“Life Itself” This one actually started off as a dark, slow, moody track. Quite insular. But eventually we realized there was a cheekiness to the lyrics that we hadn’t really explored, so we injected a sense of optimism into the music. The character that this track is about is a sci-fi obsessed dude who spends most of his time alone inventing strange things and writing stories about ray guns or looking for aliens on Google maps. We made him a website. But that’s what the chords and sound effects were inspired by. Old sci-fi films/series. I also got a bit obsessed with Lollywood music (music from Pakistani films), and thats where the idea for the drums came from.
“Youth” The idea for this one came from a story someone told me once. They were telling me about their child, and something awful had happened to them. She was crying—but at the same time the memories that they had from that previous life made her so happy—so she was also smiling. That combination of emotions kind of made me feel like my heart was being ripped apart but also optimistic in a weird way. She had found a way to see happiness in this awful thing that had happened to her. That combination of emotions is what this song is getting at. Have a look at this character’s website, too.
“Season 2 Episode 3” Everyone knows someone like the character from this song. If you don’t, then it’s you. But there are lots of references to different psychedelic cartoons in this one—sonically and lyrically—including Adventure Time. That show is crazy.
“Pork Soda” I heard a homeless man talking to someone once and say ‘pineapples are in my head.’ In retrospect, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually those words, but I thought it was at the time, and it kind of stuck with me. The opening of the song is meant to sound like you’re outside on the street, and you can hear a group of people chanting this song. The drum sounds are made from old bins and trash pieces of metal I found around the studio. Kind of like those street drummers use. All that is meant to set the scene for the story.
“Mama’s Gun” I don’t use samples very often. I only like using them if they bring something to the table, aside from just music—a context and a further depth to the actual meaning of the song. This song is mainly about mental health, and I remembered this song by The Carpenters called “Mr. Guder.” It fit the atmosphere musically, while the song “Mr. Guder” itself was about an odd character of sorts, and then on top of that, Karen Carpenter’s story added another dimension to the lyrics. if you don’t know the story, you should look it up. It’s important and very sad, and it started a general social dialogue about mental illness which is to this day still a subject matter that we avoid far too much.
“Cane Shuga” This is the only track on the record that didn’t start with lyrics and vocal melody. It started with the beat and the heavy drums. I let the beat spin and wrote stream of consciousness lyrics through a vocoder for this one to try to capture a certain mentality you might have when you’re a bit fucked up. When you start speaking what seems like gibberish—but maybe that gibberish is actually quite revealing.
”[Premade Sandwiches]” This is a spoken word interlude. My favorite word in the album is in this: “McFuck.” It’s something that someone’s gotten at McDonald’s. Here it is used in a sentence: “What the McFuck are you eating?”
“The Other Side Of Paradise” This is musically my favorite track on the record, I think. The chords are quite bizarre, and there are some mad arrangement and structural things going on. And the beat was super fun to make. It’s gonna be fun live!
“Take A Slice” This track is about someone with a lot of lust. It’s as sleazy as I’ll ever get in lyrics. But everyone has that inside them somewhere, even if it’s only a tiny bit. And it comes out from time to time. For some people, it’s out all the time.
“Poplar St” This song is meant to open with a kind of musical/lyrical image of a place. A little guitar hook and a floating vocal line that all seems quite peaceful, but things get more and more twisted as the song goes on. The guitar starts doing weirder things, the music builds tension, and then the whole thing flips on it’s head at the end. And you find that maybe that place isn’t what you first expected it was.
“Agnes” As soon as I started writing it, I knew it would be the album closer. This is my favorite song on the record. And the saddest song I will ever write.
summary: typical new student AU; they’re in a new school and need a guide and you’re so graciously volunteered. though, there is something strange about that new girl, min yoonji. something you want to figure out.
warning(s)/kink(s): cross dressing, slight feminization, pet names, a little spanking, rough oral sex, semi-public sex, protected sex, hair pulling, slight dirty talk
songs: my hump – black eyed peas ; bang bang - jessie j ; attention - charlie puth
dedicated to: this is a suuuuper late b-day gift for my friend @1namkook i’m sorry it took so long, i had the illest writer’s block with it
Has anyone else wondered if the reason Allen is directionally challenged is because he should be wearing glasses like Past!Allen?
He can’t see for shit and somehow it’s slipped his knowledge that glasses are correctional tools for the eyes and thinks they’re just fashion statements of dignity or something.
And like his arm when it was paralyzed, he just got use to living with everything a giant blur. Timcanpy is always easy to keep track of, being such a bright gold. Cross’ red hair was always a beacon and Lavi’s too. Link’s blond is bright enough and the man’s usually in arm’s reach anyways.
Don’t kiss me; I taste like shattered glass. My past isn’t your fault, but hell, if I don’t go out of my way to make it seem like that. I can’t help but feel like I’m failing you. Maybe we’re failing each other. Maybe we’re both failing, separately. I’m starting to accept the possibility that one day, I will hear love songs and think of someone that is not you. But you stain every chord of my favorite songs; it can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
It can’t fade.
The English language is shifty and inarticulate; love is too many things. I can’t tell if this is love, or if I just want it to be.
HEY! It was @whoacanada‘s berfday yesterday! <3 Here’s a little something for you. I hope you had an amazing birthday! xoxo
Sometimes, it’s really hard for Jack Laurent Zimmermann to concentrate when Bitty is in the room. Back at Samwell – and well, most of his life, really – Jack had been able to keep his mind on one track. Focused. Trained.
But then, he found big brown eyes watching him with timidity, with curiosity, with friendship, with love, with lust… and then all bets were off. And if he’s honest with himself, Eric Richard Bittle made him stumble and lose his concentration well before that first kiss in Chowder’s new room.
Having dinner with Lardo and Shitty, as Bitty retells his latest baking escapade and Shitty slams the table in a fit of laughter, Jack can’t hear a single word because soon he’s just thinking about Bitty’s lips, the way Bitty will stop and bite his lower lip in between words. And well, that leads to him thinking about Bitty’s mouth, his tongue, the oh-so-talented things Bitty can do with that tongue.
“Isn’t that right, Jack?” Bitty asks, abruptly bringing Jack back to the here and now.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, Bits. Absolutely!”
Bitty studies Jack briefly, then smirks knowingly and continues.
“Anyway, so there I was with this yeast rising and…”
Jack sinks into his seat feeling foolish and in love.
When Jack comes home from a run, and Bitty is still gorgeously laid out in bed, sound asleep, it’s all he can do to not climb into the bed with him. Jack swears he’s on his way to shower, but then gets sidetracked by the tangled bedhead that sighs into the pillow, by the way Bitty’s lashes flutter as he dreams (probably of pie and music and sunshine, Jack thinks) and he finds himself walking toward the bed ready to climb in.
But then he remembers how sweaty he is in all his post-run glory. He loves Bitty too much to subject him to his funk. So Jack sadly shuffles toward the bathroom, only to be distracted once again before making it inside.
Sometimes Jack wonders if he’s obsessed with Bitty.
Is it normal to want to be with someone all the time, to want to see them every single moment, to want them to be happy above all else? He once heard Alicia tell Bob that Jack is so in love with Bitty, if they were ever to break up, Bitty would be fine eventually – but Jack would never recover. This worries her.
It worries Jack, too.
“Is that… a pie?” Bitty asked in awe.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not really. Just tender.”
“Jack Laurent Zimmermann. That is both the craziest and sweetest thing!”
Jack beams when he sees Bitty face.
“I cannot believe you got a pie with my name tattooed over your heart.”
Jack can’t believe it either… and yet he absolutely can.
Anytime he makes a goal, and he knows Bitty is sitting in the family section of the arena, he skates past the glass and points at Bitty.
It’s silly. Jack knows it’s silly. But how else will Bitty know that each goal is for him?
He writes a love letter a day to Bitty, but never presses send. His draft folder in his Gmail is filled with confessions his heart makes but is too shy to actually say outright. One day he’ll be brave again and press send.
In the meantime, he’ll press kisses into Bitty’s lips every chance he gets.
It’s their tenth year anniversary party, and Jack has their son sitting on his lap grabbing a fistful of cake and shoveling it into his tiny mouth, while their daughter dances next to them both.
Jack laughs as Bitty walks in and tuts, as he smiles and wipes the small face before him.
“Maybe you should be paying attention to that boy, instead of looking at my legs from across the room, hmm?”
Jack blushes and nods, “Maybe if you’d finally stop wearing those tiny shorts…”
“And what, have you stop drooling? It’s almost as if you don’t know me,” Bitty sassily replies.
Jack knows this is all he’s ever wanted, all he’ll ever need, his life is complete in a way he never thought it could – or would – be, and he knows he is a lucky, lucky man.
He smiles as he watches his husband sashay out of the room.
summary : nothing beats winter in new york, except maybe walking to school in the snow with a certain peter parker.
wc : 2.4k
author’s note : tags are under the read more and ik it’s august but it’s winter in my soul !
There were people who dreamt of a Christmas in New York. People who sat by their windowsills, gazing past the confining glass screens and wishing to one day set their eyes upon a town blanketed by a mass of snow. In the city, it was a sight to behold and cherish. You go to Rockefeller Center and look up at the tree, lit with hundreds of lights and looking like a dream, and your Christmas in New York is complete. It was a thing of fiction for many people, but for you, it was the harsh reality.
You were not yearning for a white Christmas the way some people would. You were, however, hoping that your parents would surprise you with an impromptu vacation to the Bahamas for a month while the snow in your beloved city melted to more of a slush, whisking you away to a paradise where you were not forced to trek through the piles of snow surrounding your apartment building as you attempted to make your way to the nearest A train.
It was a miserable day, to be quite honest. You had forgotten your hat in your apartment after you had scrambled to get out of bed, you had underestimated the temperature outside and so you were wearing way lighter a jacket than you should be, and your jeans were soaking wet due to the way you had sunk knee deep in a pit of snow. This was absolute bullshit and you were ready to march back home, prepared to draw up an essay as to why you shouldn’t attend class that day until Peter Parker practically ambushed you in the middle of the sidewalk.
He had ran nearly a block to try to catch up with you. Peter had been waiting to take the train with you and walk with you to school for nearly two weeks now, but he had never gotten out of his apartment early enough, and if it wasn’t for his profoundly excellent eyesight, he probably would’ve spent another day walking alone. The sight of a boy dashing down the street with his jacket blown open by the wind and a ridiculous hat pulled down over his ears was enough to make anyone laugh, but you had been too preoccupied with fuming to hear his thunderous footsteps behind you. He nearly knocked you over when he finally caught up to you, his cheeks rosy from the bitter wind nipping at his face as he ran and his breath coming out in harsh pants.
“Oh my God!” You whipped around, taking a step backward and holding a hand to your heart. He did a little shrugging motion, somewhere between an apology and pleased with himself for managing to surprise you for once.
Grinning, he fell into step beside you, though not easily due to the random, deep pockets of snow that covered the path ahead. He bumped his shoulder against yours. “Not God, just me, though it’s been said that we’re practically the same thing.” You laughed, bumping his shoulder back.
“No one has ever said that, and no one ever will,” you replied, pulling your sweater down over your hands for more warmth. Peter examined your attire with a shake of his head.
“You realize it’s not fall anymore, right?” He quirked an eyebrow, and you rolled your eyes in response, gesturing a hand at the mountain of dirt stained snow piled in front of an apartment building.
“Nah, didn’t notice at all.” You huffed. You crossed your arms, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible. “Especially ‘cause of the snow that’s starting to come down now, really throws a girl off.” As you said that, the puffy white flakes fluttered down and landed in your hair. Peter, ignoring the blatant sarcasm, pulled his hat off his head. “You didn’t gel it down today?”
“Nope,” he said, catching your wrist in your hand and forcing you to stop. “Didn’t feel like it.” Also, you said you like my hair when it’s curly, I heard you talking to Michelle. So here I am. Do you realize this yet? He stretched the hat out before plopping it down on your head, tugging it so that it covered your eyes. You lifted it back up, staring up at him questioningly. “You’re gonna catch a cold. The snowflake hair look is cool, but your health is better.” He said it because he knew it sounded ridiculous, and because he was sure you’d affectionately punch his arm or something and he liked the fuzzy feeling in his stomach that he got whenever you touched him.
“That’s lame,” you said, just the way he had expected. You smiled slightly at his ruffled mop of hair, reaching up to tousle it in a way that he supposed he should have found irritating, as it made his hair even messier than it had been before. “Nice hair.”
You turned to continue walking, pulling him along with you as he smiled smugly to himself. He tugged on a lock of his hair, the strand that had settled in the middle of his forehead defiantly. “Oh, you like it? Didn’t know that. Thanks.” You headed down the steps of the 71st avenue station, a little past Queens boulevard. You only needed to ride it one stop, but it was better to waste the $2.75 on your metro card than continue trudging through the snow with a murderous expression adorning your face. You boarded the F train together, Peter managing to find the only open seat and sliding into it quickly, laughing at the face you made at him. You took a step forward to grab onto the pole in the middle of the train but it lurched forward suddenly, and you surely would have been thrown to the other side of the car if Peter hadn’t grabbed your arm and pulled you backwards into his lap before you could embarrass yourself even further. The trains were tricky, and he knew you had more of a knack for falling down than anyone else.
You exhaled, turning your head to stare at Peter. He was staring back with a sheepish expression, the tip of his nose pink. “Thanks Peter,” you smile, patting his shoulder. His arms were still secured around your waist when he shrugged, appearing utterly nonchalant even though internally, he was sort of screaming. Sort of. “When did your reflexives become so good? You struggle to do one push up in gym, no offense.” Oh, you know, just when I become Spider-Man. I save Queens daily. I saved you once but you didn’t know. Should I tell you? Probably not. One day.
“Oh, um, you know, I need good reflexives so I can save your clumsy self from tripping down the stairs at school every day,” he lied not so smoothly, giving your knee a little tap. You nodded thoughtfully. Seemed simple enough. “You can keep sitting here, if you want.”
Mistaking this for sarcasm, you went to move. “Oh shit. Sorry Peter, I’ll get up.” Surprising himself with his own confidence, he pulled you back. “What are you doing?”
Peter didn’t know what to say to this. Just savoring the feeling of you on my lap? Too creepy, and too exposing. You’d sound like one of those cat callers on the street, the ones she screams back at with vicious insults and creative threats. Get it together, Peter. “You needed a seat and, uh, you know, this one is… available. I wasn’t being sarcastic or anything.” He winced as soon as the words came out of his mouth, moving his head to play it off like he just wanted to look out the window. There was nothing to even look at it. It was dark.
“I’ll take it then,” you said softly, and, for his sake, you pretended not to notice how embarrassed he was that he had said what he did in the first place. He was endlessly thankful for that, because the fact that you were sitting on his lap right now was enough to make him sweat through his winter clothes even though it was below 25 degrees fahrenheit. If you had started teasing about him saying that his lap was an openly available seat, he most likely would have imploded. Before either of you could say anything else to shatter the silence that had settled there, the train screeched to stop again, and Peter’s grip on your waist tightened. You glanced down at his hand, sitting there on your waist, a fist bunched in the sweatshirt you had thrown on in this morning not knowing how fucking deathly it was going to be outside. You stood up when the doors opened, your hand absentmindedly wrapping around Peter’s wrist as you pulled him up toward the doors with you.
“If you’re still cold I can give you my jacket, I don’t mind,” Peter said, glancing down at your hand, locked on his wrist. You bumped into someone as you turned around, giving them a quick apology.
“Peter, stop giving me your clothes-” Before you could finish your sentence, a guy cut in between you two, your hand slipping from Peter’s as he abruptly interrupted the conversation.
“Hey, you and your boyfriend are cute, but the PDA is too much. Lay off for a second, yeah? It’s uncomfortable.” The guy clapped Peter on the shoulder, then swiftly exited the car, leaving you and Peter to stumble out, flushed with embarrassment because while the guy was leaving, you had called out, “He’s- he’s not my boyfriend, actually!”
Okay, am I that bad? Does she seriously think I’m that, like, repulsive? Oh, God, she hates me and I made her sit on my lap. I’m awful. And creepy. Ew. I’m sweating too much. Is that why she doesn’t like me? Because of the sweat? I need new cologne.
You two trekked the rest of the way to school in awkward silence, as opposed to the tranquil one that you had felt on the train. You had Peter’s hat still tucked over your head and to be honest, you were in desperate need of his jacket at the moment. But you knew the words you had said on the train, shouted at the retreating man’s coat with such ferocity, had wounded Peter a little. You hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, like you could never be his girlfriend or that you hadn’t ever thought about it, not even once. You had thought about it on multiple occasions, in multiple scenarios. It just wasn’t the reality.
You were around the corner from your school when Peter turned you around and placed his jacket over your shoulders. “You’re gonna need it,” he said, stepping away from you.
“Huh? Why?” In replacement of a proper answer, a verbal one that is, Peter gave you his signature saccharine smile and threw a snowball at you, laughing when you shrieked, your hands flying to zip up his jacket. He was nearly doubled over with laughter when a snowball landed in his hair, the white flakes sticking to his curls and dampening his hair.
“Hey!” He exclaimed, wiping the snow off his hair frantically. “I have a look I need to uphold!” He launched another snowball at you, hitting the side of your leg.
You threw one back and hit his shoulder, laughing hysterically. “Look? What look, Peter? The disheveled curly mess look?”
He stopped, a half made snowball in his hands that was already beginning to melt. “You like it, don’t even lie.”
Instead of replying, the way he had done earlier, you chucked another snowball at him, and it was soon a full blown war of flying snow and screams of laughter, messy hair and flushed cheeks and the nothing but the brightest of grins. “We’re gonna be so late, oh my god,” you panted, your hands practically frozen from the amount of snow you had picked up.
“We’re geniuses, we’ll deal with it somehow,” he answered, watching your hands. He moved closer, taking his sweater sleeves and pulling them over his hands, then grabbing your hands in his and slipping them underneath his sleeve. “Just ‘cause you’re cold.” When you smiled up at him thankfully, your cold hands squeezing his, Peter knew that if he didn’t kiss you right then and there, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. You take a step closer to him, because you knew that he’s thinking the same thing you are and you need this, too, but you slip on a sheet of ice. This time, he doesn’t catch you, he falls right down alongside you. You land on your back with a groan and he lands on top of you, hoisting himself up so that he’s able to hover over you.
“Y/N, I have to ask,” he sighed, biting his lip, then continued, “why’d you sound so offended when that guy said that we were dating? Would I be that bad to date?” There was a slight pout to his lips as he looked down at you, his hands beginning to shake slightly from the pressure of holding himself up. “’Cause I kind of have a confession to make, depending on your answer.”
You place your arms around his waist and he falls down on top of you, his eyebrows raised in surprise, but he wasn’t one to complain about the position he was in. “You’d make a wonderful boyfriend, Peter.”
“Your boyfriend, maybe?” He tilted his chin, lips inches away from yours.
“I could get behind that.” Soft lips met yours, but Peter was smiling so hard he could barely do it right. Your hands moved to his face, tracing over his dimple. It was perfectly impossible to resist smiling back into the kiss. The snow was still falling, falling, falling, but neither of you deigned to move. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes, face still bright.
You continued your walk to Midtown holding hands this time, well aware that you were twenty minutes late but too blissed out on the kiss to even pretend to care. “I like being called darling.”
“If we’re gonna do the whole boyfriend and girlfriend thing, you need to call me darling.” You paused. “It’s my kink.”
He knew you were joking around with him, but he still shook his head, playfully rolling his eyes as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You said weird stuff like that all the time, it was no different now than it had been yesterday, except this time he was your boyfriend, and if it was going to make you happy, he’d call you darling for the rest of your life. “I could get behind that.”
The summer between Junior and Senior years Victor Nikiforov becomes completely unavoidable.
Victor is on principle, Yuuri suspects, an unavoidable person. Last year he became the first Junior to run and be elected student body president. He’s the lacrosse team’s star midfielder, leading the team in three undefeated seasons since Freshman year. He’s president for Alpha Chi, one of three pre-eminent alpha-exclusive fraternities on campus. His best friend is Christophe Giacometti, which means he’s always present at crew parties, usually hovering in the corner of Yuuri’s eye. He’s the kind of unavoidable where he’s always catching his sleeve on Yuuri’s as they reach for the same cup. Their elbows smell like the same chalk, their fingers smell like the same brand of tobacco. It’s a sign of spending three years on the same campus together and developing habits, Yuuri is absolutely sure.
But then Victor becomes a different type of unavoidable.
- Last picture on Instagram: (8:45pm last night) Draco curled up on the sofa in nothing but one of Harry’s baggy sweaters that falls past his thighs, glass of wine in one hand, middle finger held up for the camera with the other, trademark pout in place. Caption: “My demure boyfriend ❤️️”
- Last Snapchat sent to Draco: (9:15am this morning) Empty conditioner bottle in the trashcan. Caption: “I
literally only just bought you this three days ago.”
- Last Snapchat received from Draco: (9:23am this morning) Selfie with the Marilyn Monroe filter. Caption: “Did you think my hair looks this good with just shampoo and water?”
- Last link shared on Facebook: (3:10pm this afternoon) Buzzfeed Quiz What’s Your Biggest Kink in Bed? Result: Bondage. Caption: “WTF, how’d they know?!” Comments: Ron - mate… TMI Pansy - Question is, Potter, are you the one doing the tying up or the one being tied up? Ron - please don’t answer that, Harry. Hermione - I second that; don’t answer her. Harry - guys, chill… Pansy Parkinson, wouldn’t you like to know???? (P.S. I do the tying up, Draco hasn’t told you?) Draco - I am literally going to kill you, Harry Potter.
Excerpt: “His slender fingers ran under your chin, as he tilted your head up so you were looking back into those intelligent brown eyes, “She’s going to be fun to break.”
Genre: drama, action, humour
A/N: have fun guessing which boy is under which mask. this will be updated daily for a few days. Also I’m currently hiking so leaving a comment or an ask would be v e r y appreciated.
If you’d known you wouldn’t be staying at the party until the slow dance, you wouldn’t have spent so long picking the colour of your dress, and would’ve opted out on purchasing the faux white fur jacket if you had known it would be covered in crimson blood stains by the end of the night.
“Everyone on the floor or else she gets a bullet in the head,” the barrel of the gun was steady at your temple, your hands were pulled behind your back, your hands clenched in fists, as a boy with a fox mask tugged you away from the screaming crowd all on the floor now sending you pitying glances.
With every step away your heart rate began to speed up as his lips lowered to your ear, brushing against it as he now whispered directly to you. His voice was so low that even at a whisper, a shiver had run down your spine, the hair on your arms raising in a primitive response to fear, “don’t scream princess. I don’t want to have to harm your pretty face.”
There were three other assailants in the room, currently collecting jewellery from wealthy girls, your crystal necklace was in full view as you were pushed forward slightly as cold handcuffs were attached to your wrists by your assailant. The glinting of it caught one of their eyes, as he strode over to you, so close that you could see his eyes through the holes of his lamb mask, a dark brown colour, currently looking you in the eye before a hand raised, short fingers picking up the crystal.
You had pulled away before pausing as the gun’s pressure increased on. your temple, “What have you got here?” The lamb’s sultry voice was higher than you expected but you were still intimidated, even if he seemed to be around the same height as you, the confidence with which he carried himself had your knees go weak in fear.
“Leave her alone, Chim.” The boy spoke from behind you, as he pulled you into his hard chest, the pressure of the gun lessened and for a second you thought you could kick him in the nuts, grab the gun and run. But as his chin landed on your shoulder and he blew warm air against your neck, laughing at the small groan you let out and the way you tried to move away from him, you knew there was no escape, “We’re keeping her, Boss told us she was the next best thing if we couldn’t find the heir.”
The fox boy’s slender fingers ran under your chin, as he tilted your head up so you were looking back into those intelligent brown eyes, “She’s going to be fun to break.” You shook your head out of his grip and exhaled, waiting for some sort of miracle.
Your miracle came sooner than expected, the boy holding you sat you in a chair as he walked around to face you, his fox mask couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes as he patted your head, “If you move you can kiss your life goodbye.” He then bounded over to the other two boys, one wearing a lamb mask the other a deer mask. They talked between them, before walking away into different rooms leaving the boy in the fox max to talk to a woman crying, he was crouched in front of them making faces and teasing them which just led to an increase in sobs and wails.
Two large hands grabbed both of your shoulders shoving you forward, your grunt of pain alerted the fox boy, whose head whipped around in time to see you being hauled over a man’s shoulder, a man you recognised to be your best friend’s bodyguard. A feral growl escaped the boy’s lips as he charged at you, the glint of his knife glinted in the setting sun and as he sped towards you the bodyguard swung around from walking away, as he felt your muscles tighten for the impact of the boy’s body. As he swung around, somehow his grip on you lessened and your head was slammed into the rough white wall; your teeth sinking into your tongue as you slumped against the wall in pain. A moan left your mouth, a warm, bitter copper taste filling your mouth as your eyes filled with tears due to the unbearable pain throbbing in your nose and mouth.
Your head was faced towards the wall and your body had lost all the adrenaline in shock, as you gazed at the wall as you focused on listening to the fight, trying to see if you could figure out who was winning, but all you could hear were grunts, the fox boy calling to his friends and their footsteps getting louder followed by more grunts.
A gun was fired and you jumped in surprise, your muscles tensing and then after a long low groan, followed by colourful cursing, then more grunts and after a while the sound of glass shattering, which finally spurred you to find the strength to roll over onto your bruised shoulder.
The glass floor to ceiling window was shattered and the bodyguard was nowhere to be seen, but the other boys were there, and your eyes were drawn to the fox boy, the knife in his hand was bloody. The red coated his hand and was in splatters over his arms and flicks on his face, his black suit jacket had been taken off and the boy was clutching his arm as blood seeped through his fingers, as the others fussed around him. He looked up, flicking his chestnut hair so his fringe was no longer in his eyes, as his eyes locked with yours with a smirk, but you were filled with fear as you sat up trying to find a way to escape.
But your body was full of fear, fear of what they had in store for you with the malicious intent that hung in the atmosphere around them; fear of the boys themselves wearing blood like an old scent it was all too much as you felt your head get light hearted, just as you eyesight became blurred and your eyelids too heavy to keep open a tanned hand appeared in your vision. The hands grasped you by the biceps, pulling you so you were standing opposite the fox boy; the rest of the guests had bene long since disregarded as he ran his warm thumb over your split lip. He then guided you past the shattered glass that littered the floor murmuring in your area, “take it easy. It’ll be okay,”
That was easier said than done, your hands still secured behind your back as you were dragged down the stairs and out of the building from the back entrance, you were led to a sports car and the boy flipped you at the last moment to slam you into the car, his body pressed against yours before he bent down to whisper in your ear, “My name is taehyung,” as he pulled away you watched his eyes move from yours to your lips as his dipped down. Your brow furrowed preparing for a kiss but all you felt was the warmth, dampness of his tongue as he lapped up the blood pooling on your lip, leaning in once more, “you’re going to be fun to break.”