As he finally composed himself, he reached out his arm towards you, signalling for you to tag along as you both finally entered the booked hotel room. “Sorry for making you wait, my princess. Shall we finally go and have some fun?”

It was then you finally realised why on earth Hyunjae wanted you to dress up the way you did for tonight. 

As you examined the room, you could see that Hyunjae had picked a themed room for both of your visits for the night. It was a dollhouse room: covered with dusty pink wallpaper with a few toys that would satisfy the occupants of this room.

You already knew that you both were going to go down with some kinky shit the moment he had you dress up in pink, but definitely not like this. 

Hyunjae made sure to get you all comfortable before you could even think about sex: prepping you a hot cup of tea that was provided and letting you sit comfortably on the bed. As time quickly flew by and you two were comfortable enough, he slowly approached you before taking a seat right next to you. Gently, he snakes his hands onto your neck before pulling you in for a kiss.

The kiss was soft and sensual at the beginning: pleasuring you with soft yet hungry kisses and giving you time to adjust to his pace. His lips tasted like strawberries, and you knew that he probably went along with the pink theme that he had in his mind. As he had expected, you did not reject his touch and let yourself loose as you let him take full control of everything.

It all felt like a haze, and you were so mesmerised by his beauty and demeanour that you couldn’t pull yourself away from his grasp. 

Slowly, he moves his hands down to give your breasts a gentle massage, before going down underneath your dress to rub your already wet underwear. Hyunjae smirked in between your kisses, and he quickened his pace as your pants finally turned into soft moans. 

“I love how you’re so sensitive, Y/N,” he chimed, taking a few breaks between kisses to stare down at your now red, burning hot face as tears formed in your eyes. 

Just before you could even climax, Hyunjae abruptly stops as he stands up to pull one of your pink ribbons away from your hair to tie both of your hands behind your back. You were flabbergasted by that sudden action, but he was too distracted to even hear you ask what was even going on in his head. Followed by that, he pulls away another ribbon from your hair and positions it in between your thighs—hurriedly yanking down your wet underwear and tossing them aside. 

He then places the ribbon right underneath your wet, dripping clit and commands you to sit before he started pulling the ribbon back and forth. The friction from the fabric was now rubbing your clit, and god, did that stimulated you good.

You looked at him with pleading eyes, desperately wanting to cum at this point, and you knew from the look of his face he was trying his best to drag this out as long as possible—wanting to make you cry out to him more than you were right now. 

“H-Hyunjae…p-please…” You mumbled, trying to get his attention and wanting him to cut the act and get straight to the point.

“Hmm? What’s that, princess? I won’t know unless you tell me what you want.” 

“I-I want- Hngh-” 

“Yes, tell me, babygirl. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

“F-Faster…please…” You begged as your teardrop finally drips down from the corners of your eyes. 

Hyunjae smiles, and it does not belong to the goofy guy who would beg you throughout your texts for you to buy him the latest jellycat doll that was available on the market. 

No. This was your sugar daddy: the one who counted on you to make sex tapes for him once every couple of days for his own gratification. 

“Now that’s my good girl,” he winks as he quickens his pace, rubbing it faster and harder, which makes you scream in agony. “I just love messing with my little princess.” 

During the heat of the moment, he reconnects his lips with your bare skin—leaving a trail of kisses from your neck all the way down to your collarbone before he started sucking on them to make sure that he was going to leave a bright, red mark where it would be extremely visible. 

You, on the other hand, were suffering from the consequences of his actions. Tears continued pouring out as you finally felt a little knot form within your stomach, and it only took Hyunjae a few more attempts before the hot, warm liquid started flowing from your thighs down onto the bed. He simply smacked his lips before taking that very same wet ribbon and placing it right onto your lips, making you taste the aftermath of your own hard work.

“Tell me, how does it taste? Do you like it?”

“V-Very m-much…” You mumbled while biting the ribbon before he finally pulled it away from your lips. Though he wasn’t done, and this time he gently pushes you down before he positions himself behind you, and that’s when your eyes widen in fear. 

An unzipping noise was heard, and you knew exactly what it was without having the need to turn around to look. And frankly, you couldn’t have done that since your hands were still tied behind you, and you could only mentally prepare yourself for what was to come. 

Just as you had expected, his tip has just lightly brushed through your dripping wet clit before your entire body squirmed for a second. Hyunjae had to lean forward and whisper into your ear to reassure you that he would be gentle and take good care of you. With one hand gently massaging his tip at your entrance, his other one came down to caress your cheeks as he reconnected his lips with yours. 

Turns out he did kept his promise, and he waited until your body was no longer stiff with fear before he slowly pushed his member into you—causing you to yelp much louder than you did before. 

“Shh…everything is okay, babygirl. Just trust me,” he cooed as he kissed your cheeks softly before pulling himself back up and resting both of his hands on your waist. It didn’t take long for him to slowly pick up his pace, and he moved one of his hands onto your hands as he began pulling them backwards—making your body move up slightly and giving him a lot more room and pressure to thrust within you.

“God- You’re - So- Tight- Y/N-” Hyunjae grunts as he applies a tad bit more pressure each second. It was then you felt like your walls were legitimately breaking apart, and god knows how much longer you can take his cock anymore. 

Grunts and moans filled the entire room, and the bed shook vigorously, to the point you were starting to worry if it would even collapse with the amount of pressure he was exerting. The once soft and demure Hyunjae was gone, and he was now a beast. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” Hyunjae grits his teeth before he finally filled you up completely—all of the extra liquids oozing out from your clit and they continued dripping down your thighs to the bed. You were a complete mess from that whole ordeal, and you finally heaved a sigh of relief when you finally came down from your high.

But you wished that you had held onto that thought for now. 

Without even pulling out his member, he abruptly turns you around and snakes himself over your hands so that they were now wrapped around his neck as he lowered himself down to the point that you could feel his breath on yours. 

If you thought what just happened a minute ago was bad enough, you were in for another ride as you’re practically locked under Hyunjae’s grasp. The male simply licks his lips before responding with a sly smirk on his face. 

“My babydoll is such a good girl, and I believe she deserves another round.”

A/N: suddenly i've forgotten how to write smut so pls bear with me 😭

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[artsyririblobbu]

sometimes you ask yourself if rafayel hates you for what you did to him in the past

for one, if he hates you for forgetting that promise and abandoning him

and two, for betraying him as the sea god's most loyal follower.

you ask yourself and will sometimes lead yourself to believe deep down, rafayel resents you more than anything. that his love is nothing more than a facade, which you're fine with—it's your punishment, isn't it? to feel the same betrayal he felt?

so when rafayel hears this, you know what he says?

if there was ever a part of him that hated you, he found that part of him... and killed him.

and using the blood on his hands, he painted a portrait of you to remind that part of him of your ever present beauty and uniqueness, to remind him of why the person 'rafayel' even is who he is

rafayel will find that part of him and kill him over and over again no matter how many times he appears

because that part of him may have been louder in the past, but he's no longer needed

rafayel could never, ever hate you

never doubt that

because as long as you love him, and understand he loves you in return, he will never have any regrets

and that resentment from a past time will never be needed again

please never doubt his love. it hurts him more than any past betrayal he's ever felt. his love is sincere, and after hearing this, he'll probably try his hardest to make it more clear. the last thing he wants is for you to think this is a one-sided love or to think he resents you, he never could, in fact he was so elated you loved him back and that you accept him for his lemurian roots. please. you're his anchor, you allow him to sleep at night. you give this man so much peace, and i never want you to think he would hate you or hold a grudge against you for too long.

[mwphisto]

Rafayel lets you underestimate him.

He lets you think he’s over dramatic, a push over, that he’s submissive and needs your protecting. All so he can have the satisfaction of catching you completely off guard.

Now, you're under him, legs pushed so far up they squish against your breasts. You can barely breathe, barely think, barely make a coherent sound.

He's pounding into you so hard, so fast, so deep.

Reminding you that he is, in fact, six feet tall and rather muscular. That he’s extremely powerful, strength wise and his evol. That he can portray himself as a lithe, quiet artist with a love for the dramatic flare. He played you. Bad.

“R-Rafayel!” You’re losing your mind, unable to wriggle out of his hold. The pleasure is too much, too intense, his hips are pounding into you at near inhumane speeds. If you could run from his cock, at this point you would.

But he has you pinned to the bed, his body rendering yours immobile, and all you can do is lay there and take it.

Your third — no, maybe your fourth — orgasm hits you like a freight train. The feeling of submission, of helplessness, throwing you right over the edge.

“That’s it, cutie. Cum for me, make a bigger mess of my cock. Remember who’s really in charge here.”

This whole fandom underestimates Rafayel. So many portrayals of him being the smallest, the weakest, flamboyant. My mans is 6 feet tall, muscular and lithe at the same time, a literal god. Fym weak 😩

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Warning(s): Yelling

Tied To You Masterlist

Chapter 8 - The Smile That Breaks

The scent of cinnamon sugar drifted through the air like a promise. Sweet. Comforting. Safe.

“Good morning, boss lady!”

A bright voice rang out from behind the counter. Mia, twirling her apron ribbon into a bow as if she were a café fairy. “You’re glowing today. Is it the Mr. Shen Quan Rui effect or the cinnamon rolls?”

“Both,” you replied with a small laugh.

“Wrong answer. It’s the cinnamon rolls. I made them in a heart shape this time!” she grinned proudly.

“They look more like kidneys,” Matthew murmured beside her as he stacked paper cups behind the bar.

“You’re just jealous mine got frosted with love and yours got scolded for uneven foam art,” she shot back.

You laughed softly, wiping your hands. “They looks… amazing? Thank you.”

Mia grinned. “Don’t thank me. Thank love. Because you’ve been smiling like you got kissed behind the pastry shelf this morning.”

“…That’s oddly specific.”

Matthew didn’t look up. “Because it happened.”

“WHAT?!”

Yoi flushed as they burst out laughing.

Before you could respond, the café bell chimed.

And there he was.

Tall. Impossibly handsome. Dressed in a dark trench coat over soft knit. The golden sunlight hit his cheekbones just right, and for a second, the world tilted.

Ricky or Shen Quan Rui.

Your husband. Your everything.

He smiled when he saw you not the charming CEO smile he gave the world, but the private, sleepy one he saved for mornings like this.

“My wifey,” he said as he reached you, lowering his head to press a kiss to your cheek. “You smell like sugar and trouble.”

You blinked up at him. “Shouldn’t you be in a boardroom?”

“I canceled one. My wife needed my kiss more.”

“And how did you know that?”

“You always need me,” he said simply, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Even when you don’t say it.”

You two curled up together on the velvet couch in the café’s back lounge, his arm lazily thrown over your shoulders, your head against his chest.

The café world faded around you.

“Did I tell you I’m planning something?” he murmured.

“Planning?”

“Mmhmm. A surprise. Not business-related.”

“Will I like it?”

He lifted your chin. “You love everything I give you.”

You narrowed your eyes, smiling. “Confident much?”

“Truthful,” he whispered, kissing your nose. “And obsessed.”

He always said that word like it was a vow — something dangerous, devoted, and irreversible.

His phone buzzed.

He looked down. Froze.

MOTHER.

“Just a moment” Ricky stood up and answered the call near the window, away from you.

He answered with a cold, clipped, “Yes?”

“Ricky,” came the breathy voice, “I need you to come home. I’ve been… unwell.”

Pause.

“Unwell how?”

“I’ve had sickness lately. Dizzy. Weak.” A fragile cough followed. “The doctors are… concerned.”

Another pause.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he asked, voice low.

“I didn’t want to burden you. Not when you’re already… married.”

Ricky was silent. Cold rage glimmered just beneath the surface.

“And yet you’re calling now.”

She didn’t respond right away. Then came the real hook.

“There are… family matters I need to discuss with you. It’s time we all sit down together. You and… that girl.”

“She’s my wife.”

“I know. I haven’t forgotten. And I hope she hasn’t forgotten what she married into.”

The line went dead.

——

The cinnamon scent in the air should’ve comforted you.

Ricky stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side. He wasn’t yelling, he never did but something in his posture looked… frayed.

He hung up the call without saying goodbye.

“Everything okay?” You asked softly, stepping closer.

He blinked at you , as if forgetting you were there. “Yeah,” he said. “Just some boardroom noise.”

But the smile he gave didn’t reach his eyes.

You reached out, touching his sleeve gently. “You’ve been quiet so sudden…”

He glanced down at your fingers. Then covered them with his own a soft, lingering squeeze but then let go just as fast.

Not cruel. Not distant.

Just… distracted.

“It’s nothing, Y/N. Don’t worry.”

But you did worry.

Because Ricky never called you “Y/N” when he was distracted. He called you that when he was deflecting.

He left the café office not long after, murmuring something about “checking the downtown properties.” No kiss to your temple. No lingering touch at your waist.

You sat back at the counter, hands cold against your lap.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe the stress was piling.

Or maybe…

Maybe he was starting to realize that choosing you meant choosing the harder path.

And maybe… he was regretting it.

You were still staring blankly at the counter when you heard the soft chime of the front bell.

Maria, Ricky’s mother assistant stepped in from the back entrance, coat draped over one arm, a small paper bag in the other. She was one of those rare women who carried a kind of graceful strength the kind who didn’t speak much, but when she did, people listened.

“I bought you chocolates,” she said, walking over and placing the bag gently in front of you.

You blinked at her, startled by the sudden kindness. “Thank you… You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” she said simply, settling into the chair across from you . “But when someone looks like their soul is holding back tears, it calls for sweetness.”

Her words hit too close to the ache in your chest.

You opened your mouth to deny it to say everything was fine but the words wouldn’t come.

She looked at you carefully, her dark eyes calm and unreadable. “He’s distancing, isn’t he?”

You swallowed hard. “He’s just busy.”

“Busy men still kiss their wives,” she said, not unkindly.

You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” she continued after a moment. “But I’ve seen this before. With men like his father. With families like theirs. Pressure mounts, and the people they love most become both their strength… and their weakness.”

You glanced up at her. “Do you think he’s… regretting me?”

She shook her head. “No. I think he’s at war — and he doesn’t want to drag you into the battlefield.”

Something about the way she said it made the hairs on your arm stand.

“You’re more dangerous to his enemies than they realize, Y/N,” she added, her tone low. “Because you’re the one thing that can unravel him.”

She placed a small napkin down beside the cookies. On it, written in neat cursive, was an address. Not a name. Just a location.

“If anything ever feels wrong,” Maria said softly, “and you don’t feel safe emotionally, or otherwise… go there. Someone will be waiting.”

You stared at it.

“What are you not telling me?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stood, brushed a crumb from her sleeve, and gave you a smile that wasn’t really a smile.

“Love is beautiful, my dear. But it doesn’t protect you from people who would use it against you.”

And with that, she left.

——

Back at your house, Ricky said nothing. His face was marble.

He disappeared into his office, closing the door behind him.

You stared at the card from Maria.

Her game isn’t over.

It echoed in your head like a curse.

Your phone buzzed.

Unknown Number

If you really loved him, you’d let him go. The Shen name deserves more.

Your throat closed.

You texted back

You

Who is this?

No reply.

Another ping.

Unknown Number

Watch how he looks at you now. It’s not the same anymore, is it?

——

That evening, Ricky’s mom invited you two for a formal dinner. Not a family meal but a presentation.

You almost didn’t want to go. But Ricky insisted.

“I need to see what she’s plotting,” he said. “And you… stay close. Don’t speak unless you want to. Let me lead.”

Her game was subtle.

She smiled sweetly. Poured your tea. Complimented your earrings.

And then she said it.

“So, Ricky, I’ve had a thought. About legacy.”

Here it comes.

“I know you’ve chosen love which is admirable,” she said, glancing at you like you were a pet goldfish. “But this family still needs continuity. A woman who understands the weight of the Shen name. Who can stand beside you at global conferences, not behind you in a café.”

Ricky didn’t flinch.

“Y/N is that woman.”

“But is she?” she asked softly, sipping her wine. “You’re the future of Shen Holdings. Of Asia’s largest corporate dynasty. And yet you’re… distracted.”

She turned to you.

“You have no idea what kind of men chase power, dear. Or what they’ll do to wives who don’t belong in that world.”

You felt your fingers tremble on your lap.

“Are you threatening her?” Ricky said, voice low.

“I’m protecting you,” she said smoothly. “Because one day, when the world turns its back on her, you’ll resent that you chose her instead of what was best.”

“MA!” Ricky shouted.

“Shen Quan Rui, don’t be rude to me! I’m your mother!” Madam Shen raged, throwing the glass vase on the table.

Ricky quickly turned to you and pulled your wrist, walking out from that house. He didn’t even looked back at his mother.

That night, you stood by the window again.

Alone.

You thought of Ricky. Of the weight he carried. The legacy. The empire. The pressure.

Maybe… maybe he really would be better off if you weren’t dragging him through war with his family.

You touched the card again. Be careful.

You reached for the tiny notebook in your bag. The one you wrote lists in.

Groceries. Cupcake flavors. Baking ingredients. New books to buy.

This time, you scribbled a different list.

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

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[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Rafayel's non-mc significant other.

Imagine being Rafayel's everything.

Imagine watching that everything begin to crack. The way it started small. A misheard word. A lingering glance at someone else. A comment that wasn't meant to cut as deep as it did.

Imagine you were his world but that world had grown loud. Heavy. Pressured.

Imagine the way the fights began quietly at first. Whispered frustrations. Passive sighs. Then came the sarcasm. The jealousy. The way his voice tightened whenever your coworker's name slipped from your lips. The way your expression pinched whenever he got too close to his bodyguard whenever they were out together.

Imagine he was yours. God, he was yours. But sometimes, it felt like you didn't believe it anymore.

Imagine his home, his studio was the only place he could breathe. Canvases half finished. Brushes scattered everywhere.

Imagine he hadn't slept properly in days, not with deadlines, not with his upcoming exhibit, not with your voice echoing in his mind after every fight. But today was supposed to be normal.

Imagine you came in through the door like you always did. Key left in the table. Shoes off. That quiet smile. Tired, maybe. But real. He noticed the way your fingers curled around the takeaway cup with his name scrawled in marker. Still thoughtful. Still trying. And he was too. But then it happened.

Imagine a single misstep. A misplaced elbow. A cup too close to the edge. The painting. That painting. The one he had poured weeks into. Hours. Breath. Everything.

Imagine it ruined. Coffee bleeding across the lower half, dripping down like tears. Like mockery. He froze. You froze. And then came the storm.

"You always do this!" "I was trying to help Rafayel!" "Helping? You call ruining my work helping?" "Maybe if you let me in-" "Maybe if you didn't hover-" Screaming. Again.

Imagine fingers pointing. Accusations thrown like knives dulled only by how often they had already been used. The way you looked at him like you did not even know him anymore. Like you didn't know whether to cry or walk out.

and Imagine that's when it hit him. He was tired. Not of you. Never of you. But of the breaking. The fighting. The bitterness that curled beneath his ribs every time you turned walk away in frustration.

Imagine he stood there in the aftermath. The canvas ruined. Your jacket half pulled on, keys shaking in your hand, breath unsteady.

and Imagine for a moment, he couldn't speak. Because what if you were done? What if this fight, this one was the last straw? What if you were already slipping away, piece by piece, every time he raised his voice and failed to reach for your hand after?

Imagine he loved you. God, he really do love you. But what if you were tired of being unloved in the way you needed?

Imagine his mind spiraled fast, relentless. What if you found comfort in someone else? What if someone listened better? Fought less. What if you thought being his muse meant being second to his art? What if the love he poured into you was the wrong shape, the wrong shade?

Imagine you weren't just someone in his life. You were the color in it. But now, all he saw was grey.

Imagine Rafayel didn't chase you right away. Not because he didn't want to. But because he didn't know if you'd want him to.

Imagine he stood there in the mess, paint drying beside spilled coffee, the scent of your perfume still lingering in the air like an afterthought.

and Imagine the way he whispered, so quietly the walls didn't even echo it. "Please... Please don't let this be the last time you walk away." He didn’t sleep that night. Didn't paint. Didn't even move.

Imagine the silence that filled the room without you in it. It louder than any fight the two of you ever had. And for the first time, Rafayel didn't know if love alone was enough to save what was breaking.

Imagine the way he swore. If there was even a sliver of hope left in your heart. He'd paint his way back into it. Stroke by stroke. Even if his hands were shaking. Even if he had to start from nothing. Even if all that remained was the ghost of a love worth fighting for.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Warning(s): Kissing, a bit suggestive (wedding night)

Note(s):

• I’m really sorry for delaying new chapter, I’m in my final week for exam now that’s why I’m updating late, I’m sorry again :( ❤️

• This whole chapter timeline is PAST before their married life

Tied To You Masterlist

Chapter 7 - Unbreakable Vows

The small, dimly lit room smelled faintly of lavendar and old wood.

You sat beside your grandmother’s bed, holding frail fingers that trembled like autumn leaves.

“Grandma…” your voice cracked, “Please don’t go.”

Your grandmother’s eyes fluttered open, soft and wise, filled with love that felt like sunshine even in the darkest night.

“My sweet Y/N,” she whispered, voice thin but steady, “Life will be hard sometimes… but you are stronger than you know.”

You swallowed back tears as your grandmother smiled gently.

“Remember, no matter where you go, I’m always with you, in every flower you touch, every breath you take.”

The breath came slower, then stopped.

You leaned down, pressing a final kiss to your grandmother’s forehead, feeling the weight of loss settle in chest like a cold stone.

That day, you promised yourself you would keep going. Not just for your grandmother, but for the life you both dreamed of.

-

Your flower shop was quiet. The lights dim. You were sweeping the floor in your old hoodie and socks when the bell above the door chimed.

You turned.

Ricky stood there, in a coat, holding a small white box in one hand… and a bouquet of chamomile and white tulips in the other.

“I—”

You blinked. “Are you— Is everything okay?”

“I can’t wait anymore,” he said simply.

Then he walked towards you, calm and steady, until they were inches apart.

“Y/N, I’ve debated billion-dollar deals. I’ve won every negotiation life threw at me. But you…”

His voice wavered for the first time.

“You disarmed me. You made me want soft things. A quiet life. A future that smells like chamomile.”

He knelt.

You gasped.

“I’m not asking you to change who you are. I’m asking you to stay who you are with me. Forever.”

He opened the box.

A thin, simple butterfly silver ring with diamond on it, delicate just like you.

Your hands flew to your mouth.

“R-Ricky…”

“Be mine. In name. In life. In every lifetime after this one.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your knees gave out and you crashed into his arms, laughing through tears.

“Yes” you breathed.

He kissed you then twirling you in the middle of your dusty little shop, surrounded by petals and broken brooms.

That night, Ricky didn’t drive home in his luxury car. He stayed behind, quietly helping you clean up the shop, stealing kisses between petals and sweeping tools.

And when you fell asleep in his arms on the worn-out couch behind the counter, he just sat there. Holding you. Running his fingers through your hair. Whispering promises against your forehead.

He could buy every building on this street. But nothing mattered more than the girl who said yes.

-

You stared at the ring on your finger like it wasn’t real.

But every time you looked at it, your heart squeezed like a secret.

“Stop staring at it,” Ricky teased from across your tiny kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring instant noodles like a man who’d never seen a stove in his life.

“I’m not staring,” you mumbled, cheeks hot.

He shot you a knowing look. “You’re in love with it.”

“I’m in love with you,” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Ricky walked over slowly, lifted your hand, and kissed the ring right on your finger.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’ve been in love with you since the first bouquet.”

You melted.

He pulled you into his chest and rested his chin on your head.

“I want to tell the world,” he murmured. “Right now.”

“I’m not ready…” you whispered.

“I know.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’ll wait.”

And he did.

For the next few weeks, you two lived in a dream; late-night ramen, quiet dates in hidden cafés, stolen kisses behind counter. No media. No boardroom eyes. Just You and Ricky.

One night, you gave him a flower.

A hand-picked one, wrapped in paper ribbon. With a note tucked inside that said:

“Even if the whole world forgets me… please don’t.”

Ricky stared at it for a long time.

Then he kissed your hand, your cheek, and your forehead slowly, reverently, like you were something holy.

“I’ll never forget you,” he said.

“You’re the only thing I’ll remember even if the world ends.”

-

The city was buzzing, but inside Ricky’s sleek car, it was just quiet warmth and the soft hum of the engine.

“Where are we going?” You asked, eyes sparkling behind the window.

“You’ll see,” Ricky said with a grin that made your heart do somersaults.

After a few turns, the car pulled up to a small, humble ice cream truck parked by the park—far from the marble towers and flashing cameras.

You blinked. “An ice cream truck?”

Ricky laughed softly. “Thought you might like a break from fancy restaurants and stiff smiles.”

You smiled shyly. “I love it.”

You two stood side by side, choosing flavors. Ricky opted for chocolate and caramel swirl; you picked strawberry cheesecake, your favorite.

As you walked through the park, Ricky slipped his hand into yours, squeezing gently.

“You don’t need to pretend with me,” he whispered. “No suits. No business. Just you and me.”

You leaned into him, feeling safe and seen.

He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, then your forehead.

And for a little while, the world faded, leaving only the two of you, ice cream melting and hearts full.

-

2 weeks after the day Ricky proposed to you, he showed up at your door that morning with a playful smile, holding a soft black silk blindfold.

“Where are we going?” You asked, heart fluttering.

“You’ll see,” he whispered, taking your hand gently. “Trust me, Miss Y/N.”

With your eyes covered, Ricky led you out of the café and into his sleek car.

The city noises faded as he softly spoke beside you, “Remember the ring I gave you in the flower shop? That was my promise to you the first step of forever.”

After a short drive, he lifted you carefully, guiding you onto cool grass, the scent of fresh blooms filling the air.

“Almost there… ready?” he murmured before removing the blindfold.

You gasped.

Before you stretched a secret garden, golden afternoon light streaming through arches of tulips, lilies, and daisies.

At the center, fairy lights twinkled above a white board that read: “Marry Me, Y/N.”

You were surprised because he just proposed to you before this and today, he did it again. BUT, this time with more proper.

Ricky knelt, holding out a second ring, simple but more detailed than the first, another diamond silver band with a tiny tulip engraving on the inside.

“Ricky-“

“This ring is the next promise,” he said, voice tender.

“From the moment I first slipped the band on your finger, I knew I wanted all of my tomorrows with you. I know I did proposed to you before. But today, I want to make it more proper. So, will you marry me, truly and forever?”

You chuckled a bit. Tears shone in your eyes as you nodded.

Ricky slid the second ring beside the first on your slender finger.

He pulled you close, whispering against your hair, “Two rings for two promises, one for the beginning and one for forever. You’re mine, now and always.”

“What should I do with the first ring? Should I pawned it when I in need of money?” You joked.

“You can do anything with it because I can give you more than one ring. You want 100 rings? I can buy it for you. Soon, I’m giving you the third ring. You have to accept it no matter what. Okay?”

You don’t know what to say. This guy is willing to waste his money on you. Buy you anything you want.

“No no no, don’t waste your money.” You pouted.

“I don’t care.” He replied.

Ricky pulled you close and hugged you tightly. You patted his back and rested your head on his chest. Surrounded by flowers and soft light, you two stood wrapped in each other, the perfect start to a lifetime.

-

The grand hall shimmered with chandeliers dripping crystals like stars, every detail screaming luxury and perfection.

Your hands trembled slightly as you adjusted your veil, your reflection in the mirror a soft mix of nerves and wonder.

Outside, cameras flashed like fireworks, reporters whispering your name, the “poor girl” marrying the nation’s youngest billionaire CEO.

Ricky appeared quietly behind you, slipping his hand over yours, voice low and reassuring.

“Hey love. You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone make you forget that.”

You gasped. “Ricky you shouldn’t be here in the bridal suite”

Ricky pouted. “Why? I wanna see my beautiful bride.”

“There’s a rule said that a groom is not supposed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony because it brings bad luck.”

Ricky chuckled. “I don’t believe it.”

Ricky heard his friends calling his name.

“I’m going first, don’t be nervous okay? I love you.”

You smiled. Ricky kissed your hand and headed out.

But not everyone was here to celebrate.

From across the room, a sharp glance. Ricky’s mother’s lips pressed into a thin line.

And in the shadows, a familiar figure, the woman who never stopped chasing Ricky’s heart.

You swallowed hard but met Ricky’s steady gaze.

Whatever storm was coming, you knew one thing for sure: He was yours. And he would protect you, no matter what.

Your own family’s absence left a hollow ache, years of hardship meant only one person could stand by you today.

Your landlord, Madam Wong, step inside quietly in your bridal suite, eyes shining with pride and warmth.

“This dress was made for you, my dear” Madam Han whispered, squeezing your hand gently. “You deserve this happiness.”

You smiled through the lump in your throat, feeling the unexpected strength of someone who truly cared a quiet reminder that family isn’t always blood.

The lights were warm, the music soft in your bridal suit, yet you felt a chill snake down your spine.

You sat quietly at the center of the room, clutching your bouquet. The door opened, Ricky’s mother approached, her smile polite but razor-sharp.

“You look lovely,” Madam Shen said, voice sugarcoated with ice. “Almost as if you belong here.”

You bowed your head gently. “Thank you, Madam Shen.”

“But let’s be honest,” she added, eyes flicking toward your dress, “It takes more than a gown to carry the Shen name.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet. Just then, a familiar hand gently touched your shoulder.

“Y/N carries far more than a name,” came a firm, calm voice.

Madam Han stepped forward, small but composed, eyes steady as stone.

“She carries kindness, strength, and dignity. You may not know where she comes from, but I do. And if you knew half of what she’s survived, you’d be the one bowing to her.”

For a moment, silence. Even Madam Shen looked stunned.

Madam Han gave a gentle nod and turned to you with a smile that softened every thorn.

“Come, girl. All this glitter doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have warmth.”

You blinked back tears, your heart aching. Not from hurt, but gratitude. You sat quietly with your tea, trying to calm your breathing, but your fingers still trembled slightly.

Then… footsteps. Heavy, urgent.

“Sweetheart?” Ricky’s voice.

He was already crouching in front of you, both hands cupping your face. His brows furrowed in concern.

You looked at him. This guy broke the rules two times already.

“Darling, what happened? Who upset you?”

You shook your head, but your eyes gave it away.

Ricky gently kissed your forehead, your cheek, then your knuckles, each kiss soft like a promise.

“My precious wife…” he whispered, his voice low, fierce. “You don’t have to say it. I felt it the moment you flinched. I’ll take care of it, okay? You’re mine. Nobody, and I mean nobody, gets to hurt you.”

You blinked back tears and gave a small nod.

Then, he smiled. “Now come on, Mrs. Shen. You have a wedding to finish. You’re about to make me the happiest man on Earth.”

He offered his hand, and you took it steady and warm.

-

The ceremony began under a floral archway, soft music playing as petals floated in the air. Guests sat in quiet anticipation, the air thick with emotion and the scent of roses. A gentle melody played in the background a string quartet that whispered of love stories past and promises yet to come.

Then came a hush.

All heads turned as the soft notes of a piano began to play, tender and full of feeling.

It wasn’t just the bride making her way down the aisle. It was both of them, the bride and groom walking side by side, hand in hand. Ricky in a black tailored tux, hair perfectly tousled, he keep stealing glances as you two walked together down the aisle. You two took each step slowly, steadily, symbols of a promise already in motion.

You wore a gown that shimmered like morning dew, your smile radiant. Ricky was calm, yet visibly moved, his fingers gently curling around your hand as though you were the most sacred thing he’d ever held.

At the end of the aisle, you turned to each other, not letting go but just smiling. The officiant stepped forward, eyes kind.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate not only the union of two souls, but the beginning of a new chapter, written with laughter, trials, triumphs, and unconditional love.”

Ricky took a breath.

"I, Ricky Shen Quan Rui, take you, Y/L/N , to be my wedded wife. I promise to love and cherish you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, until death do us part"

When the officiant finally said, “You may now kiss the bride,” Ricky looked at you like you hung the moon.

And then… the kiss.

As everyone stood and clapped, Ricky didn’t wait.

One hand cradling your back, the other on your cheek and kissed you. Whispers turned to cheers.

“I love you,” you breathed against his lips.

“And I love you too,” he whispered, forehead to yours. “So damn much.”

Golden lights reflected off crystal as they stood before a five-tier wedding cake, a masterpiece of smooth fondant, delicate lace piping, and real flowers cascading down the sides. Ricky cut the first slice as guests counted down with excitement. Laughter followed when you fed him a piece with perfect grace, only for you to smear a tiny bit of frosting on the tip of his nose.

More laughter. More kisses. More love.

Soon after, the music changed, and the ballroom lights dimmed.

A single spotlight followed you and Ricky onto the dance floor, an expanse of gleaming marble beneath a chandelier.

He offered you his hand with a half-bow. You placed your fingers in his with a small curtsy, giggling as if you two were children at a royal ball.

Ricky held you close, one hand resting on the small of your back, the other gently cradling your hand. You swayed, slow and tender, eyes never leaving each other’s.

-

Later after the wedding reception, Ricky brought you to the private suite high above the glittering city, the only thing that mattered was you.

The door clicked shut behind you, locking out the world.

Ricky didn’t speak.

He just stared. His eyes dark, hungry, a little wild. You stood a few feet away in your wedding gown, still glowing from the night, chest rising and falling as if you could already feel the storm coming.

Ricky loosened his tie with one hand, slow and deliberate, never taking his gaze off you.

“I thought I was your dessert,” you whispered playfully.

“You are,” he growled softly. “And I’m starving.”

“Come here,” he said, voice low and hoarse, like velvet sliding over heat.

You stepped forward, but he closed the distance fasterhands slipping around your waist, mouth brushing your ear. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day.”

His lips ghosted along your jaw, down to your neck, lingering there. His breath made you shiver.

You gripped his lapels to steady yourself . “And now?”

“Now,” he murmured, tracing his nose down the slope of your throat, “I’m going to take my time.”

His fingers moved to the zipper at the back of your dress. He didn’t tug it down right away. Instead, he slid his hands up your back barely brushing, just teasing. You felt every single inch of it.

When he finally pulled the zipper, the sound was deafening in the quiet room.

The dress slipped from your shoulders, inch by inch, as his lips kissed every newly exposed patch of skin. Your breath hitched when the fabric fell to the floor.

You stood there in lace and nothing more, your body glowing in the candlelight, and he just looked at you like you were an art.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “Too beautiful to rush.”

His hands ran down your arms, over your sides, mapping you like territory he’d waited forever to claim.

Then, he kissed you slow and deep, tongue sweeping your mouth with maddening control. You melted against him, fingers sliding under his shirt, tugging at buttons, hungry to feel him too.

Clothes came off in pieces, like a slow burn.

When he finally laid you down on the bed, you reached for him again, dragging him with you. He hovered over you, eyes drinking you in. Then, he bent down, brushing his lips along your collarbone, your shoulder, lower…

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered.

You curled your fingers into his hair. “It’s not enough.”

That broke him.

Your bodies tangled, breathless and fevered, mouths on skin, teeth grazing where kisses had landed, hands gripping, exploring, claiming.

Ricky worshipped you like a man starved.

And you surrendered to him like you’ve been waiting your whole life to be undone.

Outside, the night stretched on but time inside your suite disappeared into firelight, sighs, and silk sheets that no longer stayed neat.

-

The next morning, your body felt sores but you have to board a private jet to a private island Ricky owned for the honeymoon.

Yes. Owns. Not rented.

When they landed, the staff welcomed you with fresh flowers, a villa over turquoise water, and a hidden garden full of white roses.

There was a hammock just for two, late-night bonfire picnics, and a bathtub filled with rose petals overlooking the sea.

But the best part?

Ricky never stopped touching you.

He kissed your shoulders while you brushed your hair. Carried you from the beach to the bed like you weighed nothing. Whispered “I love you” every chance he got.

One night, under the stars, you turned to him and whispered, “Do you ever get tired of loving me this much?”

He kissed your hand. Your cheek. Your collarbone. Your ring finger.

“Never. Loving you is the only thing I’ll never get tired of, my bunny.”

Here’s how it can go:

• The first ring is a ring Ricky gave you during your private early promise phase (like a quiet symbol of love).

• The second ring is the official proposal ring, also understated but even more special.

• The third ring is your wedding ring, the eternal bond between you and Ricky.

All rings hold different meanings but show Ricky’s thoughtful, obsessive love in different stages.

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!

Taglist: @acaciacore @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @cutebamtori @jiaant11 @luvlyjaemin @moreweirdothanweird @raeinlove @sue0777

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Special Chapter - Kiss Me Like A Fairytale

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): Kissing, suggestive

Note(s): This special chapter got me smiling like an idiot in love. (Oh yes i love you sm Ricky)

• Please read chapter 6 first to understand the first part,

• Italic = past | Non Italic = present

Tied To You Masterlist

You two didn’t say anything for a while after that kiss.

Ricky just held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t used to being wanted like this.

The aquarium was silent except for the hum of water and the soft bubble of hidden filtration pipes. It felt like you two were walking through a dream.

Then you reached the penguin habitat.

And that’s where the dream turned into absolute chaos in the best possible way.

The little penguins were waddling around like they owned the place, one of them slipping on the ice, belly-flopping into a slide, and taking out two others in a fluffy domino chain.

You burst out laughing.

Not a polite, composed giggle.

A real laugh. From deep in your belly. Ugly and unfiltered and loud.

You clutched Ricky’s coat sleeve to keep you balance as another penguin belly-flopped into the water with a splash.

“They’re so dramatic,” you wheezed. “It’s like they’re performing for us.”

“They are,” Ricky said, his voice suspiciously amused. “I paid extra for the show.”

“You’re joking.”

“Maybe.”

He was not joking.

And that just made you laugh harder.

You were still recovering when you noticed him pulling out his phone.

“You’re not filming this, are you?” You asked.

“No,” he said without looking up.

But instead of pointing it at the penguins, he pointed it at… you.

You blinked. “Wait! Are you taking a picture of me?”

“Too late,” he said, glancing down at the screen. Then, with a crooked smile, he added, “Got it.”

“Ricky!”

He tucked the phone away like it was state treasure. “It’s for personal safekeeping.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You better not post that anywhere.”

“I won’t. I just… wanted to remember this. The way you look when you laugh like that. It’s rare. And beautiful.”

You stared at him, speechless, every cell in your body screaming. He had no idea what he did to you with words like that.

But you didn’t run.

Didn’t flinch. You smiled. Because you believed him.

By the time you and Ricky left the aquarium, the sky was cotton-candy blue with streaks of gold. You stepped outside into the quiet evening air, hand in hand.

The nervousness you’d started the day with had dissolved somewhere between jellyfish and penguin chaos.

You were tired.

Emotionally full.

And somewhere, deep down, scared of how much you didn’t want this night to end.

He didn’t say anything. Just rested his hand on your thigh and gently traced circles into your skin with his thumb.

It was the smallest touch.

But it said everything.

⸻

Present Day, 3:45 PM

You were exhausted.

Like soul-level exhausted.

Your body ached, your head throbbed, and your limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement. The café had just wrapped its soft opening weekend, and you didn’t sat down for longer than five minutes since Thursday. On top of that, the sting of another frosty exchange with his mother still clung to you like smoke.

So naturally, when Ricky strode into the café, you were expecting a hug.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to take your apron off, kiss the side of your head, and say

“Get in the car. No questions.”

You blinked . “I- what?”

He just smiled, that mysterious, maddening, unfairly gorgeous smile and added, “Bring a jacket. And comfy shoes. You’ll thank me.”

“Ricky-”

“Trust me.”

Ugh. Those two words again.

And damn him, you did.

“Have fun, boss” said Mia. Matthew smiled and waved good bye to you.

⸻

You fell asleep in the car.

Just for a little while.

When you opened your eyes, it was around 4:30 PM. You sat up slowly, yawning, only to find Ricky holding out your jacket and pointing out the window.

“Surprise!” he said.

You turned.

And gasped.

Everland.

The entrance gates glowed in golden lights, soft music playing in the distance, people spilling through the turnstiles with cotton candy, balloons, and wild-eyed children dragging parents by the hand.

“Wait- are we… are we going in?”

He chuckled. “It’s not for the penguins this time, I swear.”

You stared at him, heart in your throat. “Why?”

His voice softened. “Because you looked like you forgot how to smile.”

And all you could do were reach for his hand.

“Let’s have a date in theme park. You know like those in K-Drama?” Ricky smiled proudly.

You chuckled and nodded.

It turns out, theme park are exactly what you need when your life is spiraling from high expectations and difficult in-laws.

You two ran through glittering paths lined with LED roses and fantasy music.

You ate too much churros, corndogs, overpriced bubble tea.

Two of you lost a game of ring toss to a 9-year-old and then spent ₩50,000 winning a plush cat just because Ricky got competitive.

You haven’t laughed like that in weeks.

And every time you looked at him in his white shirt paired with tie and jacket, hair slightly windblown, cheeks pink from the cool air, you felt like you falling for him again. Even though you were already his and wore his ring.

⸻

“Let’s ride the T-Express,” he said, grinning at the towering wooden rollercoaster that looked like an architect’s fever dream.

You stared at it. Then at him.

“You know that thing has a vertical drop, right?”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

“I’d like to keep my soul inside my body, thank you.”

But somehow, few minutes later, you were screaming into the wind, clutching Ricky’s arm like a lifeline as the coaster plunged down a death-defying slope.

When you two stumbled off the ride, your legs were jelly and your throat were sore.

“Remind me,” you gasped, “never to trust you again.”

He was laughing. “But you had fun.”

“Trauma is not fun.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

Damn him.

“Next, let’s ride Columbus Adventure”

Ricky pulled you towards the viking ride.

“What?? RICKY?! NOOOOO”

⸻

You take a short break after that dizzying ride of rollercoaster and viking. You swear you will beat his ass when you got home later. You looked at him. Ricky was reading the map guide.

Oh no.

There it was again.

That smile.

The one that meant he was up to something. Dangerous. Ricky pointed at the next attraction on the map with an all-too-innocent grin.

“No,” you said instantly. “Absolutely not.”

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

“It literally has screaming skulls on the sign.”

“It’s just lights and sounds,” he said with a shrug. “You’ll be fine.”

“Nope. I know this trick. You’re going to ditch me in the middle and let a zombie grab my ankle.”

“I would never-”

“You 100% would.”

He leaned in, grinning. “Then you’d have to jump into my arms. Like a drama heroine.”

“Not happening.”

“Scared, sweetheart?”

You glared at him. “No.”

Nah. You were definitely scared.

The moment you stepped into the darkness, you grabbed Ricky’s sleeve in a death grip.

It was pitch-black. Cold. And too quiet.

Then a high-pitched child’s laughter echoed from behind you.

You froze. “Was that real?”

Ricky’s voice was very calm. Too calm. “I’m sure it’s just a speaker.”

Then came the slamming doors. The dragging footsteps. The sudden burst of screaming right next to your ear.

You shrieked. And accidentally grabbed his entire torso.

To his credit, Ricky held you close and whispered, “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

To his discredit… the second a blood-drenched clown jumped out of a false wall, he screamed louder than you did.

“What the fuck!”

“RICKY!” You yelped.

“Don’t leave me behind!” he shouted, now using you as a human shield.

You couldn’t stop laughing even as you were terrified.

You two ran through the last hallway breathless, disoriented, and clinging to each other like kindergarteners on a ghost tour. The moment you stumbled out into the light, you collapsed on a bench just outside the exit panting, laughing, totally wrecked.

“I hate you,” you said, still half-wheezing.

“I’m never trusting marketing again,” he muttered. “It said PG-13.”

You turned to him, cheeks flushed, heart still racing.

And before you could think too hard, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

He blinked.

“What was that for?” he asked, surprised.

“For screaming louder than me,” you said with a smirk. “I feel less embarrassed now.”

He grinned and leaned closer. “Want to go again?”

You shoved him playfully. “Not even if you bribed the zombies.”

After the haunted house, you two wandered away hand in hand, still a little breathless, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard. The air had cooled, the sky now a navy velvet blanket overhead, and the crowds had thinned enough that you could hear your footsteps against the stone path.

Neither of you said anything at first.

He held your hand loosely, gently swinging your fingers between them like he wasn’t ready to let go. You could still feel the imprint of his arms around you, the way you two clung to each other when the both of you too stubborn to admit you were scared.

“Do you want ice cream? We can share if you can’t finish it”

You nodded. “I want min-“

“No mint choco please”

You pinched his biceps. “Then you picked, I’ll just eat it”

Ricky nodded. “Strawberry!”

You sighed and smiled.

⸻

It was supposed to be silly.

Just a filler ride. A break between snacks and haunted house disasters. Something nostalgic before Ricky convinced you to do something death-defying again.

But the second you stepped into the carousel enclosure and heard the soft, lilting music you froze.

You almost said no.

Because the carousel looked too beautiful. Too perfect to be real.

A full ride with ornate white horses, gilded mirrors, soft twinkling lights, and soft string music floating through the air like the ending of a dream. It looked like something plucked out of a storybook not something you ride after ice cream and haunted house.

But Ricky looked at you with that gleam in his eyes, mischief mixed with something gentler. Sweeter.

“Pick a horse,” he said, gesturing grandly. “I’ll pick mine.”

“You’re seriously riding it too?”

“Of course,” he said, smirking. “You think I’d let you look like a fairy tale alone?”

He found the horse next to yours, a tall one with a silver bridle and a flowing mane, and climbed up with zero hesitation, settling in with elegance he absolutely didn’t deserve.

You stared.

He looked ridiculous and painfully attractive.

Like a drama lead in the final act of a love confession.

Like a prince who just decided he didn’t need a kingdom, he only want you.

As the carousel started turning, the music picked up slow, whimsical, like a music box winding through the evening air. Lights blurred past you two, the golden ones above and the city lights beyond the park fence.

The horses rose and fell gently, carrying in a circle that felt like it belonged to you and Ricky alone.

You looked over at him.

He was watching you already.

The breeze lifted his hair slightly, and his jaw relaxed in that soft way you only ever saw when he forgot to be intimidating. He held the pole lightly with one hand, legs draped across the sides like he belonged there like he was born to ride golden carousels next to girls like you.

“You look like you’re posing for a magazine,” you muttered.

“You’re lucky I didn’t wear a crown,” he teased.

“You’re lucky I’m not swooning.”

“Oh, you are. Just internally.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled.

Halfway through the ride, you reached out without thinking.

He met your hand halfway.

You two held on like kids afraid of getting separated in a crowd, fingers linked between two painted horses in a world that was suddenly too quiet and too beautiful.

“I feel like I’m in a dream,” you whispered.

Ricky looked at you like he had known that all along.

“You are,” he said. “And you don’t have to wake up.”

The carousel kept turning.

Slow. Gentle. Enchanted.

Ricky’s hand was still wrapped around yours, your fingers laced between the painted poles of two horses like even this wasn’t close enough.

You kept stealing glances at him.

And every time, he was already looking at you.

Not with his usual cocky smile. Not with the teasing glint he wore like armor.

Just… Softness.

Like he was the one who had wandered into a dream and was scared to blink in case it disappeared.

The music shifted slowed, stretched and you knew the ride was almost over. Just a few more turns before the lights would dim and the spell would break.

You didn’t want it to.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And maybe he felt it too that aching sweetness in the air because Ricky let go of the pole, stood up slightly, and leaned across the space between you two.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

His hand cupped your cheek.

And then

He kissed you.

Right there, between the rise and fall of carousel horses and the swirl of fairy lights Shen Ricky kissed you.

His lips were warm and slow and unhurried. No pressure. No demand.

And you kissed him back, you closed your eyes and melted into that impossible, fairytale kiss.

⸻

You two ended the night at the Ferris wheel.

Because apparently, Ricky believes in clichés. And honestly? You didn’t mind.

You sat in the small glass carriage, rising slowly into the dark sky, city lights sprawling below us like a galaxy of secrets.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your hand resting lightly over his heart.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m… happy,” you murmured.

It felt fragile to say it out loud. Like if you acknowledged it too openly, it would disappear.

He just kissed the top of your head and held you tighter.

By the time you and Ricky left the park, your feet were aching and your head were still spinning from the roller coasters, the ice cream, and Ricky’s stupidly gorgeous face illuminated under fairy lights like he walked out of a daydream.

“Did you have fun?” Ricky asked quietly.

You turned to him.

He wasn’t smiling in that usual charming way of his. His expression was softer.

Did I make you forget for a little while?

Was today enough?

Am I enough?

You nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Your voice cracked slightly, and you didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the sudden quiet. Maybe it was how peaceful the moment felt, nestled in between the loudness of the world and the intensity of your lives. Or maybe it was the realization that this man this absurd, sometimes infuriating man always tried so hard to make you happy.

Even when you didn’t ask him to. Especially then.

“I needed this,” you whispered. “More than I realized.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave your hand a soft squeeze.

“You deserve days like this every week,” he murmured.

You looked down at your hands. At the way his thumb brushed over yours absentmindedly, like it was second nature. Like you were already stitched into his skin.

“I’m not very good at letting myself enjoy things,” you admitted. “It always feels like I’m wasting time. Or like the good moments are… temporary. Like they’ll be taken away the second I start to relax.”

There. You said it.

That fear you never really said out loud.

But Ricky didn’t recoil. He didn’t try to fix it.

He just stopped walking, turned to face you, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be here,” he said softly. “Even when the good moments feel far away. Even when you’re scared to trust them. I’ll be right here.”

You blinked hard, trying not to cry in the middle of a theme park. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” he said. “I already did.”

He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it, right over your wedding ring.

And in that moment, under the moonlights and the soft breeze of a cooling summer night, you believed him.

⸻

You didn’t know how you two got from the theme park to the bed.

One moment, you were still standing in the crowds eating churros with him. The next, Ricky’s fingers were brushing your wrist, asking a question without words. And you nodded before you even realized it.

He didn’t rush.

The room fell into silence, broken only by the quiet hum of city lights. Ricky kissed you like he was trying to learn you again. Like you two weren’t already married.

Like there was still more of you to memorize every breath, every curve, every quiet gasp you tried to swallow but couldn’t.

His mouth found your throat, your collarbone. He kissed your chin and your neck. His hands slid beneath the fabric of your dress like he’d been waiting all day just to hold you like this, not with urgency, but with reverence.

And God… the way he touched you.

Like you were something precious.

Like you were something his.

Your fingers tangled in his neck tie and somewhere between soft kisses and clothing melting to the floor, you two ended up on the bed.

“Ricky…” you whispered, arching slightly beneath him.

He paused. Looked down at you.

Not hungrily.

Tenderly.

His hair had fallen into his eyes again. His wedding ring glinted faintly on his hand as he smoothed your hair away from your cheek.

“I’ve been in love with you,” he said quietly, “since the first day you smiled at me like I wasn’t anyone special.”

Your heart stopped.

Because he wasn’t trying to seduce you.

He was giving you something.

His truth.

His soul.

You reached up, cupped his face with both hands, and pulled him down into a kiss that were everything you couldn’t say out loud.

“I love you.”

“I still don’t know why you picked me.”

“But I’m so, so glad you did.”

The rest of the night was slow.

Gentle.

Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, like you both trying to remember what safety felt like. His hands never stopped moving sliding along your waist, across your stomach, between your fingers, like he was drawing a map across your skin only he could read. He was marking you as his territory.

Every moan was muffled against his shoulder. Every kiss felt like a vow.

He whispered your name like a prayer like he didn’t care if the world heard as long as you did.

“I love you Y/N”

“Ricky…”

Your nails clawed to his back when he hit the spot.

And when you finally stilled, curled beneath the sheets with your legs tangled and your head tucked under his chin.

“My love, my everything…”

You smiled and trace your fingers on his abs.

“Am I too rough?” he asked.

You got shy and hide your face in his chest.

Ricky laughed.

“Let’s take a shower together and then we sleep”

You stared at him.

“Are you sure we only ‘shower’ huh?”

Ricky smirked and raised his eyebrows playfully.

You just smiled. Too tired to handle his naughty face. You just let Ricky carried you to the bathroom and… shh it’s a secret.

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!

Taglist: @acaciacore @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @cutebamtori @jiaant11 @luvlyjaemin @gemstone31

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Warning(s): Kissing

Tied To You Masterlist

Chapter 6 - First Date, First Panic

The restaurant he brought you to had chandeliers.

Real ones.

You wore your nicest dress which still felt wrong against the velvet cushions and gold menus. But Ricky didn’t seem to care about your mismatched earrings or your thrifted shoes.

He only looked at you.

“You’re nervous,” he said, slicing into his steak.

“You’re not?”

“I’m terrified,” he deadpanned. “You might find out I’m actually a socially awkward CEO with no game.”

You giggled, surprised by his honesty.

And just like that the nerves melted.

He didn’t touch his phone once. He asked about your favorite flowers, about your grandmother, about your childhood and when you said you’d never been anywhere this fancy before, he didn’t make you feel small, he just smiled and said, “Then let this be your first of many.”

By dessert, you were grinning without even realizing it.

And as he walked you home through the misty night, hand in hand you thought maybe, just maybe, fate wasn’t a scam after all.

“How’s the dinner just now? Do you like it?” Ricky looked at you.

You nodded. You were real an ungrateful person if you said you don’t appreciate and like those EXPENSIVE meals. You saw the bills too and the price was triple the value of your small and old flower shop.

“Of course I like it. It’s the best dinner I ever had in my life”, you replied.

Until you found yourself at your door… and he leaned down, brushed your cheek with his lips, and whispered

“Don’t fall for anyone else. I’m very possessive. I like you so much, Y/N”

Ricky didn’t play around. Your eyes widened. He just kissed your cheek?!

“Next time, we go for real date like other couples, okay?” Ricky kissed your hand. You were speechless and nodded. But you didn’t reply to his confession.

After that first dinner ‘date’, he made his intentions very clear.

He sent you flowers and sweets every morning sometimes he sent perfume and jewellery too not forgetting always with his handwritten notes like “You smiled in my dream last night.” or “Don’t wear yourself out, bunny. Rest when you can.”

He picked you up after your shifts and brought you late-night street food in his car. He held your hand like it was breakable glass. He never let go first.

One time you got caught in a heavy rainstorm on your way home and your phone died — Ricky shut down three boardrooms and drove like a madman just to find you soaking wet under a bus stop.

“Y/N,” he’d said, voice tight, panicked. He held your shoulders tightly. “You.. don’t ever disappear on me again, you hear me?”

“I— I just— I forgot my umbrella—”

He cupped your cheeks and kissed you like the rain didn’t exist.

“Y/N, I love you. I can’t live without you”

Ricky confessed his love to you.

Your eyes filled with tears. Happy tears.

“Ricky… I love you too” You finally replied to his love confession and kissed him back.

That was the day you realized

Shen Ricky wasn’t just rich. He is yours.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

⸻

11:45 AM, Saturday

The golden light spilled through your living room windows, warm and lazy. You were curled against Ricky’s chest, his arm loosely around your waist, the soft thrum of his heartbeat steady against your ear. You were watching your favorite K-Drama with him.

“I’ve been thinking…” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Hm?” You tilted your head up, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He looked down at you with that tender gaze that always undid you. “You’ve been working so hard at the café, bunny. I think it’s time you have full creative freedom — run it exactly how you want. No more quiet approval from me in the background. I want you to feel proud… powerful. It’s yours, after all.”

You blinked, surprised. “But you already gave it to me—”

“I gave you the building. Now I’m giving you the stage.” His lips curled into a soft smile. “Expand it. Redecorate. Launch your dream menu. Do everything you dreamed of.”

Tears welled up, uninvited. “Hubby…”

“And,” he added, brushing a thumb under your eye before it fell, “I’ve already been planning something with Matthew. A little surprise. You’ll know when it’s time.”

You squinted at him. “You and Matthew are plotting without me?”

“Only for your happiness, Mrs. Shen.” He grinned, and leaned down to kiss your hand — slowly, like he was sealing a vow. “You’re going to shine, my love.”

“Even if I’m just a girl who used to sell flowers in a cramped little old shop?”

He kissed your forehead. “Especially because you are that girl.”

⸻

“You want to change the whole layout?” You blinked at Mia, who was now halfway up a ladder, sketching ideas on the café’s wall with a glitter pen.

“Correction—we want to make this place scream you,” she said, beaming. “Soft pastels, garden tea corner, dessert bar with a mini floral archway… maybe a bookshelf that spins into a secret door? Just spitballin’.”

Matthew, carefully balancing three swatches in one hand and a latte in the other, added, “Nothing too flashy. Just enough to make your ex-customers cry happy tears when they walk in.”

You laughed, heart warm and fuzzy. These two… always so full of light.

Ricky stood near the back counter, arms crossed, watching us with a small smile tugging at his lips. He was in full silent supporter husband mode today — sleeves rolled up, hair tousled, still looking like a business magazine cover came to life. But his gaze was soft, only for you.

“Wife,” he said, motioning you over. “Come here.”

You wiped your hands on your apron and walked over, only for him to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re glowing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m literally covered in paint.”

“And still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He lowered his voice, leaning close. “My wife. My love.”

Your cheeks flushed pink. “Ricky…”

The day passed with laughter, paint splatters, and cinnamon rolls. Mia accidentally glued two chairs together.

“It’s modern art!” said Mia.

Matthew turned into a color swatch zombie, and Ricky… well, Ricky didn’t leave your side once.

⸻

8:05 PM, Night

You stand still in front of your huge jellyfish aquarium build in your house. You smiled remembering your memories with Ricky. He noticed you and hugged you from behind.

“Remember our second date?”

You looked at him.

“Second? I thought it’s our first real date”

Ricky pouted.

“It’s supposed to be our second date that time. So you didn’t count our first dinner as our first date?” He asked.

You hesitated. “Sorry, no”

Ricky kissed your temple.

“Do you remember that you said you like jellyfish?”

You nodded. “But I like you more than anything.”

Ricky laughed softly. “Of course I know that.” said Ricky proudly.

⸻.

You had no idea what to do with your hands.

You kept fidgeting — smoothing your skirt, adjusting your sleeves, tugging at a stray thread on your bag — anything to avoid meeting Ricky’s eyes as the black Porche cruised through the city toward… wherever he was taking you.

It was supposed to be your first real date like other couples.

And yet, your stomach felt like you were being sent into a board meeting with no notes, no coffee, and no clue.

He, on the other hand, was glowing.

Relaxed, confident, fingers loosely linked with yours like this was just another Monday. He wore a white button-down, sleeves rolled, no tie — and somehow he still looked like a magazine cover come to life.

Meanwhile, you were already sweating through the cute soft yellow dress you found in your closet.

“You okay?” he asked gently, glancing over at you.

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yup. Great. Totally good.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“You’re gripping your purse like you’re about to rob the place.”

You looked down. Loosened your death grip. Laughed awkwardly.

“Sorry. I just… I’ve never done this before.”

“A date?” he teased.

“A date like this,” you said. “With a guy like you. Who has a car with built-in Wi-Fi and drinks water with lemon wedges for fun.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “You make me sound like a spa menu.”

You bit your lip. “You make me feel like I’m not supposed to be here.”

And there it was — the truth, clumsy and naked.

He looked at you then. Really looked.

Not with pity.

Not with amusement.

With something softer. Sharper.

“Bab—” he paused, correcting himself with a little smile, “Y/N. I invited you. That means you belong. With me. Always.”

You didn’t answer. Just nodded. Tucked his words in the pocket of your heart where the self-doubt couldn’t chew through them.

⸻

The brunch spot was too beautiful.

It looked like the kind of place that had a secret backroom for royalty. Marble floors. Crystal light fixtures. Waiters who wore actual gloves.

You felt like a walking coffee stain.

Ricky led you in with the same calm energy he always had — like he didn’t even notice the stares you two got. But you noticed. Every glance. Every whisper.

And you couldn’t help thinking how obvious it was that you didn’t fit in.

Not here. Not in this world.

“You look like you want to crawl under the table,” he said once you two were seated, menus in hand.

“I might.”

He leaned forward a little, his voice dropping. “Tell me what you’re thinking. No filter.”

You hesitated. Then whispered, “I’m scared I’ll mess up. That I’ll say the wrong thing. Use the wrong fork. Laugh too loudly. Embarrass you.”

His brow creased. “Embarrass me?”

You nodded.

“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “you never embarrass me. If anyone here has a problem with you, they’re not worth noticing. And frankly, I don’t give a damn what they think.”

The food was tasty. You didn’t know croissants could look glossy. Or that butter could arrive as a flower. At first, you poked at your plate awkwardly, afraid to eat too fast or too slow.

But Ricky kept talking to you.

Not about business, or fancy stuff, or people you didn’t know — but about weird trivia.

“Did you know flamingos aren’t born pink?” he said at one point. “They eat shrimp and turn pink. Nature’s weird.”

“What?” You giggled. “You’re lying.”

“Swear on my stocks.”

You snorted. “That’s a rich man’s swear.”

He grinned. “Then it’s serious.”

Little by little, you forgot where you were.

You laughed more.

Relaxed into your seat.

Even stole a bite of his smoked salmon toast when he looked away.

By the time dessert arrived — a tiny mousse shaped like a swan — you weren’t faking your smile anymore.

When you two got back into the car, he leaned toward you and said, “Ready for your surprise?”

Your stomach flipped. “More?”

He smiled, eyes soft. “Don’t worry. No more weird food or forks.”

You eyed him. “Is it another restaurant?”

“Nope.”

“Not… skydiving, right?”

He chuckled. “God, no. You’d murder me.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He drove for another fifteen minutes. You peeked out the window but couldn’t recognize the buildings or where you two were headed — until he pulled into an underground lot and stopped near a private entrance.

He helped you out of the car and held your hand tightly as you two walked toward a sleek glass door.

And then you saw it.

A logo you’d know anywhere: Oceanaria Aquarium.

You blinked. This place is in your wishlist.

“Surprised! Let’s go for a real real real date! Like those in K-Drama.” He grinned and take your hand in his.

But then you realised. “Wait. Isn’t this place closed on Mondays?”

“It is,” he said, already swiping a keycard. “But not for you.”

⸻

The moment you stepped into the jellyfish hall, you forgot how to breathe.

It was… stunning.

Curved walls lined with glowing blue tanks. Dozens of jellyfish floating in hypnotic spirals — their tendrils pulsing gently, weightless in the dark. The only light came from their luminescence and soft spotlights tucked along the floor, making everything shimmer like a dream.

You stepped closer to the nearest tank, barely able to speak.

“They’re… beautiful,” you whispered.

“So are you,” Ricky said behind you.

You flushed, heart stuttering. “You did all this for me?”

“You mentioned once,” he said softly, “that you liked jellyfish. That they were soft and mysterious and didn’t need hearts to glow. That stuck with me.”

You stared at the tank, overwhelmed.

No one had ever listened to you like that. Not in passing. Not in detail. Not with intention.

You turned toward him, and for a second you didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t get it,” you said quietly. “You’re… you. You could take anyone on a date. Why me?”

He blinked.

And then he said the one thing that unraveled you completely.

“Because you don’t want me for what I have,” he said. “You look at me like I’m a person, not a title.”

You opened your mouth to reply.

But he stepped closer, brushing your hand with his fingers — tentative, like asking for permission.

You gave it without words.

And when he kissed you… it felt like the world stopped spinning for a moment.

There was no glittering restaurant, no billion-dollar family name, no jellyfish gliding past in slow motion.

There was just his lips on yours — warm and steady.

And the terrifying, beautiful realization that you were falling.

Hard.

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!

Taglist: @acaciacore @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @cutebamtori @jiaant11 @sue0777

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Warning(s): kissing, a bit suggestive

Chapter 5 - His Queen, Always

Some people say love is like a fire. But with Ricky, it felt like air.

Unseen. Constant. Necessary.

He was the breath you didn’t know you were holding all your life.

⸻

Back then, you didn’t believe in fate.

Fate never came for girls like you. Girls who folded rose petals for a living. Girls with second-hand shoes and scraped knees from chasing buses in the rain. Girls who lived in a rented shophouse above an old flower shop and were raised by a grandmother who brewed love into barley soup.

No, you believed in hard work — not miracles.

Which is why you definitely didn’t believe it the first time when Ricky - Shen Quan Rui walked into your small and old flower shop.

⸻

He was wearing a suit. Not the kind of suit from mall catalogs. A tailored, midnight navy piece with sharp lapels and subtle embroidery that screamed money with silence. The rain had just stopped, his black umbrella folded neatly under one arm, his glossy hair slightly tousled from the breeze.

And then there were his eyes.

Piercing. Focused. Hungry.

“Are you still open?” he asked.

Voice deep. Calm. Polished.

You were holding a pair of gardening scissors in one hand and a rose in the other, blinked.

“Yes,” you said.

You frowned trying to remember his face.

He stepped inside.

The smell of rain clung to him like cologne. Your small shop was filled with mismatched flower buckets and newspaper-wrapped stems, but somehow, he looked like he belonged in a magazine instead — Forbes, not florals.

“I need a bouquet,” he said. “For my grandmother. Her birthday.”

“Oh! Sure. Okay. Um… what does she like?”

He tilted his head, as if assessing her. “She likes gentle things.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause. As if he wasn’t just talking about flowers.

“Then maybe white tulips… mixed with chamomile? It means calm and everlasting love.”

He smiled. Just a little. But it lit up his entire face.

“I’ll take that.”

As you arranged the bouquet, you felt his eyes on you — not creepy or uncomfortable, just curious. Studying you like you are a puzzle.

“This is our second meet right? What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.

You nodded and answered. “Y/N.”

“That suits you.”

You glanced up. “Why?”

“Because you look like something that only blooms after rain.”

And just like that, you dropped the scissors.

After Shen Ricky left with his bouquet and he overpaid too… you assumed you will never see him again.

Because people like him — people in suits that probably cost more than your entire inventory — didn’t revisit dingy street-corner flower shops. Especially not ones run by soft-spoken girls with tangled hair and ink-stained aprons.

But he came back.

The very next day.

And the day after that.

Always after 5 p.m. Sometimes with the rain.

At first, he said he needed more flowers for his grandmother.

Then it became “my assistant’s birthday” or “a last-minute event” or “my driver’s cousin’s pet died” — increasingly suspicious excuses that made you squint at him every time he walked in.

One day, on his sixth visit in two weeks, you finally asked, “You know you can order flowers online, right?”

“I could,” he said, not missing a beat, “but then I wouldn’t get to see you.”

You nearly dropped a whole vase this time.

“You’re… joking.”

“I never joke about things I want.”

Your stomach flipped.

You didn’t know what to say to that — especially when he leaned slightly over the counter, his gaze intense but soft.

“Have dinner with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Dinner. You and me. Just one hour. I won’t steal your soul, I promise.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

Then finally said, “I don’t think I’m… the type of person you usually ask.”

“And you’d be right,” he replied smoothly. “I’ve never asked anyone before.”

Pause.

“Y/N,” he added, voice lower now. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Your heart stuttered so hard you nearly forgot how to breathe.

He left without getting flowers that day — but with a shy yes scribbled on a sticky note you slipped into his palm.

⸻

Late evening, 6:00 PM

The café was finally quiet.

You closed the cash register with a tired sigh, glancing at the last table where Mia had left behind a heart-shaped latte art made specially for a shy customer. Matthew had gone an hour early for his evening class, flashing you a playful wink on the way out.

You locked the doors, the soft clink echoing in the dimness. You flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’.

“Mia, thank you for your hardwork today” You said and patted her back. “Go home safely, okay? You can bring back home today’s cinnamon rolls leftover”

Mia smiled and nodded. “Yeay! Thank you, my beautiful boss lady!”

You nodded and went upstairs.

Your heart fluttered as you made your way to the rooftop. Your little secret space. The golden hour painted the sky in hues of pink and fire, and you caught a glimpse of him even before you opened the door.

Ricky. Your Ricky.

Leaning against the railing, his dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened like he owned the evening. The wind tousled his black hair and the light haloed his tall frame. He looked like he had stepped out of a dream… your dream.

And he was waiting for you.

“My lovely husband,” you whispered to yourself before opening the door.

His gaze found you instantly, eyes soft but sharp, like he had memorized every breath you took.

“You’re late, sweetheart,” he said, walking toward you.

“I had to do closing stock.” You smiled up at him as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He clicked his tongue. “You work too hard, my bunny. I should hire someone to do everything for you.”

“But then what would I do all day?” You teased.

He smirked. “Be my wife. Full time.”

You giggled. “I already am.”

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw gently. “Then call me something sweet. I missed your voice.”

“Hubby.”

He melted.

“I swear—” he breathed, “when you call me that, I forget I’m the CEO of anything.”

He pulled you close and kissed your forehead.

⸻

You both sat on the bench he had custom-built few months ago — white wood, cushioned with floral pillows. You leaned into his chest, hearing the steady rhythm of his heart. The sky turned lilac and the stars slowly blinked into life.

You closed your eyes. “Do you ever… regret this?”

He stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Being with someone like me.”

He sat up, his expression suddenly intense. “Why would you ask that?”

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m just… holding you back. I don’t belong in your world, Ricky. You’re a king, and I’m just…”

He silenced you with a soft kiss. Then another. One for each insecurity building up in your chest.

“You are not just anything,” he said fiercely. “You’re my everything.”

“But your mother—”

“My mother doesn’t sleep in my bed. You do. She doesn’t hold my heart. You do. She didn’t heal me. You did.”

You looked down, overwhelmed.

He lifted your chin. “Y/N… darling. When you married me, you didn’t just become my wife. You became my peace, my strength. My reason to wake up every morning.”

“Even when I cry like a mess?”

“Especially when you cry. I want to be the only one who wipes your tears.”

He cupped your cheeks again, kissing both gently.

“You are my wife.”

A kiss on your forehead.

“My love.”

A brush on your cheek.

“My destiny.”

His thumb ran across your lower lip.

“My everything.”

He leaned in, your lips barely touching, the softest breath between you two. “My only one. My bunny. My sweetheart.”

You laughed breathlessly. “You’re going to use all the pet names now?”

He grinned. “I haven’t even started.”

Then he shifted, gently pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist. You gasped slightly at the boldness, but didn’t resist. Your cheek rested on his shoulder, his hand running soothing circles along your back.

“I could sit like this forever,” You whispered.

“I’m not letting you go,” he replied, voice husky.

The air grew still. Thicker.

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing warm, fluttering kisses there.

“Can I?” he asked, whispering the question like a secret.

You nodded.

His kisses deepened. His hands gripped your hips a little tighter. Skin met skin as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your blouse, not urgent, just intimate. You held him tighter, burying your face against his neck, drunk on his scent—fresh citrus and something uniquely Ricky.

“I love you,” You whispered, voice shaking.

“I love you more.” He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Let me show you.”

The stars above bore witness as the city kept its distance, and Ricky held you close, skin to skin, breath to breath—like you were air itself.

He kissed you not like a CEO, not like a man used to power or pride — but like someone who worshipped you.

Fingertips tracing along your skin, slow and reverent. Soft sighs melting into shared warmth. He made sure you felt every kiss, every brush of his lips, every gentle hold as if he was afraid you might break. There was no rush.

Just whispered “I love you”s between stolen kisses.

His hands on your waist, yours tangled in his hair.

His breath warm against your skin, yours shaky against his ear.

The rhythm synced like a slow dance made only for two.

Ricky didn’t just take you — he embraced you. Fully. Heart, soul, and skin.

And when it was over, he didn’t let you go.

He wrapped his arms around you. Tucked you into his chest. Kissed your temple, nose, fingers — and mumbled sleepy promises like “I’ll never let you cry again,” and “My love, my wife, my forever.”

He didn’t just show love to you.

He made a vow.

Without needing words.

“You’re mine. And I’m yours,” he said, brushing his thumb along my bottom lip. “This wasn’t just passion, sweetheart. It is me giving you my soul.”

You blinked slowly, your chest aching with love.

“I know,” You whispered. “You’ve always given me more than I deserved.”

“Don’t say that,” he said fiercely. “You deserve everything. The stars. The moon. My name. My company. My breath.”

“And cinnamon rolls?” You teased softly, trying not to get emotional.

He grinned. “Endless. Mia’s got two trays waiting in the café.”

You laughed. And he kissed the sound right off your lips.

Soft. Sweet. Reassuring. Like a promise wrapped in warmth.

You two stayed like that for what felt like 2 hours. Him stroking your hair. You tracing invisible patterns on his chest. The city started to lighten beneath us, but it felt like we were still in a bubble — where time paused, and it was just us.

At some point, I said, “Let’s never forget this tomorrow morning.”

And Ricky, brushing a kiss to your forehead, said, “We won’t. Because every morning with you feels like a new vow.”

⸻

Night, 9 PM

Back in your home, Ricky insisted on carrying you

Yes. Carrying you.

You squeaked in protest when he swept you into his arms bridal-style, but he silenced you with a smirk.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” he whispered, eyes glinting with wicked satisfaction.

“I— well, yes… but you—!”

“Exactly,” he purred, striding straight to the bathroom. “So now I get to pamper my precious wife.”

The tub was already filling — warm, rose-scented water, bubbles spilling over the rim.

He set you gently on the edge.

“Let me,” he murmured.

Your cheeks burned, but you let him undress you slowly, reverently like you are fragile glass. His kisses trailed down your shoulder, across your collarbone.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he breathed against your skin. “Every inch of you… mine.”

The bath felt heavenly — your sore muscles soothed, your heart melted by every touch. Ricky slid in behind you, his chest warm and firm against your back, arms wrapping around you under the water.

He nuzzled the back of your neck, voice low and sweet.

“My wife. My only love.”

His fingers played with your wet hair. “You smell like flowers and strawberries.”

You leaned into him, heart full.

“I feel safe here,” you whispered.

He kissed the shell of your ear. “You’ll always be safe. Even if I have to burn the world to keep you that way.”

Tied To You Chapters Masterlist

Notes: Sorry I got tooooooooo carried away writing the rooftop scenes I just love writing Ricky doting on Y/N full with kisses and hugs. Please forgive me if this chapter is toooo long compared to previous chapters 🥺 oh and a quick note for italic one means the flashback scene before Y/N and Ricky got married! 😋

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!

Taglist: @acaciacore @chiaki-nanami-aesthetic @cutebamtori @jiaant11

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Pairing: Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Warning(s): Kissing, almost swearing action, mentions of pregnancy

Feat : ZEROBASEONE Seok Matthew

Chapter 4 - Rooftop Promises

They say love is like a garden—you have to water it, nurture it, protect it.

But no one tells you how scary it is when the world tries to trample it.

When you married Ricky, you thought your quiet little world would stay the same.

You were wrong.

Because marrying Shen Ricky didn’t just change your name.

It changed everything.

⸻

The soft chime of the café doorbell jingled as you wiped your hands on your apron, your heart fluttering with that mix of nerves and excitement you always felt at morning.

Today wasn’t just any day — it was the first day your little café, welcomed two new staff members.

You glanced over the counter just as the door opened again. “Morning!” chirped a lively voice.

Seok Matthew stepped in, tall and easy-going, with a warm smile that immediately put customers at ease. Right behind him bounced a whirlwind of energy — his twin sister Mia, her sparkling eyes scanning the room like she was already making mental notes on how to protect her “Boss.”

You smiled softly. “Welcome to the team,” you said, your voice gentle but full of hope.

Mia grinned, locking eyes with you. “Don’t worry, Boss. We’ve got your back. Especially when it comes to keeping the peace around here.”

Matthew chuckled, “Yeah, and I’m the calm in the storm.”

You laughed quietly, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the freshly brewed coffee.

Just then, the café’s glass door swung open with a confident flourish. Ricky entered, his usual calm and cool demeanor making heads turn, but his eyes immediately found yours.

“Good morning, Mrs. Shen,” he said smoothly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Your cheeks flushed. “Hubby…” you breathed.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Ready for a break, sweetheart?”

And just like that, with a smile, a soft “my bunny,” and the warmth of his presence, you knew no matter the challenges ahead, you have your world right here.

⸻

“Boss!” Mia called brightly from behind the counter. “Do we arrange the cinnamon rolls in a straight line or in a heart shape? I vote heart. Everything’s better in a heart.”

“Heart,” Matthew said looking up from the espresso machine. “Obviously. It’s a couple café.”

“It’s not a couple café,” You murmured, smiling softly as you wiped down the tables.

“It kind of is,” Mia sang, nudging her brother. “Especially when your husband shows up every other day looking like he walked off a magazine cover.”

“I heard that,” a deep voice spoke smoothly from behind you.

You turned, startled — and there he was, like always, perfectly timed Ricky, Shen Quan Rui. Youngest CEO in the country, billionaire, magazine model, old-money heir… and yours.

He wore a simple Versace black shirt today, sleeves folded to the elbows, top button undone — casual enough to blend in, but his presence still stole the air from the room.

“Hi, Ricky,” you said shyly, your cheeks warming.

Ricky’s gaze softened. “Hi, love.” He walked over and kissed your forehead without hesitation, completely ignoring the two excited gasps from behind the counter.

“Oh my God,” Mia whispered way too loudly. “He just—he forehead-kissed her. I’m going to scream.”

“I’m screaming internally,” Matthew replied, calmly placing another latte on the tray.

Ricky turned to them with an arched brow. “New staff?”

You nodded. “This is Seok Matthew and his twin sister Mia. Today’s their first day.”

Ricky gave them a polite nod. “Welcome.” Then his eyes flicked to you again, his voice dropping as he added, “Take it easy today, my darling. You’ve been pushing yourself too much.”

“I’m fine, really—”

“My bunny,” he said softly, “you say that even when you’re running on fumes.”

You blinked, caught between laughing and melting into the floor.

Behind the counter, Mia was clutching her chest. “He called her my bunny. I can’t—I just—Boss, how do you survive?”

“She doesn’t,” Matthew murmured. “She ascends.”

Ricky’s lips quirked, clearly hearing everything.

“Do you want to stay for lunch?” You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Only if I get to eat with my bunny,” he said, grinning now.

⸻

It was just past noon when the front door opened again — this time, with a much colder jingle.

In stepped a woman dressed immaculately in cream silk, heels clicking across the polished floor, her presence as sharp as the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her. Her eyes, dark and precise, scanned the café like it was beneath her.

Mia’s smile dropped. Matthew stiffened beside her.

Your heart sank. No… not now…

“M-Madam Shen,” she greeted quietly, forcing herself to step forward. “Welcome…”

Madam Shen didn’t return the smile.

Her eyes swept past you, pausing deliberately on the mismatched decorations Mia had chosen earlier. “Still… quaint,” she said coolly. “I suppose even a flower can grow in a crack on the sidewalk.”

You felt the sting, but you nodded politely. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’ll wait,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I assume my son will arrive soon. Though I’m not sure why he keeps wasting time in places like this.”

Mia shot a look at you, then leaned over to Matthew. “I’m going to throw a heart-shaped cinnamon roll at her.”

“Don’t,” he muttered. “I like having a job.”

Ricky arrived five minutes later, all calm elegance and quiet intensity.

The moment he saw his mother, he paused, his smile thinning. Then his eyes went straight to you — and softened.

“Wife,” he said, walking toward you without a glance at the woman who birthed him. He leaned in, brushing his fingers gently down your arm. “Are you okay?”

You hesitated. “I’m… fine.”

Ricky turned slowly. “Ma,” he said politely. “To what do we owe the visit?”

Madam Shen gave a clipped smile. “Can’t a mother visit her son’s… wife?”

“She has a name,” Ricky said, his voice quiet but sharp. “Y/N. Mrs. Shen. My only love.”

You blinked, stunned. Your heart thudded.

The café was dead silent — even Mia looked speechless.

Madam Shen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I see. Well. I was just checking in. You know how curious the press gets about your personal life.”

“And you know how little I care about the press,” Ricky replied smoothly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “They’re not married to my heart.”

Madam Shen’s eyes flashed. “If you say so.”

“Oh, I do.”

She stayed for exactly one espresso and thirty seconds of forced conversation before sweeping out of the café like a cold wind.

As soon as she left, Mia exhaled loudly. “Girl, you are married to a k-drama.”

Ricky turned to you, brushing your cheek gently with the back of his fingers. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.

“I’m okay,” you said again, but your voice cracked.

He pulled you into his arms, right there in the middle of the café. “No one,” he said, holding you close, “no one gets to make my heart feel small.”

⸻

After Madam Shen’s cold departure, the café slowly returned to life — with Mia aggressively rearranging cinnamon rolls in the shape of a middle finger and Matthew pretending not to notice.

But you couldn’t quite stop the trembling in your fingers.

So Ricky took your hand. Silently. With that calm intensity he wore like a second skin.

“Come with me, bunny.”

You didn’t ask where. You just followed him.

Both of you slipped out through the back of the café and up a narrow staircase you’d never noticed before. At the top was a coded metal door. Ricky tapped in a sequence and opened it for you.

Warm light spilled out.

You blinked.

A garden. A literal garden.

Hidden above the café. Strings of fairy lights hung between wooden beams. Peonies and roses bloomed along the railing. A soft white picnic bench rested in the center, surrounded by ivy-covered walls. There was even a small table set with your favorite tea — chamomile, with a single honey cube — and a glass dome of macarons.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I had it built for you,” Ricky said softly, stepping up behind her. “I told the architects: make it feel like peace. Like you.”

You turned, eyes wide. “Ricky… when did you…”

He cupped her face with both hands. “Secret and why you didn’t tell me she came by?”

You looked down.

“I didn’t want to cause problems,” you whispered.

Ricky’s voice dipped lower, his thumb brushing your lip. “You think loving you is a problem?”

“No! I just…” Your throat tightened. “She said I’m holding you back. That you deserve someone better. From your world.”

His eyes darkened.

“You are my world.”

The silence between them buzzed with something raw and thick.

“You think I’d give up my only love just to make her happy?” he asked quietly.

“Sweetheart… I’d burn the world before I let you go.”

You sucked in a breath.

“You’re mine, Y/N. My wife. My Mrs. Shen.” His hand dropped to your waist, pulling you gently but firmly closer. “I don’t care how ‘unworthy’ you think you are. I don’t care about bloodlines or status. I care about you.”

“I just don’t want to make things harder for you—”

“You’re the only reason I can breathe.”

Your knees wobbled. “Hubby…”

“I mean it.” His forehead pressed to yours.

“Don’t ever try to leave me, bunny. I won’t let you. I will chain you to me if I have to.”

Your breath hitched at the darkness in his voice — terrifying to anyone else, but to you… it felt like warmth.

Like safety. Like home.

“…Then never let go,” you whispered.

His lips crashed into yours. Not gentle. Not soft. Desperate. Possessive.

The kiss left you gasping. Dazed. Loved.

When they finally parted, he rested his palm on your belly and whispered, “One day, we’ll have a little family. Here. In peace. No one will ever touch you again.”

You chuckled and nodded. Stroking his hair.

And for a moment, in that rooftop garden made just for you, you believed it.

You sat with your hands cradling a warm teacup, but it wasn’t the tea making your cheeks glow.

It was Ricky.

He sat beside you on the bench, one arm draped over the back, body turned entirely toward you — as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Only you.

Only his wife.

He took your free hand in his, thumb brushing slow circles into your palm. Then, without a word, he lifted it and kissed your knuckles — one by one.

“I love these hands,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the center of your palm. “They’re soft. Kind. Always doing things for others.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “They’re just hands…”

“No, love.” He leaned in, lips ghosting over your cheek. “They’re yours. That’s what makes them beautiful.”

Your breath hitched.

Another kiss, featherlight on your temple. Then one to your other cheek. Then your nose.

Then — smooch! — a playful kiss to your lips that made you giggle into his lips.

“Ricky…” you said breathlessly, your fingers curling around his wrist.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Ricky whispered, voice husky. “Every day I wake up and I thank the universe you’re mine.”

You blinked up at him, stars in your eyes.

“And you’ll always be mine,” he added, more seriously now. “You hear me, bunny?”

You nodded, smiling shyly. “I hear you.”

He kissed you again. This time slower. Sweeter. His lips moved gently against yours, savoring every second. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“You’re too precious,” he murmured. “My only love. My sweet bunny. My forever, Mrs. Shen.”

You blushed so hard you had to hide your face in his chest.

“Stop it…” you mumbled.

He chuckled and smothered you in kisses again — your forehead, your jawline, the tip of your nose, your chin, your cheekbones, your ear.

“Stop?” he whispered.

“But I’ve only just started.”

⸻

Today you followed Ricky for a lunch meeting with company investors—Ricky’s world, not you.

“Mrs. Shen, your table is ready,” the hostess smiled, bowing slightly as she opened the private room.

Every time someone called you that—Mrs. Shen—a strange mix of warmth and fear bubbled in your chest. You still weren’t used to it.

The title felt too… heavy. Like a dress that didn’t quite fit right.

Ricky, sitting beside you in a crisp black suit, his favorite colour. He reached over and laced his fingers with yours. His thumb traced circles on your palm—slow, soothing, grounding.

“Stop overthinking,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You always do when your nose twitches like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “It does not twitch.”

“It does. It’s adorable.” He leaned in. “My bunny.”

Your cheeks burned. “Stop calling me that in public.”

“No one’s here but us. Besides…” He kissed your hand. “You married a man who can’t shut up about how much he adores you.”

You glanced away, trying not to smile. He made it so hard not to.

After the lunch meeting, both of you walked through a quiet park. The weather was soft and golden, the kind of sunlight that filtered through trees and made you forget pain existed.

You and Ricky sat on a bench.

He held your hand like it was priceless.

Like you were priceless.

“I have to stop by the café,” you said softly. “Just to check on things.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

When you arrived at your cafe, Mia was already rearranging cinnamon rolls into something… suspicious.

“Mia,” you said slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Cinnamon roll justice,” she grinned. “I shaped them like a certain witch’s initials. For therapy. Want one?”

Ricky coughed into his fist, fighting a smirk. “You’ve got brave staff, darling.”

You smiled. “They’re family.”

Matthew nodded from behind the espresso machine. “We’ve got you, boss.”

That word made your heart ache in a good way.

Boss. Me.

This little café—your dream—was real. All because of Ricky. But he never took credit. Never hovered. Just… supported me.

Loved me.

⸻

Later that night, curled up on your bed, Ricky kissed your temple as you rested your head on his chest.

“Hubby?” You whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re too good to me.”

His arms tightened. “You’re my wife. My love. You make me want to be better.”

You looked up at him. “Promise you’ll always stay like this?”

He gazed down at you with a look that made your heart throb.

“I’ll never stop. I’ll protect you. I’ll worship you. I’ll tear down the world if it tries to hurt you.”

Your breath caught.

And deep in your chest, something bloomed.

Safety.

Love.

Home.

Tied To You Masterlist

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

For full chapters list, check my masterlist✨

Comment if you want to join taglist!

[starryuns]

Tied To You

Pairing : Rich Husband! Ricky x Poor Wife! Reader

Genre : Fluff + Angst

Chapter 3 - Thorns In Bloom

People often ask,

“What’s it like, being married to Ricky - Shen Quan Rui?”

You usually smile politely and say,

“Quiet… and kind.”

But they wouldn’t believe me if you told them the truth.

That the man on magazine covers — cold eyes, immaculate suits — is the same man who packs your lunch when you forgot.

The same man who brushes your hair after a bath.

The same man who once chased a mosquito around your bedroom at 3AM because it bit you.

⸻

Shen Ricky isn’t just rich. He’s power. He’s really living up to his description.

Young and Rich, Tall and Handsome.

The youngest CEO in the country. Owner of Shen Holdings. Sought after by investors, envied by elites.

They say he’s untouchable.

But when he’s with you…

He melts.

⸻

Monday morning, 8.00 AM

Y/N café opened with little fanfare — just the way you liked it.

Nestled in a quiet corner of the city, surrounded by cherry trees and a cobblestone walkway, ‘The Cozy Cup’ was your tiny piece of peace.

Cream-colored walls, handmade menus, white lilies as decorations, soft music playing overhead. The aroma of coffee and vanilla filled the air as you set down a plate of lemon tarts by the window.

It wasn’t much compared to the flashy, five-star bakeries the Shen family usually funded. But it was yours.

You watered the flower arrangement on the counter — pale blue delphiniums and soft blush roses. A gift from Nai Nai, of course.

“For your first day as a boss,” she’d said with a wink.

You still smiled at the memory.

The bell above the door jingled. “Good morning, Mrs. CEO,” a deep voice teased.

You turned, cheeks already warming.

“Ricky.” You blinked at the sight of him in his usual sleek black suit, looking criminally handsome with a cup carrier in one hand and a tiny bouquet in the other.

“For you.” He placed the flowers beside the cash register. “And I brought your favorite matcha latte because I knew you were too busy to eat again.”

“You too! Don’t skip lunch again.” You said, pretending to pout.

“Yes, madam,” he replied, stepping closer and kissing your forehead.

“You’re my wife. And I’m obsessed with spoiling you.”

He Was Soft for you, Always

He stayed for an hour, just sitting on the side sofa, answering emails while occasionally stealing glances at you.

When you brought him a slice of your homemade chiffon cake, he raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t even charge me.”

“You’re the investor,” you giggled “Technically, this place is yours.”

He leaned forward, eyes burning with something possessive.

“No, sweetheart. This place is yours. Just like me.”

You smiled and pinched his cheeks. Ricky move to go back to his office for a meeting.

“Don’t look at other man okay? If someone seduces you, just said you are not interested in man” said Ricky while hugging you.

“Oh? Am I married to an alien?” You jokes.

“Except me, of course!” Ricky replied.

“Take care, I picked you up at 5. Is that okay for you?”

You nodded.

Ricky kissed your forehead and waving goodbye to you.

⸻

The bell rang again at lunch. You looked up from the register, expecting a customer.

But your stomach dropped.

Tall, slim, wrapped in designer clothes from head to toe — Annalise Chen.

Ricky’s ex-fiancée.

They’d never officially dated, but it had been an open secret in society circles: the Shen family had been grooming Annalise for years to be Ricky’s “ideal match.” She was elegant, ruthless, and had made it very clear from day one — she didn’t accept defeat.

“Well, well,” Annalise said, sunglasses sliding down her nose as she looked around the café. “I thought this was a student’s side project. Didn’t expect it to be… this quaint.”

“Can I help you?” You asked, forcing a smile.

“I’m here for tea. And maybe to see what’s so special about the girl who stole what was mine.”

Your fingers clenched at your apron, but you stayed calm.

“I don’t steal. Ricky chose me.”

Annalise’s smile was sharp. “For now. But you and I both know men get bored, sweetheart. Especially when they marry down.”

Before you could reply, the front door swung open.

Ricky.

His entire presence changed the air — tall, dark, and already radiating fury.

“Annalise.” His voice dropped a degree. “Why are you here?”

“Just saying hello to your little… hobby.”

Ricky’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Careful. My hobbies don’t get diamond rings. My wife does.”

Annalise’s gaze flicked to you, then back to Ricky. “You used to have better taste.”

Ricky didn’t even blink. “No. I just used to be blind.”

He stepped between them, gently pulling you behind him with one hand. “Get out.”

Annalise scoffed, flipping her hair as she turned. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you realize what you threw away.”

“Already did,” Ricky muttered under his breath. “And I threw it far far away.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

“Ricky…” you whispered, “You didn’t have to—”

“I did.” He turned to you, jaw still tight. “No one talks to you like that. I don’t care who they are.”

“She’s not wrong, though,” You said softly, eyes downcast. “I’m not from your world. People like her… they’ll always think I don’t belong.”

He took your hands gently. “Then I’ll build a new world. One where you belong, and they don’t.”

“You can’t protect me from everyone.”

“Maybe not,” he murmured, kissing your knuckles, “but I can destroy anyone who tries to hurt you.”

You blinked at him. “You’re being serious.”

He smiled — the soft, dangerous one. “Darling, I always am.”

You chuckled and then frowned.

“Didn’t you said you picked me at 5? It’s only lunch time now?”

Ricky leaned forward and rubbed his cheeks on yours.

“I miss you. I want to eat your cooking’s”

You sighed and smiled at his words.

“I can make sandwiches for you if you are okay with it?”

“Even if you serve stone and sand to me, I still eat it” He replied shamelessly.

“I’m not that kind of human!!!” You smacked his arm.

Ricky laughed.

———

Afternoon, 2:15 PM

Ricky insisted on tying the ribbon on your apron.

“You’re going to get cinnamon sugar on your dress, wife,” he murmured, pulling you gently into him.

“Then you’ll just have to help me change later, won’t you, hubby?” You teased.

He grinned — slow and dangerous — the kind that made your heart stumble.

“You’re trouble, Mrs. Shen.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Don’t you need to go back to your office?”

“Nah, I ditched my works for you” Ricky replied.

Ricky helped you baking your cafe signature pastry, Cinnamon Roll. Your cafe is not crowded with dine-in customers but mostly your customers choose to take away or thru online orders. So, you decide to handle all alone.

“I think you need staffs here to help you” said Ricky.

“It’s okay, I’m used to work alone”

“No.” Ricky said firmly. “You need to have workers”

“Fine, I will open up recruitment for new staff okay?”

“That’s better” Ricky kissed your cheeks before helping you wrapping more online orders.

You had flour on your cheek, and he brushed it away like you were made of porcelain.

“Do you know how hard it is to concentrate in meetings when all I can think about is you making pastries?” he said, lips grazing your ear.

You laughed softly.

“Do your investors know their CEO is a closet romantic?”

“They’d cry if they knew I once skipped lunch to buy your favorite iced lemon tea.”

“You skipped your lunch!?”

Ricky frozed and nodded. You started to nag at him to never skip lunch for almost 1 hour. Ricky pouted and acted cute to soothe your anger face.

“Baby, don’t angry pwishh, your Lovelicky scareddd” Ricky pouted.

You chuckled and pinched his cheeks. You cannot stay anger to his once in a blue moon cute side.

⸻

Later that night, Ricky drove you both to his family estate for dinner.

You felt like you were shrinking there.

Madam Shen’s gaze was sharp enough to peel skin. You didn’t even dare to call her ‘Ma’ even she is legally your mother-in-law.

She never outright insulted you in front of Ricky, but her silences…

…they cut.

That night, she commented on your necklace.

“Quite… simple, isn’t it?”

“It’s my grandmother’s,” you said quietly.

Ricky’s hand found yours beneath the table. He squeezed, firmly.

Then said coolly, “Simplicity suits my wife. Unlike overdone opinions.”

A beat of silence.

Nai Nai chortled.

Yeh Yeh smiled.

Madam Shen pursed her lips. Defeated.

⸻

In the car on the way home, you stared out the window.

“Did I embarrass you?” You asked softly.

Ricky pulled the car over.

“Shen Y/N,” he said, turning to you.

“You carry my name. You wear my ring. You live in my heart.”

He leaned in, eyes dark.

“No one — not even my mother — gets to make you feel small.”

You swallowed hard. Then whispered, “Okay, hubby.”

Ricky stared deeply into your eyes.

“I love you so much. When I see you my heart is like on roller coaster. You never fail to make me smile. I want to protect you, loving you.”

Ricky take your hand and kiss on your wedding ring.

“If anyone dares to hurt you, they will bear the consequences”

⸻

At home, he unzipped your dress for you like always.

Buttoned up your pajama shirt.

Kissed the tip of your nose.

You curled into him in bed.

He murmured, “You looked beautiful tonight.”

You patted his chest and closed your eyes, letting his heartbeat lull you to dreamland.

And for a little while,

even in a world too sharp and too loud—

You felt safe.

———

But it wasn’t always sweet.

Some days, his mother would call.

And you’d pretend you didn’t hear her say

“You are not even educated like my son. A florist? No family members? Poor? You must be kidding me”

Or

“You think this you can stand beside Ricky at the boardroom table?”

You would lower the volume.

Pretending to be deaf.

And swallow your feelings with the tea you steeped too strong.

You never told him.

Because you knew if you did… he would burn the world.

Just for YOUR LOVE.

Tied To You Masterlist

Disclaimer: ALL STORIES ARE FICTIONAL ONLY

[do not copy, edit, or revise my works]

Comment if you want to join taglist!