Wow (LINT) (Key)

“HOW ARE YOU NOT GETTING IT.” He runs his hands through his choppy, peroxide bleached hair. “YOU ARE A MUSICIAN YOU SHOULD KNOW HOW TO SMILE IN A WAY THAT’S BOTH SHY AND BOLD.”

His face scrunches up as he glowers down at you, more disgusted than angry, really. You’ve come to be very familiar with it for the last couple of days.

Key is like one of those really committed method actors that remains in character all the time. Either that or this complete asshole is more successful than you just because he’s prettier than you, and you can’t handle that thought.

You force on smile. You’re aware it looks painful because KEY IS ACTUALLY THE MOST PAINFUL PERSON TO BE AROUND. 

He puts his fingertips together and leans back in his incredibly comfortable looking armchair. You shift in your blue plastic seat. The company only cares your lumbar support if your net worth is more than a couple of million. 

Key flips his hair and smirks at you. He sometimes pretends that he’s a renowned psychoanalyst during your sessions sometimes. “If I had to describe you in three words, it would be ‘holier than thou.’ That’s not healthy, _____. I don’t understand why the CFO thinks you’d be anything resembling something of a success. You’re pretty cute, but you’re not dynamic at all. NO SEX APPEAL. Nothing about you says you’re…”

You debuted just a few months ago, but you have 2 years of training under your belt. Dealing with unbelievable people is a second nature by now, but Key and his calculatedly kissable lips makes you want to just.

“Leave me. I can’t handle anymore of you.” OH GOD, like it’s his choice. THIS IS HIS PUNISHMENT FOR NOT HEEDING HIS ONEW’S WARNING.

You heave a large, exaggerated sigh, collect your things, and add in an indignant eye roll just to be safe. No sex appeal. Hah. You’re sexy. Definitely sexy. You have lady parts, which is probably all Key looks for in a girl. 

You’re about to close the door when you decide to channel your inner Beyonce. A smile crosses your lips, a sincere one, but you suppress it. You pull up your skirt just a little bit, scrunch your hair, and push the door open. 

You smile, softly. “Hey… Key?” adorable and vulnerable. You bit your lip and walk across the blue carpeted floor. You stop at the other side of his desk. You wanna gag at how infantile your voice sounds, but most guys dig it.

He stands, one hand in his pocket, chin sort of raised, daring you to do something.

You slide one thigh onto the desk so you’re half-sitting on his precious oak desk. Damn, the acrylic finish is nice. What did he do, sell his grandmother’s soul?

You widen your eyes, smile, and pull on his total Republican tie. He leans in, a cocky playing on his lips.

His face is just a couple of inches away. He has really long, eyelashes.

You tilt your head, and he follows suit. You run one hand up his arms. They’re almost boyish.

You lean in a little bit more, surprising yourself. This is the part where you walk away, self-satisfied, leaving a crying Key crumbled in the ground with a nosebleed.

Key exhales.

His lips brush against yours, and you can hear your heart beat in your ears. His lips are soft and warm and he puts on hand on the small of your back and pulls you in closer and -

You pull away, dazed.

Key looks surprised.

“Uhh… Wow.”

r u still there or...?
◥		Anonymous

i’m here

i’m there

i’m camping out in your bathroom right now.

hey, when are you going to update? :3
◥		Anonymous

NEEEVEEER

i still write

i still write about shinee

but i am not posting it ‘cause it’s so horrible i just can’t.

30 Days of Drabbles; Fairy Tales (Onew)

i don’t even know… .-.

i’m like, the last person finishing this challenge,and i’m not even really close to finishing.

ah well. :3

~~~

Once upon a time, there was a girl and a boy who loved each other.

She woke up to her father’s expensive oven timer that was set hours past bedtime. She snuck out, tiptoeing across her happily sleeping parents’ bedroom, down two flights of stairs, past the second kitchen and a rich bear skin rug and across her mother’s study, carrying a leather satchel filled with her treasures and crudely made sandwiches.

She slipped on her favorite snow white cashmere petticoat over her pajamas, and headed out the door, a secret smile on her face.

He woke up to the cheap, plastic, but sturdy hand-me-down the orphanage’s director gave him upon request. Heart racing, he quickly turned it off and looked around. His roommate hadn’t woken up.

He fumbled around in the dark for a small, dirty, Spiderman backpack, and once he found it, he climbed onto his top bunk, opened the window, and tossed it out.

He took a deep breathe and followed it out of the window, landing with an oomf. He took a few seconds to examine himself, then smiled: no bruises this time.

She tried her hardest walk, to be unnoticeable like he taught her, but after a couple of minutes of slow progress, she just couldn’t wait.

She started running, the satchel only a small hindrance to her. She was fast, and she liked the wind against her face and the feeling of being free, of being able to conquer anything.

He reached the tree house faster than she did. He smiled to himself; it meant that she was walking. He was afraid she wouldn’t listen to him and would get hurt.

She hesitated when she reached the street… She knew it was dangerous to cross it alone.

Moving quickly, he produced a large, warm blanket with only one small hole in it. He spread it on the uneven wooden floor. He opened a cardboard box in the house and took out two small pillows.

She knew it would take another ten minutes to go around… And there are no cars at this time of night. It would be okay, and then she could finally see him again.

He took out a few dozen comic books and a flashlight from his backpack and spread it out on the floor where they could read together. He put on his gloves and sat, nervous and excited to see her.

She was fast. The street was wide, sure, but she knew she was fast. She was faster than any of the boys in her class and her neighborhood. She would be fine.

He sat for a few minutes, waiting. He had just saved up his allowance to buy the newest edition of her favorite superhero. He became unbearably happy and impatient just at the thought of her opening it, laughing at some of the scenes.

____ didn’t see the car coming. She couldn’t have.

Onew sat on the comforter, waiting. She was late. But he would wait for her, he would always wait. He laid down on the blanket.

The driver was inebriated; he didn’t see her, wasn’t even aware of her existence until the sickening clunk of his truck hitting her fragile body.

Onew sighed and started singing a melody. He rearranged the comics again. Where was she? 

Hm. He’ll wait for her.

She landed on the cold, black concrete, her arm covering her face and her right leg twisted into a very painful position.

He began to grow cold, but he didn’t mind very much. She was late, but he would always wait for her.

Her once snow white petticoat was stained red by the time the driver got out of the car.

Always.

gitface:

When one of your favourite blogs starts following you and you’re too scared to reblog anything because you feel like you’re walking a thin line and they could regret their decision and unfollow you any moment.

30 Days of Drabbles; I Know (Minho)

From a longer scenario that I wrote a couple of months ago that I scrapped because it borrowed a plot from every romantic comedy ever. 

~~~

“I feel like we need to talk about something.” Minho pulls the comic book down so he can see you.

You don’t even have to look up to see that he’s smiling that suggestive smile that he smiles.

“Is it serious? Can it wait until I get this turned in? Um, if you’re bored, I saw a really pretty blonde with legs up to her chin just walk by. Or are you still on your hiatus?” Minho usually hits on anything that moves and succeeds in getting a number at least, with his charming smile and eyes that smother you, that make you feel like you’re the only important thing on the planet, that you’re the only person that really understands him.

Ahem. Not that you feel like that. You’re just his best friend. That’s all.

… But one day, he climbed in through your window and announced that he would not be chasing girls anymore.

“Stop making fun of me for it, and yes, it is of the utmost importance.” Minho dog ears his cartoon. You wince. It annoys you the way people treat books, but you bite your tongue. With Minho, it’s best to choose your battles, and he’s a firm believer in the whole the-book-is-just-a-medium-to-tell-a-story-not-something-magical-in-of-itself-so-it-shouldn’t-have-the-status-some-people-assign-it thing.

He jumps up from one of the comfortable leather chairs the chain book store has put around the store, provided you’re not reading a book you haven’t over-payed for, and sits across the table from you, cradling his head in his hands. He blows his hair out of the way.

You can’t get any work done with his freakishly large brown eyes staring at you, and he knows it.

Douche. People say you can choose your friends, not your family, but if that was true, you never would have chosen Minho. Half his life is centered around picking up hot girls now, and the other half is all about trying to hide from those hot girls he screwed over. You don’t know how he wins all those science competitions.

“What?” You sigh and close your laptop. “What do you want?”

“Thanks. I really do need to talk to you about. You know.” Minho smiles an actual smile.

“No, I don’t know.”

“Yeah… You know.” Minho looks down at the cocoa he bought 30 minutes ago and smiles, almost… Shyly?

“Stop acting like a lovesick schoolgirl and tell me what I seem to know.”

He looks up sharply, resulting in a really beautiful hair flip. “UGH, ______, how can you not know your own feelings? THEY’RE INSIDE OF YOU.”

“Excuse me?”

Minho leans over the table. His shirt rides up a little bit, and you can see underneath the soft, grey jersey.

His face is really close.

Really, really close.

Your heart is beating really, really fast.

Minho smiles down at you coyly. “I know something…”

“Okay.” Oh God, you shouldn’t have had that bagel this morning. Your breathe probably smells like onions. You weren’t anticipating for him to get this close.

“And when you know it, you should know…”

You swear he can see into your soul the way he’s so intensely staring into your eyes.

He leans in.

You find yourself closing your eyes.

A second later he can smell his cologne, the one you got him for Christmas that smells like manly flowers and manly men strolling through gardens of very manly wild berries.

A breathy whisper tickles your ear. “… that I know.”

He sighs, and you get chill bumps.

“Wait. Are you sniffing my hair?”