#shen quanrui smut

[seokmattchuus]

When Ricky said that you could come watch them film for the new music video, he didn't expect you to dress up for him. Thank god the dressing rooms had locks.

But too bad they were so close to the filming area.

[fanbasetwo]

TIL DEATH DO US PART , RICKY

PAIRING: husband ! ricky × wife ! afab reader

SYNOPSIS: In an arranged marriage where sparks never flew, you finally chose divorce as the only path to freedom. But when your husband died in a sudden accident, life took an unexpected turn, binding you to a reality marked by guilt, grief, and the shadows of unfulfilled words. Now, you must navigate a world that holds him forever gone.

GENRE: fluff + angst

WARNING(S): not proofread, kissing, dirty jokes, a little bit suggestive, mentions of suicide and death, insecurities, mentions of pregnancy. lmk if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 16.2K

FEAT: JAY from ENHYPEN + some ocs

MASTERLIST !!

NOTE FROM SENA , this kinda flopped on my enha blog but I still wanted to reach more people, so here it is. an ricky version of the same fic, if you find ‘jake’ instead of ‘ricky’ in some paras please mention so that I can edit it out. hope you have fun reading this <3💗

DEAR RICKY,

I'm sorry, but I can't continue living like this. I'm leaving. Our marriage has become a constant battle, and I believe we're both suffering more by holding on than we would by letting go. I know neither of us wanted it to come to this, and I wish things were different. But deep down, I think we're better apart. I hope one day you'll understand.

With regret, Y/N.

TEARS BLURRED YOUR VISION AS YOU STARED AT THE CRUMBLED NOTE IN YOUR HAND—the one you had written to Ricky months ago. The one that now felt like a curse. Your hands shook as you traced the familiar words, guilt twisting your insides. I'm leaving. I'm sorry. He had never known the true weight of those words. And now he never would.

The police had found it in his pocket. They said he'd carried it with him, even after everything. Even when he... when he was gone.

You collapsed onto the couch, clutching the note like a lifeline, but it only felt like a reminder of how far you had pushed him. How much you had wanted out, and now, how deeply you regretted it. A year together, two lives constantly at odds, and it had ended in this way. A divorce that never came, an accident that did. You didn't want this, didn't want him gone, but now, all you had was this-regret, and a body that was too still in your bed to hold. The anger, the frustration of him being gone-it consumed you, ate at your soul.

Why couldn't you have waited?

You had hoped time apart would fix things, give you both breathing room. But he hadn't lived long enough for you to see the good you could have made of it. The guilt ate you alive, deeper than the frustration ever had. You tried to convince yourself it wasn't your fault, that you couldn't have known, but deep down, the truth stung. Your note had been his last reminder of your marriage. His last memory. He had carried your rejection right until the end.

Would things have been different if you hadn't written that letter?

The thought raked at your mind like shards of glass, shredding everything in its path. What if you had kept fighting for him, for the marriage? Would he have been here? Would you have learned to love him? Or would he still have left, still have been gone, no matter what?

Your thoughts flickered back to moments with him-so small, so easy to overlook. The way Ricky had rolled his eyes every time you'd scolded his niece Semi for spilling juice, or how he had tried to hide his smirk as he pretended to act innocent. The little things that used to irritate you, that you had never really appreciated until now.

You remembered the way he defended you against his relatives, his words sharp and protective as they made cruel comments about your body. They didn't understand, but Ricky did. He had always been there, not perfect but trying.

“She suits me well enough.”

The memory felt like a slap now, a cruel joke. You had spent so much time pushing him away, not seeing that he cared. You hadn't seen that he had tried.

“Why couldn't I have seen it?” You whispered to the empty room, curling up on the bed, pressing your face into the pillow. The tears soaked into the fabric, and the sobs wracked through you like a storm. Why was it only now, when he was gone, that you realized how much he had mattered?

You had never kissed him, never held him the way a wife should. You thought you had the luxury of time, but now you had nothing left but his memory. The memory of a man you barely knew but had somehow been the one constant in your life. How selfish of you to push him away. How stupid to think it was all about the fights, the annoyances, and not about the love you could have had.

“Please... Ricky. I'm sorry...”

The words escaped you as your sobs grew louder, choking your breath. Your body trembled with grief, the weight of regret pressing down on you until you couldn't breathe. If only you could undo it, go back and rewrite the note. If only you hadn't given up on him, on the marriage, on the chance for something more.

The room felt suffocating now, as though the walls were closing in around you. What now? you thought. There was no future with him anymore. No next step. No reconciliation.

Why had you waited so long to realize how much he meant to you?

You sank deeper into your pillow, tears soaking your face and your hair, wishing for the impossible: for him to walk through the door, to come back, to make everything okay again. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

And all that was left was you. And the note.

YOUR MOTHER IN LAW’S HANDS TREMBLE AS SHE EXTENDS THE ANCESTRAL RING TOWARDS YOU, her eyes glistening with raw grief. The ring's delicate gold band catches the light, an unwanted reminder of everything Ricky represented—strength, love, an unfinished story.

“He wanted you to have this… but I never thought I’d give it to you now. Not like this,” she whispers, her voice breaking before dissolving into quiet sobs. The sound is so raw it scrapes at your heart. For a moment, the room feels unbearably small, closing in with the suffocating weight of shared loss.

You stare at the ring, fingers hovering uncertainly. The thought of accepting it feels like admitting he’s really gone. Yet, you know you can’t refuse it; Ricky’s wish, even unspoken now, feels sacred. You slip the ring onto your finger, a silent acknowledgment of the man you had once promised yourself to, a man you’ll never get the chance to truly know.

With a hesitant step forward, you place your hand on her shoulder, the touch meant to soothe but feeling fragile, as though it could shatter under the weight of her grief. The older woman leans into you, body racked with tremors as she buries her face in her hands. Her sobs rise and fall in uneven waves, echoing in the otherwise silent room.

“Please… don’t cry,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. The night had drained you, leaving your eyes dry yet still burning, poised for more tears that you no longer had the strength to shed.

Her grief pierces deeper. “He wouldn’t want to see you in pain,” you add, voice low, carrying the weight of a plea that even you don’t believe.

“I-I know,” she manages between sobs, her shoulders trembling. “But… he was so young, so full of life. It should’ve been me, not him. He barely started his life, and now…”

The room seems to warp under the heaviness of her words. You know she’s right. The unfairness of it all gnaws at you. But what would Ricky want? The question echoes in your mind, clawing for answers you wish you didn’t have to seek.

You close your eyes for a brief second, conjuring his face in your memory—the way his smile would sneak out when he thought you weren’t looking, the stubborn tilt of his chin when he was determined. You imagine him here, telling you what to do, how to be strong for her when he couldn’t be.

Drawing in a shaking breath, you shift, wrapping your arms around your mother-in-law. She stiffens for a heartbeat before collapsing into the embrace, her body convulsing with grief. Her head rests on your shoulder, and you stroke her back, the gesture rhythmic, almost desperate, as if the act itself could soothe the unsoothable.

“My poor boy… he must’ve been so scared, so alone in those final moments,” she chokes out, and it’s as if a knife twists in your chest. The image of him in pain, of his last moments, blurs the edges of your control. A tear slips down your cheek, a singular escape among the multitude waiting behind your lashes.

“I’m so sorry, Ricky,” you whisper, barely audible. The guilt is relentless, intertwining with the ache of loneliness that had settled deep within you long before he passed. You were alone when he was alive, and now that emptiness has transformed, sharpened by grief, into something more unbearable.

Her sobs quiet, just enough for her to lift her head and take in your expression, your tears mingling with unsaid words. She studies you, eyes clouded by grief but touched with understanding.

“You must feel so alone too… You and Ricky… barely had time,” she murmurs, her voice a weak echo of empathy.

The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain. You meet her gaze and see the exhaustion, the pain mirrored back at you. It anchors you for a moment, before she speaks again.

“You’re still young. You should think of moving forward one day. Remarry, maybe… You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but you have to live, too.”

Your heart clenches, rejecting the thought. You don’t want to. The ache of wanting Ricky, even in a marriage that had felt distant, is a raw wound you can’t imagine healing. The loneliness was familiar; life without him is uncharted, unbearable.

“I won’t… I can’t,” you admit, voice shaking as the tears finally spill, unchecked. “I just want him back. Even if it means being lonely again.”

The words break you open, and this time, neither of you tries to stop the crying. You hold each other in the ruins of shared loss, hoping, against hope, that the pieces of your shattered hearts will one day feel less sharp.

YOUR HANDS CHILLED FROM THE BRISK AIR, DIG DEEPER INTO YOUR COAT POCKETS AS YOU GAZE OUT INTO THE SWIRLING SNOW, a faint numbness settling in your bones. Each snowflake that brushes against your cheek feels colder than the last, a physical reminder of the frost that’s taken root in your heart, a void Ricky's absence left behind. Life has lost its rhythm, its purpose, and the bustling world seems foreign, moving on a beat you no longer recognize.

Nursing, once a passion that filled your heart, now feels suffocating. The once-simple act of caring for patients, seeing them through their darkest times, now stirs something darker inside you—an envy for their hope, their chances. These creeping, bitter thoughts had scared you enough to step back from the only profession you knew. The faces of crying relatives haunted your dreams, their grief striking chords too familiar, too close. You’d sworn to heal, never harm, yet here you are, carrying shadows of guilt too heavy to bear.

The café’s warmth hits you as you push through the door, a momentary comfort against the gnawing cold. You shuffle forward, fingers fumbling in your pocket for money as your eyes wander the room. Ricky had always spoken fondly of this place, a little corner shop with its cozy mismatched chairs and the sweet aroma of cocoa and baked pastries. A small pang clenches your chest, regret whispering its usual 'what ifs.' If only you’d agreed to visit here with him, if only time hadn’t been a cruel master.

The barista, a young woman with weary eyes, glances up as she speaks. “Ma’am, are you ordering?” Her voice, though polite, carries a slight impatience with the growing line behind you.

“Ah, yes… a cold coffee,” you manage, the words falling flat as if they don’t quite belong to you. Her brows lift, a flicker of confusion.

“In this weather?” she asks, a hint of genuine concern lacing her tone.

Realizing the absurdity, you swallow, forcing a small, resigned nod. “Hot chocolate then,” you say, the warmth of Ricky’s recommendation tugging at the edges of your memory.

The exchange is brief, the hot drink pressed into your hands a minute later. As you turn to leave, the weight of the ancestral ring around your finger pulls at you, its cool surface grounding and yet suffocating. The bittersweet metal reflects a dull glow, a silent reminder of promises made and broken, of the love lost and the void left behind.

The wind picks up outside, tugging at your coat as you sip the hot chocolate. Its warmth spreads through you, but it’s fleeting, never enough to touch the ache within. You shake your head, Ricky’s face vivid in your mind, his teasing smile as he’d planned your future dates. You’d push the thought aside, but every step feels like dragging a part of him behind you.

“Why can’t I let go?” you murmur, voice snatched away by the icy air. Your brother-in-law’s words echo in your mind, urging you to stop living in Ricky’s shadow. But how do you tear yourself away from the ghost of a love that never got to finish its story?

Snow clings to your coat as you continue to trudge through the city, each step heavy with an ache that refuses to fade. The glow of the streetlights bathes the snow in a warm, golden hue, contrasting the bitter chill that settles in your chest. Sipping the hot chocolate, you try to focus on the warmth sliding down your throat, but the sweetness only sharpens the emptiness inside. The steam curls from the cup, a fleeting comfort as your breath mingles with it in the frigid air.

You pause near a park bench, eyes darting to couples bundled up, their laughter piercing through the quiet snowfall. One couple stands close, the man adjusting the scarf around his partner’s neck with a smile that makes your heart clench. You bite the inside of your cheek, the taste of copper sharp on your tongue as you fight back the sting in your eyes. The jealousy gnaws at you, sour and uninvited.

The memory of Ricky’s voice flits through your mind, warm and teasing: “Good things happen to good people.” You scoff, the bitterness in that statement now a cruel joke. Were you not good enough? The universe seemed to think so, because it had ripped him away, leaving a hollow shell in his place.

Lost in thought, you find yourself on the bridge, fingers trailing over the iron railing that has frosted over, leaving cool streaks on your gloves. This place, once so filled with light and memories, feels haunted now. You trace a path where your and Ricky’s hands once met, where laughter and shared secrets once echoed.

A voice, small and familiar, intrudes on your thoughts. Semi’s question echoes, fragile and innocent: “Aunty, when will Uncle come home?” You close your eyes, the lump in your throat thickening as the memory sharpens. You remember her wide, unknowing eyes searching yours for an answer you couldn't give, the guilt of that half-truth searing into you as you whispered, “I’m not sure, sweetie.”

You grip the railing tighter, feeling the cold seep through your gloves as the ache of regret claws at your heart. The river below moves steadily, unaffected by the chaos in your chest. You look down, watching the water catch the light in rippling patterns, your reflection distorted and wavering. The noise of the city fades as you breathe in the freezing air, each exhale a shuddering attempt to steady yourself.

A gust of wind stings your face, and you force yourself to look up, straightening with a resolve that feels fragile. Ricky’s brother and his wife were inside your apartment, their watchful eyes filled with concern disguised as casual chatter. You know why they stay—it’s not out of pity, but out of fear, a silent agreement to keep you tethered when your world felt like it was splitting at the seams.

The laughter from the park drifts over again, mingling with the hum of distant traffic. For a moment, you let yourself remember the warmth of Ricky’s embrace, the way he’d nudge your shoulder and murmur, “Life doesn’t stop, even when we want it to.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” you whisper into the night, the words barely a breath as they dissolve in the chill.

The warmth of the hot chocolate fades as the biting wind grazes your skin, a cruel reminder of the numbing void left behind. You stare at the bridge, eyes tracing the railings where Ricky’s laughter once echoed. A memory surfaces, unbidden yet vivid.

“I know this isn't what either of us planned, but... I wish we could work it out,” Ricky had said, a touch of hesitation softening his confident voice. His hands, hesitant but steady, hovered near you, respecting the space you held between.

“I wish that too,” you had murmured, the lie sliding off your tongue too easily. You’d convinced yourself you didn't care enough for Ricky then, but the pang of that memory now gnawed at your insides. Regret had a way of reshaping the past, twisting even the most indifferent moments into sharp blades.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Ricky had prodded gently, eyes bright even as he leaned down to meet your gaze.

Caught off guard, you’d raised an eyebrow. “Like what?” The question felt foreign, untouched by anyone's curiosity until now.

“Your ideal type,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as though challenging you. His height had always made you tilt your head back to catch his expression—a detail that now felt like a cruel nostalgia.

“Why would you ask that?” You'd played along, teasing but curious.

Ricky chuckled, the sound resonant and warm. “Because we're getting married, and maybe knowing each other better will make it feel less... strange. Maybe, just maybe, we'll fall in love.” His hand, finally settling on your shoulder, had felt reassuring, a silent promise in its touch.

The memory cleaves through you like a knife, leaving behind a raw wound that no time or distance can heal. A single tear slips down your cheek as you blink, the reality of the moment washing over you like a wave. The park across the street bustles with couples walking hand-in-hand, laughter and warmth breaking through the cold that wraps around you. A fresh ache takes root, sharp and relentless.

You drop the empty cup into the trash can, the metallic clang breaking your reverie. The grief, heavy and suffocating, presses you to the edge as you turn and begin the long walk home. Your footsteps are heavy, every step an effort against the pull of the past.

“Aunty, you're so late. Did you bring Uncle with you?” Semi’s small voice meets you at the door, eyes bright with innocent hope. The guilt hits you like a punch, stealing the air from your lungs. Your throat tightens as you shake your head, eyes avoiding her searching gaze.

Jieun, seeing your reaction, sighs softly as she pulls Semi closer. “Semi, we talked about this, remember?” Her voice holds the practiced patience of a mother trying to shield her child from the pain.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Semi mumbles, eyes dropping to her tiny hands that fidget nervously. The sight twists your heart, guilt layering over the grief that refuses to ease.

You force a hollow smile. “It’s okay, Jieun. She's just a kid,” you say, your voice low and void of emotion as you shrug off your winter coat and hang it up. The familiar routine feels like a play you no longer wish to act in.

“Still, I just—” Jieun’s words falter as you cut her off, your voice breaking the tension.

“Please,” you murmur, the word sharp and desperate, silencing the room. The stillness that follows is suffocating, your breaths shallow as you fight to keep your composure.

Jieun's eyes search yours, understanding but hesitant. “We just don’t want you to be alone,” she whispers, her voice thick with worry.

“I know,” you reply, sitting on the couch with your head hung low, hands clenched tightly in your lap. After a long pause, you add, “But you need to leave. This is your home too, but you have your own life to get back to. I need time... time to figure out how to grieve.” Your eyes don’t lift to meet theirs; you can’t bear to see the disappointment or concern there.

Semi’s voice pipes up again, the innocence piercing through your defenses. “Are you sending us away, Aunty?”

The weight of guilt deepens, pressing into your chest. You close your eyes, feeling the sting behind your lids before you answer. “No, sweetie, I’m not sending you away. You can come whenever you want. Aunty will always be here.” The words come out flat, and you feel them land like lies in the air between you.

Jieun picks Semi up, nodding at you as if she understands, though her eyes glisten with worry. “We’ll give you some space. But we’ll check in. Don’t forget that, please.”

When the door clicks shut, silence wraps around you, heavy and thick. Your gaze shifts to the note you’d prepared earlier, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. The words, written in your own hand, feel foreign now: apologies to the people who stayed, memories they never knew you held, and the final confession of a heart too weary to go on.

You were battling with the urge to just end it all.

The rational part of your brain told you that you were young and had your whole life ahead and that you'd meet a lot of guys in your life but the stubborn heart won't give up and held onto the memory of the guy you once called your husband.

So, you gave up.

A smile, then another.

The city glows beneath you, lights sprawled like constellations cast on earth. The wind at this height is sharp, tearing through your clothes and chilling your skin, as if trying to pull you back from the edge. Your shoes scrape against the concrete ledge, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the battle waging within. The night air smells faintly of rain, metallic and crisp, mingling with the faint hum of traffic below.

You steady your phone in your trembling hand, its cold surface grounding you momentarily. A notification pings, an ironic reminder that life continues to tick on, indifferent to the turmoil within you. The camera lens reflects the shimmer of unshed tears as you hit record, the small red dot staring back like a silent witness.

A smile forms—hesitant, broken. Then another, and another, each one a mask that crumbles too soon. “To everyone who still cares,” you begin, your voice low and cracking, “Semi, sweet, innocent Semi. Jieun, always so patient. Jay... my husband’s shadow in every way. My sister, my friends, all of you who tried.”

The wind picks up, whipping strands of hair across your face as you pause, the weight of the unsaid pressing on your chest. You blink rapidly, tears slipping free, their warmth stinging against your cold cheeks. “Ricky wouldn't want this. I know he'd call me stubborn, weak even.” You let out a hollow laugh, the sound swallowed by the wind. “But he wouldn’t understand how loud it is in the silence he left behind.”

Your heart hammers as you shift your weight, the city seeming to inhale with you, holding its breath in anticipation. The edge of the building digs into the soles of your feet, the space between you and the world below both terrifying and liberating.

“I miss the little moments, Ricky,” you whisper, voice breaking as you squeeze your eyes shut. “I miss you making me feel lonely, and now... now I’m lonelier without you.” The ache in your chest is unbearable, a cavernous void that steals your breath.

One last deep breath, air burning through your lungs, and you step forward. The world blurs into a rush of sound and sensation—wind roaring in your ears, your body weightless, suspended in a moment between despair and peace.

And then the fall hits.

Pain surges through you, sharp and overwhelming, before darkness takes over. Around you, the chaos erupts into a cacophony—screams, the frantic pounding of feet, and the sharp cry of ambulance sirens slicing through the night. But these sounds are drifting away, becoming faint murmurs from a world slipping out of reach.

Silence wraps around you, one that made you feel like everything would be okay after this. Maybe, just maybe, peace waits on the other side. In death.

YOU WALK THROUGH THE DENSE, MILKY FOG, EACH REVERBERATING IN AN ECHO THAT NEVER QUITE SETTLES. The air is cool, feather-light, whispering like distant memories. Is this heaven? The question circles in your mind, unspoken. If it is, where is Ricky? A quiet laugh escapes your lips, hollow. He couldn’t have done enough wrong to land in hell, you think, the hint of humor biting through your longing. Yet, the anticipation twists your heart—an ache that makes you want to see him so desperately.

You try to call out, “Ricky?” but the sound stays trapped in your chest, choked by the thick fog. Another step forward and there’s nothing but endless white, stretching out, swallowing you whole. Your breath catches; suddenly, the air thins, compressing your lungs, squeezing out every ounce of oxygen. You gasp, your hands clawing at the invisible force stealing your breath. It feels like drowning in emptiness.

Then—without warning—everything shifts. White light erupts around you, blinding and all-consuming. You brace for oblivion, muscles tensing for an end you’re sure is near. But instead, there’s a softness beneath you—a mattress that cradles you like an embrace you forgot.

Your eyes snap open, pupils adjusting to the familiar pale ceiling. It’s your ceiling. Your shared room. The bed, the faint scent of Ricky’s cologne still lingering in the sheets, as if he just left. You sit up, heart thundering, hands brushing over your body frantically. No pain, no bruises, no broken bones—nothing. You’re whole, intact.

Then the realization hits you like cold water, and your fingers tremble as you pull them away.

“What the…?” you murmur, eyes darting around, seeking answers that the silent room won’t give. Your gaze falls to the phone on the bedside table, its screen blank and mocking in its stillness. You grab it, breath hitching as the time blinks to life.

January 29th, 2024. 6:30 a.m.

A shiver races down your spine. The date stares back at you, sharp and impossible. You set the phone down, legs feeling weak as you stand and approach the mirror. Your reflection isn’t that of a woman who has been weeping endlessly. Your eyes, dry and wide, reflect confusion rather than the storm of emotions that you carry.

“Is this one of those flashes they say you see before death?” Your voice trembles as the words escape, and you reach up to touch the cold glass. The girl looking back at you does the same, fingers meeting yours in a silent plea.

Then, your eyes catch it. The blue gel pen resting on the dresser—a pen that has no place outside your drawer. It’s a small thing, but the sight of it makes your breath hitch. Memories slice through you, sharp and unforgiving. That pen was the one you’d used for the note to Ricky, the one that demanded space, an end.

“No,” you breathe out, shaking your head, bile rising in your throat. The pen feels like a cruel token, mocking you for what came after. In a swift motion, you snatch it up, the cold plastic biting into your skin as you grip it tight. The weight of your guilt, your regret, turns your stomach, and with a sudden burst of anger, you hurl the pen into the trash, its clatter punctuating the silence like a final plea.

Chest heaving, you close your eyes. If this is some kind of twisted second chance, you don’t know if you should feel terror or relief. But the room, the sheets, the absence on the other side of the bed—everything points to one impossible truth.

You’re back.

But this isn't a romance novel, is it?

Your eyes trail back to the empty bed, where Ricky should be. “Ricky?” The name falls from your lips, hopeful, trembling, but the silence stretches on, suffocating.

Your heart thuds like a wild drumbeat, erratic and desperate, the rhythm matched only by the single hope that propels you forward: seeing Ricky. Alive. Healthy. Breathing.

You practically jog out of the shared bedroom, your bare feet sliding slightly on the hardwood floor as you turn the corner. The guest room door is ajar, a sliver of dim light illuminating the narrow hallway. The pulse in your chest quickens, breaths shallower with each step until you reach the threshold. You pause, drawing in a trembling breath before stepping inside.

There he is. Ricky. Lying on his side, dark hair fanned messily over the pillow, the soft rise and fall of his chest hypnotic in its simplicity. Relief washes over you so powerfully that your knees almost buckle. You inch closer, careful not to make a sound. The blanket is snug around his torso, exposing his bare, muscular chest—the way he prefers when he’s alone. Your throat tightens at the sight, familiar yet so foreign now.

Your hand, almost on its own accord, hovers over his face, fingers trembling as you place them under his nose. The soft, warm breath that meets your touch is enough to sting your eyes with unshed tears. Your hand drifts down, resting against his chest, where you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a rhythm you thought you’d never sense again.

Ricky stirs, the sudden shift pulling you out of your trance. His eyelids flutter open, dark eyes glazed with sleep but sharpening as they land on you. He blinks once, then again, brows drawing together.

“What are you doing?” His voice, rough with sleep, carries a note of confusion that makes your hand fall away as though burned.

“I-I…” The words snag in your throat, scrambling to make sense of the madness. How could you possibly explain? Your eyes dart nervously to the floor, heat searing your cheeks as you mutter, “I missed your kisses.”

The room freezes. You can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with disbelief. He shifts, sitting up, and the blanket slips down to his waist, revealing the sharp lines of his torso. Your eyes betray you, flickering over the familiar planes before darting away in embarrassment.

“But… we never kiss,” he says, voice low and edged with confusion. The statement slices through you, painfully reminding you of the distance you both had grown used to.

“I know... I...” you whisper, fingers clenching into fists at your sides. The silence stretches, heavy, until the sharp trill of his phone alarm shatters it. Ricky’s attention shifts, eyes narrowing as he leans to silence it. When he looks up again, the space where you stood is empty.

You rush back to your room, shutting the door behind you with a soft thud, heart hammering in your chest. Sliding down until you sit with your back pressed against the cool wood, you cover your flushed face with shaking hands. Your pulse thunders in your ears, mixing with the replay of his sleepy voice, the fleeting touch of his warmth.

Is this really the past? The question festers, tugging at the edges of logic, but the ache in your chest and the rawness of your emotions tell you it is. And if so, this year holds one horrifying certainty: Ricky’s death.

The mere thought twists something deep inside you, bringing back the soul-crushing grief, the endless nights of regret. You glance down at your wrist, breath catching as your eyes lock on the ink-black date that marks it: November 4th. The day Ricky dies.

Frantically, you rub at the skin, as if the stubborn mark will simply smudge away under your touch. But it doesn’t. The date remains, stark and immovable, taunting you.

A shiver crawls up your spine, but then a thought—a glimmer of defiance—roots itself.

What if you change it? What if this was given to you, not as a cruel joke, but a chance to rewrite what went so terribly wrong? To love him in a way you never did and save him from the fate that once tore your entire world apart.

“I can do this,” you whisper, determination threading into your voice. The regret may have once paralyzed you, but now it fuels you. If you only have until that date, then every second will be spent fighting fate, no matter how impossible it seems.

THE SOFT MURMUR OF THE COUPLE’S CONVERSATION DRIFTS DOWN THE STERILE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR, brushing against your ears like a whispered secret. The woman lies propped against crisp white pillows, her leg encased in a cast, eyes fixed on her partner with a blend of exhaustion and comfort. He leans forward, fingers interlaced with hers, voice low and tender.

“Can you please see what's wrong?” he asks, eyes glistening with concern. He gently squeezes her hand, words spilling out as quiet reassurances. “You're doing so well, love. It's going to be okay.”

A tight warmth coils in your chest as you approach, a familiar pang of bittersweetness shadowing the sight. The love, the unwavering devotion-it's moments like these that remind you why you cherish your job. The fragility of life, held together by threads of connection, has always moved you, even when those threads unraveled in your own life.

When you started nursing, blood was your greatest fear, the sight once enough to turn your stomach. Time had softened those edges, transforming anxiety into steady resolve. It was also during those early years when you married Ricky, the man whose smile was warm enough to banish shadows but whose presence now only haunted your memories. The marriage had lasted five years before everything shattered with the crash.

No. Stop. The thought rushes at you like a wave, cold and suffocating. You grit your teeth, eyes burning as you push it down, push him down, refusing to let the grief claw at you. He's alive here, in this fragile present you've been thrust into. Don't let the past bleed into now.

“Sure,” you say softly, the practiced smile you wear settling on your face. You reach out, fingers moving gently over the girl's cast, checking the edges, ensuring everything is as it should be. She nods in silent gratitude, eyes fluttering shut with relief as her partner exhales.

The end of your shift arrives with the deep hues of twilight stretching across the sky. The drive home is long, punctuated by the soft rumble of the engine and the anxious thrum of your thoughts. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel, tapping out a nervous rhythm. Avoid home, your mind suggests, listing off a million errands you suddenly think of, any excuse to delay the inevitable.

But the excuses run dry when you're standing in front of your door, keys cold against your palm. The air outside is crisp, biting at your cheeks as you draw a deep breath and hold it. The weight of the morning—Ricky’s sleepy, questioning eyes and the ghost of your impulsive words-hangs between you and the door.

“Is it too late to back down?” The whisper escapes your lips, trembling in the chilly silence. You picture his expression, the puzzled furrow of his brow as he replayed your words. The way his fingers brushed over his phone, gaze lifted just in time to see you flee. He isn't stupid. Ricky never was.

With a sigh, you slip the key into the lock, the click loud and final. The door opens, and warmth spills out to meet you, along with the faint scent of his cologne. Your pulse quickens as you step inside, the hum of your heartbeat louder than the quiet creak of the floor under your weight.

Don't run, you tell yourself, even as the urge coils tight in your muscles. You close the door behind you.

As you push open the front door, the faint glow of the television casts flickering shadows across the living room. There he is-your husband, Ricky, reclined on the couch, eyes fixed intently on the news. His brows knit slightly as a montage of suited politicians gestures on screen, their voices droning promises as hollow as a whisper in the wind.

He is basically watching those politicians give some weird and untrue promises for the sake of votes.

How romantic. How normal. The bitter thought twists in your chest. But it isn't. Nothing about this is normal. Why would he be watching the news, of all things? Then, a pang of irony hits you like a wave. How hypocritical, you think. You promised Ricky your forever in a ceremony that now feels like an echo. The vows shared between you had been spoken out loud but never truly lived.

You shake the memory away, an old wound you refuse to pick at as you step inside, the floor cool under your feet. Ricky doesn't notice you at first, his attention locked on the screen, oblivious to the fact that the person who left him a note asking for space now stands in the doorway, wrestling with the tension roiling inside her.

“Hey,” you finally say, the word falling between you like an anchor. It comes out awkward, unsure, a fragile hope that he won't read too much into it. But Ricky's eyes flick to yours, a spark of recognition cooling to something unreadable.

“You're back home?” His voice is measured, neither warm nor cold, but there's a tightness to it that you can't ignore. He shifts, the blue glow of the screen catching the sharp line of his jaw as he waits for your response.

The note. You had slipped it into his hand, asking for a break from a marriage four years deep but hollow. Your heart thuds in your chest, fingers clenched at your side as you speak before fear can pull the words back.

“The note-I take it back. I don't want a break from you or this relationship, Ricky.”

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the low hum of the news anchor's voice. His eyes search yours, a hint of disbelief darkening the warm brown you once memorized. “Why?” The question slices through the quiet, clipped and cautious. You almost flinch at the hardness there, a wall built brick by brick in your absence.

“Because I don't want to stay away from you.” Your voice trembles, raw honesty exposed between you like an open wound. Ricky's eyes widen slightly, the stoic mask cracking as a flush creeps across his cheeks.

“Y-You're blushing?” The soft, astonished laugh tumbles out of you, a momentary break in the storm that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something new. The corners of his mouth twitch, the faintest sign of a smile, but he shakes his head.

“Sure, sir. You're just cold.” You chuckle, sinking onto the floor beside the couch, knees drawn up as you hug them close. The laughter is sharp, almost giddy, the sound foreign in the room that has held so many silences.

Ricky watches you, confusion settling into his features, the red on his cheeks fading as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You're acting weird,” he murmurs, the words half swallowed, uncertain.

“How am I acting weird if I'm seeing my husband show some attraction to me, which isn't platonic, for the first time?” The jest slips out, tinged with sincerity, but it brings a hush over both of you. The truth stands stark between you, glaring and painful. For a moment, neither of you speak, each of you weighed down by memories, by the heavy knowledge of what's been lost and what still aches to be found.

But determination flares in your chest, a stubborn warmth. So what if love had been absent before? So what if promises were half-kept and hearts guarded? You could start again. You could relearn how to be two flawed people willing to try. Your gaze meets Ricky's, the hope in your eyes unyielding.

Don't let go, you silently plead. Let this be the start of something real.

Ricky clears his throat, a subtle attempt to dissolve the tension settling over the living room like a blanket too heavy to lift. His fingers fidget, running nervously over the seam of the couch as he shifts his gaze downward. There you are, still seated on the floor, legs tucked to one side, eyes catching the soft glow from the TV. Cute, he thinks, the word rolling silently through his mind, too heavy with unsaid truths to speak aloud.

“So...” The word escapes him, thin and unfinished, hovering in the air. His eyes flit over your face, searching for a reaction. The awkwardness clings to the silence, but you don't falter.

“So?” you echo, your tone a notch steadier, holding the slight tremor that betrays your effort. You lean forward just slightly, a gesture that feels braver than it is. If courage could rewrite fate, you'd wield it now, not just for yourself, but for him. For Ricky, who might not know the sharp edge of reality that's cut you.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side where the blue light paints his profile in soft, wavering lines. “You know... Semi's birthday is next week.” His words stumble, trailing off as if second-guessing their own existence. But you aren't in the dark. You know exactly what this moment leads to.

“Yes, I'd love to go shopping for gifts for her,” you respond, your voice quick and practiced. His eyes widen, caught off guard, the surprise stark against his usual composed expression. The tension in his jaw slackens, and he blinks, unsure if he heard you right.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you, the faint crease between his brows deepening.

“Isn't that what you were about to ask?” You tilt your head slightly, a small smile playing at your lips, testing him. He hesitates, realizing that denial means trouble, but his face softens into a relieved kind of acceptance.

“No, no... of course. You could... accompany me to shop for Semi's birthday presents.” His voice picks up, the uncertainty lifting as he finds the path back to normalcy. He notices your smile widening, the tension slipping just enough to let him breathe.

“Okay then, see you tomorrow, husband.” The word slips from you, unbidden, laced with a warmth that surprises even you as you turn on your heel. You make your way toward the guest room, feet padding softly against the floor. Ricky's brows knit again, eyes following your form until you pause, hand on the frame of the doorway.

“Why are you heading to the guest room?” His question is quick, a thread of confusion laced with something else-something vulnerable.

“Because we sleep apart, and I wouldn't want my husband's back to break on that stiff, rough bed. The sheets aren't even comfortable,” you say, voice light but with an edge that dares him to react. You step into the room, but glance over your shoulder with eyes that glimmer, a playful smirk pulling at your lips. “Besides, I'd rather you break your back or get tired doing me than struggling on a bed.”

His jaw drops, eyes wide with stunned silence as the door closes between you. Ricky sits back, eyes fixed on the now-empty hallway, replaying the moment in disbelief. The wife who barely spoke above a whisper at their wedding, who tiptoed through years of silence, had just turned the tables with a single teasing line. His pulse hammers beneath the stillness.

What on earth just happened?

“ARE YOU TELLING ME Y/N JUST TURNED INTO A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT PERSON?” Jay's voice, casual yet curious, echoes through the phone. He's speaking to Ricky, who shifts from foot to foot, eyes glancing around the boutique as he waits for you to finish picking out a dress for his niece. The sound of soft music drifts around him, mixing with murmurs of other shoppers.

“Exactly that!” Ricky’s voice comes out louder than intended, drawing looks from the store's staff. A woman in a sleek uniform, brows raised in disapproval, approaches with a pointed glare.

“Sir, please keep your voice down or refrain from talking altogether,” she says, sternly but professional.

Ricky's ears burn as embarrassment blooms across his face. “Yeah, I'm sorry” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Through the phone, Jay's laughter rings clear and unapologetic. “You seriously got told off by staff? Man, you're killing me!” Jay's chuckles fade into a smirk that Ricky can practically hear. Jay's the same as he's always been-playful, relentless, the older brother who teases but listens when it counts.

“Fine, fine, I'll stop. Tell me what you mean by Y/N changing, just... keep it PG, will you?” Jay's tone is teasing, but curiosity laces through.

Ricky’s jaw tightens, eyes scanning the store for you as if your sudden return would put him on the spot. “There's nothing intimate going on between us,” he blurts, the words a knee-jerk reaction. His chest tightens with the memory of you resting your hand on him in your sleep last week, the way warmth had crept through him then. He clears his throat. “I mean, she's talking to me more, being... sweet. She listens. It's almost... submissive.”

“I told you, no bedroom details!” Jay chimes in, sarcasm sharp enough to make Ricky's teeth clench.

“THIS IS NOT A BEDROOM DETAIL!!!” Ricky retorts, frustration coloring his tone. It earns him another hard look from the store associate across the room, who pointedly glances over her glasses. Ricky sighs and mouths an apology again, shoulders drooping as he lowers his voice.

“What I mean is, she's more... attentive. She's not arguing as much. It's like she's listening to me for the first time.”

Jay's voice softens, just a hint of seriousness slipping through. “Isn't that how she always is with others?”

“Yeah, with everyone else. Just not with me,” Ricky admits, the admission heavy with a history neither of them mention.

“Interesting.” Jay's reply is contemplative, but before he can say more, Ricky's voice interrupts, distorted through the line. “Oh shoot, she's coming back. I'll call you later.”

As the call ends, Ricky pockets his phone, glancing up just in time to see you walking back with a smile. Jay, on the other side of the city, sets his phone down, a smirk playing at his lips as he thinks of sharing this tidbit with his wife later. Whatever was happening between his brother and sister-in-law, it was about to get even more intriguing.

On the other side, Ricky stands, a mixture of amusement and curiosity on his face as you hold up a tiny pink dress. It's perfectly frilly, fit for a little girl. But all he can think is how charming it would look in a size for you—a thought that makes him shake his head, realizing how ridiculous it sounds.

“So, what do you think? Should I get this for Semi?” you ask, eyes sparkling with anticipation. There's already a growing collection of clothes for his niece in your arms, a reminder of how you've embraced being part of his family.

“Are you getting all of them?” he asks, more out of shock than judgment. He never imagined children's clothes could come with such hefty price tags.

“Yes, why? Is this too much? I can cover it if—”

Before you can finish, he interrupts, affronted. “I'll pay. It's for my lady, after all.”

The statement hangs in the air, not romantic as he'd intended but awkward, making your brows twitch slightly. You resist the urge to grimace, forcing a polite smile instead.

A staff member, the same one who had shushed Ricky earlier, walks over with an unimpressed expression, exchanging a silent, almost comic glare with him. She gave Ricky a look that said 'you're weird and I don't want to talk to you'

'what have I ever done to you' was the look that Ricky presented back to the staff before she looked away. You glance between them, slightly confused. Then Ricky clears his throat, moving the conversation forward.

“Do you have a similar dress in a bigger size?” His voice drops to almost a whisper. He feels self-conscious asking, but the idea has stuck.

The staff member blinks, taken aback. “Excuse me?” She tilts her head, uncertain if she heard right.

“Yeah, do you have something like this,” Ricky gestures at the dress in your hands, “but, you know, for an adult?” A flush of red creeps across his cheeks as he points to you. The staff member nods after a moment, walking off to search, while you stand there stunned, watching her go.

“Why are you buying something for me? Semi’s dress is already pricey. A woman's size will be—”

“It's just a dress,” he interrupts with a small sigh, eyes softening. “Think of it as a gift.”

“But today isn't anything special.”

“Maybe not. But I'd like to make it special,” he replies, voice lowering. “I haven't given you anything since our wedding. That was four years ago.” His words carry a quiet vulnerability as he looks at you, taller and more serious than you expect. You hold his gaze before shifting and mumbling a reluctant, “Fine,” looking away to hide the way your cheeks warm.

The staff returns holding a similar dress, but in an adult size. It's pink, short, and undeniably cute-something that looks a little too daring for your style.

“Will this do?” she asks.

“Absolutely not,” “hell yeah,” you and Ricky say in unison. The staff's eyebrows raise as she turns to you, sensing you as the more level-headed one.

“We're not buying it,” you insist, giving Ricky a look.

He doubles down. “We are.”

“Ricky, no.”

“Why not?”

“It's too short!” you argue, exasperated. He shrugs, eyes softening as he counters, “It's knee-length. That's normal.”

With a dramatic sigh, you roll your eyes and give in. But you don't try it on in the store; the idea of wearing it in front of him makes your heart thud with a mix of nerves and embarrassment. After all, you've barely even shared a bed in weeks—how could you possibly show him a dress like that now?

RICKY’S HEART STOPS FOR A MOMENT AS HE TAKES IN THE SIGHT BEFORE HIM. You, standing in the baby pink dress that hugs your figure just right, with its soft fabric brushing just above your knees. The playful, shy smile you wear as you twirl slightly sends a wave of warmth through him. He never expected to see you like this; the reality strikes him so suddenly that it leaves him breathless.

The laughter of Semi fills the room as she runs around in her matching pink dress, giggling and pulling you along by the hand. The soft glow of the post-birthday celebration lights casts a golden hue, warming up the atmosphere in the living room. Ricky sits on the edge of the couch, one hand resting on his knee as he watches you and Semi, his gaze softening with an emotion he hasn't felt in what seems like ages.

A gentle nudge breaks his trance, and he turns to see his mother looking at him with raised brows and a hopeful gleam. “When are you two going to have kids?” she asks, her voice light but laced with longing.

The air in the room shifts. You pause mid-spin, eyes darting to Ricky with a look of surprise. This isn't part of the script of your past life; this question throws you off balance, the sudden attention making your heart race.

Ricky’s father, seated across with a glass of wine in his hand, lets out a dramatic sigh. “I think I'll be long gone before I see any grandchildren from this one,” he jokes, though the weight behind it is unmistakable. The statement slices through the room's cheerful mood, leaving an awkward silence in its wake. Ricky's jaw tightens, a subtle tension creeping up his spine. He wants kids too, he really does—but not in a house that feels as unstable as theirs has become.

Before he can respond, you surprise everyone, including yourself. “We're trying,” you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease, even as your pulse pounds. The room freezes, all eyes turning toward you in shock.

Ricky’s eyebrows lift in silent question, but he plays along, shifting to put on an unreadable expression. He nods, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he covers the uncertainty boiling beneath. The room shifts back into a mixture of excitement and surprise.

“Is that true? You're both trying?” Ricky’s mother's eyes glisten, her hope rekindled as she looks between you and her son.

“Really?” Ricky's father echoes, leaning forward, his earlier sarcasm replaced by genuine interest.

Jay, standing near the fireplace, furrows his brow, lips parting in disbelief. Only last week, Ricky had confided in him about how distant and weird things had become between you two.

Ricky forces a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... we've been trying for a while.” The lie feels heavy in his mouth, and he shoots you a look that says, Why'd you lie about that?

Your sister-in-law, Jieun, raises her hand, pointing at you with wide eyes. “Since when?” she blurts out, unable to contain her shock.

Ricky stutters, “It's been a-a month,” the answer sounding rehearsed yet shaky. He glances at you again, his eyes pleading for an explanation that won't come.

The conversation quickly shifts into an excited buzz, with well-meaning wishes from your in-laws filling the air. You catch Ricky's gaze, and despite the tight-lipped smile you give the family, there's a flicker of humor in your eyes. The absurdity of it all makes you want to laugh.

You both know the truth: the notion of trying for a child is impossibly far from reality.

Heck, it was funny for you to watch.

You were still a virgin. You two didn't even kiss more than once in those four years and they expect a baby to suddenly pop out of you?

And once the party winds down, you find yourself sitting on the couch with Semi by your side. Her wide, curious eyes shine with excitement as she swings her legs back and forth. At just four years old, she's a bundle of endless questions and innocent wonder.

You smile, reaching over to gently ruffle her soft, dark hair. “Does the birthday girl like her dress?” you ask, voice playful.

Semi beams, glancing down at the pink ruffled dress with pride. “It's so pretty,” she chirps, then looks up at you with a thoughtful expression. “But yours is prettier. You always look pretty, Aunty.”

Your heart melts, and you chuckle softly. “Aww, you learned how to give compliments, huh?” you tease, watching as her cheeks turn rosy and she averts her gaze to fiddle with her fingers.

“Aunty!” she whines, wanting you to stop teasing. Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she leans in closer and motions for you to do the same. With a curious tilt of your head, you move closer, letting her whisper into your ear. “Will you eat a baby to have a baby?” she asks, voice so serious it makes you freeze for a moment.

You stifle a laugh, your eyes crinkling at the edges. Gently cupping her cheek, you whisper back, “No, sweetie. That's not how it works. But that's grown-up stuff, and we don't talk about it now, do we?”

Semi giggles, her little fingers playing with a toy she received from her grandmother. The sight makes your chest tighten in a bittersweet way. You can almost picture your mother-in-law doting on a future child, fussing over toys and tiny clothes. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making you shake your head lightly as if to dispel the image.

But a small part of you can't help but smile at the idea, a blush rising to your cheeks. The dream is distant, almost unreachable, and not yet yours to claim.

When you and Ricky step out into the cold night, the air nips at your exposed legs below your knees. The dress he had picked out for you, delicate and pastel pink, offers little warmth, and the heels are beginning to pinch with every step. You trail behind him, taking careful, aching strides to avoid twisting your ankle.

Ricky notices, stopping suddenly to turn toward you, eyes scanning your shivering frame. “What’s wrong?” His gaze softens as he realizes how exposed you are, legs trembling from the chill. Without hesitating, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth is welcome, but your teeth still chatter as you mutter, “Wish I had something covering my legs instead.”

He exhales, half exasperated, half amused, before a wry smile forms. “Should I carry you like a princess? You’d be warm then.”

Surprised, you bite back a retort, matching his teasing tone with confidence. “Maybe you should.”

Ricky’s eyebrows shoot up, stunned. “Wait, what?”

“Chill, I was just joking,” you mumble, looking down at the ground. But before you know it, he’s stopped again, this time dropping to one knee. Your eyes widen in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?” you blurt out, stepping back in reflex, heat rising to your cheeks at the unexpected gesture. (more so because you believed he was trying to look up your dress)

Ricky looks up, mildly annoyed but patient. “I’m helping you,” he says simply. Before you can argue, he pulls out a pair of slippers from a little carry bag he had brought from home. The realization hits, softening your expression as he glances up. “Lift your leg.”

You comply, feeling foolish for your earlier outburst. He slips the heels off your feet and replaces them with the soft slippers, careful and precise as if proving he has no ulterior motive. The chill in the air suddenly seems less biting.

“You had these the whole time?” you ask, voice softer now, eyes wide with realization. He places the heels into the carry bag, stands up, and meets your gaze with a smirk.

“Yeah. Thought you might need them,” he says, a hint of smugness in his tone. You’re about to thank him when he reminds you with a mock-accusing look, “And you were ready to accuse me of being a pervert.”

The memory makes you feel small, but you muster a sheepish, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, a touch of amusement in his eyes as the two of you start walking again, your steps now confident and comfortable. His jacket around your shoulders holds a warmth that seems to seep straight to your heart.

“So...” Ricky’s voice cuts through the silence, the question you've been dreading finally arriving. “Why did you lie about... us trying for a baby?” His tone is cautious, probing.

You sigh, the answer already clear in your mind. “It was the only way to get them to stop bothering us,” you admit. A pause follows, your gaze flitting up to meet his. You don’t dare to say more, not with your secret burden looming—coming from a future where he is no longer alive and your mission is to keep him safe.

Ricky hums in agreement, the tension easing a bit. “I can’t argue with that.” A comfortable silence settles between you, only broken by the sound of your footsteps. He glances at you again and asks, “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Relief flashes across his face before he reaches out, taking your hand and leading you forward. The two of you approach a small, tucked-away restaurant, its sign faded but familiar. Ricky’s eyes light up. “You have to try the cold coffee from that café across the street,” he points out, the fondness in his voice unmistakable.

You nod, memories flickering back. His odd, endearing preferences were things you never forgot. “Fish curry with plain rice and some shrimp on the side?” you guess, eyes twinkling with recognition.

Ricky’s head snaps to you, surprise clear as day. He stares, a laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “Since when did you start memorizing my favorites?”

You had heard about his fav things to eat from your brother in law, Jay. But Ricky never said it to you himself so the boy was pretty much stunned when you literally memorised them, as if you were waiting to flex this whole time.

You offer a small, knowing smile. “I have my ways.”

The waiter arrives promptly with your orders, and the rich aroma fills the space between you and Ricky. He takes a bite, but pauses, eyes drifting to you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve never done this before…” he murmurs, his tone a mix of realization and gentle amusement.

You tilt your head, savoring a piece of shrimp. “You mean this date?” you ask, half-smiling.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what I mean,” he replies, taking a moment before continuing, as if gathering the courage. “I like it. I like how we are now.” He takes a sip of water, and the way he watches you is tender, raw. His hand slides across the table to rest over yours, fingers warm against your skin.

“I don’t know what changed, but I…” He hesitates, eyes locking with yours, a profound intensity that silences you. “I like how we’re not avoiding each other anymore, how we talk instead of fighting over every little thing.”

The sincerity in his words pierces through you, tugging at memories of a future where his absence left a hollow ache in your chest. The pain you’d carried, the distance, the loss—all of it feels heavy in this moment, but now, something else unfurls within you. An unexpected warmth that swells as his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

He draws in a shaky breath. “I know I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes, maybe too many, and that’s why we kept drifting apart in those four years we were married. But I want us to stay like this. Is that too much to ask for?” His voice cracks, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The depth of emotion he shows takes your breath away, and your vision blurs as your own tears spill over. The raw honesty in his confession reaches a part of you that had long been buried under grief and guilt. But this isn’t grief—it’s something different, a warmth that wraps around you and fills the spaces that loss once consumed.

“Ricky…” you whisper, voice trembling. He blinks rapidly, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he tries to manage a laugh, a hand lifting to wipe at his face. “Did I go too overboard?” he chuckles, awkwardly, brushing his fingers over yours, an attempt to ease the intensity.

But you can’t answer with words, your heart too full. Instead, you wipe your own tears away, watching him as he takes a deep breath and resumes eating, eyes still red-rimmed, his emotions raw and vivid between you. The silence that follows is... a little satisfying this time around. Your chest tightens, and you realize this feeling—this unexpected, overwhelming tenderness—is the spark you hadn’t felt in what feels like forever.

The confession... It did something to you. It made you feel things or you believed so.

You reach for his hand, this time without hesitation, and hold on as if anchoring both of you to this moment. A shared glance tells him everything you can’t yet put into words: you’re here, with him, and for now, that’s enough.

AS THE DAYS PASSED FOLLOWING THAT UNEXPECTED DINNER, a subtle shift had occurred between you and Ricky. It had been a month since then, and despite your hectic lives—you, a dedicated nurse, and him, an ambitious lawyer—something had changed. You continued to sleep separately, a necessity due to your conflicting schedules. Late nights saw you returning home to find Ricky already asleep, and early mornings had him leaving before you awoke. This unspoken arrangement was born out of mutual respect for each other’s rest.

However, the reminder of the future haunted you. The date on your wrist, November 4th, hadn’t faded or smudged. It remained stark and vivid, a grim reminder of the fate you knew awaited Ricky, filling you with silent dread.

Despite your busy lives, the dinner at that small restaurant had stirred something unspoken between you. A shared tenderness had taken root, and in the brief pauses between work, you found yourself drawn to those moments that whispered of possibilities—moments that spoke of a bond that hadn’t existed before.

The room feels charged with an unspoken tension as you stand there, watching Ricky. The question slips from your lips, “Are we sleeping separately again?” masking the tremble in your voice with an attempt at confidence. Ricky’s eyes meet yours, an amused smile playing on his lips as he tilts his head. “Do you want to sleep with me?” he asks, casual yet knowing.

You stammer, trying to find an answer that won’t reveal how vulnerable you feel. “No—yes—but—” The uncertainty in your voice makes him chuckle softly, the sound sending warmth through your chest. The realization of your feelings for him washes over you again, clear and inescapable.

“It’s normal to want to sleep with your husband. Don’t worry,” he says reassuringly. His tone is light, yet there’s an edge of tenderness as he turns and walks to the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, looking back with an expectant eyebrow raise, and you follow.

Inside, the dim light casts soft shadows. The atmosphere feels different tonight, heightened by the realization that, while you’ve shared this space before, this moment feels profoundly intimate. He hesitates for a moment, the usual playful confidence in his manner replaced by a quiet consideration.

Should he lie down first?

Wait for you?

Or speak?

“You don’t need to worry. I won’t touch you unless you want me to. We could even put a pillow between us if you prefer,” he says in a rush, trying to ease the tension. But his words leave you both flushed. You respond, flustered yet honest, “No—you can touch me—I mean...”

Ricky’s eyes widen, and a surprised silence falls over you both, broken only by your slightly quickened breaths.

Finally, you break it, murmuring, “So... do we sleep?” You wish the dim light hides your expression, but Ricky’s shifting on the bed signals that he’s as unsettled as you are. He lies down first, and you follow, settling into the bed with a space that feels simultaneously too close and too distant.

Minutes pass as the darkness deepens around you. You’re aware of every sound, every breath he takes, and the slight rustle of sheets as you both try to find comfort. The knowledge that he’s staying dressed out of respect doesn’t escape you, and neither does the chill that seeps through the room, despite the blanket. It’s enough to make sleep elusive, even as your heart drums with quiet, unspoken hope.

The air feels thick with tension as neither of you can fall asleep, despite the dim light and the shared silence. Ricky gently sits up, his voice breaking the stillness. “I’ll get changed into my night clothes—this is uncomfortable. You should get changed too,” he suggests. His words are practical, but they stir a shyness inside you. The thought of wearing shorts around him makes you feel self-conscious, though the blanket and darkness give you some comfort.

With a deep breath, you agree. You grab your oversized top and shorts, retreating to the bathroom to change. When you return, Ricky is already asleep, dressed in a soft T-shirt and shorts. His peaceful expression makes a pang of guilt settle in your chest. You feel both relief and unease at the same time, knowing he’s so close yet so far away.

You lie there, tense in the stillness of the night. Ricky’s hand lands instinctively on your stomach, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. You hold your breath, carefully shifting his hand away. Just when you think you're safe, his leg shifts under the blanket, pressing gently between your legs. A rush of heat floods your chest as you gently push his leg away, silently exhaling in relief.

In the quiet, you watch him sleep. His messy hair, a small trail of drool escaping his lips—something inside you stirs. Without thinking, you bring your thumb to wipe away the drool, brushing it lightly against your shirt. You stare at him for a moment, your heart racing in ways you can’t fully understand.

For Ricky though,

He wakes to find you so close, your noses nearly touching. A small breath escapes him as he pulls back, but then he notices your body, curled into him—one of your legs and arms wrapped around him, as if clinging to his warmth to escape the cold. You’re nestled so comfortably against his chest, and though a small part of him wants to get up, he finds himself content in the moment.

He stares at you, watching as he slips his fingers through your hair, the quiet intimacy settling around him like a comforting blanket. When you stir, half-awake, he expects you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you bury yourself further into his chest, and he smiles, a little amused by your unconscious need for closeness.

“Morning... Baby,” he says softly, though he’s hoping you’ll move just enough for him to slip out of bed.

“Morningg,” you murmur, nuzzling his chest. He notices how you don’t seem to mind the nickname, a small sign that you’re still in that dreamy, sleepy state. He wants to pull away, but he doesn't want to disturb you, so he asks, “Can you move a bit, baby?”

You barely stir, your arms and legs still tangled with his. “Too cold,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I know, baby. I’ll turn the heater on for you, is that good?” he whispers, his voice tender. He’s careful not to wake you fully, knowing you won’t even remember this when you wake up.

An hour later, you wake up alone in the bed, the soft comforter still wrapped around your legs. You stretch and yawn, rubbing your eyes, only to hear the door creak open. Ricky stands there, a plate in hand—an omelette and a fruit salad. You blink, unsure if you’re still dreaming, and pinch your cheek, just to make sure this isn’t some figment of your imagination.

“What's that?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Breakfast in bed,” Ricky says with a playful grin, setting the plate down in front of you.

“For me?” you ask, surprised and touched.

“Who else?” he replies with a shrug, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

“Why...?” You blink at him, unsure of why he's being so considerate, so affectionate.

“Why not?” he answers, teasing, but there’s a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

You stare at the food in front of you, but the nerves kick in. “Well, uhm... I haven’t brushed.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures, waving off your concerns.

“No, it’s not. It’s gross. I do care about germs,” you argue, a bit embarrassed. Before he can say anything else, you rush off to brush your teeth, feeling a little self-conscious. You quickly freshen up, brushing your teeth with the toothpaste, hoping that’ll help with the lingering awkwardness.

When you return, you take a bite, and the emotion hits you harder than you expect. You don’t quite know why, but the tenderness of his gesture fills you with gratitude, and a soft lump forms in your throat.

“Why?” you ask again, your voice shaky, as you sip some water. The question has been swirling in your mind ever since you saw him standing there, holding that plate.

“Hm?” he hums, genuinely confused, not fully understanding why you're so emotional.

“Why are you being so nice... and romantic?” You wince after speaking, regretting your words, but you can't take them back now.

Ricky tilts his head, his smile fading slightly. “Like I said a month ago... I meant those words. I want us to stay like this... And not go back to how it was in those four years.. Are we really that immature to let it happen again?” The vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes.

It's raw, honest, and you feel a knot twist in your chest, not having a reply to his genuine question.

THE DAYS AND MONTHS THAT FOLLOW ARE UNEXPECTEDLY TENDER, filled with moments that remind you of what being husband and wife is meant to feel like. The shared smiles, lingering touches, and quiet mornings are sweeter than they have ever been, and for the first time in a long while, peace seems attainable. Yet, there is an undercurrent that stirs beneath it all—the date that looms, casting a shadow over your contentment.

November 4th.

With the month drawing nearer, your heart starts to tighten with an anxious grip. Paranoia seeps into the quiet moments, the fear of what November 4th could mean—what it has meant in the past—makes the days feel more fragile. Your mind races, replaying scenarios and doubts that you can’t shake off. Each sweet gesture, each kind word from him, is tinged with the knowledge that the date approaches, threatening to unravel everything you’ve rebuilt.

Ricky’s expression is heavy with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes hinting at the long day he’s had. You offer, “I’ll heat up the dinner,” and turn toward the kitchen, but he stops you with a gentle grasp around your wrist. Before you can react, he pulls you back, pressing you against the wall. The soft strains of a romantic song drift from the living room, creating an intimate, almost fragile atmosphere.

He’s close—closer than usual—and you feel the warmth radiating from his body as well as the subtle scent of his cologne. The proximity sends your pulse racing.

“Ricky?” you say softly, confusion lacing your voice as you look up at him. His face is unreadable, the dim lighting casting a shadow over the tired lines of his features. His eyes meet yours, carrying an unspoken emotion.

“Mm?” he murmurs, his voice hushed, as if not to disturb the moment. His hands find their way around you, holding you securely against him, and he leans his chin on your head. The gesture feels protective, desperate even.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your words barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re seeking clarification or reassurance. His embrace tightens for a moment, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours as he takes a deep breath.

“Can you stop calling me Ricky?” he says quietly, the request landing softly, yet weighted.

Surprise flashes through you. “What do you want me to call you?” you ask, voice muffled against his shirt. The question feels vulnerable, as if shifting something fundamental between you both.

“I don’t know... something like... baby, darling, honey... or anything,” he admits, a subtle flush spreading across his cheeks despite the solemn tone. You catch the shy dip of his eyes, and a faint smile tugs at your lips.

“You’re being quite demanding,” you tease, looking up into his face. His lips part slightly as he considers your words.

“This isn’t being demanding,” he counters, pausing just long enough for the silence to underline his meaning. His eyes search yours, raw and full of an unnamed plea. “I just want to spend my last months with you, thinking we’re just... normal. Like any other couple.”

His words sink in, bringing with them an ache that spreads through your chest. The silence that follows is heavy, laced with all the things unsaid and the truth that’s pressing in on both of you. You lift a hand, letting your fingers brush the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes soften, dark lashes casting shadows against his skin as he watches you.

There’s something fragile in this moment, a bittersweet understanding passing between you that makes your throat tighten. The future looms, uncertain and unkind, but for now, you’re here, held close, suspended in the tender present.

Ricky’s voice lowers, a tremor in its depths that betrays the weight of his words. “You might not believe me, but... I come from a reality where I’m dead. So, I hope we can at least be nice to each other in my last moments. Can you do that?”

A stunned silence follows, your breath catching in your throat as his confession hangs in the air. You believe him; how could you not when you come from the same reality? Eyes widening, you step back, raising your wrist to show the dark, unerasable mark: November 4th. The ink-like number seems to pulse, a constant reminder of a fate that binds you both.

Ricky’s eyes mirror your shock. He releases you, just enough to reveal his own wrist. There it is, the same haunting date. The mark seems alive, almost mocking, as if counting down with every heartbeat.

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the silence heavy with shared grief and realization. The next second, you’re in his arms again, your face buried in his chest as he pulls you close, his own face pressed into your hair. The world around you blurs, reduced to the rapid thumping of your heart and the warmth of his embrace.

“I... please don’t... leave me this time,” you plead, your voice breaking under the weight of your fear. The memory of finding him lifeless in the world you came from, the coldness of that reality, rushes back with a cruel force.

“I will try,” he whispers, his voice barely steady as he runs a hand down your back in a soothing gesture. “We changed the relationship, right? So maybe... just maybe, we can avoid death too.”

You both stand there, unmoving as the moment stretches out. It feels absurd, two souls transported from a fractured future, now clinging to each other in the present in a fragile hope. Yet the thought of letting go is unbearable, so you don’t. For now, the reality of the present is enough.

RICKY’S FINGERS TREMBLE SLIGHTLY AS HE HOLDS OUT THE SMALL BOX, A HINT OF NERVOUSNESS CREASING HIS BROW. “This is for you.” His voice is softer than usual, his eyes searching yours for a response. The box is familiar, a relic from the present you left behind, steeped in memories. Inside is the ancestral ring, one that Ricky’s mother entrusted to you after his death—a token that held more value than any wedding ring could.

“I wasn’t... couldn’t give it to you before, but now... I’d like you to have it.” His voice is almost a whisper as he takes your hand, slipping the cool metal onto your finger. His touch lingers, warm and careful, as if anchoring the moment between you.

You look down at the ring, its delicate design catching the dim light and glistening softly. The weight of it brings back a rush of memories that mix grief with an unexpected warmth. Meeting his gaze, you let a small, genuine smile curve your lips. “Thank you. After you… I mean, after your death, your mother gave it to me,” you say, voice thick with the past, “but I’m glad it’s you giving it to me now.”

The way his eyes widen before softening speaks volumes—acceptance, regret, and hope, all blending seamlessly as he draws you closer.

Ricky’s expression shifts, a soft smile forming as he leans in, his body pressing yours gently against the bedroom wall. His breath mingles with yours, warm and scented faintly with his cologne. His eyes trace your features, holding a glimmer of something tender and fragile. You raise a brow in playful defiance, a silent challenge, and a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. Without another word, he cups your face, his thumb grazing your cheek, and leans in until the space between you disappears.

The first touch of his lips is tentative, testing. A shiver races down your spine as his mouth moves with a gentleness that makes your heart stutter. Your eyes flutter open for a second, catching the serene expression on his face before closing again as you respond, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to reality.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing in short, uneven gasps. The room is silent except for the soft crackle of a song playing somewhere in the background. Ricky’s eyes open, and in them, you see a question—a hesitation laced with anticipation. “Do you want to go further?” His voice, barely above a whisper, holds a vulnerability that makes your pulse quicken.

You exhale softly, a hint of a smile teasing your lips as you match his boldness. “How far can you go?” The playful edge in your voice makes him chuckle, low and breathy.

“As far as you want to go.” The words are a promise, and before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, more confident this time, as his hand moves to the strap of your dress, gently sliding it off of your shoulders.

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS PASS IN A COMFORTING CALM, the bond between you and Ricky strengthening with each passing day. You're no longer weighed down by the regret of the past, but instead, you focus on cherishing the present. Yet, there's still a lingering unease.

Ricky driving the car is something that continues to gnaw at you. It's not just a simple fear; it's the haunting memory of the future you came from, where that very action led to his tragic end. As November nears, the pressure builds. You look at the date on your wrist—November 4th—and the thought of losing him again, of it becoming reality, is too much to bear. Your chest tightens, and you feel a mix of helplessness and dread, hoping with every fiber of your being that this time, things will be different.

Ricky offers a reassuring smile, the kind that tries to mask his own unease as he softly says, “Chill, I’ll be back in an hour, alright?” His hand moves up to gently smooth your hair, eyes soft with understanding as he takes in the worry etched across your face. You cling tighter to his arm, voice trembling as you ask, “Is it important?”

He nods, and the hopeful part of you crumbles. The instinct to keep him close, to refuse, is almost overwhelming. But before you can protest, he leans forward, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. His hands slip down to rest on your shoulders as he looks at you earnestly.

“I promise I’ll be back. Now, will my pretty wife give me a smile so I can come back even sooner?” The playful plea tugs at your lips, and despite the fear swirling inside, you manage a small, forced smile. He chuckles softly, ruffling your hair before turning to leave.

You trail behind him to the door, eyes glued to the taillights of his car as they fade down the street. The ache in your chest sharpens, and you glance down at the ancestral ring on your finger, tracing its smooth surface as if the touch alone could make your wish come true: Please, come back safely.

The minutes stretch painfully long, and every ten minutes, you can’t resist sending a text, the same anxious message: “If you’re okay, just send a heart emoji.” True to his word, Ricky replies with a heart every time—until the fifty-minute mark.

The silence is deafening. Your heart thunders as you stare at your phone, willing the screen to light up. Nothing. The dread coils tighter, stealing the air from your lungs. You take a shaky breath, but it barely settles you. Panic sets in, and you hit the call button. The phone doesn’t connect; the ring tone never plays. Your chest tightens.

In desperation, you call Jay, your brother-in-law. His voice is laced with confusion as he picks up. “Jay, is Ricky with you?” The silence that follows your frantic question only amplifies your fear. “No, why? What’s going on?” he asks, suddenly serious. Before you can answer, he cuts the call, sensing the urgency and attempting to help in any way he can.

The next hour drags like an eternity, your anxiety swallowing every rational thought. You pace the room, eyes darting to the clock, phone clenched in your shaking hand. Then, after what feels like a lifetime, you hear the distant purr of an engine. Your pulse stutters as Ricky’s car comes into view, whole and unharmed.

But you don’t relax. Not until you see him. The door swings open, and there he is, frustration etched into his features as he steps inside. Your breath catches, relief and anger colliding within you.

Ricky's expression softens as he speaks, keeping his voice low despite the frustration. “Why’d you call Jay over something like this? My phone died while I was working. I charged it and got caught up in the case. It’s embarrassing.”

Your eyes well up, the weight of worry turning to a sting of hurt. “So? It’s not important?” Your voice wavers, raw with emotion. “I was terrified, Ricky! I didn’t want to lose you again. Sorry for being the clingy wife you’re ashamed of.”

Turning to leave, you barely make a step before he’s there, blocking your path. His eyes search yours, but instead of a defensive remark, he pulls you close, enveloping you in an embrace that tells you more than words could. His arms tighten, anchoring you to him as he murmurs in your ear, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s strange, but I promise I won’t say that again, okay?”

His breath is warm against your hair as he leans his cheek on your head, his heartbeat steady against your own erratic one. Despite the tension, you sense his understanding, a silent acknowledgment of your fear. He’s learning to hold your worry without judgment.

“I was so scared, Ricky. I thought I’d lose you all over again.” Your voice cracks, and he feels the tremor in your body. He wants to say the right thing, anything to soothe the tremble in your words, but all he can do is hold you tighter.

Both of you are haunted by that date imprinted on your wrists, “November 4th.” A reminder that looms like an uninvited shadow, a constant whisper of what could happen.

THE DAY ARRIVES, a heavy silence filling the air between you and Ricky. His promise lingers like a protective shield around you both: he won’t drive, he won’t leave. His presence is a balm for the fear that pulses in your chest. As the two of you snuggle on the couch, the soft glow of the TV playing a rom-com, you turn to him with a worried look, your voice low and unsure.

“What if something bad happens while we’re in the house?” you whisper, nuzzling into his warmth. The thought of losing him, of the world continuing without him, feels unbearable.

Ricky shifts, his arm wrapping tighter around you as he looks down at you, his breath warm against your neck. “Nothing will happen. And if it does, I’ll protect you,” he assures, his tone strong and sure, though his own heart is heavy. He knows how much your fear weighs on you, and he wants to shoulder it for you.

But the thought of you living without him—he can’t imagine it. He brushes your hair from your face gently, his voice a soft promise. “I love you too much for that.” His words come out naturally, like it’s something he’s been holding back but feels right now to say. It’s the first time you hear him say it, and the weight of those words floods your heart with warmth, knowing this is real.

“I get it. I won’t put my life at risk,” he murmurs, though there’s a quiet uncertainty in his words, an unspoken truth that he would never let anything harm you—even at the cost of his own safety.

You glance up at him, your lips pressing together in a worried frown. “You better not,” you mumble, not able to let go of the fear completely. You’ve spent the whole day together, in the safety of your home, trying to ignore the impending dread that the date will pass and nothing will change. Watching TV, cooking together, each small moment a reminder of how much he means to you—and how fragile life can be.

You curl up closer to him, as if physically wrapping yourself around him can keep him safe. Your eyes glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by too slowly. Every moment spent together now feels like a treasure, and you want to hold on to it forever.

The two of you lie in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a gentle warmth over your forms. His hand rests tenderly over yours, fingers interlocking. He watches you as you sleep, your face relaxed, peaceful. A quiet whisper escapes his lips: “I love you.” His eyes linger on your peaceful expression, your other arm still clinging to him as if you’re unwilling to let go even in sleep.

He leans over to turn off the lamp, and then his gaze falls to his wrist—where the date once was. It’s gone. A wave of disbelief washes over him. The tension that has gripped him for so long begins to melt away. Perhaps it wasn’t an omen after all, but a reminder that after November 4th, a new chapter awaited them both.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for your wrist to find the same thing: no date. Relief floods him, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, pulling you even closer into his arms, savoring the moment.

But he knows, as much as this moment feels like a new beginning, there will still be challenges ahead. The fear you carry about him driving is not something that will fade overnight. Your worry, rooted in a past he knows you can’t shake, will take time to heal. But for now, he holds you close, understanding, and promises silently that he’ll be patient, allowing you to find peace in your own time.

TWO MONTHS HAVE PASSED SINCE THE FATEFUL DATE, and though life has taken you and Ricky through different stages, there’s an undeniable warmth between the two of you. Sitting at the family dinner table, surrounded by loved ones, the air is filled with laughter, conversation, and the quiet hum of joy.

Semi, now a cheerful five-year-old, eats her meal quietly, occasionally looking up with shy glances.

You glance over at Ricky, noticing him take a deep breath as he prepares to speak, his hand resting on the table near yours. It’s clear he’s nervous, even though it’s just family. He clears his throat, the words finally tumbling out: “So… We’re having a baby.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Ricky’s father scoffs, not giving him an ounce of reaction, while his mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you can fool us one time, not twice,” she says, clearly referencing the last family dinner, where you had tried to casually mention trying for a baby, only for him to play along. He felt the blame was entirely on him, but you knew the truth—it was a team effort.

You chuckle softly to yourself, leaning into Ricky’s side, your heart fluttering at the thought of a new life, a new chapter. He meets your gaze, his lips curving into a small smile, even amidst the teasing.

This moment, while filled with playful mockery, marks something deeper. You’re finally here together, stronger and more united than ever before. And this new adventure? It’s the start of a new journey that no one can take from you.

“Really, Y/n’s pregnant. We're having a baby,” Ricky says, his voice laced with excitement. His mother, skeptical, eyes you closely. “Is that true?”

Without waiting for Ricky’s confirmation, you nod, feeling his fingers intertwine with yours beneath the table, his touch calming your nerves.

"I won’t hesitate to beat your ass if this is fake," his dad grumbles, irritation mixing with a hint of hope.

Jay, barely containing his amusement at the scene, watches the family react, while Ricky proudly pulls out the ultrasound pictures, revealing the truth. His parents take turns looking at the images, jaws dropping in surprise. Jay, knowing already, can’t help but chuckle.

"Father was starting to question your masculinity. Glad you proved him wrong," Jay teases, earning a gentle nudge from Jieun, urging him to keep it light.

"Wait... So there’s a grandkid on the way?" Ricky’s mother recovers first, grinning with hopeful excitement. Ricky nods, and your heart swells at the thought of everything that's to come. This moment, this family, it feels like the beginning of something truly special.

Ricky’s mother leans forward, still processing, but the excitement is slowly bubbling up. “A grandchild? Really? My little boy having a little one? I’m going to spoil that baby so much.”

Ricky chuckles, glancing at you. “Well, you already spoil Semi enough, so I guess it’s fair.”

“Hey, I’m a great grandma-in-training,” she quips, giving Semi an affectionate pat. “But if you two need any advice, I’m here.”

Your heart swells seeing the warmth in her eyes. But then, Ricky’s dad, clearly trying to keep his cool, mutters, “I’ll believe it when I see a baby in my arms.”

“You’ll see him,” Ricky says, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Or her, right, Y/n?”

You smile, feeling the weight of the moment. “Definitely,” you whisper, feeling a rush of emotion.

Jay, still grinning, can’t help but poke at his younger brother. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You two gonna have one of those perfect Pinterest-worthy baby showers or just skip the whole thing?”

Jieun smacks his arm lightly. “Don’t make them nervous, Jay. Let them enjoy the moment.”

Ricky laughs, looking over at you with that same loving gaze. “Honestly, I think we just need to take it one step at a time. But yeah, we’ll get there.”

“You know, when you have a baby, you’ll see just how much you need each other,” his dad says more seriously now, a rare moment of wisdom breaking through his tough exterior. “It’s not just about being a parent, it’s about being there for each other even more.”

Ricky nods, his hand tightening around yours as if to say, “I’ve got you, always.”

The whole family seems to settle into a comfortable silence after that, everyone soaking in the news in their own way, but all of them sharing the same unspoken bond.

“Guess we’ll need one more chair for next time,” Jay jokes, breaking the silence, and everyone bursts out laughing.

You glance at Ricky, his eyes full of joy, and your heart feels fuller than it ever has. There’s something about being surrounded by family—being with him—that feels right. “Yeah, we’ll need one more chair,” Ricky agrees softly, his gaze drifting to the future, to the family that’s just beginning.

In the end, you and Ricky had proven the vows true—til death do us part. Through all the challenges, fears, and moments of doubt, you had always found your way back to each other. The promises made, the trust built, and the love that had endured everything now stood as a testament to what you had together. With every touch, every shared laugh, and every quiet moment, you knew that no matter what, your hearts were bound—for life—and beyond.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[destiny-fics]

Fuck Those (New) Frat Boys

Welcome to the ZB1 Fraternity, how may we help you?

Following the footsteps of the infamous SKZ fraternity, President Sung Hanbin and his fellow frat brothers are maintaining a legacy of important charity work, lavish parties, academic achievement and, of course, catching the eyes and hearts of anyone who meets them.

Which member will catch your eye first?

Pairing: ZB1 Legal Line (Jiwoong-Gyuvin) x Fem!Reader (Individual stories for each member)

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, College!au, Non-Idol!au.

Set in the same universe as my SKZ series "Fuck those frat boys."

Individual warnings will be at the start of each fic

This series is 18+ so minors kindly DNI

Stories

The Teacher's Aid - Kim Jiwoong

"You do know making out in the T.A office is against university policy, right Jiwoong?"

"I do. But I also plan to do a lot more things that break university policy in here too."

The First Chair - Zhang Hao

"You want me...to play in your string quartet?"

"It might not look like it, but I do actually pay attention when you play and you're the best cellist here. Come on, what do you say?"

The Frat President - Sung Hanbin

"Do you ever think that maybe you spread yourself too thin Hanbin?"

"I prefer to say I never back down from a commitment."

The Hallway Crush - Seok Matthew

"I never expected our first meeting to be because you're fucking one of my frat brothers."

Can't exactly say I expected it either Matthew."

The Guitar Player - Kim Taerae

"One night Taerae, and then we can stage a breakup, we just need to convince her so she'll stop setting me up on dates."

"One night, then that's it."

The Frat Sweetheart - Shen Ricky

"You know for the fraternity sweetheart you really are a dick Ricky Shen."

"At least I don't have a perpetual stick up my ass."

The Best Friend - Kim Gyuvin

"No can do, your brother specifically told me not to touch you."

"But my brother didn't tell you that you couldn't look at me."

[oh2z]

roommates. a jebe series

part pre one two three

summary: moving in with your (really attractive) uni friends..nothing too crazy can happen, right?

contents: plenty of suggestive/sexual content ! mdni read and tune in at your own discretion !!

word count: 2.1k (yay^^)

it was your fourth year of uni and you just transferred schools after a little incident happened last year that forced you to move. it was like a fresh start-- except you still had to go to class. (lol no shit)

you were angrily storming toward your first class of the day since you had already taken this class but of course, the credits didn't transfer so you had to retake it. huge waste of time.

you sat down in the closest desk to the door and tossed your bag on top of it, leaning back against the chair and crossing your arms in annoyance. you felt some eyes on you so you glanced over and caught a boy looking at your curiously. you normally would have snapped at him for staring, but he was pretty hot-- his messy brown hair fell over his forehead in his cute, slightly overgrown bowl cut and smiley eyes contrasted nicely with the sharp cut of his jaw and his large hands. you slid your eyes over him top to bottom, letting them linger on the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders. you looked back up at his face to meet his gaze and his eyes widened briefly before he looked away quickly, a little blush creeping onto his cheeks. you turn to front wordlessly, looking away from his with a small smirk on your face.

you had shown up to class hoping that this professor didn't have a strict attendance policy, and to your luck, he does. fuck. you rolled your eyes as your classmates passed the sign-in sheet around, and zoned out for the rest of class.

when the class was over you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and headed for the door. you had forgot to get coffee beforehand, so you decided to head to the nearest cafe. you felt like someone was following you as you headed down the sidewalk and you threw a glance over your shoulder to see that same guy from class a few steps behind you. his big eyes widened when you looked at him and he looked away from you but you narrowed your eyes and stopped walking, waiting for him to catch up.

he looked like he was panicking, not sure if he should stop or pass you. "you following me?" you asked, tilting your head.

"no! i just... wanted to go get coffee before my next class," he said quickly.

you hesitated a moment, suddenly feeling silly for being on the offensive. "oh. i was going to get coffee too..i'mm kinda new to town and i get anxious in unfamiliar places-- should we have coffee together?" you offered. he blinked in surprise.

"oh! yeah okay sure!" the two of your began walking again, next to each other this time, and headed toward the coffee shop. you each brought your own drink and then you sat down together at a small table. you couldn't help but judge him a little for getting a fancy blended sweet coffee drink, while you had a black iced americano.

"so are you a music production major too?" he asked, sipping his drink.

"no, i'm taking this class as an elective. i'm kind of annoyed actually-- i already took it but the credits didn't transfer. i mean it'll be easy now, but it's still a bit annoying," you complained.

"oh. that sucks." he replied, frowning. you shrugged.

"it's whatever. you know what would make it better though?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"what?" he asked, sipping from his straw and blinking at you innocently.

"if you would write my name on the sign-in sheet for me if i'm ever not there," you replied sweetly.

"we're not supposed to do that though..."

you pouted, looking at him through your lashes and slipping a hand up to toy with the neckline of your shirt. "oh...i guess you're right. thanks anyway."

"i mean-" he said quickly. "it's just that i would have to know what your name was first before i could write it."

you smirked, then pulled out a small piece of paper and wrote down your full name, jotting your phone number under it. then you stood up and handed it to him. he read your name and then looked up at you when he noticed your number. he tilted his head as he read it again.

"your name is--"

"don't call me that," you cut, pointing at the paper. "i go by y/n."

"okay! y/n it is" he said quickly, his cheeks going pink. you had to stop yourself from continuing the conversation-- you were going to be late to your next class. and so you tore your attention away from him somewhat begrudgingly.

"text me your name," you said as you turned away, flashing him a smile over your shoulder as you left the shop. he watched you go with his lips parted slightly in shock and then quickly pulled out his phone, typing your number in and shooting you a text right away.

unknown: hi :0

me: who is this?

unknown: oh sorry lol

unknown: i was supposed to text u my name

unknown: it's taerae!

me: cool :)

you saved his number and then silenced your phone, not really caring if he had said something else after that at the moment. you shoved your hands in your pockets and headed to your next class.

--

you were sitting in the coffee shop working on an assignment from another class when your phone went off.

taerae: hey u comin to class?

you frowned at your phone. who the hell is taerae? you thought. you glanced at the clock, remembering which class your were skipping. oh! music production boy! a smile crept to your face at the thought of him again.

me: no i can't make it today

taerae: did you want me to sign the paper for you?

me: yes please!

you set your phone down and went back to work. about an hour later you felt someone standing over you and you pulled you headphones off and looked up. there was the boy from that class. you blinked at him.

"yes?" you asked. he sat down, sipping his fancy coffee and frowning his cute, pink lips pouting around his straw.

"you said you couldn't make it to class. i thought you were sick or something," he mumbled.

"yeah...what i meant was...i'm not going back to that class. it's a waste of my time." you mumbled back, returning your gaze to your laptop.

"oh. well...the professor assigned homework." he said, looking at you.

you groaned. "ugh, seriously?" you complained as he opened his backpack and pulled out his notes. he took a picture of where he had written down the assignment and set it to you.

"here you go " he said with a little smile.

"y/n-ie" you replied absentmindedly as you opened your phone to check the picture. he perked up a bit at the thought of calling you in a cuter way.

"i can call you y/n-ie?" he asked cutely. you looked up from your phone at him, unable to keep yourself from smiling a little at his happy face.

"hm? oh yeah. you're my music production class buddy, of course you can" you said. he grinned back.

"okay! well um...i'll see you later y/n-ie"

-

you were lying on your bed at home, tuning out the sound of your roommate slamming doors by cranking up the volume on your headphones. you had just finished up the assignment for your music prod. class and you sighed, thinking you had better go to class and hand it in the next day. unless...

me: hey

taerae: hi y/n-ie!!

me: can we meet up before class tmr? wanna see u :3

taerae: ofc just lmk!!

you were so tired and your roommate was really stressing you out. your really hated this apartment, but it had been the only thing available when you moved to town. you sighed and went to bed.

--

you sat at the cafe sipping your coffee and staring at your laptop, feeling stressed about your course load and your living arrangement. you had no way to get your stresses out these days, considering you knew no one in town and that your favorite stress relief activities were best done...with others.

you eyes slide to the door when taerae came into the shop, accompanied with another boy today. he was the same height as taerae, and something about his perfect skin, messy blonde hair, and sleeper-built body screamed daddy. the smiley brunette boy made you feel dominant, but his handsome friend made you feel small and as the two of them approached you, you shook your head against the warring sides of yourself, trying not to get overwhelmed.

they were talking as they came in and taerae seemed to look at his friend in awe, hanging on every word out of the man's mouth. taerae said something that made the other laugh and it took up his whole face. his huge smile make his eyes scrunch and flush appear in his round cheeks. it was nice to look at, and it seemed contagious as taerae smiled as well. he gave you a little wave and his friend glanced at your curiously before they got drinks. once they both had coffee-- taerae with his usual fancy one and his friend with a plain cup, they came to your table.

"hi y/n-ie! why did you want to meet?" taerae asked cheerily, sitting down next to you. his friend took the seat across from you and you couldn't help but glance at him only to find his dark eyes on your as well. something about the man's cutting gaze made you shy and you looked away quickly. digging in your backpack to avoid looking at him.

"i...wanted to give you this," you said. pulling out your assignment and handing it to taerae.

he looked at it for a second and then undersood. "oh, you want me to hand it in for you?" he seemed like he wasn't thrilled about the idea, so you turned your full attention to him, slipping your hand casually onto the table and placing your fingers lightly over his. he looked up at your in surprise at the tough, and you blinked your eyes at him quickly.

"please?" you asked him sweetly, letting your lips pout into a tiny frown as you did so. he swallowed and looked away.

"y-yeah sure," he murmured, a tiny blush on his soft cheeks as he took the assignment from you and tucked it into his notebook. your eyes glanced to his friend again and you caught him smirking and looking slightly impressed at your actions as you slowly retracted your hand from taerae's, trying to keep yourself from blushing under his gaze.

"thank you" you said, smiling.

"of course y/n-ie"

-

after class, you were still at the cafe, scrolling through your phone and ignoring the paper you were attempting to write. taerae shuffled back into the shop, looking annoyed.

"hey," you greeted him, setting your phone down. "what's up?"

"the professor assigned more work today. and i don't think i did the first one right anyway. i'm not getting this class," he mumbled, pouting.

"let me see." he passed you the notes and you pursed your lips. "i guess i could help." i remember this from last semester."

he perked up. "really?? do you want to come over and go over it with me this evening?"

he was cute. you smiled to yourself. "yeah, sure bub" you said.

he blinked at the affectionate name and then looked down shyl. he suddenly seemed to remember something. "oh yeah- um. i have six roommates so. sometimes my house is a little loud," he told you, cringing.

"well i live in a tiny apartment on campus and my roommate is literally crazy. so whatever you've got can't be that bad." you looked at him for a moment, remembering how flustered his friend had made you earlier. "hey that guy from this afternoon...."

"oh matthew? he's one of my roommates! he said you were cute when we left," he said wiggling his eyebrows at you. you felt yourself blush immediately and taerae burst into giggles at the sight. then he frowned, "i think you're cute too," he pouted.

you scoffed, your blush immediately fading. "you don't get to call me cute, you're the cute one" you told him, winking. now it was his turn to blush.

"w-wait you think i'm cute?" he asked, his eyes wide.

adorable, you thought. "whatever. text me your address." you said, right before trying to refocus on whatever you were just working on.

[lunicho]

i need more hubby kitty rickyy ! he’s just so adorable ☹️☹️ and the riding part omgg, i can imagine him lying on his back with his white shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, the way he looks at you while you’re on top of him riding him :(( the way his hands are interlocked with yours, it’s just so sweet ☹️☹️☹️

stop the outfit description 😭😭 im gonna scream ur literally so right. he loves when u ride him, loves when he can see u and u can see him. he thinks ur so gorgeous looking down at him and smiling, moans being breathed out between the both of u. he definitely squeezes ur hands too, probably kisses them as well. i feel like he has a thing for Painfully Slow sex like, when u guys just rut against each other slowly and u just find smth that feels good and slowly build orgasms between each other idk. he loves when u look down at him and use ur pointer finger to trace his features, telling him what a pretty kitty he is and leaning down to kiss him too. he loves loves loves when u call him ur husband tho, gets him so hard. the thought of spending the rest of his life with u gets him GOING lemme tell u 😭

[thotsofintrusion]

todays thots

subxsub with ricky/taerae/hanbin would be so different between each of them:

with hanbin it’s still relatively calm and collected, not quite as frantic and desperate as it gets with the other two. when bin fucks you he’s able to control his pace, even as he whimpers into your mouth and loses himself in you. subxsub with hanbin is satisfying and loving and usually ends with the both of you covered in the others spit. somehow, when the two of you finish, you still manage to perform some light aftercare. you clean yourselves and the bed up (bin always makes sure you get to bed before you fuck unlike some people), get some snacks and water, and cuddle into each other to enjoy the rest of your night.

with ricky it’s fast and aggressive and rough, with ricky so consumed by his desire that he’s unable to tell just how much of his strength he’s using on you while you grind and rut on each other. when he fucks you, ricky doesn’t even bother to pull either of your pants all the way off, simply pulling his cock out of his own and dragging yours to the middle of your thighs, unintentionally keeping you immobile while he fucks you with no remorse. subxsub with ricky is just two desperate sluts with no self control or awareness driving themselves crazy on each other and you end up dripping with his cum, and the both of you sitting in a small puddle of both your cum on whatever surface you’re on (usually the couch or floor (neither of you has the thought to move when you’re like this)). aftercare is minimal, but ricky still manages to do a little - wiping you and the surface you just defiled down (he’ll leave the deep clean for later), getting water and dragging you to bed, where he promptly curls up on top of you and passes out. (the ricky bias is really showing my bad)

with taerae it’s soft but desperate, the only sounds to be heard the whimpers and whines coming from the two of you and the rubbing of the fabric covering your crotches as you grind desperately. you don’t even actually fuck during subxsub with taerae, the both of you too out of it and distracted by your desperation to do anything other than dry hump and whine into each others mouths until you can’t anymore, your pants soaked and bodies covered in sweat. the two of you curl up in each other ready to sleep and, if you’re in the dorms, it’ll end up being the responsibility of one of the hyungs (hanbin most likely) to get you cleaned up and taken care of before you can fall asleep.

[itstheoneshot]

Kinktober Day 19

Shibari - Ricky

!dom Ricky

Ricky loved the finer things in life, he was young and rich, tall and handsome after all, and you fit that mould perfectly. Dainty, elegant, his perfect match. You were submissive and subservient, but fiery and independent, challenging him when needed and giving in when needed too. You obliged his desires, so many of them were based around making you up, decorating you in different ways, and his latest interest was exactly that.

Shibari. A Japanese-born erotica performed with a submissive being tied by intricate ropes, placed into positions that they normally could not be in, and the dominant having their way with them. The rope that Ricky had purchased was red silk, metres long and beautifully crafted, you wouldn’t dare ask how much it cost, but it is handmade and perfect in every way.

“Baobei,” Ricky soothes you, his hands expertly working on the ropes, tying shapes to frame your curves, to restrict and constrict you, “You look so beautiful like this.”

You stand in front of your mirrored robe, able to admire yourself as Ricky adds more and more into the pattern of ties that he makes on your body. When he steps back, you see that he has you decorated as if you were wearing full body harnesses, and you wonder what else he plans to do to you. The loops in some of the knots did not go unnoticed, your interest piqued as you prepared yourself to be further tied, already feeling yourself begin to get wet, knowing just how well Ricky takes care of you.

“Where do you want me?” You ask innocently, turning to face him while he leans down to kiss you, his hands absentmindedly exploring the rope all over your body.

“Let’s lay you down,” Ricky murmurs, “Knees up at your chest.”

You nod, taking his hands as he guides you onto the bed, resting your head in amongst the pillows, you bring your knees up as he instructed and you hold your ankles to stay in place. Ricky now takes the rope, loose pieces at your wrist he ties them through the loops on your ankles, meaning that instead of holding yourself, the rope does it for you, and he repeats that at the other side. You feel so exposed now, and from the look in Ricky’s eyes, he really fucking likes it. His hand moves to your core, perfectly on show for him with the way that he has your ankles tied, and he traces his fingers up your slit, pressing into you and humming in content as you contract around him, adjusting to the initial stretch.

“Are you going to take me like this?” You ask him, although you know the answer, “Please take me, I want it.”

Ricky laughs, his fingers curling inside you, thumb on your clit to try and prepare you quicker, so desperate to get his fill. His other hand is at his chest, beginning to unbutton his shirt, not wanting to waste even a single second. You throw your head back, just about the only movement you can make, moaning loudly with each thrust of his fingers, he knows your body so well it is so easy for him to work you up towards your first orgasm, you barely notice as he drops his slacks, tugging his underwear down with them, only alert once the weight on the bed shifts as he positions himself in line with you, his hand now wrapped around his shaft to line himself up the moment that he pulls his other hand away.

“Oh, god,” He groans, eyes rolling back as he enters you all the way, “You feel fucking incredible.”

Unable to move, you try with your all to touch him somehow, but soon give up, allowing him to fuck you with as much effort as he wants, right now that is so much, his hands on your hips to keep you steady, grateful to be so much taller than you, he is able to reach over your body to kiss you, tongue twisting with yours, moans matching thrusts, obsessed and so fucking turned on by how powerless and fucking beautiful you look like this. A work of art, as he tells you over and over, his beautiful girl, his princess, his treasure, baobei.

“Quanrui,” You moan, his Chinese name rolling off your tongue so much sweeter, so deep in your pleasure, “Gonna cum, I’m so close, please…”

The angle has you seeing stars, each thrust has you reeling, thighs shaking, and if not for the rope keeping them apart you are certain they would be closing around Ricky’s hips. Having no control, Ricky knows better than to even try to deny you, this is not the time for edging, nor overstimulation, though in other circumstances he would definitely do so. This time, he takes a hand to your clit to help you, his thrusts maintaining the pace and intensity in order to get you there, and that he does, oh fuck, that he does.

You cum on his cock, body shaking, rope rubbing against your skin, pulsating around him and crying his name soundless at first, and louder as you come back down to earth. Ricky’s thrusting goes off rhythm just as your peak descends, his orgasm washing over him as he thrusts into you erratically, filling you easily, certain to overflow. It feels so good, both of you are obsessed with the feeling, the act, the risk - though not really, you are definitely on birth control - associated, and you let out a whine as he pulls out of you after he is done, savouring the feeling of his seed dripping out of you as he begins to untie the rope.

You let your body fall limp once you are freed, and Ricky gently kisses the worst of the rope burn, though none is so bad, the material as gentle as he is, you would expect nothing less.

“That was so hot,” Ricky comments as he pulls the last of the rope away, and takes your hand to guide you to sit up, “But maybe I’ll tie you upside down next time.”

-

kinktober masterlist

[mingsoooo]

Little Highschool Crush

pairing: Shen Quanrui (Ricky) & Reader featuring Matthew

Genre: High school crush, subtle blush.

Word count: 1.4k+

Author's note: I loveeeeeee ricky! Hehe, Matthew and Ricky are my bias tbh and yes. A fic about them. It's the SFW version and I love how cute they are!!!! Like I can just tell, Ricky would try to act soooo calm but he can't! And yes, enjoy~

Life at the high school was far from what it was shown in the movies or dramas; it was what you thought, but the last year was like a turning point gift from God. Nine handsome men had enrolled, and amongst them, two of them were in your section. Matthew and Shen Quanrui, or more popularly known as Ricky. 

Matthew had a punk look. His hair often styled with partition bangs and ears pierced. Similarly, Ricky had a mullet, dyed brown, and his ears pierced. They had the look of the ultimate bad boys or even fuck boys. 

They were the popular boys who were far out of your reach; after all, you were just mediocre, trying to stay on top of things. Quanrui sat a few seats behind you, and Matthew was your desk mate. Benefits? You were surrounded by the handsome boys; after all, Quanrui often came to your table and was even friends with you. 

At first you were cautious; after all, female rage was scary, but soon, due to Matthew's shining personality, they didn't care much about you. 

But every now and then, in the manga club you'd hear about the rumors surrounding Shen Quanrui. The people he rejected, the amount of girls and guys who had a crush on him and the ex's he had. It was fun to know, but without realizing you too had fallen for him all the while, not even knowing about your feelings. 

Thus, you had drawn plenty of sketches of Ricky. Some as the protagonist for a few one shots, and some for personal collection. ~ "Y/n, aren't you going to go to the PE class?" Matthew exited his seat and placed his school coat on the chair. With the approaching winter and the rotten heater, you could feel your hands freeze up.

He ruffled his hair slightly while Quanrui too walked up to your table as well.

"Uh, why don't you go ahead? I'll join in a while." You replied in an awkward manner. Lips held tightly since, it seems that you got your period. The worse thing was it seems to have stained your skirt.

"Well, sure, I guess? Ricky, let's go." Matthew didn't pry in, but Ricky did. He took a glance towards before taking a seat at the chair before you. 

"I do not know why you seem to feel under the weather, but if it's due to, uh… female things, Then, I guess, uh, you can use my coat. I have a sister too so…." His words were left hanging, and he took off his coat instead of speaking any further. 

'What did I do to deserve it?' you smiled while wearing the warm coat, which was much larger for you. It covered your butt, preventing the bloodstain from being seen. 

The students had left. Even Matthew was at the door. Leaving his coat to you, Quanrui left the classroom, and it was now only you and the overpowering feelings. You couldn't be happier, the way his fragrance engulfed you and how he seemed sooooo much closer. 

That whole day, you wore it. It was warm, and although many taunting eyes glared daggers at you, you were lost in your own little bubble of happiness to notice.  ~ [Ring] The last bell for the day rang, and the school day had ended. Everyone started to pack their bags, and as you packed your bags, Ricky walked past with the huge crowd of students. 

With Matthew, you walked out, and at the door, Shen Quanrui waited for both of you. 

"Let's go," he said while earning a decent look from Matthew. After all, why was Quanrui wearing only a shirt while you were wearing a men's coat? 

While walking downstairs, Matthew met a few of his friends from the club, so both of you left him and continued to walk out of the school grounds. Plenty of hawk eyes took a look at Quanrui; after all, he was so handsome. 

But your hands were fiddling. Even at such cold temperatures, the sides of your temple were sweating. Nervous. Extremely nervous. 

"Uh… Quanrui… thank you for the coat." You struggled to put the sentence together. Eyes cast at the black-pitched road. 

"Eh…yeah…You're welcome," he replied in a similar manner. Gone was the facade of the nonchalant kid; right now he was in the presence of the girl whom he liked. To him, his eyes could always distinguish in a crowd to whom his thoughts were directed. 

"I will return it to you after washing," you continued. 

"No… no need," Quanrui replied. Hating how nervous he was. 

"Not at all! Also, thank you earlier. To be honest, I…uh…had a stain I want to cover."

"Ya y/n-ah, Did you see the latest chapter?!" Matthew pressed his hand on your back. His voice embraced radiance, and while the school bag hung on his other hand, Matthew almost headbutted you due to excitement. 

His breath slightly panted. Even so, he continued to match your pace. 

"Eh?" Startled, you slightly took a step back but soon controlled your balance upon realizing that it was your friend Matthew. 

"Well, yeah. I was so sad that although he was a fortune teller, he died knowing that his death had arrived. Also the fact that his only possession, the tarot, was no longer usable, "You answered while walking in the middle of two boys. Shen Quanrui at your left and Matthew at your right. 

"Oh yeah, also remember how his lover didn't know he was stabbed!" Matthew jumped in. His eyes widened with excitement. Earning a look from Quanrui.

"I was almost at the verge of tears in that scene. Though I loved how they portrayed each character through the tarot cards, and even the flowers at the scene gave hints," you concluded.

It was an impactful scene, and you wished for them to live, but death and grievances could never be stopped. Like a waterwheel, they continued to go round and round. 

Quanrui took a peek at your expressions, the way your eyelashes slightly flutter when you look forward and the way you slightly bit the lower lip, hating how quickly you get overwhelmed by the scenes that were fictional. 

Quanrui gently brushed his fingertips against yours. Almost wanting to hold them or say something to cheer you up, but…

"Indeed. Wasn't the protagonist called the Judgement? And I think the female lead was the fool, right? I wonder which card his lover represented." Matthew was quick to divert your attention.

"Well, I'm not sure, but the tarots are quite fascinating. Which card do you think you'd represent?" You question back while the edge of your ears is tingling with redness. 

"Me? I'm definitely the sun. Look how bright I shine!" Shamelessly he smiled, showing his bright teeth and bedazzling personality. As if the air of sadness had passed away, both you and Quanrui giggled. 

But amidst the laughter, Quanrui made sure to capture your smile in his eyes. It was sweet; the tiny lines on your smile lines were cute, and the way you threw your head back like a little child was endearing. 

"So true!" You remarked and cracked another smile while continuing, "And I think that Quanrui is the strength." Turning your head towards him, you showed a grin. Even Matthew took a glance at the shy goy beside you. 

Unlike the usual nonchalant demeanor, he was especially red at the apple of his cheeks. Flustered by your comment, blood rushed to the back of his nape and ears. 

"Why do you think so? uh, I mean I don't know about tarot, but…" He paused. Quanrui was a soft-spoken man, unlike his initial impression. A voice was as warm and sweet as honey. To avoid embarrassment, he even looked away, with his hands in his pockets. 

Matthew cackled at the sight. He couldn't believe how cute the lover boy was. Never had he ever thought that Ricky (Quanrui) would be so in love that he'd break the nonchalant look. You too joined Matthew but with a Cheshire cat grin. 

"Well, because you are very resilient and still so compassionate? Staying in a foreign country isn't easy, so you are the strength."

Your eyes turned to a crescent moon, and your lips curved upwards; meanwhile, Quanrui didn't even look your way. His cheeks were flaming hot and his ears redder than an apple. Countless butterflies swarmed his tummy.

Matthew was almost in tears because of how cute it was, the look of Ricky falling in love and thus, the three of you went home together.

[seokmattchuus]

You wouldn't normally go for younger guys. But when a junior from your department offers to drive you home after a staff get-together, you didn't think things would get heated.

And the last thing you expected was to end up at his house.

[fanbasetwo]

ricky when he secretly has a crush on you🙈 ????????

RICKY HAVING A SECRET CRUSH ON YOU!!

NOTE FROM SENA , i hope this was an ask for headcanon (that's what I understood from the ask but if it's not, then make sure to specify before asking, thank you) MASTERLIST!!

join my taglist by sending an ask or commenting here <3

001. SFW SECTION

He’ll do small, thoughtful things for you, like offering to carry your bag or saving you the last piece of something you love.

Ricky notices the little things about you—your favorite snacks, your habits, or even when you’re feeling down. He quietly adjusts himself to make your day better without making it obvious.

He’ll sit and listen intently whenever you talk, even if it’s about random things. You might notice his eyes lingering on you as you speak, his soft gaze filled with admiration.

Though he’s usually composed, being around you makes him a little shy. He might fumble with his words or avoid too much eye contact, afraid you’ll see right through him.

Ricky would gift you little things that seem casual but hold deeper meaning, like a book you mentioned wanting to read or your favorite drink on a stressful day. He won’t admit he went out of his way to get it.

He’s quite protective of you. If anyone bothers you or you’re in an uncomfortable situation, he’s the first to step in, calmly diffusing things while ensuring you feel safe.

He tends to stay close, subtly ensuring he’s always around when you need something. Whether it’s sitting near you during group hangouts or being the first to offer help,

His calm demeanor hides a playful side that he reveals through light teasing. It’s his way of getting closer to you while keeping his feelings under wraps.

You might catch him stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. If you call him out, he’ll act nonchalant, but his slight blush gives him away.

Despite his calm exterior, Ricky secretly daydreams about confessing his feelings. He’s cautious and thoughtful, wanting to ensure the timing is perfect and you feel the same.

When Ricky finally decides to confess, it might not be through words. Instead, he’ll express his feelings through meaningful actions, like planning something special that shows how much he pays attention to what you love.

002. NSFW SECTION

couldn't think of many points so I wrote a little bit.

He’ll jerk off to your pictures at night whenever he feels lonely or just thinks of confessing to you—mostly because he can't stop the feeling :(

Definitely checks out your ass when you wear some mini skirt or tight jeans but not enough to make you uncomfortable (it's mostly subtle)

Would get a boner whenever your thigh brushes against his, ending up trying to secretly hide the boner.

100% likely to call you up in the middle of his jerking session to hear your voice and put the call on mute so that you won't hear him cumming.

Will get a lot of wet dreams about you tbh and will try his best to avoid those thoughts while working.

© fanbasetwo | tumblr

[destiny-fics]

Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure this man is too fine

Sorry Matthew, sorry Jiwoong but y'all might have competition

[oh2z]

roommates. a jebe series

part pre one two three (more soon)

summary: moving in with your (really attractive) uni friends..nothing too crazy can happen, right?

contents: plenty of suggestive/sexual content ! mdni read and tune in at your own discretion !!

an: currently no update sched, but i will try to be as active as possible from now!

you, a transfer student, is having the worst start to your junior year of university. your current roommate is a complete psycho, you have to retake classes that you already took, and you have no friends!!

you do meet some really nice guys. an established friend group. they are super hot too. have i mentioned that there are 7 of them?

how do you manage being friends(?) with 7 attractive guys that all seem to be attracted to you back all while balancing the stress that this new uni life is giving you? welcome to roommates.

part one two three (more soon)

[thotsofintrusion]

a thot just occurred to me: everyone talks about wanting to be ricky’s passenger princess but what about being jiwoong’s passenger princess??

i will be back later to expand upon this

here it is

[cyberkunizz]

I went fucking RABID after seeing this photo something inside me went off😻😻

i just had to write a fast bf!ricky thought bc why not🤗

tw: mirror sex, pet names, praises, semi-public (in the practice room) edging, mentions of crying (out of pleasure), not v well written but i think its okay enough, if you think i missed something lmk!!

Imagine bf!ricky surprising you with his new hair color, knowing you’ve wanted to see him with black hair. But he also prepared you another surprise, and that is bending you in the practice room, infront of the big mirror, fucking you mercilessly.

bf!ricky who would fuck all of his stress out while he’s with you, praising you with sayings like “such a good doll for me, arent you?” and “good girl, taking me so well” while he starts thrusting deeper into you, making you moan louder

bf!ricky who at first was telling you to keep quiet because he doesn’t want the others to hear, but quickly gives up on that once he hears how good you sound moaning his name

bf!ricky who purposely edges you a couple of times so he can see you fall apart for him once you actually cum, telling you how “you did so well for me, darling” and “my baby looked so pretty” while softly kissing your tear-stained cheeks

bf!ricky who helps you clean up and gives you a piggy-back ride to the car because he may have went a little to hard on you, especially with you bending on a mirror, standing

bf!ricky who helps you shower when you get home (it always becomes a round 2) and helps get you to bed, cuddling you to sleep while still saying how you’re the most perfect person for him, and how he loves you more than anyone

SEDATE ME ONGG😭😭

[mingsoooo]

1.14 Am

Mature content (Nsfw)

"You're doing it so well princess" Ricky moaned. He sat on the chair. His boney hands tucked your hair behind, showcasing your delicate nape. His legs spread wide, letting you suck his dick while he was almost at the edge of Cuming.

His grith was large. Unable to fully take it in, you licked the tip while also having it inside your mouth. Your lips buried underneath his hips; in the meantime, your free hand reached for your own cunt which was dripping wet. Slightly pressing on your clitoris, you continued to lick him. ~

[sserasin]

Ricky with breeding kink = Perfection

cw breeding kink, overstimulation

ricky brainrot… he knows its not logical. you’re both far too young for a kid, he’s just staring his career. it’d ruin everything. but he can’t stop thinking about you full and round with his kid, your guys kid. and with that comes his favorite thing ever, coming inside you.

your strangled gasp is covered up by ricky’s groaning, skin slapping against each other as he quickens his pace. “you gonna be a good girl and t-take it?” he stutters, head thrown back before he opens his eyes and makes eye contact with your teary ones. “you want me to come in you, huh? want me to fill you up with my come so you can get pregnant with my kid? make you a mommy?”

a whine leaves your mouth as his pace never relents, hand reaching in between you two to slap at your clit before lightly caressing it, “well?”

“yes, yes, yes!” you wail out of breath, eyes squeezing shut, tears escaping down your cheeks. “please give i-it to me! come in me, give me a b-baby, please, please please.” your words sound more like meaningless babbles now.

ricky grunts, “i can’t wait to see your bump, baby. you’ll look so gorgeous, carrying around my kid.” his free hand rests on your stomach, feeling the bulge in your stomach from his cock. “oh, look at that baby,” he chuckles breathlessly as every rigid vein on his cock drags against your walls.

looking down, you whimper when you see the bump in your stomach and you feel a tightening in the pit of your stomach at the sight, “ricky, i’m-"

“i know, baby,” he assures you, never once relenting on his grip on your hips as he feels his own orgasm build up, “f-fuck. you look so gorgeous. c-cream all over my cock.”

you can only scream out his name as you come, his seed filling you up not even a second after. you feel full to the brim, even when he pulls out of you and watches his cum ooze out of your puffy hole. his mouth drops open in fascination before he can’t help himself and pushes the come back in with his fingers.

you shriek, twitching away from him, “don’t!” your hand grasps at his wrist, trying to tug him away from your sore pussy.

“you want it work, don’t you?” he murmurs, fingers running between your folds before he continues finger fucking his come back into you. “i’m gonna take such good care of you and our baby,

you gasp, body arching up into his touch, “no, no, it’s t-too much!” you shake your head repeatedly but you don’t make him move out of you, “i-i-“

“shh,” ricky murmurs, eyes never leaving your soaking pussy, watching even after your orgasm, your needy hole still clenches around his fingers for more. he smirks, glancing back up, “i don’t think we got it that time, baby. what do you say about round two?”