#production red chickens

[overlysarcasticpolls]

Round 1: Match 5

Video Links:

Blue

Star Lord Mao

[supercantaloupe]

tjs pre prepped veggie kits are a game changer

[track2hack]

18.08.2024

I’m in me mum’s car

Vroom vroom 🚗

[hooksbackyardpoultry10]

[buffetlicious]

Hot on the heels of KFC’s Hot Devil Drumlets is McDonald's Singapore’s Sweet Paprika Chicken McCrispy (S$6.80 for two). The darker shade of orange comes from the sweet and flavourful mix of spices of paprika, red bell pepper and black pepper. It had a nice crunch when you sink in the teeth followed by slight kick of spiciness and sweet aftertaste. While not as spicy as the competitor, the balance of spices and sweetness win me over with its smoky flavours and crunch.

Also new on the menu is the Watermelon Cone and Twist Cone. Got the Watermelon Twist Cone (S$1.20) since it looks better on camera and also because my colleague warned me about the sweetness. The faint taste of watermelon is evident as I licked the ice cream cone. While McDonald's tried their best to imitate the sweetness of the watermelon, it came through as cane sugar saccharine and not the fruity sweetness of the actual fruit. This dessert is not to my liking.

Selected images and video from McDonald's Singapore.

[jontheblogcentric]

VIFF 2023 Review: It's Only Life After All

It’s Only Life After All is an intimate and personal look at the Indigo Girls and their long career of establishing themselves as musicians. Not just female musicians. Before I saw the documentary It’s Only Life After All, I wasn’t really a fan of the music of the Indigo Girls. If you like music, this is a documentary that will keep you intrigued. The film begins with Amy Ray and Emily Saliers,…

[dhanrajenterprise]

Agro Products & Commodities Supplier & Exporter

[jorjin]

I definitely support you guys but ngl seeing Americans complain about the price of protein is very "you guys are eating any protein that's not chicken breasts???"

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[pizzapizzadickz]

Random fun facts b4 bed! Whoo!!!

I never rly realized just how severe my pickiness is. Bc. I'll eat anything. I love food. I love trying food too. Buuuut, if im at home I won't eat many foods. Lettuce, most raw veggies, I like chips but hate how they get stuck in my teeth (i avoid a lot of similar foods), and i hate it when I toast things too much and all the skin on the roof of your mouth just says "im outta here"). There's probably more but this is an example. Oh also i hate food touching (I'm fine with it when it's at restaurants tho bc that's how it's supposed to be so it's okay). And when I do go out to eat (and try something new), I generally like picking it out beforehand or I take a while to decide everything I want. I love that places have online menus now bc I often just decide using that.

Also I've been stimming a lot lately. Probably bc ive been tired. But I wonder why that tends to cause it? Probably bc it's a self soothing behaviour. How neat.

[j-psilas]

Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

[goodhorse413]

There are many reasons why beef is the least evil meat by a large margin from a utilitarian perspective, which is why I get really frustrated when well-meaning influencers like the green brothers advocate reducing beef consumption and replacing it with chicken for purported environmental reasons. No! Stop! You're half-assing in the wrong direction! That's worse than what you were doing before!

A hot and only very tentatively endorsed take is thst if yr reasons for being vegan/vegetarian are really the "do not incentivise torture", democracy-of-the-dollar, maximally econbrained utiliarian ones about how grocery store purchases are conceptually indistinguishable from commissions, its prooooobably fine to eat beef specifically? If yr usamerican? Simply bc so few cows are killed per food unit and the gigantic subsidies are likely to drown out the actual consumer demand in the calculations. Would need to look up some more on the economics of beef production again but this is the conclusion i rember coming to. Which is convenient bc beef is the tastiest meat

Unfortunately, my own correct reasons which you should also adopt are entirely distinct from these ones and apply equally to cow and chicken (the most utilitarianly evil of all meats)

[megamindsecretlair]

Sweet Escape, Part 1

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, suicide, depression, power imbalance. Mentions of blood, knife, and violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. With freakish threats escalating, you turn to your stoic bodyguard, Terry, in hopes that you’ll finally feel safe and like you belong.

Word Count: 5,102k

AO3 Link

A/N: I know we all have bodyguard Terry on our brains so here's my contribution! I'd love to know your thoughts on the angst, I wanna get better at it. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You felt like a damn doll. You’d been plucked, prodded, lifted, and separated so many times, you felt like you were melting beneath the studio lights. This was the last interview of the morning and you were ready to slip back into your slippers and call it a fucking day. 

As production assistants flittered around like chickens with their heads cut off, you scanned the room. The lights prevented you from seeing much, but you were able to make out your best friend and manager, Mirage, and your personal assistant, Joya standing by the monitors. Mirage gave you a thumbs up and you sighed.

Mirage knew you inside and out. She giggled, knowing that you wanted to turn all this shit over by now. They wanted you to be here on time but the messy host, A’Kierra West, was nowhere to be found. And if there was one thing you hated, it was to be kept waiting. 

A makeup assistant came up to you and blotted you with a napkin. You smiled at her. “Thank you,” you said. 

The assistant blinked and got startled and you lifted an eyebrow at her. You’d been nothing but nice so you didn’t know where that reaction was coming from. The assistant fled from the stage and you put it out of your mind.

You bit the corners of your cheeks to keep from exploding. Right as you were about to call out to Mirage, A’Kierra waltzed into the room in a cloud of hairspray and her defining feature, her big ass boobs. The boobs preceded her into the room, tucked into a too small red dress that was better suited for clubbing than a talk show. 

A’Kierra took her sweet, precious, slow time making her way to the stage, stopping to talk to the directors and producers, before finally gracing the stage with her presence. You stood up, since it was technically polite, and gave her the fake Hollywood kiss to both cheeks. 

She smelled like an old white lady at Macy’s. The cloying, flowery scent tickled your nose. You wrinkled your nose and sniffed.

“It’s new! I’m so glad you love it. I’ll send your assistant a bottle!” A’Kierra said. She grinned, showing a row of veneers too large for her face. You smiled to keep your face from showing your true emotions. This bitch was nuts.

“Thank you! I can’t wait!” You said and sat back down in your seat. “So we did the promo and the commercial, now we just do the whole intro and get into it,” A’Kierra explained.

“I’ve done a few of these,” you said.

A’Kierra laughed, the shrill sound like nails on a chalkboard. Her deep brown skin glowed with shimmery lotion but it only served to make her look washed out in the dress. Whoever was dressing her must hate her. 

“Yes, but you’ve never done my show before,” she sniffed. A makeup assistant floated onto the stage out of the shadows and touched up A’Kierra’s lipstick. “Thank you, darling. Make sure my coffee is nice and hot when we’re done?” 

The director emerged between the cameras giving his final notes on the taping. He instructed you to be natural and relaxed. You glance slid towards Mirage who hid a grin behind her hand. The phone that was permanently glued to her hand hid most of her face, but you already knew what she was laughing at. 

Optics…Optics…

The director counted down and then the popular theme song of the show played. The audience you couldn’t see began clapping loudly, wildly, as if you were on stage for a concert rather than an interview taping.

A’Kierra cued up the questions Mirage had you go over earlier. You handled each question well, playing to the crowd, and leaning into the persona you crafted for the world. The carefree, girl power, rah-rah, confident diva with strong knees and an even stronger pair of lungs. 

“But what do you say to all of these mommy coalitions calling for your head, saying you’re a bad influence on their children? Saying you’re over-sexed, lewd, and not lady like at all?” 

It was only your media training that kept you from unleashing your pent up fury. You giggled and shook your head. This was not in the script. “What do you mean?” You asked, giving yourself time to answer. 

“Some may say that the rise in your career also gave rise to all these conservative groups, using you to fund their message of protecting their children from your explicit lyrics and lifestyle. It’s no secret that girls and young women look up to you. Is this really the message you want to send out?” A’Kierra smirked, leaning back in her seat. She crossed her legs, and tapped her notecards against her knee. 

You smiled and chuckled. “I’d say…I’m not responsible for your kids. Maybe if they spent more time paying attention to what their kids are listening to than up my perfect ass, there wouldn’t be an issue. I promote self-confidence for adults. I make grown music for adults. At no point have I ever claimed to be a role model for young girls and I’m not responsible for what these mommy coalitions think of me,” you said with a sweet, saccharine grin. 

A’Kierra kept a smile plastered to her face but there was more than enough ooh’s and aww’s coming from the audience. You stared A’Kierra down, communicating with just looks. She blinked first, clearing her throat and organizing her cards. “Well, that’s certainly a take!” A’Kierra said and laughed along with the audience.

You giggled with her, feeding into all the fake bullshit. This was the last show you wanted to be on. But the optics. Fuck the fucking optics. This show trafficked in gossip and rumors, more focused on catching people on lies and half-truths than speaking about something normal. 

Once the cameras stopped rolling, you waved to the audience and then removed the mic pack from your hip. You passed it to the nearest production assistant, wanting to be free of wires for a long, long time. Well, at least until your next city stop.

Mirage and Joya fell in step beside you, going over the next few items on your list today. When you were done here, you had a small promo shoot for the next city you were going to be in. It’d been a while since you were in LA and you were looking forward to the In and Out burger you were going to inhale at the first chance you got. 

By the door to the studio, your heart skipped a beat looking over the scrumptious, delectable piece of meat you had for a bodyguard. Terry Richmond came highly recommended through the agency you typically used. You ran through their sorry excuse for bodyguards like a kid went through candy. 

But Terry was different. From the first meeting, he was completely professional, calm, and courteous. He didn’t bullshit you with flattery, he didn’t flirt to get with his dream girl, and he treated you like a normal person. That alone had you saying yes before the ink could dry on the contract. 

Add in the fact that he was a former Marine and prepared for…just about everything, you’d felt safe in his presence in a way that you hadn’t with other bodyguards. You didn’t know what led him to this position, but you were glad fate was looking out for you.

“Careful Mr. Terry, stand any straighter, and your back might hurt,” you said. 

Terry stood ready with his hands in front of him, one hand holding the other wrist. He dressed plainly in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, showing off huge, bulging muscles. He slanted his ever-changing eyes towards you but there was no other sign that he heard you. 

He went through the door first, taking his job a smidgen too seriously. “Would it kill you to talk, Mr. Terry?” You asked.

Joya handed you your phone and you absently went through your texts as you walked. “No, ma’am,” he said. 

You nearly faltered in your steps. He actually answered. You shook your head in amazement, feeling a thrill that he was in a chatty mood today. You glanced up from your phone to watch his ass move in his jeans. 

He was unreal. A fantasy in a male body that he honed to perfection. Bless his genes, seriously, because there wasn’t a single flaw on the man. 

“See, we’re almost having a conversation,” you said. You handed Joya back your phone with your thanks and followed Terry to the greenroom. You couldn’t wait to take off the fugly silver outfit. Why were you so damn shiny?

“We have plenty of conversations, princess,” he said. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his back. He called you that when he thought you were being a little shit. He approached your dressing room and entered first, doing a quick scan for any potential threats. You waited in the cramped hallway for his inspection to get done. He emerged back out turned those sinful eyes on you. 

“It’s safe to go in,” he said.

You smirked at him. “Try not to miss me for the thirty minutes it’ll take to get all of this off,” you said. You tilted your head at him. Terry blinked at you. You sighed.  “You’re no fun!” 

Terry’s lips lifted in the corners. “I’m plenty of fun. Thirty minutes,” he said, his rich, deep voice soothing. 

“Yes, sir,” you said. You gave him a stern, no-nonsense nod and grinned at him. He did the little smirking thing of his and let you walk into the room with Joya and Mirage hot on your heels. 

Once the door closed, Joya collapsed against the door frame with a wistful sigh. “I wanna pass out every time I get near that man,” she said, fanning herself with the planner she always carried around. It suited her more to write all of your appointments down rather than inputting it into a digital calendar anyone could hack. She never put the thing down. You half suspected that she slept with it under her pillow.

All of the safety measures were sweet, but after a month of no contact from your supposed stalker, you were starting to feel out of sorts. Like this life wasn’t real and you were watching your life pass by on a television set somewhere in a white room. 

The first thing you did was take off your platform heels, sighing as your feet sank into the plush paisley rug. “Zip, please,” you said to Mirage. 

Mirage chuckled at Joya and helped unzip the tight dress you wore. Air returned to your lungs with every inch gained and you sighed again. “He really is too pretty,” Mirage said quietly. 

“Too damn pretty!” You agreed. That was definitely a concern for you when you met up with him. But after twenty minutes of conversation, you were able to glean two things from the mysterious Mr. Richmond. For one, he didn’t play, ever. He was as stoic as any soldier you’d ever run across. And two, something happened to him. Something…soul changing. 

Maybe it was a lost love, maybe it was a personal tragedy. Whatever it was, it made him immune to you. You flirted, you teased, you harassed the man. And he kept his attention on guarding your body. Like you hired him to do. 

You pouted as you approached a cabinet in the room that stored your real clothes. Next to it, there was a clothing rack with outfit choices that you had discarded. Thoughts of how you could get under Terry’s skin kept you occupied as you opened the cabinet doors and shrieked at the gruesome sight before you. 

Your clothes were cut up to shreds, a confetti of fabric at the bottom of the cabinet. Joya and Mirage joined you and shrieked in their own horror. There was a replica mask of your own face staring back at you pinned to the door with a large, very illegal knife. Blood – or god, what you hoped wasn’t real blood – dripped from the mask and down the cabinet door.

The mask was uncanny. One of the most realistic ones you’d ever seen. Terry rushed into the room, gun in his hand but pointed towards the floor. He scanned the room with a flick of his eyes, immediately moving in front of you, and shielding you from the mask. 

It was too late. The image was already burned into your retinas. His massive back took up your field of vision, but due to the black t-shirt, it only let your mind drift. Your mind’s eye recalled the mask in every finite detail and your stomach turned with churning bile. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you whispered. 

Terry closed the cabinet with his elbow, turning around to you. You looked at him, just in time to feel dizzy. Your knees buckled and Terry caught you, yelling to Mirage and Joya for a doctor. 

Terry hefted you into his arms and left the room. Outside, the cold blast of air in the hallway shocked you enough to not slip into unconsciousness. Terry positioned you on the nearest crate.

The air in your chest began to boil, clawing its way through your clogged throat. Distantly, you knew that you were hyperventilating. But all you saw was your own face. Your own soulless slouched face, rubbery, with makeup stains on the teeth, and a giant knife through the forehead. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Terry said. He grabbed both sides of your face. You grunted, trying to shake your head. Trying to shake him off of you. His foreboding presence was screaming for you to run. 

“Breathe. Breathe, princess,” he said. 

You groaned, turning your head away. You couldn’t stop seeing it. Your face. Your face. Your face. 

“Count with me. Six, two, four, nine, one, five,” Terry counted.

“What?” You whispered. Terry tightened his grip on your face and forced you to look at him. His startling light eyes bore into yours. 

“Count. Six,” he said. He was so close that you could count every single one of his long, pretty eyelashes. 

Your body shook uncontrollably. A lone tear dripped from your eye and you rubbed it away. “Don’t do that. Let yourself feel it,” he coached.

You shook your head. “Never cry,” you whispered. You narrowed your eyes at him. Whatever he saw in your eyes, he backed off. He nodded. 

“Count then. Six, two, four, nine, one, five,” he said.

“Six…four…”

“Start again,” he said.

He repeated the numbers easily, remembering whatever asinine digits he wanted you to repeat. You needed away. You needed to be free. You groaned and jerked in his hold. The image of your face twisted and melted in your eyes. Turning your memory into slush. What was even real anymore?

“If you can’t do it, I’ll start with three numbers,” he said.

You huffed as you turned your attention back to him, repeating his damn numbers. You had to slow down, had to think about which number came next. Nine and one were the easiest to remember. For some reason, you kept wanting to throw a seven in there.

When you were able to repeat it three times without stopping to think, Terry lowered his hands from your face. You shivered at the lack of contact. His big paws covered your entire face, generating heat. Now that you no longer had it, you felt colder than ever. 

Another tear threatened to fall but you were much calmer now. Better able to hold back the raging tempest inside. Later. Later you could break down. But it wouldn’t be here.

“Who would do…”

“Someone who doesn’t know the difference between a fantasy and a reality,” he said. 

It was quiet in the hallway. The studio was on the other side, down the hall. At the T-instersection where you were, there weren’t even assistants carrying things. It was just the two of you. 

Terry stood directly in front of you, pushed in between your legs so that he could bend and cup your face. Now, you were acutely aware of how close he was. How his chest rose and fell as if he were the one calming down from the scariest shit of his life. And you were the one who found a fan had attempted to kill himself in your swimming pool a month ago. This far surpassed that harrowing night.

“I just wanted to sing. I wanted to stop being invisible. I never asked for this,” you said, the back of your eyes burning with the need to cry. You hadn’t cried in years. The well had long dried. And now twice within Terry’s presence, you wanted to break down and lay it all at his feet.

“You were never invisible,” he said softly. 

Terry gave you a look you couldn’t quite describe but knew instantly. Almost like for a brief moment, he knew you inside and out and didn’t flinch. You cleared your throat and straightened up a little. You grabbed the front of your dress and crossed your arms. The air from the closest vent blew across your back and made you shiver.

Mirage jogged down the hallway with a paramedic close on her heels. She was scrambling, practically in tears, as she ran down. Terry cleared his throat and stepped back, finally turning those crystal eyes away from you. The spell he’d woven broke, stealing your breath. 

You took a deep breath to get it back and fended off Mirage after she clung to you, telling you how worried she was. “I’m fine, babe, I promise,” you said. You waved off the EMT and Terry pushed the EMT forward.

“Let him do his job,” Terry ordered. And for some reason, that didn’t bother you a bit. You shut your mouth and stared at Terry while the EMT went through his preliminary workup. He shined light in your eyes, asking you basic questions like your name, age, and where you were. 

You answered all of his questions, without attitude. For once feeling like you didn’t have to come out swinging first. The EMT cleared you for shock, telling you to get some rest. “I have a photo shoot to keep,” you said, shaking your head. 

“Not anymore,” Terry said. 

“You don’t get to make that call,” you shot back. The EMT looked between the both of you, the subtle daggers you were throwing each other. The EMT quickly put up his supplies and slipped from between you and Terry. 

“I’m tasked with protecting you. Let me,” he said. 

You hopped off of the crate and watched two officers arrive, stepping into your dressing room with security guards from the studio. You stood up straight and pulled on that bitchy persona you were known for. You wore it like a well-used coat, broken in and comfortable. 

“Your job is to guard me wherever I may be. I only have a few more stops on this tour and this incel isn’t going to ruin my dream. If that’s going to be a problem for you, I can call your agency,” you said. You looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. Wondered if you were able to fool him after he’d gotten a peek behind your four inch thick walls. 

Terry leaned back, his stare turning hard. Judging. Your lips parted on a silent gasp. “No need. We’re clear,” he said, his voice just as hard as his eyes. Cold like diamonds. His jaw flexed and he stared straight ahead, giving you a blank, thousand yard stare.

Joya ran into the hallway, pushing past looky-loos and producers. Everybody had a phone out. It’d only be a matter of time before the press caught wind and accosted you outside. You couldn’t leave in this stupid dress. 

Joya finally poked her tiny head up from between the gathering crowd. She held a bag in her hand and handed it to Mirage, leaning over to grab her knees and huff. “Emergency stash,” she huffed.

“You’re a genius, Joya,” Mirage said. 

You avoided Terry’s gaze as you walked further down the hall to a different dressing room. Terry cleared this one first, moving about the room more thoroughly than he did the last. He opened the cabinet and you flinched, half expecting another doppelganger staring at you. 

Nothing jumped out so Terry brushed past. “All clear,” he said. 

He closed the door and you sighed, closing your eyes for a brief moment. That was bitchy of you. Hella bitchy and he didn’t deserve it. You paid him to worry about your safety. You snorted. You were paying people to care about you now. That’s how far you’d fallen. 

“Dare we ask?” Joya asked. 

Mirage turned to her, making a cut it out gesture. “You can say it. I was mean for no reason,” you said. You peeled the silver dress off of your body and shivered. Felt like shedding snake skin. That was the last thing you needed to visualize. 

“It wasn’t…not..for a good reason,” Mirage said.

“It was out of line,” you said. You didn’t typically feel guilty this soon after pulling the diva card. It usually took a few days. After you were half deep into your favorite bottle of wine with only Mirage and Joya as your company.

Joya handed you a pair of leggings, an oversized orange sweater, and a pair of socks. You quickly got dressed, pulling your hair into the best ponytail you could manage. She handed you a hat and a pair of sunglasses. You sighed, feeling more like yourself. You liked dressing up in your costumes for the tour, liked getting pretty like the dolls you used to play with. But there came a time when you just wanted to pig out in a pair of sweats or shorts. 

You slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and Joya draped the silver dress over the back of the couch. She took out her planner, flipping to a sticky pad that she scribbled a note on. She stuck the paper to the door of the dressing room.

Terry looked you up and down, noting your wardrobe change. He looked at Joya and nodded and she giggled breathlessly. 

“Look, Terry,” you began, ready to own up to what you did. 

“We’re good. Stay on me, okay?” He asked. 

You nodded. Terry used his full height to stalk down the hallway. You avoided looking at your dressing room. At the…you were going to be sick. Your stomach twisted as you passed the room, passed the police. 

“I already talked to them. They know about the, um, you know. They won’t need to question you,” Mirage said.

“Thank God,” you said. 

Terry pushed and ordered people to move as he led you out of the studio and to the black truck parked in the connected parking lot. He opened the door for you and you paused before climbing in. 

“I’m sorry about what I said. Truly,” you said. Terry’s eyes defrosted a fraction. He glanced at you and nodded. 

“We’re good,” he said. 

You nodded and hopped in the car. Mirage and Joya hopped in on the other side. Terry walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in, pulling out of the driveway just as the first news cameras were arriving. 

You sighed and leaned against the backseat. “Great thinking, Joya,” you commended. 

“Thanks, but it was Mirage. She made the point that the press was going to have a field day and I took off,” she said. She had her pen and phone out, staring down at your calendar. 

“I called ahead and told them that we were going to be late because of what happened. They said they can move the shoot if you–”

“No. I can’t slow down,” you said. Your schedule was held together by glue, paperclips, and chewing gum. Together with Mirage, you managed to carve out true rest periods. Slots of entire hours where you didn’t have to go anywhere, didn’t have to smile at this, or endorse that. 

Your mind drifted back to what you told Terry in the studio. All you ever wanted to do was sing. You watched countless videos of your favorite singers, sung your heart out whenever you had the chance, snuck and took singing lessons because you knew that this was where you wanted to be.

Hollywood never showed the uglier parts. The parts where it felt like there would always be a thousand hands crawling all over your skin. Thousands of fans taking it too far. Sending you disturbing videos of either their tiny dicks, feet, moles, chest hairs, or telling you how much you sucked at singing. They said you were overrated. Mannish. Too full of yourself. Every one of them had a different fantasy of you in their heads. Every one of them wanted a piece of you. And whoever this maniac was, they weren’t going to stop until they succeeded in killing you. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. It might be time to step down from singing for a while,” you said.

“What! Noooo. Why? Because of this loser?” Mirage asked. 

“It’s everything. I’m just so tired,” you whispered. Terry’s eyes flicked to yours in the rearview mirror. Your eyes burned again and you looked away from him. Curse him and his damn hypnotizing eyes. 

Terry got you to the photoshoot without breaking any traffic laws. But he was close. He escorted you to the door, a steady presence the entire way. No one was getting through Terry. That thought put you at ease as you turned your mind off and went back to the doll everyone wanted you to be.

Hours later, Terry was at the receptionist’s desk at the hotel coordinating your move. You were switching hotel rooms, again. You were packed up and loaded up into the truck, again. You were checking into a different hotel, classier than the last, under a different name and was once again in the elevator with Terry by your side. 

He hardly carried a duffle bag. A small thing that looked silly bouncing against his big ass. Terry escorted you to the room, dropping his bag to the floor. He unsheathed his gun and pressed it close to his body. 

“Wait here,” he said. He opened the door with the keycard and let himself in first. He turned on the light and swept through the entire suite, checking behind every nook and cranny. You followed behind him anyway. Even if your stalker did manage to find the place, there was no way he had enough time to set a trap. 

Terry came back into the foyer and stopped up short when he saw you looking at the complimentary wine bottle. You read over the standard hotel note. “I told you to wait outside,” he said and put up his gun. 

“I’m tired and I want to lay down.” You waved him off. What you really wanted to do was take a hot fucking bath and bawl your eyes out. The “later” had finally come and you wanted to break down in peace. 

Terry moved to the door and grabbed his duffle, bringing it inside. He closed and locked the door, putting on the safety latch for good measure. He slung the duffle over his shoulder and walked to the adjoining suite door. He opened it and then stopped across to his side of it.

“I’ll be right on the other side if you need anything,” he said. You leaned against the open door and gave him a small smile. 

“Thanks, Terry. For today,” you said.

“It’s my job right?” He asked.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?” You asked. 

Terry smiled tightly, like he wasn’t quite used to it anymore. “Not a chance, princess,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes again, pinching your lips together to keep from smiling. All it did was bunch up your cheeks and give away the rising heat in your cheeks. “Goodnight, Mr. Terry,” you said.

“Goodnight,” he said. He closed the door and you stood on the other side of it. Wondering what it must be like to know him intimately. To know what made him smile or laugh. What made his eyes light up with joy. Or what brought such sadness to his eyes. 

You wondered what it would be like to fall into his arms, easily, readily, and have him embrace you like you were the most precious thing in the world. For a brief moment, you let yourself daydream. Let the fantasy take shape in your mind.

That was a much more comforting image to hold onto than the crushing weight of the day. You turned away from the door, heading to your side of the suite. You entered your room and ran yourself a bath.

The room steamed up with heat from the bath you ran. The clawfoot tub was pristine, with an ornate faucet. The rug underneath felt like clouds. You focused on the strangeness around you. 

The few trips you did take were nothing like this. You stayed in nice hotels, hotels your family was able to afford, but not like this. It didn’t stink like mold. The opposite. There was some kind of subtle, expensive perfume in the air. 

The bathroom was so spacious, you could fit three clawfoot bathtubs in it and still have room left over. You were in the lap of luxury and it felt like a gilded cage, designed to keep you in a perpetual state of “other”. Temporary. In the world but never of it. 

You turned off the hot water and swirled your hands through the foamy bubbles. It was the perfect temperature so you took off your clothes, threw on a bonnet, and sank in. The heated water was a welcome balm, soothing the tension you carried in your body. 

The tears came too easily, just under the surface. It slipped down your cheeks and you finally let yourself break down. Allowed yourself to feel the stress and loneliness of the day. You had one of the most horrific days of your life and everybody who mattered already knew about it. 

There was no one to vent to. No one who wasn’t already on your payroll. And to be honest, that hurt most of all. 

Ya'll know what I'm about. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: This skyrocketed LOL. I love ya'll, so so much!

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

@monaeesstuff @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @charismablu @playgurlxoxo

@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter @yamst3rdamctrl

@steampunkprincess147 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @theblacklewinsky @soft-persephone @notapradagurl7

@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[binniesbooks]

• SANDWICH

TXT 019 .F05 2024

wc 6.8k

pairings Nickjudyz!TXT x fem!reader

warnings reader was described as poor, Yeonjun and Soobin being loaded, growing alone, self relieving, oral sex (Soobin receiving), slight cum eating, squint to see some fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink if you squint once more, pet names, degradation, boob kink for Soobin if you squint again lol, bigcock!Soobin, bigcock!Yeonjun, virgin!reader, threesome, double vaginal penetration (hit me up if I forgot something)

faye's note took me not only a week to finish this! Omg! Nevertheless, HAPPY 100 FOLLOWERS! Thank you so much guys, I love you all! 😭❤️ Please continue on supporting me and my fics. I promise to hold an event soon if we reach another milestone :> Cheers🥂!

Growing up alone, you've done everything to survive. Even when you were still a child, you worked for yourself. Doing laundry for the neighbors, helping the market vendors, walking pets—doing anything just so that you could earn a small profit.

Now that you're a college student, you've been hired by the school cafeteria due to the dean's empathy. You have a small space in the cafeteria for your small business, selling sandwiches. Every break time, lunch, and when you were vacant, you would quickly make your way to the school cafeteria to sell your products. You've been selling other foods too, like juice drinks and chips, but mainly sandwiches.

You would always wake up early in the morning to prepare everything you needed for your products.

"How much for a sandwich?" A tall, handsome man stood in front of your stall while you were busy cleaning your table.

"2 500 won, each," you smiled at the guy before you.

"I'll get two, please," he said as he pulled out his wallet.

"I'll just wrap it!" You cheerfully answered, not wanting to show how tired you are.

You're basically tired, not just today. But just tired of your whole life. Many times you tried ending it, but you always chickened out. And nothing changed. You struggle with your daily life. You can barely pay rent and your other bills. If it wasn't for the financial assistance given by the school dean and your side hustles, you surely wouldn't have been able to manage.

"Thank you! Enjoy your snack!" You cheerfully thanked the guy as you bowed down.

"Hyung! Come get your snack!" You heard the tall male call for someone over the other side of the cafeteria. Your gaze moved towards the other male. He's a little shorter than the first one. But he has a quite pretty face: pouty lips and captivating eyes. Handsome, yes.

"Yup! They're our seniors. They're also known as the Nickjudyz." You later found out from your friend that they were your seniors; they are a year older than you, and they were both scheduled to run for the presidential position on the student council for the upcoming election. Not that they wanted it, but actually, the campus dean had assigned both of them to different party lists at that. So basically, they didn't have a choice at all.

"Nickjudyz? What does that mean?" you questioned.

"You haven't heard of the animation movie Zootopia? They were the epitome of Nick the Red Fox and Judy the Rabbit," your friend explained. "Yeonjun's features were like those of a fox, and Soobin's a rabbit. Aren't they cute?" she added, giggling.

So the taller one was Soobin, and the one with sharper looks was Yeonjun, you understood now. "Nickjudyz..." you mumbled.

That night, you watched Zootopia, taking notes on the characters. And the next day, your sandwiches were Zootopia-themed. You were really waiting for the two of them to come and buy from you again.

However, luck was not on your side. When you weren't able to see them around, you felt sad. They were the reason you made your sandwiches Zootopia-themed.

You were about to close your stall when the shorter guy, Yeonjun, was running towards you. "Sandwich! Two!" he shouted with a wide grin. "Uhm, do you still have some?" He scratched the back of his head, realizing you were about to close your stall.

"I, uh, kept two pieces, actually. I thought you might come again." You hesitated at first.

"Nice! We just came out of the dean's office, and we hadn't managed to eat anything, you're a lifesaver," Yeonjun sighed in relief, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket.

After those times, you always got to sell your sandwiches to them. You even grew closer to them thanks to the short interaction you get to share with them every day. Sometimes, Soobin would be the only one to come, sometimes, it's just Yeonjun, sometimes they are both standing in front of your stall, buying themselves a sandwich. They became your regular customers.

"How about I recruit you to be my secretary on my party list? I still haven't recruited my secretary yet," Yeonjun suggests when he buys from you again one time.

You didn't know why you answered, though. It's not like you actually wanted to be a part of the student council. Maybe it was because of his pretty eyes and his cute pout. "I-i'll think about it."

He smiled and went away, skipping.

The next day, Soobin also suggested the same. "I already recruited her, Soob." Yeonjun wrapped his arms around the taller guy.

"Hyung, that's unfair!" Soobin pouted, only for Yeonjun to chuckle. "Oh! I have an idea!" he exclaimed.

"And that is?" Yeonjun looked at him, confusion written on his face.

"Why don't we let her choose from the two of us, instead?" Soobin chimed.

You froze from wiping the glass cabinet for your sandwich. "Wait, you're actually letting me choose between your party lists?" you asked, stunned at Soobin's suggestion. The two males just nodded at you.

Yes, you had built some connections with them. You can even consider it friendship, well, that's what they've said to you too. But to choose between the two of them to support, you think it's unfair. Especially since they were both good friends to you.

"Gosh, how can I? It's unfair," you groaned, Yeonjun chuckled.

"You can just think about it, but remember that if you don't choose me, you'll tear my heart apart," he pouted.

"See? That's what I'm saying! I don't want anyone of you to feel bad," you sighed, spraying Yeonjun with water from your bottle sprayer.

Soobin hummed, sipping on the canned soda in his hand. "Maybe you can choose if you got help from the both of us," he suggested.

"Come to think of it. Lately, I've been too busy with my business that I wasn't able to catch up again on some of my activities." You sat down on your chair, removing your apron. "Since you're both my seniors, how about you teach me?" you added.

"Like, tutor you or something?" Soobin said, turning over to you. You quickly nodded. "I might consider your request if you do so," you grinned.

Long story short, Soobin and Yeonjun both agreed on giving you a tutoring session.

It's been almost a week. The session went well. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just them teaching and assisting you.

You always do your sessions at the school's library or the town's public library. Anywhere but your house. You know the three of you won't fit in that small studio. Considering they are tall towers, you often tease them with this, in which they often rebut you that you're just short.

"Should we end it here today? I mean, I still have a part-time job to go for at 6," you glanced at your phone secretly—the screen broke and an old model—you don't want them to see that, at least.

Actually, they were far out of your league, even just as friends. Sometimes, you would even think about not showing up near them anymore, but guilt would always eat you up. They've been so good to you, they like to help you out at your stall sometimes when they are free.

"Say, how many side hustles do you have? I don't mean to offend you, but why do you need so many jobs?" Yeonjun, showing his little curious side, tilts his head a bit. Is he confused? Maybe. Is he mocking you? No, his eyes doesn't tell you that.

You sighed, not wanting to hide your situation anymore, not with how his curious eyes were boring holes in your face. "For weekdays, I go to school, and work at the cafeteria for some time," you paused, looking at Soobin, who was staring at you too for a while now. "At 7, I work at a convenience store down my street, and clock out at 12."

Soobin's eyes were full of concern. "Do you even have time for yourself? Time to study? Time to rest?" he shoots.

You shook your head and continued to speak, "I study for a bit, and I sleep before 2, then wake up at 6 again to prepare for my business, given that our class starts at 8 in the morning."

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Yeonjun frowns after knowing you could barely rest.

"It does not end there yet," you chuckled. "On Saturdays and Sundays, I work at a cafe from 6–12 in the morning, work at the laundry shop from 1-4 in the afternoon, head straight here for our sessions, and catch a night of restaurant work from 6–11."

You could pick their jaws off the floor. You chuckled at their reaction. "Are you still alive? Tell me if I'm talking to a ghost..." Yeonjun hugs himself dramatically. "Hyung, don't be like that." Soobin slaps his shoulder, emitting a whine from the older man.

"I should get going now, see you on Monday!" You quickly got up to your feet and waved at them as you ran outside.

That Monday, you saw yourself working with the two males at your stall. They were the ones selling your sandwich. And since they've got the face, the reputation, and all, your sales suddenly skyrocketed. You needed to run to the nearest store near your school to buy what you needed to restock.

"Achoo!"

"That's your 99th time sneezing today, little angel," Yeonjun said, without turning to face you, still busy cleaning the glass cabinet.

"I'm okay, don't worry - Achoo!"

The next day, you were nowhere to be found. The sandwich stall was not open and no sneezes could be heard.

"Bin, I just realized... We actually have no way to contact her," Yeonjun was tapping his fingers on the cool steel table of your stall.

"I wonder what happened to her," Soobin sighed, rummaging through your stall, foolishly hoping to find some way to contact you.

"Let's go to the faculty, I have an idea," Yeonjun suggested.

"What? No, we can't disclose any information about students to other students, so no," the school administrator declined his request.

"Pleeeasseee, sir," Yeonjun begs, only to be declined again.

"Uhm, she's... She's my secretary for the election, so I need to have her information, at least," Soobin butts in.

"Your name?" The admin asked Soobin.

"Soobin. Choi Soobin, sir."

The two of them quickly ran out of the faculty as soon as they got what they needed. Quickly excusing themselves from their respective classes, claiming they have some emergency to tend to.

You woke up to the irritating ringing of your doorbell. You were not expecting any visitors today.

"Goodness, who could it be..." You stood up only to fall back down on your bed again because of dizziness. You felt the drilling pain on your head again that you had felt since last night. You shiver, pulling your jacket to yourself, yet you can feel yourself so sticky because of sweat.

"Who is--" Your eyes widened the moment you were met with two tall guys standing in front of your studio. You quickly slammed your door and leaned against it.

'What the hell are they doing here?! How did they find me? Oh my god!' You panicked, screaming inside your head.

"Angel," you heard Yeonjun whisper, "Can we come in?"

"H-how did you find where I live?" you asked. Dumb question. They could just ask around the faculty. "Dummy," you whispered to yourself, facepalming yourself.

You opened the door and peeked at them. "Hi, hehe," you awkwardly smiled at them.

"C-come in..." You opened the door wide, welcoming them to your small studio.

"We're gonna let ourselves in," Soobin mumbled, removing his shoes from the doorstep.

Their eyes were welcomed by a small bed that could barely fit two people in the corner. A small study table is beside it, stacked with books and a broken phone on top, and with a small dresser near the bed.

A single-seater dining table on the other side with some instant foods and a portable stove.

Their eyes roamed a little more. A closed door, they assumed, was the rest room, just sat near the doorstep.

"I... I don't think my place is enough to fit the three of us..." you fidgeted, sitting on your bed as your head spun again, making you shut your eyes tightly.

"You were sick after all," Soobin commented. "I'll just go out, I'll come back quickly," he said as he carefully stepped out of your place.

"So... This is where you live?" Yeonjun sat on the chair at your dining table. You meekly nodded. "All of those side hustles for this place?" he added.

You know he does not mean to offend you once again, yet you felt yourself getting embarrassed. "I barely survive... Even from those multiple part-time jobs. N-not to mention that—cough, excuse me.. I am paying loans too," you explained as you lay down on your bed, feeling your body burn up again.

Your gaze returned to Yeonjun when you heard him talk.

"Buy cough medication as well, Bin. And, oh, a few fruits too if you don't mind."

"Why are you looking for me, by the way?" you asked, pulling the blanket to cover yourself.

"We were worried, of course. How can we not? Plus, we weren't able to eat a sandwich today," he smiled, even though he knows you're not looking at him.

Yeonjun stood up. "Towels," he said.

You looked at him confused. "Huh?"

"Where are your towels?" he asked himself.

You pointed at the dresser, "Lowest part."

"I can't believe my tongue didn't taste any of your sandwiches today, angel. Do you know how much I crave for it every day?" You heard the water running in your restroom for a moment.

Yeonjun gently pats the wet towel on your forehead, wiping your face as well. He even hesitated at first to wipe your neck, shaking his head in the process.

"Don't you have any classes?"

"We do, but we excused ourselves. What can we do? We have an emergency at home," he smiled at you.

"Dummy, this ain't your home, Mr. Pouty Lips," you chuckled.

"Why not? Look, I even have a patient here at home," he says, tucking your straying hair behind your ear. His hand gently grazed your face, and you unconsciously leaned on his cool hand.

"Your hand feels cool..." you mumbled, squirming under the blanket. He then cupped your face, gently rubbing your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel relaxed beneath his touch.

"Pretty little angel." His voice was faint, even lower than a whisper.

"I'm back." Yeonjun snapped his head towards the door as Soobin closed it behind him. "How is she, hyung?"

"She fell asleep, she's burning hot, though." Yeonjun placed the towel on your forehead. "Hey Bin, you know how to make porridge, right? We should at least make her something warm."

You woke up again, but this time it was because of resounding murmurs filling up the small room.

"Hey angel, you're up?"

"You're still here?" you grunted as you tried your best to get up, receiving a helping hand from Yeonjun.

"You have to eat," Soobin says as he walks towards you with a plate with porridge in a bowl. "It's still warm, you'll feel better," he adds.

Soobin sat on the side of your bed, still holding the plate. Yeonjun stacking your pillows for you to lean on, as he ordered you to scoot back.

"Open your mouth y/n," Soobin scooped a spoonful of porridge.

"I can do it, you know," you chuckled.

"Please let me."

Soobin fed you the porridge he cooked. Yeonjun was at your table, peeling and slicing some fruits. "You should've taken care of yourself more," Yeonjun nags.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pouty Lips," you said as you flashed a smile at him. "I don't have any choice but to work."

You have been sick many times, but no one has ever been there to take care of you. No one cooked for you but yourself. You buy medicines alone, even when you are burning up. You needed to do your chores even when you got too dizzy to stand up. "I'm grateful to you two, this is the first time I have experienced being cared for."

And that's when they realized they needed to take care of you. That's when it registered in their minds that they needed to stay beside you. You're their precious little angel, whom they needed to take care of. A fragile person who still needs someone to be their companion.

"We're heading home for now, okay? We'll be back tomorrow, please rest a lot." His once captivating eyes were now full of worry, and his pouty lips became more pouty as he talks to you.

"Go now." Your smile wasn't forced at all. It was genuine. Your heart thumps as you recall how they took care of you. You were floating on cloud nine.

Yeonjun walked outside first, and Soobin stopped midway, turning back as he quickly tracked back towards you. "If anything happens, call me... please," he handed you a small note in which you assumed was his number.

Yeonjun came back the next day early in the morning just to see Soobin cooking breakfast while you were sitting on your bed like you'd've been awake for the past few hours.

"Is this why you weren't answering your phone?" he asked.

"Sorry, hyung, y/n called me in the middle of the night. Her temperature went up," the taller man sighed.

Yeonjun sat beside you, placing his hand on your forehead. "Do you feel okay now?" he asked as he cupped your face, his face merely an inch away from yours. You nodded, but you didn't even pull back. Maybe it's because his cool hands were on your cheeks, or maybe you were just feeling too hot. You actually don't know. All you knew was that you were feeling butterflies from his touch.

You watched how his pretty lips parted, how his tongue glossed his lips.

Which is to blame? You, who maybe, have a tiny crush on him that makes you wanna kiss him? Or Yeonjun, that may or may not be, doing this on purpose while his face was way too close to yours?

You tightly shut your eyes. Were you assuming a kiss?

"Angel, food is ready," he announced, standing up from your bed.

You opened your eyes, and you watched him look at Soobin, as they seemed to talk with their eyes.

"I'm glad it's Saturday today. There's nothing else to do." Soobin stretches his feet, plopping down on your bed after eating. "I feel so sleepy," he muttered, his eyes fluttering close.

Yeonjun lay beside him, closing his eyes with a smile plastered on his face. You, on the other hand, just came out of the bathroom.

You placed your hands on both of your waists. "How am I supposed to rest now? You're hogging my bed."

Soobin pretended to snore as he let Yeonjun hide on his back, trying to hold back his snickers.

Maybe you could let them rest. It won't hurt to let them rest after receiving a lot of favors.

"I have a test this coming Thursday, I don't know if I would be able to pass the test," you sighed, poking at the watermelon slices Yeonjun placed in front of you.

It's been more than a week since you were sick. You were now invited over to their place for your tutoring session. It only occurred to you that they're not just friends, they were roommates too.

"You can do it, I know you can, you've been studying a lot," Soobin cheered, stopping for a while from writing in your notebook.

Yeonjun picked up a piece of watermelon barehanded, making it touch your lips. "How about a little gift if you pass the exam, little angel?" he suggested, "Aahh," and asked you to open your mouth at the same time to feed you.

His fingers grazed your lips a little more than expected, and he proceeded to lick his fingers with the left-over juice of the watermelon. "What do you say?" Yeonjun leans forward to you, his hands propped on the table in their living room.

You meekly nodded. No noise, just a simple nod and a lip bite that didn't escape Soobin's and Yeonjun's sight. "W-what gift though?" you asked, trying to straighten your posture.

"Soob, any suggestions?" He peered towards the taller male, only for Soobin to answer with a "Shhh, secret," and a smile.

Yeonjun chuckled, ruffling your hair. "Surprise, little angel, it's a surprise."

You were aware of their subtle advances, actually. Especially how clingy and touchy Yeonjun was. But you were just letting it slide. You don't give it plenty of attention.

But you have already admitted it to yourself. You're swooning over them. They're your good friends, though, and that's why you kept on pushing your lingering feelings back.

The session went well that day too. Not to mention that you're no longer rushing because they already asked you to drop some of your side hustles. You were hesitant at first because how are you going to pay your bills now? But you ended up listening to them and their pouty request. How could you say no? Why would you dare say no, rather?

Thursday came quickly, and taking the biology test first thing in the morning felt like walking on fire and broken glasses barefoot. You could feel the sweat dripping down your forehead and your heart thumping. You even called all the saints, gods, and goddesses you knew to help you answer the test. If looks could kill, flies would be all over your teacher's body.

The following day, your test papers were given back to you. You were too scared to open the folded piece of paper. That's why you kept it like that between the pages of your notebook. You even brought the notebook with you when you went back to your stall to sell your sandwiches.

In the midst of the crowd at lunch, you saw the two tall guys walking towards you once again. As if on cue, they waved at you the moment they met your eyes. You could clearly picture bunny ears and a foxtail over their figures as you chuckled to yourself. "Silly guys," you whispered to yourself.

Soobin was the one who noticed the notebook on the side. He was trying to fan himself with your notebook when your biology test results came flying out from your notebook.

"What's that?" Yeonjun asked as he saw Soobin opening the folded paper.

"Woah! I knew you'd ace the test y/n," he exclaimed, making you snap your head towards them with a confused look.

"Did our surprise gift make you motivated?" Yeonjun taunts, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

"T-that... I..." You were out of words. From what Yeonjun had said and from knowing you actually got a perfect score from your biology class, which you dearly hated from the start.

"It looks like we need to give here our prize, hyung," Soobin smiled. They look at each other knowingly. They know what you deserve. "Shall we head out first?"

Yeonjun and Soobin head home first, ahead of you. They said they wanted to take a stroll at the mall to buy something as your prize, and they just told you to head straight to their place tomorrow afternoon.

You were able to sleep soundly that night. Knowing that you can ace tests only if you focus on your studies. You felt proud of your achievement, given that you don't usually do well in your biology class. You even planned on making the two guys a special-made sandwich to thank them for their work. However, you were actually planning on turning down their request. You couldn't stand choosing between the two of them. You would rather back down than choose.

You were actually expecting something more of a material gift. Maybe a book, a chair, or something you could use inside your small studio. And the gift you were about to receive was the last on your list.

"Fuck princess, why are you so good," Soobin hummed while guiding your head.

"You should be more gentle, Bin. Remember, she still needs to choose who she wants to serve under," Yeonjun chuckled while caressing your dainty finger as he placed your hand on his tenting bulge.

You glanced at your hand on his bulge, and your gaze went up to his eyes. Yeonjun tilted his head, "What is it, pretty angel?"

You swore, and your stomach swirled. Little did they know, whenever they called you these names, you felt a little weaker in your knees.

How did it happen that a visit to their place would end up with you in their bedroom?

You rang the doorbell at their apartment's door, clutching onto the paper bag of the special sandwich with a wide smile on your face. Yeonjun opened the door, rubbing his eyes. He looks like he just woke up from an afternoon nap. Until you realize he's not wearing a shirt. His bare and toned body is displayed in front of you.

"Hi angel, sorry, we were asleep. A friend visited earlier and got us drunk," he apologizes. "Come in."

"Fuck, my head is spinning," he muttered to himself.

"Uhm, should I just come back next week? Do you want to rest for now?" worry and nervousness were visible on your face.

"No, please come in. You don't mind taking care of us too, right?" he smiled, picking up the bottles and cans on the table.

"Where's Soobin?"

"The room over there, do you mind waking him up? I'll just clean this." Some takeout boxes were scattered around the floor, and spilled drinks and sauces were also around.

"Soo-"

"Ahh fuck, y/n... More... You feel so good... Ahh.." You were stunned when you pushed the door open. Soobin was sitting down on the side of his bed, clutching the hem of his t-shirt up to his chest, while he gently stroked his shaft.

"C-come on pretty... I n-need more..." Soobin lolled his head back, letting go of his shirt to use his other arm to support his body as he tightly gripped the bedsheet.

"D-do you need h-help?" You actually don't know why you asked it. You should've just closed the door and pretended that you saw nothing.

Soobin peers over you, "Fuck, didn't know you're already here... Shit sorry, I need you y/n." His lower lip caught between his teeth, sweat forming on his forehead as his fringe sticks.

Like clockwork, you slowly managed to get near him.

"But... But I think you're drunk... I don't think this is right..." you chirped, trying to fight your desires with reality.

"I'm sober. I swear, fuck.. How can I not be when all I can think about was how you," he paused, pressing down on his slit, "Fuck!" He looks up at you once again, "All I can think about was h-how you m-moaned my name when you c-called me that night." He was once again reminded of how you moaned and chanted his name, calling for help, your pants, and heavy breaths when you called the night when your temperature went up.

A pinkish tint washed your face as you thought about how you did your best to call him.

You slowly knelt down between his legs, not breaking eye contact. Your hand slowly wraps around his cock as he draws back his hand.

"You're so p-pretty. I'm sorry I'm m-making you d-do this." You shook your head and flashed him a smile.

"Y-you want this?" Soobin raised your hand to stop you for a while.

"I.. that.. probably..." You weren't able to form any coherent words about how scared you are to admit you have a little crush on them.

"Please. Please tell me you w-want this t-too, If you-"

"I do. I-I do want this. No, I want you, actually... You... And Yeonjun too. Just.."

"Just?"

"It's just that, I can't admit it. You're both good friends of mine. I can't afford to lose our small friendship just because I like the both of you," you bit your lower lip as you retract your hand and place them both on your knees, preparing yourself to receive some hate comments.

"How am I supposed to hold back after knowing you want me? Oh god, you'll be the death of me..."Soobin caressed your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his length.

You look up at him, your eyes full of innocence made him curse all the non-liviing things from hell.

"W-wanna fuck your throat so bad, princess," Soobin muttered, rubbing his shaft on your cheek.

"She's so pretty, I want to ruin her." Your gaze flits toward the voice, it was Yeonjun. He was leaning on the doorframe, watching the two of you exchange a little talk.

"Fucking pretty, hyung. And smart too. She deserves a gift, right?" Yeonjun nodded with a smirk playing on his pretty face.

"She's a good and honest little angel, she deserves a good gift."

Yeonjun marched his way towards the bed. The bed dipped under his weight when he sat beside Soobin.

And this was when you found yourself in that position, between Soobin's legs and reaching for Yeonjun. The sandwich on the paper bag, long forgotten, was splayed on the floor.

You lightly rubbed your hand on Yeonjun's pants, making him hiss under his breath. Your eyes flitted to Soobin, you watched him alternate between biting his lower lip and gaping his mouth.

"I-i'm gonna... y/n, 'm close-- Fuck!" Soobin's hips stutter, stilling for a while inside your mouth. Hot liquid sliding through your tongue.

"C'mere," Soobin quickly pulled you up, crashing his lips on yours.

"Let him taste himself, pretty," Yeonjun taunts.

You lightly open your mouth, letting some of his essence slip through your lips, swallowing the remaining on your tongue. Soobin moaned in your mouth, teeth almost clashing at each other, lips swollen from biting.

Soobin pulled away, his forehead on yours, chasing his breath. "God, it tastes weird," he mumbles.

You felt a hand on your waist, it was Yeonjun's. He was guiding you to sit on his lap.

"Make me cum."

You left a peck at Soobin's lips once more before straddling Yeonjun. Not wanting to be left behind, Soobin tugged at the hem of your shirt. "Can you remove this?" he asked, eyes begging.

You quickly slip out of your shirt. A red hue paints his cheeks as he tries to reach out for the strap of your bra, snapping it open.

Yeonjun then pushed your hips down on him to feel you, making you startled. "Mmhh, feels good, fuck," he sighs. His pouty lips look so delectable as you see him gape his mouth.

Your eyes don't want to leave Soobin, giving him a few glances as he strokes himself languidly while watching you.

"Pretty, never thought you could do something like this, you're not as innocent as you look, yeah?" Yeonjun's eyes were flying towards Soobin, as if asking for some approval, as he continued to guide your hips to grind above him.

"She's dirty, hyung," Soobin chuckles.

"I-i'm not, ahh-" you tried to retaliate, only for Yeonjun to buck his hips up.

"If you're not, then why are your nipples so perky?" Yeonjun smirks, rolling your nipples between his fingers, emitting soft whines from you that made Soobin leak out once again. Of course, he was reminded once more about that night.

"Look at her grinding above you even if when you're not holding her waist, hyung," Only then did you realize that Yeonjun's hands were no longer on you. You're moving on your own accord. No guidance at all.

You felt shy as you stilled your hips, hiding behind Yeonjun's neck. Were you this desperate? Were you this dirty? Just like what they've said?

Yeonjun lifted your skirt, landing a soft spank on your ass, making you yelp at his neck. "Why'd you stop?" He then squeezed your ass as he landed another spank.

Yeonjun raised your body for a bit, only to see how wet his sweats were. It's not from him, of course. You watch the ends of his lips curl up.

"Baby, look at the mess you've made," Yeonjun coos. Soobin reaches for your skirt to unzip it. Your baby pink underwear has now turned dark because of how wet you are.

You bit your lower lip as you look at Soobin, eyes glossy, seeking help, and cheeks beet red. You wanted to cry out of embarrassment.

"Oh, look at my pretty angel, Bin, she's about to cry."

Soobin chuckles, "Don't make her cry, hyung. You're such a menace."

"Continue moving then, save your tears for later," Yeonjun remarked, letting you drop down on his lap once again.

"No, baby, I'm not guiding you. Move on your own," he added as he shook his head when you still didn't move. Oh god, the embarrassment you've been feeling ever since you've stepped inside Soobin's room.

You grab both of his shoulders as you dance above his lap.

"Fuck w-wait, that's --" Yeonjun's hand flew over his mouth to clutch on it, his head lolling back with only a single arm supporting his body.

If there's something Yeonjun considers a weakness, it's when a girl moves in a circular motion on his lap. And you hit the jackpot on your first try.

A few more moves, and he found himself convulsing underneath you. His eyes were blown up when you looked at him. He looked so fucked out. Quickly moving to his side, he also looks down at his lap. You both witnessed how the wetness of his cum stained his sweats. The gray color slowly darkened as the liquid spread out.

You were the one who initiated the kiss this time, giving his pouty lips wet kisses, to which he responded back with a weak hum while he held your face.

Soobin pulled you back over him. "Sorry y/n, can't just stay still and watch you with him." Soobin discarded his shirt on the floor.

"Stop hogging her to yourself, Bin," Yeonjun chuckled at the younger's action and words.

Soobin carefully laid you down on his bed, latching his mouth on your boob, while he gently massaged the other one.

"Move over a bit, baby, need to feel you," Yeonjun lays down on his side beside you, flipping you to turn sideways. Soobin was still sucking on your chest while he moans out his hunger for you.

The pouty guy hugs your waist, littering love bites on your neck. Leaving splotchy red marks all over your nape and shoulder.

You never thought about having an active sexual life, given that you're too busy and focused on making ends meet. Let alone having two guys at the same time.

The tall guy in front of you leaves the same thing around your cleavage while he humps on your thigh. His shaft feels heavy on your skin.

Yeonjun's hand trails down your waist to your clitoral area, rubbing in a circular motion to hear you whimper his name.

"Y-yeonjun," you whimpered under your breath.

"I'm here, focus," your hips jerked when he slowly slid his finger inside your pussy only to pull it out again.

"Bin, wanna stretch her out? I want to feel her already," he grunts. The taller male complied, he scooted up and raised your leg.

"So wet, damn," he dipped his fingers inside you, and just like Yeonjun, he quickly drew it back, giving his fingers a lick to taste you.

"She's sweet, hyung, holy shit. But as much as I want to taste you, I also want to feel you around me, y/n."

The first stretch felt like your body was being torn apart. You quickly lean your head toward Yeonjun, and your hand reaches back. Fingers tangled on his blonde hair as you give it a pull, mouth agape at how big Soobin feels inside.

"So wet 'n tight," Soobin grunts as he keeps on pushing inside you.

"H-hurts! S-soob, it h-hurts!" you cried out as you reached for him, clawing his chest.

"I'm only h-halfway inside, mmpp!" Soobin winces at the pain from your scratches and how your pussy snuggled his thick cock. He holds your face to drown your moans and cries in his mouth as he quickly pushes inside you.

He pulled away as both of you pants as if you had run a hundred miles.

"Y-you're choking me," Soobin moves a little, making you whimper once more.

"B-bin you're t-too big," you pout.

You felt something poking your entrance once, making you peer over to your back. You were met with Yeonjun's fucked-out gaze.

"Need to feel you," Yeonjun shuts his eyes as he pushes slowly.

"W-wait! I can't! Ahh! Hurts!" You thrashed around, making Soobin moan with the pressure.

"S-stay still, y/n!" Soobin hugs you closer to him, "We will all get hurt, stay still, fuck," his abs clenched with how stimulated he was. He signaled Yeonjun to continue pushing in.

Your mouth latches on Soobin's shoulder, biting on his open skin.

"Fuck!" They shouted in unison. Soobin felt the sting of your teeth sinking into his skin, but he tried to endure it. Yeonjun, on the other hand, felt how tight it was inside you.

The two males stilled for a while. Letting you get used to their sizes. Their shafts aren't a joke. Girthy. Long. Thick. Something that would definitely stretch out a tiny pussy like yours.

"'m sorry, angel, sorry..." Yeonjun whispers while he caresses your waist. Soobin planted kisses on the top of your head, your teeth are no longer sunken in his shoulder. But you felt weak between them. Your small and frail body looks like a paper stuck between two big books.

"B-bin, move. S-slowly please," you pleaded as you looked up at him.

His gaze softens as he looks at you. "Why do you have to beg so prettily? I might cum just looking at you," he says, catching his lower lip between his teeth. He then raised your leg once again and started to move slowly. His grunts, your whimpers, and the squelching sound resonate inside his room.

"Angel, who thought that selling a mere sandwich would end up with you being sandwiched between me and Soobin, hm? So fucking good," Yeonjun grunts as he starts to thrust from behind. "You're so tight, baby, fuck."

Soobin tried his very best to stay as quiet as possible, just letting small yet slutty moans, whines, and whimpers. The friction he felt from your wet pussy and Yeonjun's length at the same time was too much for him. He knows he won't last long, but he silently challenged himself not to cum yet.

"You're so greedy, princess. Look at you taking two cocks at the same time. Greedy and dirty."

"My angel is such a whore. A cock slut," Yeonjun snickers, grunting afterwards when he thrusts again.

"Tight virgin pussy."

Their words made you dizzy. Dizzy enough to unconsciously chant their names alternately. Your hands are flying everywhere, clawing and clutching anything within reach as they litter your body with a lot of red marks.

"Please please please wanna cum, please I wanna cum!"

"Oh, you're asking for permission?" Soobin questioned.

"Fuck, are you into begging, pretty?" Yeonjun grunts behind.

"P-please let me cum, I'm gonna-- please!"

You yelped when you end up squirting because of how they simultaneously thrust inside, making you feel stimulated.

"What a dirty girl, for real," Yeonjun sighs, kissing your shoulder.

"Wanna cum inside her, hyung," Soobin was gripping the plush of your thigh as he continuously thrust.

"N-no! Please! I'm not taking a p-pill!"

"Please baby, we'll take care of you, we promise," Yeonjun's hand wrapped around your neck, his thrusts becoming more sloppy.

"Please, wanna fill you. Wanna fill you so bad with my cum," Soobin's nails dug on your skin as he held your thigh tightly.

Yeonjun's grip on your neck made your mind cloudy, and you nodded at whatever they were saying. Not sure about what you were agreeing to.

"H-hold it, Bin, i-i'm close too."

You were a moaning mess. Dizzy, mind hazy, eyes cloudy. Your body was limping as you felt hot liquid spurting inside you, along with guttural moans and deep grunts coming from the two males.

"Sorry," you heard them apologize and slowly pull out before your eyes flutter.

Maybe this gift could be the best thing you ever receive in your entire life.

And a cleanly wrapped small box was sitting on the edge of Soobin's table.

@binniesbooks 2024

taglist: @babymochibeargyu @beomiracles @lizibizi @inkigayocamman @izzyy-stuff (tagging sum of my fave moots and friends 😖💞)

[hooksbackyardpoultry10]

Rhode Island Reds are celebrated for their versatility, being equally proficient as layers and as sources of meat. They are a testament to American poultry breeding ingenuity and continue to be cherished for their practicality and reliability in backyard flocks and small farms. https://hooksbackyardpoultry.com/

[heartkaji]

　 ★…𝐀𝐓𝐋4𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 ?! ❞

୨ৎ synopsis. blue lock characters but they’re hood. based on the atlanta lock ! tiktok trend.

୨ৎ includes. bachira meguru, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, otoya eita

୨ৎ notes. this has been in my drafts since july cuz ive been procrastinating, hope it’s not too late to post this 🙏

★ BACHIRA MEGURU— LIL SMOKEY

“shit, we making it out the hood with this one y’all ! run the track again—fire flame flow productions ain’t neva miss.”

you roll your eyes as bachira daps up isagi.

you’ve been here for an hour & you can feel your eardrums beginning to rot like dead peaches. bachira raps over a beat you swear you’ve heard from lucki, but he’s quick to shush you when you bring it up. you cross tired arms over your chest as the music winds up and bachira starts his verse again.

“pretty bitch, yeah she got me seein’ stars, like it when i thrust, fuck her all the way to mars,”

isagi whistles. you contemplate suicide.

“she think that i’m loyal but i switch my bitch like cars, new whip every day and no i’m not just penning bars !”

“type shit !” isagi calls. you still in your seat. what ?

your chest swells with something akin to rage. you were already exhausted, ears wilting at the boom of the bass. bachira’s been redoing the same verse for hours, but you’d never paid attention to your boyfriend’s lyrics till now. you march over to the sound panel and shut it down with closed fist.

“bachira meguru—!”

“fucking hell, woman ! the fuck did you do that for—?“

you march into the booth and slap him silly.

bachira looks back at you with mouth agape and red tinged cheeks. his face is blood drenched and you almost feel guilty but you tighten your chest & straighten your back.

“what the hell did you just say, meg ?”

“what are you on about—“

“don’t play with me right now, meg. word to my mother i’ll slap y’ left cheek too. fuck you mean you riding a new bitch every day, huh ?”

bachira groans, rubbing at his cheek. “god, those are just lyrics ! you tripping for real—“

you slap his left cheek.

“you think you’re future or something ? fucking try me meg. you’re lucky i know you don’t actually have the balls to cheat. change those lyrics. now.”

bachira mumbles something under his breath before marching to the sound station. a boyish giggle breaks the quiet, and you shoot a glare at yoichi, causing silence to envelope the room once again before bachira revs up the track.

“she know that i’m loyal cuz i treat her like a star, call me yuki chiba man, ‘watashi wa star !’ ”

★ ISAGI YOICHI — YXNG EGOIST

“yoichi, you were raised in a gated community. you do not have opps.”

isagi clicks his tongue. the sound is muffled under the wool of his thick balaclava, but you manage to make it out regardless. “you don’t understand, princess. just keep watch for me, alright ?”

“yoichi.”

you heave your third sigh of the evening. you and isagi were at a high end restaurant for a date, but suddenly you wished you were home. you’d been looking forward to having dinner with the busy striker all week, but now that you’re here together with you in a fancy dress while he sports a thick balaclava, you can’t help but feel embarassed.

“yoichi i’m literally begging you to take that off.”

isagi lifts the chin of his mask to sneak a bite of chicken with his fork. he quickly takes a sip of water before dragging the mask back over his lips, eyes darting from side to side to scope his surroundings. he breathes a relieved sigh. “i think i’m safe for now..”

“alright, i’m going home.”

“huh ? what — no, babe, i’ll take it off, come back !”

★ NAGI SEISHIRO — SUGARHILL SEI

“riddle me this, sei. how the fuck your bank account low but your ass getting high ?”

you and reo stand arms crossed over a faded nagi, his eyes blood tinged & cheeks hot & swollen. his breathing is labored as he fits the blunt to his lips to take yet another drag.

“cuh i ain’ even got time fuh dis forreal. y’all mothafuckas just be bouncin’ on my dick fo’ no reason man.”

“what the hell is he saying ?”

“i think he’s speaking ganglish ?”

“oh hell no.” reo snaps his fingers over his head, “i rebuke every spirit of hoodlum in you, bro. what the fuck nagi, is this what you’ve come to ?”

nagi rubs his forehead & for a second he bears an uncanny resemblance to travis scott. “cuh i ain’ even—“ FWAM !

reo dashes a hot slap to nagi’s cheek. the red handprint glistens against his pale skin & your palms fly to cover your gaping mouth. “reo ! that’s—that’s too far !”

“stay out of this y/n,” nagi lays limp on the room floor, his eyes rapidly blinking with his mouth agape. “this is just the beginning. if we don’t correct him now, he’ll start dressing like a carti fan before you know it !”

reo hops unto one foot, aggressively tugging a chancla off the other. he turns to nagi.

“sorry bro, i don’t wanna do this,”

“cuh—“

FWAM !

★ SHIDOU RYUSEI — MR. FREAK

“gyattttt”

“i’m breaking up with you.”

“no mami i’m sorryyy,” shidou drawls playfully, arms circling your hips. he tugs you closer to him so you’re pressed flush against his skin.

“respectfully asking you to wear these ‘forbidden tights’ more often, ma. this recoil is insane.” he makes a slurping noise and you question your existence.

“ryusei—“

“boing !” shidou chuckles to himself as he slaps your ass. the flesh is soft in his palms and he’s about to indulge his intrusive thoughts once again before you slap him with your purse.

“shidou ryusei ! in the public eye ?!”

“government name is crazyyy.”

“i’m going home.” you begin heading towards the exit with a noisy shidou calling after you, “bae come back ! it was just jokes !”

★ OTOYA EITA — LIL’ FLOCKA

“nah cuz what you know about ken carson for real though.”

you groan for the third time today. “eita it’s enough.”

“no babe i’m just sayin,” he rubs lazy circles along your hip bone, lips pressed lazily against the back of your shoulder, “since you wanna be lip syncing to unreleased ken, you must know more about him than i do, right ?”

“oh my fucking god. literally who said that ?”

“no but you implied it. look at you posting yoself singing with your big ole’ tatas.”

“eita i’m literally gonna leave you for karasu right now.”

“nah nah chill it’s just,” he swipes through your story, clicking his tongue when he notices you’ve posted yourself to yet another underground artist, this time thouxanbanfouani. he bites his inner cheek to stop himself from asking you to take your story down.

“you don’t get him like i do, you feel me ?”

“congratulations otoya. the fuck you telling me that for ?”

“take your story down.”

“we’re over.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload