#ricky fics

EXPLICIT SMUT WARNINGS: penetrative sex (reader is being penetrated, no specifics of anatomy); this one is angsty bc ricky is fun to write as a bit of a dick that redeems himself!!

ricky shakes his head as he watches gyuvin pace back and forth from the far side of the practice room to the door, over and over again. every so often, the lanky boy will stop dead in his tracks, inhale sharply, pause for a few moments in concerning silence as he looks up at the ceiling, and then continue pacing.

“why are you doing this to yourself, gyubinnie?” matthew asks with a laugh. “you’re obviously going out of your fucking mind.”

“because i’m not a loser like you,” gyuvin shoots back, laying one of his large hands on the door frame. he pauses again and then turns around, the speed of his pacing increasing slightly. 

“alright, fuck off and die then,” matthew sulks, pulling out his phone.

“seriously though, how’s everyone doing?” gunwook asks, running a hand through his hair. “it can’t just be gyubinnie who’s starting to lose it.”

“i’m fine,” hanbin answers quickly. a little too quickly. ricky looks around to see if anyone else noticed, but no one seems to be paying all that much attention. “like i said originally, i have an abundance of self-control when it comes to these things.”

“mmmmhm,” taerae humphs disbelievingly. 

“i don’t really think you’re in much of a position to say anything,” hanbin quips back in a huff.

“at least my partner’s satisfied,” taerae replies, tongue poking at his cheek.

“yeah? so is mine,” hao says, rolling his eyes. “you just couldn’t hold it together.”

“come on, cut him some slack,” jiwoong swoops in, putting a hand on taerae’s shoulder. “it was a big moment for him. could it have been bigger? sure. but he’ll get there.”

taerae frowns. “uh, hyung? are you helping me or patronizing me?”

“ah, ricky?” gunwook suddenly calls. ricky looks up from his lap to find the whole room staring at him. “you’re awfully quiet over there.”

ricky considers this and then nods. “not much to say.”

hanbin’s eyes widen. “what do you mean? has this all been easy for you?”

ricky shrugs. “no, but… it hasn’t been hard either.”

“hArd…” gyuvin sputters from the other side of the room, two hands colliding hard against the door. he takes a moment to gain his composure and then he starts pacing again.

“huh,” hao hums, brow furrowing together in consideration. “i guess you’re more disciplined than i thought you were.”

“how’s your partner handling all this?” jiwoong asks. “can’t imagine that part’s been all that easy.”

“it’s been fine, actually,” ricky answers nonchalantly again. “we’re on the same page. we’ve hung out a few times and it honestly feels like normal.”

“alright boys, break time’s over,” the choreographer announces as the door to the practice room swings open, knocking a very unaware and vulnerable gyuvin onto the floor. “back to work!”

–

it was another long day working on the drama you were currently filming. it’s a rom-com about a werewolf that has to work the night shift at a hospital. maybe not the most serious role you’d ever taken, but you were certainly having a blast. you and your costar and romantic lead, park jihoon, has become fast friends over the past few weeks and you were finding that you were really coming out of your shell on this set. you’d been hanging out with all of your costars more regularly and, since you were usually quite shy in work settings, this had been pretty meaningful progress for you.

you’d shared your excitement with your boyfriend around the end of october, but he hadn’t really responded the way you’d hoped he would. you figured he had a lot on his mind with zb1’s comeback date now set in sight.

“ricky? what did you want for dinner, babe?” you call from the kitchen as your boyfriend scrolls through social media wordlessly. he doesn’t answer you. you sigh heavily, grabbing both mugs of tea and bringing them over to the couch. you set them down on the table in front of you and then sit yourself down next to your boyfriend. you see now that his airpods are in. you raise your fingers to his right hear and gently remove the airpod. “dinner. what do you want?”

ricky snatches his airpod back, shrugging you off dismissively. “don’t care.”

you’d actually started to become used to this treatment over the past couple weeks. it didn’t even hurt your feelings anymore— it just pissed you off. when ricky had first told you about his stupid no nut november bet with his group members, you’d thought he was joking. the entire idea was wildly uncivilized and ricky usually prided himself on being a more refined man than the rest of the boys. 

you were surprised when he told you that he wanted to win. it just wasn’t really like him to care about something seemingly so trivial like a bet. but there was something in his eyes when he’d said it— something hidden behind his words and you couldn’t quite figure it out, but you knew he’d already made his mind up.

and you decided to be supportive. you could keep it up for a month.

for him.

but when you’d agreed to play along with this bet, you’d agreed to not having sex with your boyfriend for a little while (or, to be precise, not making him cum). you hadn’t agreed to essentially nuking your previously perfect relationship with the most perfect man you’d ever met. 

but it seems like that’s what happened anyway.

you’d thought about it way more than you’d liked to admit. were you not getting along anymore because sex was the only thing you had in common? was ricky just sick of dating you? was he waiting in hopes that you’d break up with him first? was there even a fucking bet in the first place?

you shouln’t be catastrophizing. you should just toughen up and ask him. but… you’re scared. if you finally say something, will this nightmare be over?

or will your relationship?

you lean back into the couch in frustration, pulling your phone out and finding a new message from jihoon. you open it, leaning to rest your head on ricky’s shoulder, and, when you do, he shifts away from you. 

it might be unintentional. and it’s so simplistic. but an ache just radiates deep in the center of your chest.

you stand up quickly, walking into your room before your boyfriend can see you cry.

ricky looks over at the now vacant spot on the couch beside him, finding your phone in your place. it’s on, fully open on an imessage chat, that, when ricky leans in closer, he finds is with…

jihoon.

ricky’s sigh is more like a growl. whenever his name popped up as a notification on your screen, he had to consciously suppress his anger.

or really, his jealousy.

jihoon was a really nice guy. he was a great friend to you on set and was always respectful. maybe that’s why ricky was so jealous to begin with. he was afraid jihoon was just a little too nice.

ricky knows he shouldn’t, but he leans in just a little closer anyway. enough to see the last message jihoon sent you:

so ricky had been right all along. if he’d left you alone long enough with jihoon, you’d start wanting him instead. ricky had been hoping his hypothesis would be wrong, but his genius intuition unfortunately knew no bounds…

ricky grabs your phone from the couch before walking to your bedroom door and throwing it open. you look up at him in the darkness, only your mood lamp casting shadows about the room. he can’t see the tears staining your cheeks.

“do you like jihoon?” ricky asks suddenly.

“what?” you reply, stunned by his question. “what are you talking about?”

“do you like jihoon?” ricky repeats, a sigh of annoyance escaping him. “are you interested in him?”

“of—... of fucking course not!” you say in utter exasperation. “why would you even ask that!?”

ricky tosses your phone at you and it lands next to you on your bed. you pick it up, seeing the messages that jihoon had last sent you. you hadn’t even read them. 

“are you fucking kidding me!?” you yell, throwing your phone on the carpet in anger. “you think i give a flying fuck about jihoon right now? i’ve been a little too upset by the love of my life treating me like a fucking leper this whole month.”

“you agreed to the bet—,” ricky starts to argue, but you cut him off.

“i agreed to the stupid fucking no nut november bet, ricky. i did not agree to cry myself to sleep every night because you suddenly want nothing to do with me!”

ricky’s eyes widen suddenly. “what? baby—... is that true?”

he takes a few steps toward you cautiously and, as he gets closer, the light must hit your face. he’s on his knees immediately in front of you, big hands on either side of your face as his thumbs wipe the wet streaks beneath your eyes.

“baby… (y/n),” he coos, using your name when you won’t look at him right away. “i—... fuck, this is all my fault.”

“who else’s fucking fault would it be?” you pout, eyes narrowed at your boyfriend.

“yours. i mean, i thought that you—...” ricky shakes his head in dismay. “i think i might've gotten... a little… jealous.”

one of your brows piques un confusion at his confession. “jealous? of what?”

“of—... of jihoon,” he admits, wincing in embarrassment. “i mean, of how close you are to him. you’re usually at least a little more distant with your male leads. and i’d never stop you from having friends. i'm really happy that you're becoming so confident. but i'm... maybe i'm not as confident as i thought i was. this whole bet thing is so stupid, but i guess—... i guess i kind of saw it as a way to test our relationship.”

“test our relationship?” you repeat.

“i sort of thought that maybe if you weren’t getting what you need from me,” ricky explains shamefully. “i’d find out for sure if you’d try to get it from somewhere else.”

you blink back at him in shock. “you thought—... you thought i was going to cheat on you!?”

“no! i mean… i didn’t know,” ricky replies, biting his lip. “i didn’t know if you would or not.”

“is that why you were being so cold to me, too?"

“i guess i was just kind of… mad at you,” he admits, taking your hand in his. “preemptively.”

“ricky, i’m not interested in jihoon,” you say plainly. “i’m interested in you. i’m in love with you. i want to spend every moment with you and i want you to be inside of me for most of them.”

ricky gulps at this and a smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

“how could you ever think i wouldn’t want you?” you ask, leaning down to your boyfriend— lips hovering inches from his. “didn’t you literally tell me you were perfect when we first met? that i wouldn’t be able to resist you.”

“i’m a fucking liar, (y/n)” ricky whispers breathlessly, hands finding your waist and squeezing tight on either side. “i’m actually a pathetic wreck and i just say whatever the fuck i have to to convince myself i'm not.”

“no,” you say simply, connecting your lips with his in a slow, sensual kiss. “you’re perfect. and i’m quite literally unable to resist you.”

“fuck,” he says, leaning up to kiss you again. “fuck, i’m so sorry, baby.”

“i’m sure you are,” you nod in agreement. “but i’m curious… what were you gonna do when you walked in the room just now?”

“hm?” he asks, tilting his head sweetly.

“if i had said yes,” you clarify, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the nape of his neck. “or if i hadn’t said no. and you thought you were going to lose me. what were you gonna do?”

ricky looks at you, his breath shallow as you trace a finger down the pretty vein in his neck. “i was gonna fuck you until you got it through your thick fucking skull that you’re mine.”

“well you should’ve said that,” you say, undoing a button on his shirt. “i might’ve played along if i knew it was the only way to get you to fuck me.”

“played along?” ricky repeats, pulling you off your bed and into his lap. “you’d break my heart just to get off? maybe you are just a fucking whore.”

you can’t help but moan. you’d really missed this. and ricky was right.

you were just a whore. but he was missing one crucial detail…

“for you,” you say, grinding into him reflexively.

ricky growls in your ear, hands kneading at your ass. “hands and knees. now.”

you follow orders and fast, not wanting him to change his mind. you remove your shorts quickly and get on all fours, knees stinging from the chafe of the carpet. you don’t care.

“so obedient, hm?” ricky remarks positioning himself behind you. he grabs your ass, pulling you backwards— as close to you as he can possibly be without being inside you. you feel how hard he is against you and, no matter how badly you want him to cave, you need to ask.

“are you sure?” you ask as ricky takes off his pants and throws them to the side. his atypical lack of care for his clothes speaks for itself, but you need to make sure. “you could still win the bet if you want. another ten days would be nothing! we could—.”

ricky takes you in his arms, pulling your back flush against his chest— his hand around your neck as he holds you. the tip of his cock finds your entrance, teasing you as you whimper up at him over your shoulder. “i’m gonna fuck you. you’re gonna love it. and then i’m gonna paint you with my cum. got it?”

you nod rapidly. “got it.”

ricky sinks himself inside you. the angle is delicious and when he bottoms out, you already see stars. 

“oh my god,” you cry, reaching for something to grab onto. ricky wraps his other arm around your waist to steady you and you latch on. 

“fuck, i missed you so much,” he breathes, finding a good rhythm. “you feel fucking amazing.”

ricky puts up a good fight. you wouldn’t know he’s gone twenty days without cumming. you’re pretty sure he’s not even used to going one. he must be so pent up, he can’t even see straight. maybe that’s why he let himself get so in his head.

“i love you,” you whine after your orgasm, ricky’s fingers covered in your cum. he sticks them in your mouth and you suck obligingly. “just want you.”

“nobody else, right, baby?” he asks, hips starting to falter. “just me?”

“just you,” you answer, totally blissed out. “only you.”

“fuck, look at me, baby,” he says, adjusting himself so that your eyes can lock. he tilts your head to the side, kissing you deeply as his thruts grow more and more haphazard. “i love you. love—... love you so much, fuck…”

one more good thrust and he’s done— painting your insides with his cum just as he promised. you feel perfectly full and content.

you can’t help but giggle. “so… should we do this every november?”

 All of Gyuvin’s “research” he’d been presenting to the media for the past year finally pays off as the Phantom Thieves sit on their laptops, sifting through the real life evidence you could match to President Kim’s and Manager Sang’s Metaverse confessions.

“Oh sh*t,” Yujin whispers, leaning in closer to his screen. “Guys, I think I found something!”

Rushing over to Yujin’s screen, the rest of you fight for a good view of the document. As you read the scan of TCM’s monthly finance statement from May, Yujin points to two entries.

“Right here, marked ‘Shareholder Contribution’: a payment to the company from Ricky hyung for 34 million won on May 15th,” Yujin says before moving to an entry a few slots below it. “And here: a payment from the company to an account named ‘Choi Byung-chul’ for 34 million won on May 17th.”

“A transfer of the exact same amount as Ricky donated just a couple days later?” Gyuvin poses, scratching the back of his neck. “I’d say it’s suspicious.”

“They’re both signed off by CFO Lee though,” Yujin says with a shrug.

“But who is... Choi Byung-chul?” Jiwoong asks, frowning as he reads the name from the screen.

You’re already on it, searching the name on Naver. You scroll down through the results, finding some retired athlete and a bunch of social media profiles belonging to old men. You’re about to give up, when you spot an idol profile website in the middle of all the results.

You gasp audibly at your discovery. It’s a biography profile for President Kim. And hidden in the “Interesting Facts” section is one incredibly interesting sentence:

Some fans have suspected Kim Hyunwoo’s real birth name is Byung-chul due to an alleged leak of his birth certificate in 2011, though Hyunwoo has denied this.

“Yujin-ah,” you say with a proud grin. “Pick any restaurant you want. Dinner’s on me Saturday night.”

“Huh!?” The youngest asks excitedly. “Why?”

“Because that semester of college has already created a genius,” you say, roughing up his floppy hair. Yujin grins, putting his head down on his arms folded across the desk to hide the shy blush on his cheeks.

“Hey,” Gyuvin pouts. “I’m the one who got the document in the first place.”

You glare at him. He’s always too tall to accurately read the room. Still, you walk over to him and reach up on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair as well. “You certainly are. And I am forever in your debt.”

“Aw, come on. I want dinner too,” he grumbles.

You turn around, finding Jiwoong looking a bit disappointed in his lack of contribution. You fight the urge to giggle at the sight. “And thank you for all your help, Woongie. We couldn’t do this without you.”

Jiwoong pouts, too. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You can’t help but laugh, walking over to him and pinching both of his cheeks. He laughs, shaking his head to escape your grasp. 

“So...” You step back, looking at the rest of the Phantom Thieves. “What’s the plan?”

THURSDAY JUNE 22ND -- NIGHT

“Then if a little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair and who refuses to answer questions, you will know who he is. If this should happen, please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back,” you read the last words on the final page of The Little Prince, turning the book around to show Hao the illustration. You’d started reading the book to him last night, but he’d fallen asleep halfway through.

You close the book, setting it on Hao’s nightstand. Glancing at him, you can tell his tired eyes are watery. 

Mini-Decision: Hao looks like he's about to cry. Will you Make Fun of Him or Comfort Him?

If you chose Make Fun of Him, read below:

“Are you--... Are you f*cking crying?” You ask, jaw dropped as you let out a laugh.

Hao’s brow furrows as he shakes his head quickly. “N-no... Of course not!”

“You totally are,” you say as Hao wipes his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “You’re crying over a children’s book!”

“What the f*ck, (Y/N)?” Hao spits, a pout forming on his lips. He, unfortunately, looks very cute.

“How does it feel? Hm?” You prompt, pouting back at him to make a point. “You make fun of me all the time. And now I can finally make fun of you again. Properly.”

Hao raises his hand and you’re sure he’s about to smack you, but, instead, he gently takes the book from your grasp. He looks at the cover, turning it over in his hands.

“I never even heard of this book until you said it was your favorite a couple years ago,” he remarks with a frown. “They asked us in that Buzzfeed interview.”

“Oh yeah, the normal one,” you reply, recalling that bizarre day of press. “And then after that, they made us read all those Thirst Tweets.”

Hao rolls his eyes. “The fans were saying a whole lot of dirty things about you and not nearly enough about me.”

“Probably wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore,” you say with a laugh.

“Definitely,” Hao corrects, shaking his head. “I definitely don’t, now that we’re having a comeback without you.”

“Wow,” you scoff. “Almost thought we were gonna have a nice moment for the first time this whole year.”

“Mm, I considered it,” he replies with a shrug. “But you just made fun of me in an incredibly vulnerable moment, so I’m thinking we’re gonna rain check that to never. Now get your fat ass off my bed.”

“Right. Okay,” you agree saltily. Maybe you didn’t make any new ground with Hao, but it was totally worth it.

Your bond with Hao has grown stronger. +0 Hao Point. Please add +0 Hao Point to your scoresheet.

・゜゜ . . * ✧･ﾟ・ ✧･ﾟ: ・゜゜・．

If you chose Comfort Him, read below:

Somehow you find it in you to suppress the urge to mock Hao ruthlessly, even though you know he wouldn’t do the same for you.

“It’s kind of scary,” Hao says, a tear rolling down his cheek. “All I keep trying to do is get back to my roses. What if--... What if I disappear too?”

“Well... There’s nothing to worry about now, really,” you answer tentatively. “The company’s preparing a comeback for you guys so—.”

“Oh, you know full f*cking well that we’re doomed before we even start,” Hao huffs annoyedly, sleeve coming up to wipe his eyes. “I just can’t figure out why they’re doing this. President Kim said he’d get me out. That I was worth saving. I don’t understand why he’d push a group comeback all of a sudden…”

Hidden underneath his insufferable self grandiosity, you’d be remiss not to notice Hao’s doubt of President Kim. Even before your incident, you’d never heard Hao express his doubt of Total Control. You wonder how long he’s had these thoughts.

“I don’t understand either,” you reply honestly. Hao’s eyes dart to meet yours in surprise, like he’d forgotten that you were there.

“You’re just pissed you’re not involved,” he says, brow furrowing annoyedly at you. 

You shake your head, confessing truthfully, “I’m not.”

“F*ck off,” Hao replies with a sardonic laugh. 

“I’m not,” you repeat earnestly. “Of course, it makes me really sad. But even more than that, I’m relieved. That you all have even a semblance of a shot to get back everything you deserve. All I’ve wanted this whole time was to finally stop hurting you.”

Hao just blinks back at you for a few moments, clearly conflicted by what you’ve just said. Finally, he rolls his eyes and kicks you with his foot. “Go to bed. You have a long day of doing everything I want you to tomorrow and I won’t be accepting any slacking off.”

Your bond with Hao has grown stronger. +1 Hao Point. Please add +1 Hao point to your scoresheet.

・゜゜ . . * ✧･ﾟ・ ✧･ﾟ: ・゜゜・．

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“Well good night, Little Prince,” you say, hopping off of Hao’s bed. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the businessmen bite.”

You quickly dart your hands to his stomach, fingers touching the exposed skin before tickling him mercilessly. He yelps in shock, arms flying up to pry your hand off of him.

“STOP IT!” Hao shouts, unable to contain his laughter. “(Y/N) STOP! F*CKING STOP!”

You sprint to the door, throwing it open and calling over your shoulder, “GOOD NIGHT, LITTLE B*TCH!”

THURSDAY JUNE 22ND -- LATE NIGHT

Even though you should probably be getting ready for bed so you could be energized for the mission tomorrow, you’re feeling a little too anxious to sleep just yet. You open Kakao Talk, finding only two of your friends are online...

Mini-Decision: Will you choose to spend some time with Gunwook or Taerae?

If you chose Gunwook, read below:

You’d started playing Genshin Impact last September. At the time, you’d all still thought that Gunwook not coming out of his room was a phase. It wasn’t. 

Though you’d originally kind of hated the game, you realized the first couple months after your arrest that you were growing desperate for any interaction with your former friends that you could get. Gunwook had sent multiple messages in the groupchat (that you’d been kicked out of) begging for someone to play with him. Perhaps you were both lonely in the prisons of your own making.

So you started playing, eventually leveling yourself up enough to unlock the multiplayer mode. You sent him a request and he ignored it for a couple days, sending out one last desperate plea to the other members. No one responded.

And that’s how you broke the ice again with the recluse. Sort of. The only thing he’ll entertain your virtual presence for is Genshin. But that’s enough for you, for now.

“F*CK YEAH!” Gunwook exclaims now as you finally defeat the boss you’d been grinding at. He readjusts the arms of his glasses under his headset as you relish in your victory, trying your best to remember not to let any sound out of your mouth. “That was all you at the end there, (Y/N). You’re getting kind of good.”

Thanks, you type into the chat box.

“Took you long enough,” he ribs, that wide, gummy grin lighting up the darkness of his room. “You’ve been playing for months and I’m pretty sure that’s all you have to show for it.”

D*ckhead, you send in reply. He laughs really hard at that and it warms your snowy heart. I’ve basically learned everything I know from you, so I think you’re really the one to blame for the poor progress.

“Oh, so you’re implying I’m a bad teacher,” Gunwook considers, nodding his head. “What if you’re just a bad student?”

Two truths can exist simultaneously, you type after a moment. He adjusts his glasses again, this time pushing his mop of hair out of his eyes. You always forget how youthful his face is, like a teddy bear. Which makes you think of something...

I think I deserve a prize for that win actually, you send quickly.

“Ah yes, why am I not surprised by that line of thinking from you?” He says with a knowing smirk. “What did you have in mind?”

A hug, you send finally after a long moment of hesitation. A really, really big Wookie hug that makes everything okay again.

Gunwook appears to stop breathing, impossibly still as he reads what you wrote. You knew you were taking a risk, but you don’t regret it. He looks down at his lap in anxious contemplation.

Doesn’t have to be now, you send with a sad smile. Just some day.

He presses his lips together as he digests your patient encouragement. It’s not enough to break down his fear and that’s okay. Sometimes it’s just good to let someone know that you miss them.

“Let’s get back to the game.”

Your bond with Gunwook has grown stronger. +1 Gunwook Point. Please add +1 Gunwook point to your scoresheet.

・゜゜ . . * ✧･ﾟ・ ✧･ﾟ: ・゜゜・．

If you chose Taerae, read below:

“Stay 내 눈물이 마를 때까지...”

The sound of perfect vocal tone and the smell of delicious tteokbokki in the air makes you sigh with contentment. What a beautiful summer night on a fairy-light adorned city street. It’s how you feel every time you round the corner to Kim Taerae’s pocha and tonight is no exception.

“Stay, my dear, stay, my dear,” Taerae sings, nearing the end of the song as he strums his guitar thoughtfully. There’s one older couple standing a few feet in front of him, admiring his talents. Oh, how the mighty fall...

The gentleman hands Taerae some money as he and his partner walk in the opposite direction down the street. You take the opportunity to sneak up behind Taerae as he counts the money, quickly grabbing his shoulders when he least expects it.

Of course, you’re treated to the incredible main-vocalist shriek that you were hoping for. You grin evilly as he clutches his chest, glaring up at you.

“Don’t f*cking do that!” He scolds, smacking your leg. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You shake your head, feigning offense.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I was talking to the Prime Minister of Innocence,” Taerae says with a snort. You frown, actually offended now. “Oh stop. You’re the one who attacked me in the middle of the night.”

You roll your eyes pointedly at his dramatics.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks suddenly, one eyebrow piquing suspiciously. “You want tteokbokki again? That’s a lot of junk food for one week.”

You kick him lightly with your foot as you pull out your phone, your screenreader vocalizing, “I came to hear you sing.”

Taerae laughs. “Sure you did. What do you really want?”

You sigh, typing, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Taerae’s lips part at this. Back when you were trainees, you had the worst sleeping health ever. Taerae was your roommate and he’d frequently wake up in the middle of the night to you pacing or having an anxiety attack or crying from exhaustion. One night, he just started singing lullabies and didn’t stop until you’d laid back down and fallen asleep. Eventually with some counseling and improving your daily habits, your sleep pattern mostly returned to normal. But the few times you’d had trouble after that, Taerae would always sing you back to sleep no matter what time it was. Sometimes he’d fall asleep next to you too.

“And walking around the city at night is gonna help you?” Taerae asks, trying to pretend he doesn’t understand. “Go home. Lie down. Close your eyes. I’m gonna start packing up anyway.”

“Just one more song?” Your screenreader asks as you smile at him as cute as is physically possible. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Go,” he orders again, standing up and walking over to his tteokbokki cart-- starting to pack up his supplies for the night. You sigh disappointedly, walking back down the street the way you came. But before you can get too far, you hear a voice start to sing the same melody it sang five years ago...

“Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms...”

Your bond with Taerae has grown stronger. +1 Taerae Point. Please add +1 Taerae point to your scoresheet.

・゜゜ . . * ✧･ﾟ・ ✧･ﾟ: ・゜゜・．

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FRIDAY 6/23 -- LATE NIGHT

Ricky takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing out the smoke before he can actually inhale. Just like he always does. Lounging on the purple, velvet vintage couch, a live band plays jazz music as about fifty of the highest elites in East Asia chat and drink around him.

There’s an idol he used to fancy a few years ago talking his ear off next to him. He hasn’t heard a single word they’ve said. But he can’t help it. Every time he tries to focus on something, his mind takes him to a different time.

A time when you were the one talking his ear off every Friday night at the newly opened Club Jeune et Riche. Funny how things change...

Now you can’t even talk.

And even if you could, you’d have to make up for a lot of shit before he’d lend an ear. And that was impossible.

He runs a hand across the purple velvet fabric of the couch, starting to smile to himself at the color before quickly setting himself straight. He makes a mental note to get the couch reupholstered before next week.

“Are you even listening to me?” A voice asks as Ricky stands up and walks over to the bar.

“Martini. Dry. Make it a double,” he says to the bartender flippantly.

“Sure thing, Sajang-nim,” the bartender replies, quickly fixing the drink and sliding it over to Ricky. Ricky nods in thanks.

He takes a sip from the glass with not so much as a wince. It burns, but it doesn’t phase him anymore. He remembers how every drink used to burn when you all were younger. How you used to pour a whole bottle of Grey Goose down his throat after a particularly stressful work week. He always wanted to quit halfway through, but the disappointment in your eyes would be too much for him to bear.

He suddenly wonders if it had always been your desire to destroy him, whether that be by ruining his career or giving him alcohol poisoning.

You made all of his best memories. And you were the worst thing that ever happened to him.

So why does he catch himself wishing you’ll show up at his club again every Friday night?

~

“You can do this,” you mutter to yourself, standing in the dim light of a street lamp across from Ricky’s club: Jeune et Riche. It had been awhile since you’d dared to venture to Cheongdam, what with your rapidly decreasing savings account and tattered reputation. 

Jeune et Riche is packed with beautiful, wealthy people tonight, per usual-- you even recognize a few idols and actors lined up outside, waiting to be let in by the black-tie bouncers at the door. You hadn’t forgotten about the tight security at Ricky’s posh club. How could you, when you were the reason it had been tightened in the first place?

It was a funny story actually. Back before Ricky hated your guts, you used to party every possible Friday night with him and Jiwoong-- occasionally accompanied by other members when they were free or willing, but it was mostly a three-person shindig. When Ricky bought Jeune et Riche last May before the incident, you were still all so busy with your idol schedules that he realized he could only manage to open the club one day a week. He chose Friday as a tribute to you and Jiwoong’s tradition. 

Opening night of Jeune et Riche, you’d gotten so sloshed that you accidentally spilled an entire bottle of Grey Goose on a very angry chaebol son that vowed to come back to the club next week and “bring back-up”. 

Your tall, blonde friend stood in front of you, effectively shielding you as the guy grew more threatening until a couple bouncers finally dragged him out. It’s safe to say Ricky’s security budget tripled because of your drunken mistake. At least he only had to pay them one night a week...

You look at the clipboards the bouncers are holding, knowing full-well your real name isn’t on the list of approved guests. No matter. Tonight, you’re getting into the club as:

Time to see how your Chapter Choice from Part Four plays out, Player! As a refresher, Choice 1 was to go to Ricky's club as Yourself and Choice 2 was to go to Ricky's club in disguise as American art collector Rebecca Song.

⁺⋆✰ If You Chose “YOURSELF”:

Tonight, you’re getting into the club as yourself. Because you’re breaking in. 

After you got off of probation duty yesterday, you’d taken a little ride over to Jeune et Riche to survey the grounds. You put on a beanie and discarded your reflective vest in the backseat of your car. Phone in hand, you snooped around the building as unsuspiciously as possible-- hiding from the only security guard on duty in the early evening. 

Though it took a bit of searching, you’d found a window panel at the back that could easily be removed. You poked your head in, finding that the window was tucked behind the giant, winding staircase that leads to the second floor. It’s a convenient location that might provide you enough coverage to get in unnoticed so you can search for Ricky.

You’d just need to hope that security would be at the front of the building at the time of your little heist. Lucky for you, Gyuvin had given you the perfect idea to guarantee just that.

You make your way towards the lines of people waiting for entry into the (second) most sought after nightlife destination in Cheongdam, wearing your most elegant, couture outfit in order to blend in with the crowds. You settle towards the end of the line, placing the drone Yujin had bought Gyuvin for Christmas last year on the sidewalk in front of you. 

The drone begins to rise off the ground, higher and higher into the sky. You hope and pray Gyuvin knows what he’s doing for once in his life. 

Backing away from the end of the line and high-tailing it around the corner of the building, you hear confused security guards start to yell behind you. The distraction is working. You spot the broken window panel just as two guards start walking your way. You duck behind the wall as they breeze by you. 

“Can’t believe we’ve never had a drone incident before,” one guy says with a huff.

“I know,” the other responds with a chuckle. “What idiots came up with this? Don’t they know we can track the owner from the drone’s hard drive?”

F*ck. You’d have to worry about that later.

As soon as the coast is clear, you sprint to the window panel and start moving it aside. It’s a bit heavier than you expected and, for the first time tonight, you’re really missing your team of Phantom Thieves. Distracting security guards and breaking into buildings isn’t nearly as fun without a team of endearing imbeciles next to you.

The panel finally moves aside enough for you to climb inside. You land on two feet on ornate carpet behind the large staircase. You dust yourself off a bit, fixing your hair before stepping out into the open. You’re shocked at just how elegant everything is.

It’s suave and fashionable and dazzling, just as you’d tried to convince Ricky to design it when he’d first given you a tour of the building last May. You couldn’t believe when he rejected this idea that you felt suited him so well, especially in favor of keeping it “comfy” and “casual” at the time.

Ricky had never particularly liked comfy or casual anything. Why he’d said that originally was beyond your comprehension.

You walk towards the main bar of Jeune et Riche, hundreds of people packed in a vintage Hollywood style lounge. It’s dark, much more like a typical club environment and the music playing is an alluring mixture of house and brass instrumental. You keep your head down, as you walk the perimeter in search of Ricky but he’s nowhere to be found.

You make a haste exit, rerouting to where you remember the VIP lounge being. One door is propper ajar, though red velvet ropes block you from stepping inside. You observe from the entrance instead, since the room is smaller and a bit more well-lit. It’s themed like an up-scale speak-easy and jazz music blares from a live band in white tux jackets. Several celebrities and young public officials stand out to you, the VIP lounge populated by important and beautiful people. The kind of people you don’t fit in with anymore. The kind that Ricky still feels at home amongst.

But he’s not in this room either.

“When I catch you Ricky,” you mumble to yourself. “Ricky, when I catch you...”

Turning around to search the building further, you bump face-first into the impossibly cool fabric of a black, satin dress shirt. The tip of your nose vibrates as the owner of the shirt says, “Oh, do continue. I’m quite curious as to what it is you’re going to do when you catch me.”

You step backwards, eyes meeting steely-blue contacts that don’t do the malicious amusement of the platinum blonde standing in front of you nearly enough justice. He’s in a suit so dark it looks like a void, a red rose in the jacket pocket the only thing lighting up the sea of black. You imagine his eyes are either of these colors behind the contacts.

“Oh, hey Ricky,” you greet quickly, trying not to break a sweat as you feign nonchalance. You’re suddenly glad you didn’t overestimate your acting chops and come in disguise. “Fancy seeing you here! You--... you come here often?”

Your heart drops as he raises his eyebrows quickly at you, one pointer finger gesturing to the ceiling. “Upstairs. Now.”

“Yeah, for sure,” you agree with a sheepish wince as Ricky takes your forearm in his big, slender hand and guides you to the spiraling stairwell. You trudge up each step silently, heat radiating from the spot where Ricky is holding you too tight. At the top of the stairs, he unlocks a pair of large, arched doors and ushers you inside, quickly locking them again behind him.

Much to your surprise, Ricky has brought you into his art studio. And even more surprising, the room is completely empty aside from clean, white canvas tarps covering every surface inch. 

“How did you know I was here?” You ask, eyeing him warily.

“A security guy said a drone had been flying around the perimeter for a bit. They traced the signal back to TCM, so I figured one of you was wreaking havoc on my establishment,” Ricky explains curtly. “I walked around for a bit downstairs and then I smelled purple, so I knew it was you.”

Your left eyebrow piques in confusion. “... What did you just say?”

“I smelled purple so I knew it was--...” Ricky’s mouth closes immediately. “I--... I’ve always thought you smelled like the color--... Oh, forget it.”

“Ooookay,” you agree awkwardly, as Ricky fiddles with the rose in his pocket. You can’t tell if what he just said was meant to be an insult or an accidental compliment, so you just decide to let it slide. Maybe you’d never know what that was supposed to mean. “Hey, how’d you manage to get out of the Friday night meeting?”

He snorts. “Well, the company’s not gonna tell the biggest shareholder not to make his money, now are they?”

“Point taken,” you agree with a nod. “So, where’s all your work? Kinda thought your studio’d be a little more showy.”

“Sold it,” he answers.

“What!? All of it?” You protest with a frown. “What about the one with the cherry blossoms? You said I could have that one!”

“Like you could afford it,” he quips with a sneer.

“Such a f*cking jerk,” you mumble, shaking your head as you turn the other way.

“Oh, I’m the jerk?” Ricky retorts, amusement fading fast. “Last I remember, I’m not the one who murdered someone in cold blood.”

“Do you really think that? Do you really think that I’d ever do something like that?” You ask, head whipping around again. “F*ck Ricky, I know I’m no angel. But if you’re willing to believe after all our years of friendship that I’d ever be capable of that, then... Maybe we were never really friends.”

He looks down at his expensive Italian shoes. Shoes you bought him as a birthday present at Milan Fashion Week. He told you not to waste your money when he could buy them himself, but it wasn’t a waste because what else is there to do with money other than spend it on the people you love?

“Maybe not,” Ricky whispers. “Maybe I never really knew you behind the liquor.”

There could be truth in that, you think. Just not in the way he’s intending it.

“We used to have a pretty good time though,” you muse out loud. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel invincible the way I used to here with you. So f*cked up and everything was just...”

“Perfect,” Ricky finishes and for a second, you think he’s about to smile. “And now everything f*cking sucks. Because of you.”

You nod to yourself, before a thought crosses your mind. “Not everything.”

He laughs callously. “Oh yeah? Please, tell me how you’ve improved my life this year.”

“Well, you finally took my speakeasy theme suggestion,” you say with a shrug. “Seems to be a pretty big hit with the guests.”

Ricky rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“It’s f*cking amazing, Ricky,” you assert, throwing your hands out in emphasis. He blinks at you slowly. “It’s exactly like how you always dreamed it would be. It fits who you are so perfectly! Elegant, mysterious, charming... I can’t believe you ever said you wanted to keep it ‘comfy and casual’! It literally SUCKED before-- compared to this.”

Ricky clears his throat suddenly, looking back down at his shoes. “Well, it wasn’t that bad before...”

“Yes, it was,” you insist, crossing your arms. “Maybe alcohol does rot the brain. Literally, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about how before I bought the place you said all you wanted was a ‘comfy and casual’ hangout spot for us to party!” Ricky blurts exasperatedly.

You stare at each other, unblinking for a moment as your lips part in shock. “You--... you bought the club for me?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets annoyedly, looking at anything but you. “I... I didn’t say that.”

“Ricky...” You say, eyes starting to water. He looks up at you, his gaze softening.

But it doesn’t last long as the inside of his cheek fits between his teeth. “I guess that doesn’t matter now though.”

You swallow hard. “Because now you wish you never met me. Now you hate me.”

“Yeah,” he affirms, looking you up and down for the first time since he’d caught you-- brow furrowed in introspective hesitation. “But it’s...”

You wait patiently for him to sort through his thoughts. And you’re glad you do.

“Seeing you alone, face to face,” Ricky says, eyes filled with sadness. “It’s become clear again that it’s more complicated than I try to pretend it is.”

Your bond with Ricky has grown stronger. +1 Ricky Point. Please add +1 Ricky point to your scoresheet.

・゜゜ . . * ✧･ﾟ・ ✧･ﾟ: ・゜゜・．

⁺⋆✰ If You Chose “REBECCA SONG”:

Tonight, you’re getting into the club as Rebecca Song: esteemed, American art-collector. It would be the role of a lifetime and you’d been prepping vigorously for the past 48 hours in order to perfect your performance. Jiwoong had found a slinky, black Versace evening dress that some random hook-up had left in his hotel room once (ew, but at least you didn’t have to spend money on an outfit). 

Gyuvin had snuck into the stylists’ storage space while at the company on Thursday and found a long, sophisticated blonde wig from one of the episodes of your old variety show you’d filmed a couple years ago. Taerae had played a character named “Tammy”. It’s better if it’s not explained any further than that.

Yujin had enlisted a very confused but elated Hanbin to teach you to “slay” harder. You’d mastered werking and serving since your debut, but you have to admit that slaying had never come particularly easy to you. Hanbin fixed your issue in a little over an hour, with lots of accompanying laughter and blackmail photo-taking from your maknae.

You’d even enlisted the help of Gunwook to make a realistic, credible website for heiress, art-collector Rebecca Song. He’d looked at you strangely through his webcam, one eyebrow raised in suspicion as he stared at the document of information you needed him to include. Right as you thought he’d been about to refuse, you wired him 150,000 won through Kakao Pay. He got to work right away after that and the result was... convincing enough for Ricky.

The final touch was a very official-sounding text message from Rebecca’s representatives, which you sent from a fake American number around dinner time this evening. Though he’d been skeptical at first, the link to the website Gunwook made is enough to convince your genius-of-art but not genius-of-smart ex-friend. You request an invite to Jeune et Riche for tonight.

Hook, line and sinker. ‘I hope she looks forward to meeting with me.' Classic Shen Ricky.

And now, you make your way to the VIP line outside of Ricky’s club. You have to admit, it feels pretty good to be considered a VIP again. Even if you have to pretend to be a completely different person to receive the special treatment.

Much to your surprise, Ricky is waiting outside-- pacing nervously back and forth nervously as he wrings his hands together. When he spots you in the red velvet roped line, Ricky jogs over to you immediately. 

He nods his head respectfully, a hand outstretched for you to shake. “It’s a pleasure to make my acquaintance, I’m sure of it. I’m Ricky.”

Your hands are covered in long, elegant satin gloves; your eyes shielded by fashionable sunglasses and a haute couture wide-brimmed hat. “Charmed,” you reply, a glimmer of hope lightening your spirit at the believability of your American accent. “Miss Rebecca Song, of the American Song elite dynasty.”

“Wow,” Ricky says, looking you over from head to toe. He appears to be delighted by your appearance. “You’re absolutely breath-taking. I mean, seriously. This must be how others feel when they meet me.”

You look at Ricky, fighting every urge in your body to smack him silly. He does kind of have a point, though. From the icy, blonde hair, to the sleek, all black formal attire... You realize you’ve accidentally dressed up as the female version of Ricky.

It would only make sense that he’s attracted to you like this. You’ve caught him flirting in the mirror with himself more times than you can count.

This was not what you had intended. But if it would help the chances of a successful operation, you might as well just roll with it.

Ricky keeps your hand tucked delicately in his as he leads you through the entrance of Jeune et Riche and into the VIP lounge. His presence is met with happy uproar, men in suits standing up to clink their glasses with his and guests of all genders ogling him with desire. 

Amid the chaos, Ricky laces his arm through yours to keep you steady next to him. He escorts you to the bar-- a black-tie bartender shimmying over faster than lightning to assist his employer. “What will you be having to drink, Sajang-nim?”

“I’ll have an old-fashioned,” Ricky responds before looking to you. “Miss Song?”

“I--.”

“Actually, could I make a recommendation?” Ricky asks with a smile and, honestly, you’re a bit distracted by that smile. You haven’t seen it in such a long time. You nod. “We’ve just added a cocktail that’s become quite popular with guests already. It’s called the French 76.”

“French Seventy... Six?” You ask, assuming he misspoke.

Ricky laughs. “Yes, it’s a new spin on the French 75. Instead of gin, it’s made with vodka.”

You freeze. “Vodka?”

“Yes, it’s really very good,” Ricky encourages. “You can’t go wrong with Grey Goose.”

Grey Goose. You haven’t had Grey Goose since...

You look up at him cautiously, searching his eyes for any sign that Ricky’s already recognized you and is putting you to the test. But your search comes up empty. He’s just really excited about the new cocktail.

It would be suspicious if you refused. So you nod quickly, forcing a small smile on your lips, “Sounds divine.”

Ricky’s arm laces with yours again as you ascend the spiral staircase up to his studio. Slaying on level ground had become fairly easy, but Hanbin hadn’t mentioned anything about slayage at an incline. Short form: you were thankful for Ricky’s uncharacteristic thoughtfulness.

How lucky could one (fictional) girl be?

Pulling a keycard out of his wallet, Ricky unlocks the arched doors that lead to his studio. He holds the right door open for you as you step inside.

You’d actually never been inside Ricky’s art studio before. It was a space that had always been strictly  off limits to you and the other members, so to finally be seeing it like this made you feel a bit…

Guilty.

The room is large but surprisingly humble in decor, the floors and walls all covered in white cotton sheets. There’s splatters of paint scattered throughout the well-lit studio-- easels with finished work displayed on them gathered at the center of the space, too far away to see them properly.

But as you step closer to the painting in front of you, you gasp as you recognize the subject depicted in them immediately...

It’s you.

“These are my exclusive pieces from my canceled gallery. It was titled Ambivalence,” Ricky says quietly. “It means to have conflicting or opposing emotions at the same time toward one subject.”

You swallow, trying to regain your composure as you move to the next painting and then the next and the next. They’re all of you. Different degrees of hatred seeping into each depiction of your likeness; purple and red the main color motif throughout the gallery pieces. Some of them feature other members of your group alongside you.

Some of them are just you. 

“Who--...” You stammer, trying to swallow down the lump that’s forming in your throat. “Who is the subject?”

Ricky stiffens. “Someone I used to know.”

“Used to know!?” You exclaim indignantly. Clearing your throat, you bluff, “I mean... I’ve seen many artists who... paint one subject over and over, motivated by intense emotion. The colors and technique you use suggest that this is still a fresh wound.”

“Hm,” Ricky hums, looking down at the floor as he considers your words. “Perhaps I’ve been too obvious in my approach. I should throw these away and try again...”

“NO!” You shout, grabbing his arm and keeping him from shredding up his work on the spot (which you know is a regular pattern of his). Ricky’s gaze falls to your gloved hand wrapped around his arm. “No, I find them worthy of my collection... because of their rawness.”

Ricky turns back to the painting in front of you. “I see.”

“Could you explain to me what the two colors represent?” You ask, urging him to spill a little more to you.

He nods slowly, pointing at the canvas with his pinky finger to the fiery red washes across your face. “The red, of course, represents anger. Resentment. Hatred. Loathing. For what they did. And how they hurt me.”

“Right. Of course.” Your cheeks burn red just like the painting at the intensity of Ricky’s distaste for you. He moves his finger to the rich, purple washes on the painting.

“The purple hues... “ Ricky trails off, coughing lightly as if he’s embarrassed by something. “The subject wears a fragrance that smells like the color purple to me. So I always associate purple with them.”

You raise your eyebrows at this. Ricky had never mentioned associating you with the color purple before.

“I think that the purple represents the subject themself,” he says, nodding definitively to himself. “And, the truth is, I’ve always truly adored the color purple.”

The sudden confession makes you dizzy. Lightheaded, you stumble into a very surprised Ricky’s arms. 

“Oh, Miss Song,” he says, holding you close. “I’ve touched you with the tortured depths of my soul. You’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you? This wouldn’t be the first time this has happened...”

Ricky is close to you. Too close.

“How funny,” he says slowly, in a way that suggests he’s noticed something very unfunny. “You smell like purple, too.”

You jerk backwards, trying to get out of his range of scent but you stumble on the hem of your dress-- falling backwards into an easel...

Your wig snags on the corner of the easel, falling off your head as your sunglasses clatter to the floor. Ricky is alarmingly silent as you wince at the ground.

“Guess you can give it up,” he says, your eyes meeting finally. “The aversion to the Grey Goose makes a lot of sense now.”

“I knew you really hated me, but,” you say quietly. “I didn’t know it was enough to fuel a whole gallery of paintings.”

“It could probably fuel a few more galleries, honestly,” he replies with a shrug. “But, like I said, it’s more... complicated than that.”

Your bond with Ricky has grown stronger. +2 Ricky Points. Please add +2 Ricky points to your scoresheet.

・゜゜ . . * ✧･ﾟ・ ✧･ﾟ: ・゜゜・．

All Continue Reading Below

You nod slowly. “Is the... complication... the reason you haven’t kicked me out yet?” 

“No. I’m actually kind of flattered that you’d go to such lengths to spend some time with me,” he answers with a sad smile. “Something must be really wrong. So spill.”

“I--... I need your help,” you confess after a moment with a heavy sigh. “I really, really need your help with something.

Ricky swallows hard, eyes widening slightly at your request. “Why me? Can’t you ask Gyuvin or Hanbin hyung or--?”

“No, I can’t,” you interject quickly. “I need your help, Ricky. And I... I can’t really offer much more of an explanation than that until you see the situation for yourself.”

Your tallest, blondest friend looks at you for a long time. Then he laughs, a small smile turning up the corner of his lips. “I always knew you’d come begging for my help some day. I honestly can’t believe it took this long.”

“Ugh, I hate it when you do that,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You’ve always gotta turn everything into one big Ricky d*ck-suck.”

Ricky coughs awkwardly at your sudden familiarity. “So, what’s the ‘situation that I have to see for myself’? I should probably assess it before deciding whether or not to provide assistance.”

You take your phone out of the Gucci purse slung over your shoulder and check the time. 11:57 P.M. The boys would be done at the company soon. “We can go now, if you want? I’ll drive.”

“You want me to get in a car with you behind the wheel? Seriously?” Ricky asks, staring at you like you have two heads. “Your driving isn’t exactly award-winning.”

“Don’t you fucking say another word,” you say, kneeling in front of him as you grab his tie in one hand and cover his mouth with the other. He stares at you, shocked by the assertiveness and close proximity-- his ears turning red even as you loosen your grip.

“Let’s go,” Ricky says quietly when you remove your hand from over his mouth, standing up and brushing off his black suit pants. 

“Yeah. Let’s.”

~

You’ll never admit it to Ricky, but you’re extra, extra careful as you drive him to the Total Control building. You were always a good driver, but you really didn’t need any more flack from him. Ricky calmed down after the first few minutes and a slightly comfortable, slight uncomfortable silence has settled over you.

That is until you realize something major.

“HOLY SHIT, MY VOICE!” You yell, the sudden blast of sound causing Ricky to jump in his seat and clutch his chest. “You never said anything about my voice!”

“Oh, right,” he replies, rubbing his collarbone anxiously. “Honestly, Hao showed me a PowerPoint presentation he made a few months ago claiming you’d been faking it this whole time. He was pretty convincing so I sort of just went with it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Hao,” you say through gritted teeth. “But it’s not true. My voice came back on Monday, actually. I’m--... I’m trying to keep it on the down low.”

“Are you asking me to keep your secret?” Ricky asks as he stares at the side of your face. “You can’t possibly think the chances of that are very good.”

“Not yet,” you agree, pulling into a parking spot on the street behind the company building. You scan the back entrance for the other boys, but they’re nowhere to be found. “But I’m willing to bet they’ll improve drastically in a few minutes.”

“Didn’t remember you being so hopelessly optimistic,” Ricky remarks with a frown.

From the back entrance of the building, Jiwoong suddenly emerges. He looks around and you flash your lights to let him know you’re there. 

“C’mon,” you command, stepping out of the car and walking toward Jiwoong as Ricky follows far too leisurely behind. “Would a little urgency kill you?”

“I’d prefer not to take any chances,” Ricky answers with a smirk. 

When you reach the door, Jiwoong ushers you both inside. He removes the black face mask he’s wearing, putting a hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “Hey man. How are you?”

“You are not getting invited back to Jeune et Riche,” Ricky replies coldly. “So don’t even think about it. Do you know how much I had to shell out to get the paparazzi to delete those pictures of you making out with the President’s son?”

“President Kim doesn’t have a son,” you reply with a frown.

Ricky chews his cheek, correcting, “The President of Korea.”

Jiwoong presses his lips together in embarrassment. “Good to see you too.”

“What are we doing here?” Ricky asks, looking around the dusty basement of TCM. “I’m allergic to poor air quality.”

“Isn’t everyone allergic to--?” Jiwoong starts to ask needlessly before you cut him off.

“We’re going up,” you say, walking over to the open elevator and stepping inside-- Jiwoong on your heels. 

“Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?” Ricky asks, following you onto the elevator and then shoving you back out into the hallway. “You are legally barred from stepping foot on any foot occupied by TCM property or personnel. There’s no way you have the money to pay the fine for that.”

At this point, he’s probably right, you think as you force your way back onto the elevator. Luckily, you and the rest of the Phantom Thieves had already devised a plan in case things go awry. You could count on them, couldn’t you?

You glance at Jiwoong, who is busy pressing every elevator button to every floor in the building and giggling like a little sh*t.

What’s another few hundred thousand won?

Though you have to go through a few extra floors, you eventually reach your destination: the business and finance department. You step off the elevator, pulling a face mask up to shield any of your identifying features.

“Where are the others?” You ask, looking around for Gyuvin and Yujn’s hiding spot.

“Others?” Ricky asks a little too loud. You and Jiwoong shush him mercilessly and he snarls in response.

“I dunno actually,” Jiwoong whispers as you round the corner. “Gyubinnie just said to trust him.”

“And you did!?” You whisper-scream back at him. Before he can defend himself, the door next to you suddenly opens and a large hand pulls you inside a room. Gyuvin shuts the door quietly behind Ricky as you all file in. You look around, realizing you’re in some sort of utility closet. 

“Okay, with no due respect, what the f*ck is going on?” Ricky demands, quickly growing tired of this whole thing. 

“So, this is gonna be hard to believe but--,” Jiwoong starts to explain before Yujin cuts him off.

“We’ve got three minutes left of our break,” Yujin says, checking his phone. “He’ll be fine. None of us got an explanation beforehand.”

“An explanation of what?” Ricky prods again to no avail, tongue poking at his cheek in frustration.

“He’s right,” you agree, nodding at the youngest. “There’s nothing we could say that would actually prepare him anyway. So let’s go.”

"COMMAND RECEIVED. NAVIGATING TO: THE METAVERSE: LEVEL 1 SAFE ROOM. ENJOY YOUR STAY."

Despite the MetaNav registering your command, the atmosphere fails to change. You wait for a moment and then another and another... 

“I’m leaving,” Ricky announces suddenly to which Gyuvin responds by blocking the door. “Step out of the way. I did not sign up for nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Yujin argues. “Just hold on a second.”

“Unlike you four, I actually have a life to attend to,” Ricky says, starting to wrestle with Gyuvin to ge to the door handle. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be--.”

Ricky grabs the door handle, throwing it open to reveal a giant castle vault in place of the plethora of office desks. Piles of gold line the stone floors and rows and rows of small, locked depositories line the walls.

Ricky stares at the sight before him, gobsmacked as he takes it all in. “You--... You...”

“... ‘You deserve an apology’?” Gyuvin finishes for him, rubbing the spot on his rib cage where Ricky had shoved him. “I think that’s what you were trying to say.”

“You f*cking drugged me!?” Ricky shouts, fuming as his gaze fixes on you. “I thought you--... I really thought you needed me. But you were just playing a sick f*cking joke on me! I’m so f*cking stupid.”

You blink back at him, a bit stunned by the sadness in his voice.

“I thought I was going to get to trust you again.”

The bitter disappointment in Ricky’s eyes is enough to break your heart all over again. But you’d only have to endure the pain for a little while longer. Hopefully.

He walks to the center of the vault, picking up a small gold coin and flipping it over in his hand. Then he throws it at a vase, shattering it into innumerable pieces. “F*CK YOU!”

“Should we stop him?” Jiwoong asks, grimacing at the uncomfortable sight.

You shake your head. “No, he needs to--.”

Your sentence is cut short by the sound of a metallic clink hitting the stone floor. You walk over to the shattered vase, sifting through the debris to find a gold key. Picking it up, you turn around-- taking a closer look at the vases littered around the atrium of the vault. There’s a set of English letters inscribed on each one. 

“Our initials!” You exclaim. “Each vase has one of our initials on it. This one must’ve been mine.”

“Where’s Ricky’s?” Gyuvin asks, immediately running over to begin searching. 

“I found it!” Yujin calls, beckoning you all over. 

Ricky looks at the vase confusedly. “This is a really weird trip.”

Jiwoong grabs a gold coin, waiting for your signal before smashing the vase-- a key clinking to the ground. You pick it up, examining the key and comparing it with yours when you suddenly hear a ‘hm’ from the other side of the vault. You turn to find Ricky looking at the rows of safes on the back wall.

“What’d you find, bud?” Jiwoong asks cautiously.

“Our initials,” Ricky answers after a moment. “They’re on these safe boxes, too. You know, I really would’ve thought I’d be hallucinating less of you all.”

“Ricky, you’re amazing!” You exclaim, running over to him and forcing up his hand to high-five you. 

“I know and I’m not surprised you’d think that,” Ricky agrees-- shaking his head. “But no amount of flattery is going to--.”

You shove him out of the way, looking for Ricky’s initials as he sulks in the corner.

“Got it!” Gyuvin says, tapping on the copper safe. You hand Ricky’s key to him, but as Gyuvin presses it into the lock...

BRRRRRRAAAAAAANG. BRRRRRAAAAAANG.

“Sh*t,” you exhale as a piercing alarm sounds, pointing to a hidden conclave to the right of the wall of safes. “Hurry, in here!”

Four shadow guards march into the vault, equipped with glaives that seem much bigger and sharper than the ones previous guards held. Directly behind them, is a figure that you’ve seen before, dripping in gold-threaded silk...

Chief Financial Officer Lee.

President Kim’s ex-wife’s older brother, CFO Lee had been brought onto the company quite recently after the collapse of TCM’s stocks last year. The previous CFO quit in a hurry to save his reputation and President Kim needed an... easy... replacement. From what you read online, he does at least have a college degree. In graphic design.

Suddenly you realize that, in the race to the hiding spot, you forgot to take Ricky with you. Well... Maybe it would speed up the awakening process... Best case scenario...

“CFO Lee?” Ricky asks, closing his eyes really hard and then reopening them. “What--... what are you wearing?”

“Really? That’s his first question?” Yujin asks with a frown.

“Ricky-sshi, how good it is to see you,” CFO Lee bellows as he and the guards move closer. The Phantom Thieves assume the defense as you signal for them to hold their fire. “You were missed at the last shareholders’ meeting. And the one before that.”

Ricky’s brow furrows. “I had a thing.”

“Oh yes. You always have a thing,” CFO Lee says with a malicious smirk, approaching the wall of safes. CFO Lee twists the key still sitting in the lock, opening the safe with Ricky’s initials on it. From the conclave, you can see that inside the safe are dozens of parchment scrolls, each tied with red, velvet ribbon. He removes the largest scroll from this safe, untying the ribbon and handing it to Ricky. “You make it so easy for us to make our financial decisions without you.”

Ricky opens the scroll, reading carefully what’s written on it. After a moment, he shakes his head. “I--... I don’t understand. This is just a list of all the shareholder donations I made to the company this year.”

“A closer look, perhaps?” CFO Lee suggests with evil delight. “How about you read it aloud for us all to enjoy?”

“Bastard,” Gyuvin mumbles under his breath.

“Below is a list of every contribution made by top shareholder Shen Ricky to the receiving parties...” Ricky pauses, brow raising in shock. “Kim Hyunwoo and Lee Jungil? But--... But...”

“The King has had such a hard time managing his kingdom,” CFO Lee says, ripping the scroll from Ricky’s hand. “He can hardly afford his penthouse in Hannam-dong or the new BMW he had to buy after his... accident.”

“What!? No,” Ricky asserts, grabbing the scroll back from CFO Lee and reading it over again. “No, that can’t be true. I--... That money is supposed to keep the company afloat. It’s supposed to go toward all of our dorm expenses and debts until our contracts expire.”

“Oh, do not fret, Ricky-sshi,” CFO Lee replies, voice coated in venom. “Your contributions also helped us pay off the expenses of bribing the court for (Y/N)-sshi’s trial.”

“This--... this is just a hallucination... This isn’t real,” Ricky attempts to assure himself, but you can tell it isn’t really working. You press your lips together, waiting for him to come to his own realization. He looks down at the scroll. “But I--... How can I read this so clearly? Shouldn’t it be all jumbled and blurry? Or not make any sense?”

“How about we test this reality?” CFO Lee suggests, motioning to the guards. The four shadow guards charge at Ricky, prompting you to give the Phantom Thieves a signal to attack. You dart out behind the corner into the atrium of the vault, each directing your powers at a different guard. But for some reason, the guard Gyuvin targets does not take the damage and it instead reflects back at your best friend. Ice engulfs his large hand before shattering to the ground, leaving a wicked frostbite across every inch.

“Ai-ssh,” Gyuvin seethes in pain, but you’re too busy watching in horror as the guard left unharmed pierces the fabric of Ricky’s suit jacket at his shoulder, pinning him to the wall of safes. 

You see the shift in Ricky’s eyes. The pure terror, the anguish, and finally the rage that this is real. He screams, sweat trickling down his face. It was a close call and, luckily, it was just close enough to break him...

I SEE YOU HAVE FINALLY AWOKEN. HOW LONG-AWAITED OUR FIRST MEETING IS. I AM GOEMON, FAMED ROBINHOOD OF JAPAN. THE PLEASURE IS ALL YOURS, OF THIS I HAVE NO DOUBTS. LET US NOW BE ONE AS WE TAKE BACK THE RICHES THEY’VE STOLEN AND GIVE THEM TO THOSE IN NEED.

Schrrip...

New Confidant Unlocked: Emperor *ੈ Shen Ricky

“I assume that never gets any easier to watch,” Jiwoong whispers to you, wincing in horror.

You shake your head solemnly. “Never.”

A slow, dark laugh draws your attention back to Ricky, still pinned against the wall of safes. He grabs the glaive by its handle and rips it out of the wall, shoving it through the guards’ shadowy head. 

The guard disappears in a cloud of black smoke, revealing Ricky in a spotted cat mask. You help surround CFO Lee, smirking at Ricky as he takes control like a natural. He extends his hands artfully, almost like he’s about to paint across a canvas.

“Keynes, Hamilton, Li Ka-shing... Lee Jungil,” Ricky says, eyeing CFO Lee like he’s prey. “What do these men have in common?”

CFO Lee gulps. “We--... We’re all finance guys?”

Ricky smiles.

And you’re all dead men. ‧ ₊ ✫ ˚・

A blast of thick, black paint pours from Ricky’s fingers, coating CFO Lee entirely. He begins to cry for help as the paint leaks into his mouth and eyes. No one moves.

New Skill Unlocked: True Artist's Grace ᝰ.ᐟ

“You-’ll--... you’ll pay for this,” CFO sputters as paint drips down his throat, liquid body collapsing to the ground. “You’ll--... Pay...”

Only a black puddle of paint is left in front of you. 

“Ricky,” you call, running over to him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he answers quietly, eyes devoid of emotion. He looks completely drained. “Can we just--... can we just leave this place? Whatever it is?”

You nod. “Yeah, I think it’s about time we head out. Back to the utility closet.”

When you finally finish explaining everything to Ricky, he stares straight ahead at the Han River as you sit parked at the overlook in your car.

“Why did you pick me?” He asks suddenly.

You tilt your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, surely there were better choices of members to get involved,” he reasons with a shrug. “Taerae, Hanbin-- Matthew gets here Sunday. They’ve all been far nicer to you in the past few months than I have. So why me?”

“Honestly?” You offer, bracing for his reaction. “We need medicine and supplies if we’re gonna do this. Luckily, you didn’t get hurt in there but... Last time, Yujin took a real beating. I was incredibly hesitant, but he suggested that we bring you on board because we don’t have the money to get it ourselves.”

Ricky chuckles to himself sadly. “I appreciate the lack of sugar-coating.”

“But I’m really, really glad we did choose you, because--.”

“I’ll do it,” Ricky cuts you off. “I’ll help you. So save the theatrics for someone who wants them.”

You look down at your lap awkwardly.

“In exchange for a favor,” he adds quickly. You look up to find him smirking at you.

“I don’t like that look,” you say, grimacing. “But fine. What do you want?”

“I’ve been feeling like my art has really suffered since last year. Between running the club and helping with my father’s business in China, I haven’t had time to return to the basics like I should,” he explains.

“Where is this going?” You ask, growing annoyed.

“Will you be my model tomorrow evening?” Ricky asks, charming eyes staring back at you. “I’ll be focusing on perfecting... the human form.”

“EW!” You squeal, smacking his shoulder. He winces a little too hard and you consider criticizing his theatrics. “You are so disgusting.”

He laughs genuinely now. “I was right: the look on your face is, in fact, priceless. I don’t actually need any favors from you. I’m in. But if you wanna come by my studio tomorrow evening and be a fully-clothed model for me, you’re more than welcome. I--... I’d really like to--...”

“I’d really like to catch up with you, too, Ricky,” you finish for him, whether it’s what he was going to say or not. And you mean it.

The only problem is...

You told Yujin that you’d treat him to dinner tomorrow night.

⁺⋆✰ Chapter Choice ✰⋆⁺

It's up to you, Player. Will you choose... Please note that only readers that are Yujin’s age/minors should choose Yujin, as this choice will have slight romantic elements. Thank you!

CHOICE 1: Dinner with Yujin

OR

CHOICE 2: Paint with Ricky

EXPLICIT 18+ SMUT WARNINGS: oral (reader receiving), public sex, a little bit of stalking/watching, mentions of crime/drugs/violence, etc. but not overly dark— just a fun backdrop

—

three.

two.

one.

it’s the kid across from you that just finished his set, but somehow you’re the one out of breath. black hair pushed back except for a few strands that have fallen into his eyes. a heart monitor band around his growing bicep as he places the free weights back onto the rack. veins popping from his slender wrists.

it’s at this moment you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror— jaw dropped as you recline back on the leg press. how long had you been sitting there?

you stand up, wondering if he’s noticed you yet. wouldn’t be the first time you’d snuck a glance in the past week. and it’s not like he’d called you out on it before.

and even if he did, you had a pretty good cover. you own the gym. as far as a legal defense, you’re just an extra attentive fitness manager.

keeping an eye out for your most interesting patron.

you make your way over to the front desk, reminded of some new member paperwork you’d been neglecting to file for a few hours. you should probably finish that before closing.

and you have every intention to do just that. but a particular exhale suddenly comes from the other side of the room. and it’s just out of your hands.

you set your stack of papers aside, walking back out onto the gym floor. you spot him instantly: on the leg press you’d previously been watching him from. he’s got a good amount of weight on it.

you’re actually concerned it might be too much.

when he’d first signed up for your gym a couple months ago, you’d actually fought the urge to laugh straight in his face. not to be misunderstood— he was a handsome kid. a tall, thin figure dressed in a designer coat with a pretty face to match. one that didn’t like to get roughed up much. he could be a runway model. or one of those cute teeny bopper boys that your niece likes.

buy your gym had a bit of reputation. it wasn’t really a place for boys like him. it was rough around the edges. maybe even a little seedy. but it’s where every bodybuilder went to get the best winning physique. results guaranteed.

“hi,” he’d said quietly with a polite smile. you frowned, removing your headphones off of only one ear.

“we don’t have a public restroom,” you’d replied, popping a mid-size bubblegum bubble in his face. “sorry.”

“oh no, uh,” he stuttered, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “i wanted to sign up for a membership.”

wide eyes was an understatement. you couldn’t believe what’d just come out of his mouth. this little rich boy thought he could just waltz into your gym and join? did he really think he could survive that?

“get lost, kid,” you said, smacking your blue bubblegum. “you’re in over your head. how ‘bout you try one of those luxury gyms around the corner? probably more your style.”

he shook his head fervently. “no, wait! i—... i wanna join this gym.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “yeah? and why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“because i want to do this,” he replied, brow furrowed in determination. “i wanna prove that i can do this.”

you stared at him for a long moment. you’d had a lot of people beg to join your gym before. and you’d had no problem showing them all the door. but there was something about this kid. you couldn’t tell if you wanted to watch him fail or succeed.

an exasperated sigh left your lungs as you pulled open your desk drawer and threw a booklet of paperwork at him. “fine. but i am not responsible for any injuries— physical, emotional, spiritual, medical, or financial— that you incur while at the gym.”

“financial?” he repeated warily.

“take a look around,” you said, gesturing to the worse-for-wear gym. “padlock your belongings all you want, but if someone here wants into your locker, they’re getting in. and if you walk around looking like that, you might as well just tattoo a giant target on your back.”

he looked down at the ground, swallowing nervously before meeting your gaze again. “understood.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. maybe he was just some rich shit looking for cheap steroids. he’d find that and more at your gym. you didn’t really care. but as you picked up a pen and handed it to him, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“what’s your name, kid?” you asked, taking a sip of the warm beer you’d left out on the welcome desk.

he looked up from the paperwork he was rapidly filling out, smiling as he answered...

“ricky.”

—

you hadn’t paid much attention to him at first. you figured he’d last a week at your gym at best. and you’d predicted accurately how that week would go. he was mugged three days in a row, approached to buy drugs persistently every half hour, and even took a pretty nasty punch to the gut from one of your best patrons: a heavyweight world champion powerlifter named steve.

but when monday rolled around the next week, you were taken aback to see ricky walking through the doors at 10 p.m. sharp.

he gave you a little wave. you nodded at him confusedly.

and then he went straight to work. just like he did the next night. and the next night. until two months had suddenly gone by.

and wouldn’t you know it— all of that hard work had begun to actually pay off. his arm muscles had grown significantly and his chest had broadened as well. of course, he was never gonna be the size of the regular bodybuilders in your gym. they were all on lethal amounts of steroids anyway.

but he looked... good. and you found his dedication to be kind of admirable. he was tougher than you ever could’ve imagined.

so after a couple months, you’d started moseying over from your welcome desk or whatever machine you were using to offer some help. maybe it was form correction or a spot or just some lackluster encouragement, but he seemed grateful to receive whatever it was you were willing to give him.

“if you don’t keep those fucking knees bent,” you’d corrected, lit cigarette in between your fingers and blue bubblegum twisted around your tongue.

“sorry, sorry,” ricky apologized, correcting his form immediately. “it’s just harder like this.”

“i bet it is, kid,” you’d replied, shaking your head. “thought you’d gotten stronger, but i guess not.”

“i have and you know it,” he protested, rolling his eyes. you smirk at him as he catches your eye in the mirror. “and i’m not a kid. i’m three years younger than you.”

“you’re a kid as long as you’re still living on daddy’s money,” you said, clucking your tongue disapprovingly. “some of us don’t even have a dad.”

the weight dropped from ricky’s hand, crashing onto the floor with a bang. he looked around awkwardly, picking it back up and mumbling, “sorry.”

“what? did that make you uncomfortable?” you asked, taking a drag. “figures. why’d you even sign up for this gym in the first place?”

ricky finished his set, placing the weights down on the ground carefully. “this is the gym you go to if you want the best results.”

“it certainly is,” you agreed with a smile. “but i assume you’d never been to a place on the wrong side of town like this before. like a baby deer in headlights, is what i’d call it.”

he shook his head. “you’re right. i guess i hadn’t. but i wanted to prove i could do this. and i thought this was my only shot.”

“you said that before,” you remarked with a frown. “‘prove i could do this’. why would you of all people have anything to prove to anyone?”

ricky shrugged. “just because i have a father, doesn’t mean he was happy to have me.”

after a moment, you huffed a laugh. “alright, kid. i get it.”

“and i also heard the owner of this gym was a total smokeshow,” he added, walking over to the water fountain and leaving you behind.

you fight a smile. “and?”

“and i wasn’t disappointed.”

—

you sit down on a raised utility bench, straddling it as you observe ricky at the leg press. it might be your fault he’d increased the weight so much— you’d been telling him to put some more emphasis on growing his leg muscles for a few days now. not that he didn’t already have good legs, but it’d be a shame if all the upper body work made him unproportional.

he’s handling it surprisingly well. good enough form to get him through a set. you watch as a bead of sweat drips down the side of his face.

and gasp softly when you unconsciously grind into the bench your straddling.

you’d like to claim you couldn’t help it. that it was a little mistake that you’d never make again. that you cared at all about being professional.

but you can’t. because you’re pressing yourself back into the cushion of the seat in a matter of seconds.

blame hormones. blame the time on the clock. blame the two beers you’d chugged within a half hour of each other or the adrenaline from the fight you broke up earlier in the night.

but the truth is, it’s his fault. it’s all him.

you look up from the cushion beneath you, expecting to see him completing his set, but instead, he’s sitting reclined on the machine— an amused expression on his face as he stares back at you.

“what muscles are you targeting over there?” he asks, one eyebrow raised. “pelvic floor?”

your mouth hangs open, not really sure what you could possibly say to deflect this situation.

ricky stands up, walking over to you carefully with his arms folded across his chest. “you know, that’s why i like this place so much. a lot of gyms are run by some corporate fuck who’s never even touched the equipment. but even the owner of this gym’s dedication to fitness is truly inspiring.”

“it was my dad’s gym,” you admit suddenly. “he willed it to me when he died.”

ricky looks at you thoughtfully before snorting. “i bet he’d be proud to see you using the equipment to its full potential.”

“i don’t care what he’d think,” you replied, shaking your head. “he’s dead.”

ricky smiles at this as he sinks to his knees in front of you. “lucky.”

he raises his brow quickly, asking for permission as his hands hover over your thighs. you nod slowly until his palms sink into your soft skin, kneading then gruffly. you push yourself closer to him, spreading your legs to show him where you really want him.

“a little desperate, hm?” ricky asks with a smirk, pushing his long fingers up the gaps of your short-shorts all the same. “don’t let any of these meatheads ever take you for a spin?”

“s’unprofessional,” you answer as he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your shorts and pulls them down your legs— discarding them onto the gym floor.

you were never wearing any underwear.

“oh yeah? well what would you call what you’re doing right now?” he asks, pushing you gently down until your back is flat against the bench. hands gripping your thighs, he inches in closer until his lips finally connect with your core. “you know there’s still people in here right?”

you look around at the lingering gym members still pushing through their workouts. fuck ‘em, you think as you sigh contentedly. “i’d call it understandable.”

he grins before diving into you, lapping at all the wetness that’s already gathered at your opening for him. he takes it on his tongue, bringing it to your most sensitive area and swirling persistent circles around it.

you’re whimpering and you couldn’t be more surprised. the pretty boy gives good head? you thought guys like him usually used their money as foreplay instead.

your hands reach instinctively for his biceps, admiring up close how much he’s improved his own physique. they look even better wrapped around your legs, though.

you give them a squeeze and ricky’s lips pop off of you with a smack. the corner of his lips upturns cheekily, your juices dripping from his chin.

“not too bad, right?” he asks, eyes shining as he seeks your approval. “for a guy like me, i mean?”

you smile, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots. “not too bad at all.”

the reassurance lights up his face as he continues lapping at your heat with renewed passion. your climax approaches rapidly as he switches to sucking— the steady, quick suction on your clit sending you over the edge.

“fuck, oh my god,” you whine, your grip tightening around ricky’s arm as your thighs squeeze him closer to you. “i—… m’cumming.”

“fucking gorgeous,” he moans into your cunt as you ride out your high. a few deep breaths and you sit up, looking at the mess dripping from you and onto the bench. you can guarantee it’s not the first time thay bench has been covered in someone’s cum.

ricky hands you the container of sanitary wipes on the bench next to yours.

“don’t you think we should wait until we’re all done?” you ask with a smirk, eyeing the bulge that’s grown in his shorts.

but to your surprise, ricky shakes his head and stands up from the floor— walking back over to the leg press.

“back to work,” he says with a grin. “these hamstrings aren’t gonna build themselves. maybe you should get some work done, too.”

why that little shit—

you grab your cutoff denim shorts off the ground, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the back pocket.

if this kid wants to play…

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: experienced!reader and touchstarvedvirgin!ricky, both of them are subby and dominant at different points that's just how imugi rolls y'know, choking (reader and ricky receiving), oral (ricky receiving), p-in-v penetration, cumming inside w/ no protection (i literally don't care if you don't use protection i'd nevershame you just thoroughly research the consequences babe), angsty and dark but also love there's love that's kind of really sweet in this EW so be warned.

𓆗༒︎𓆘

a young, icy blonde man walks purposefully down the dark, ornate halls of his estate. one would think he was a prince. and they’d be right. just not the kind of prince that first comes to mind.

“ricky, sir,” you beg as you rush after him, grabbing his silk-sleeve covered arm when he’s finally in reach. “please.”

his head whips around, serpent eyes glowing as his pupils contract and expand. you know you’re not allowed to touch him under any circumstance and the palpable rage in his eyes almost makes you regret breaking the long-respected rule.

almost.

“let go,” he huffs, gaze so white-hot it could melt you to a boiling puddle on the marble floor. when you shake your head, he shoves you down, forcing you to your knees in front of him. “let go or i’ll kill you.”

you don’t. you can’t.

not when you’ve seen what happens if he rushes into battle with the gumiho before the merge. not when you know this decision leads to his servants laying him to rest in the garden every time.

not when you know you could wait a hundred years for his return. for the merging process to begin again. 

a patch of scales appears across his neck, glowing green and unnatural in the dim light of the hall chandelier. you know he means it: he’ll kill you. 

he’s done it three times before. perhaps it’s inescapable this time, too.

so you tip your head back. expose your jugular. wait for him to slice his lizard claw through you like you’d seen him do to so many of his enemies before you.

your friends. your family.

you were only sorry they’d have to die in their next lives, too. all for some prophecy they had nothing to do with.

he brings a hand to your throat, engulfing it in his palm and tilting your head side to side as if examining where to make the incision. he looks you over for another moment, before realization hits him. “you saw something, didn’t you?”

your eyes water with frustration, wishing you could just tell him. even if it meant having to sugarcoat things. if only your own curse didn’t make things that much more difficult. 

his awakening happened at eighteen, the power of imugi coursing through him at an uncontrollable frequency. that’s when it always happens: the destruction of the town and everyone that inhabited it. 

knowing what was coming, you hid— lying in wait until it was over. this time, you’d approached him right after the disaster. though many primal vessels didn’t recognize you after their awakening, you could tell in his contracted serpent eyes that, to some extent, ricky did.

ricky, of course, being the new “fashionable” name imugi chose for this vessel. imugi was always one who wanted to appear cool. whatever the trends were of the time, you could bet his vessel would be following them.

he was an interesting god in more ways than one.

when ricky demanded to hear how you’d somehow known to hide from destruction that left every townsperson dead except for you, you’d stuck with your usual explanation: you were a clairvoyant.

it was a guise you could easily keep up, since you already knew everything that would happen between now and your own awakening. it proved useful enough to each primal vessel and ricky took you in: letting you stay as his guest (prisoner) in his secluded mansion estate. 

there were two little problems though: the first being that you weren’t allowed to tell him his own fate. or else you’d both die. learned that one the hard way. 

most times, you could figure a way around this. you were incredibly clever after all and wise with knowledge beyond your years (literally). but with something so direct as life or death, you always found yourself in a bind right about now.

the second little problem was that imugi always liked to present his ultimate vessel with a charming challenge every rebirth cycle. that challenge was that the catalyst for the merge was different every cycle. 

and you still haven’t figured out what it is this time.

“what did you see?” he demands, tightening his grip around your neck. “tell me.”

biting your lip, you nod dutifully. “just kill me.”

“at this point, i should,” he seethes, throwing you further to the ground as he lets go of your neck. “fucking pathetic waste of investment.”

he spits on the floor beside you before turning around and continuing towards the door. it was beyond time for desperate measures.

“quanrui,” you breathe. the name he’d worn in youth before the birth of imugi had ripped through the weak vessel and torn his human self to shreds. the name his keeper used to call angrily when she’d catch him outside playing with you as a child. through the wrought-iron fence... exchanging pretty-colored stones.

he freezes, body stiffening at the sound of his real name. his jacket falls from his arm to the floor.

“i love you.”

he turns around slowly, lips parted in shock. the patch of green scales around his neck dissolves back into pale skin and his eyes turn a deep, chocolate brown.

“i love y—,” you begin to repeat before realizing you’ve chosen the wrong word. “i mean... i need you.”

“need me,” he repeats softly, full lips pouting as the words fall from them. the primal vessel to the dragon king, born without parents and raised without friends, seems to understand this concept more than that of love. he was used to people needing him, even if it was only to keep themselves alive.

you blink back at him, eyes swimming with desperation. are you getting through to him? will he stay here with you?

“show me,” he orders, closing the door and taking a few slow steps toward you. “show me how you need me.”

you force yourself up to your knees as he closes the distance between you, standing in front of you and waiting for your demonstration. you look up at him, eyes locking as your fingers reach for his belt buckle. it’s nothing you hadn’t done before with other, albeit less powerful and handsome, men.

but he hesitates, flinching back as if he’s afraid of your touch. 

“would you prefer to undo it yourself?” you ask calmly, thinking he might just wish to keep your grimy hands off his expensive clothes. 

“it’s... i don’t—,” he stutters, suddenly avoiding your gaze as if his life depends on it. if only he knew. “i’ve never...”

you feign a gasp. of course he hasn’t. he’s touch-starved and brooding and tragically beautiful. a broken man carrying the soul of a god. like every primal vessel before him. “but how can that be true? you’re so desirable, ricky, sir.”

“shut up,” he barks suddenly, a quick smack across your cheek to put you back in your place. “i’m... i’m sorry, just—... just keep going.”

you fight the urge to smile. this vessel had far more heart than the others. maybe that’s why you’d grown quite fond of him in the years since you’d met him.

your fingers connect with the metal of his belt buckle, unclasping it and pulling it through before discarding it with a clank on the marble floor. he jumps at the sound, swallowing hard as his attention returns to your hands on his black dress slacks. 

“may i undo this, too?” you ask quietly, tapping on the clasp and zipper. he nods slowly, glancing over his shoulder as you make quick work of the fastenings. 

pulling his slacks down with his black, satin boxers, he inhales sharply when the cool air hits him. for a different reason, so do you.

you’d be lying if you said your mouth didn’t water at the sight.

looking up at him through your lashes, you wordlessly ask for permission to continue. he breathes in and out shallowly before nodding just once. so you wrap your hand around his length gently, steadying him as you take him into your mouth.

swirling your tongue around his tip before pushing him in even further, you watch as his head lolls back— tattooed neck exposed as a large patch of scales works its way up his body. 

“feels good?” you ask, unable to help the smugness in your voice as you pop him out of your mouth. you pepper kitten licks around the head of his cock as a strangled moan falls from his lips— a clawed-hand moving to cup your jaw, brushing your cheek cautiously.

you notice the young prince continues to avoid eye contact, no matter how much he’s enjoying what you’re doing to him. you suppose it makes sense. he might fear being vulnerable. he probably never learned how to.

“look at me,” you encourage softly, hand pumping him steadily. “want to see your eyes...”

you’re reminded violently to always be careful of what you ask for as you’re tackled to the ground, glowing, serpent eyes no more than an inch from yours. 

“you think you’re worthy of the gaze of the imugi prince?” ricky hisses— hands pinned beside each of your shoulders as he hovers above you. 

he reaches one hand down to the designer pants that he’d bought you for you last year. you couldn’t wear rags in his presence. dragon claws tear through the fabric, ripping them and pulling them off of you. he doesn’t even have to use a claw to rip through your underwear, discarding them as a patch of scales flashes across his right hand. you should’ve expected such theatrics from imugi’s vessel. the smile that is forming on your face is completely erased as he promptly buries himself inside of you— a moan escaping both of you.

he meets your gaze, pompous smirk accompanying his yellow eyes as he starts to thrust into you. this new skill is undoubtedly the effects of imugi’s extensive spiritual well of muscle memory. “are you happy now? are these the eyes you wanted to see?”

truth be told, they were not. perhaps you’ve just had too much experience already with having imugi inside of you...

“quanrui,” you mewl. “wanna see your eyes...”

he doesn’t respond and instead averts your gaze— continuing to thrust into you, silent and detached. you’re fairly certain this will begin just as it started, until...

“is this what it feels like?” he asks suddenly, chocolate eyes full of innocence once more as he looks at you uncertainly. “love?”

the question shocks you, only able to cry out when he thrusts even deeper into you— cock hitting the fleshy wall of your cervix. you recall what you’d said to get his attention. to keep him from storming out of the door and into the clutches of premature death.

of course, you’d been manipulating him. it was your duty to imugi. how sick you are growing of your eternal duty to that snake.

but you nod. you lie. if you wanted a human life free from the serpent king, you shouldn’t have ever picked that flower from his castle garden.

“then i must love you, too,” ricky breathes, emotion emphasized by a collapse to your chest— deepening the angle of his thrusts until you’re begging for release. “i must’ve loved you even through the fence.”

you gasp, partially because of the desperation in his pace and partially because the last thing you expected was for him to utter such a sentimental confession. you could always tell that he recognized you, but you had no idea until this moment that he remembered from where.

“i’ve never met another person outside of my house before,” the little boy said solemnly. “you’re the first. i’m six. i like your socks.”

“thanks,” you replied with a smile. you’d found him again, even faster in this life than the last. the imugi prince. “my name’s (y/n). i’m seven. my mother owns a bakery in town. she gives free bread to all the children.”

“my name’s quanrui,” he returned, corners of his lips upturning softly. “i wish i could go. i’m not allowed to leave. bad things could happen to me. i guess that’s what happened to my parents, anyway.”

with every rebirth, you felt more sorry for the primary vessel. always so confused about their identity until the truth was revealed: they were never meant to have one in the first place. 

“i like rocks,” quanrui said suddenly, digging in his pocket and pulling out a beautiful emerald stone. “i picked this one up by the fountain. it’s pretty. you should keep it. also i like you.”

something as pure as that had never happened before. you begin to smile now, thinking of it.

a familiar sensation in your stomach begins to bubble abruptly, but it’s not the one you’d normally feel during this act. it’s painful. and the intensity of that pain swells rapidly until you’re screaming in its wake.

“what’s—...” ricky stutters, palpable fear in his eyes. “what’s wrong!? am i hurting you?”

scales, green and eerie begin to patch across your skin; vision blurring as your human eyes are replaced with that of a serpent. vicious claws sprout from your fingertips, so sharp you accidentally cut a small slice across his cheek.

he pulls out of you, clambering back as the frightening transformation occurs before his very eyes. he doesn’t have time to worry for long, as a screeching sound rips through both of your skulls. covering your ears,

you count the seconds until it stops— the heinous noise suddenly replaced by something else.

what the fuck...

you hear it: ricky’s thoughts tickling the back of your brain. 

can you hear me? is the merge complete?

his eyes widen as your voice rings through his mind, blinking as if he’s sure he must be hallucinating. no, no, no. this—... i’m dreaming. i just need to wake up! that will end this nightmare and—

oh, i don’t think so, gorgeous. i think we’re finally getting started.

his jaw drops as you crawl towards him, body stiff and cautious as you slink your way closer. your hand reaches to cup his cheek, thumb ghosting over the small incision you made.

“i know this is a lot to take in, but... i’m actually supposed to dispose of you now. it’s unwise for two imugi vessels to be running amuck,” you hiss, fingers running through his long, white hair. “so i’ve had to make a habit of... retiring the weaker one.”

he gapes at you, eyes shifting back and forth from yellow to brown. “you—... you’re the second vessel? that’s why you could predict the future... you knew all along what would happen? since... since—”

“since the fence, yes. i know. what a shame,” you coo mockingly, wrapping your hand around his neck as he’d done to you earlier. you shove him to the floor, flat on his back as he looks up at you. he doesn’t struggle. “and i’m called the ultimate vessel, thank you very much. it’s so tiresome... always having to be the one to step up and educate you primaries. but then again, telling an innocent child he was born to die is a bit grim. even for imugi.”

ricky stares at you, brow furrowed pensively. what triggered the merge?

his question is a good one. i don’t know. what happened immediately before? 

ricky’s eyes widen. “i—... i said i love you.”

love? could that have really been the catalyst that imugi chose? for his vessels to fall in love? there was one glaring problem with that...

i was lying.

“you didn’t mean it?” he asks after your thought permeates his mind. sadness is visible on his face, but there’s something else much more dangerous underneath it. something like suspicion. and you simply can’t have that.

you smile at him softly, starting to roll your hips against his. he inhales sharply at the sensation, involuntarily grinding against you.

“if you walked out that door, the gumiho would’ve ripped you apart,” you assert, hand reaching to his still-hard cock and lining it up with your entrance— sinking down onto him with a satisfied sigh. “imugi can only win that fight after the merge. i tried my best to allude to that, but you primaries always go and—”

“i’m not them,” ricky yells, causing your lips to part in shock. “stop referring to me as the primary vessel. i understand: you knew all along what would happen to me. you manipulated and lied your way into my life. into my home. my body. and i know now that not one of those things belonged to me from the start. but... my heart does.”

your serpent eyes fade as his human ones bore into you. 

“and the only time i ever felt like it even worked was when i was with you.”

could it really be true? was the reason you were so fond of ricky, more than any other primary vessel before him, by design? had you always been meant to fall in love with him in this lifetime?

a love strung up and puppeted by imugi himself. doomed to end in tragedy.

but this boy beneath you couldn’t see that truth. part of you wished you couldn’t either. part of you wished you could be him for once.

“this never happened before,” you say softly, running your free hand across his chest as you slowly start to lift yourself up and down on his cock. even if this is the most brutal end yet, you might as well make the most of it.

“w-what do you mean?” he asks breathily, voice raspy as he grapples with the renewed pleasure.

“in the previous lifetimes,” you respond with a smile. “this never happened in any rebirth cycle. i think we got close to it once— during a battle so hateful that six servants perished... alongside the both of us.”

you feel him gulp under your palm. 

“but maybe this makes sense,” you continue, speeding up your pace. “in every lifetime, you never learn to love. in every lifetime, you rip love from me. we’re a sorry doomsday pair.”

he moans under you, biting his bottom lip as you milk him between your walls. “fuck...”

“i wonder what would happen if we tried to be partners this time,” you say, high rapidly approaching as the head of his cock hits the sweet spot of your upper wall. “maybe we have what it takes to cooperate with each other. not to mention, we could do this whenever we wanted...”

“but... but imugi wants you to kill—.”

“oh no, the killing you part is all me,” you say with a laugh, the vibration making him whimper. “i really hate competition.”

“fucking— please,” he whines, hands rushing to your hips and guiding you up and down as you start to lose yourself. “kill me if you want, just... let me cum before you do.”

you oblige. he moans sweetly, another few thrusts and he’s spilling himself inside of you. as you feel yourself fill up with his warmth, you reach your climax— back arching as you ride out your high.

you look at him. why are you the only one burdened with eternal memory? you’re astounded by the way he grows more beautiful in every life. 

thank you. he smiles, one eyebrow raised. “does my beauty save me from death?”

you capture his image in your mindseye for another moment, leaning down and connecting your lips to his. it’s a tender thing. in no lifetime have you deserved it. 

when you pull back, you smile and shake your head. “i’m afraid i still desperately yearn to kill you.”

“i don’t believe you,” he says suddenly, hands helping him upwards to a seated position. almost-human eyes meet almost-human eyes.

you blink back at him dumbly. what?

“i don’t believe you, because... i found them,” he says, claws tracing up your incandescent, scale-covered thighs. “in your top dresser drawer. in a blue velvet sachet.”

no. wait. don’t say it. please, don’t say—

“the stones,” he says, a charming and devastating smirk on his perfect lips— eyes flashing yellow just for a moment. quanrui. ricky. imugi. no matter how hard you fought it, you loved them.

all of them.           /              all of them.