short nothings
Title: short nothings
Author:vvipforseungri
Rating: pg
Pairing: gri for the most part
Word Count: 525
Genre: gen
Summary: few writer's block drabbles i'd like to share
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how hard I try.
AN: don't mind me, i should be sleeping, except i'm listening to Epik High's Ghost and it is beautiful.
it's cold ; nyongtory
it's cold.
you press closer to me, being thoughtful, you think, but if anything it makes me shiver even harder. your fingers, cold as ice, trace the lines of my face. yours lips, blue with frost, are feather-light against mine.
your cool breath as you whisper your lies and your half-truths.
i want to run, but i can't see five feet ahead of me.
want to scream, but the sound freezes in my throat, your fingers wrapped around it.
want your cold, cold heart in my hands.
puppet ; jiyong-centric
sometimes jiyong feels like a puppet, mindlessly singing and dancing along to a showtune, wearing his brightest brights and his biggest wooden smile. he croons about long-lost loves and loves-to-be. the words almost lose their meaning, from the millions of times that he's had to sing them in order for it to sound just exactly right. he convinces the throngs of fans that he's a heartbroken fool, a bad boy, misunderstood and vulnerable.
he's that great.
no one notices that the words he sings are emotionless and that he's dreading the days when his strings come loose because even if he's just a puppet, he's a puppet who craves an audience.
ghost ; gen
our fingers don't touch, even if they're outstretched, the tips of mine not quite meeting yours. you look at me with sadness in your eyes, you with your dull grey eyes.
dead eyes.
i bang against the invisible wall that separates us, pounding with my fist until it hurts, screaming your name. you don't seem to hear me, though. you only stand there, grey grey grey, watching me with those eyes, fingers in front of yours.
it's at that moment that i fucking hate it, fucking hate that you're dead, fucking hate that all i have left are memories and what-ifs and your ghost.
chase ; gri
seungri runs. the soles of his shoes aren't wonderful on the rough forest ground, and he's afraid he'll slip. he pants, the stitch in his side steadily getting worse and worse. his heart races and burns through the oxygen, propelling him further and further into the blackness of the forest.
jiyong knows seungri can never outrun him, but it gratifies to see him try. jiyong likes the chase, you see, likes the desperation in seungri's movements, likes the scent of fear and adrenaline on seungri's skin, likes the ways seungri's eyes contract in fear when jiyong finally ends the game and tackles seungri to the ground.
jiyong bares his teeth and leaps.
numbers ; gri
seungri will never forget the number of times his heart has been broken.
he can just ask jiyong.
american dream ; seungri-centric
one day, seungri thinks he'd like to own a house with a porch and a backyard and grass for any kids of his to play on. he'd like big open windows and delicate white lace, grand staircases and grand pianos. hardwood floor and crystal chandeliers. he'd like a fine wine cellar kept at just the right temperature and he thinks he'd like a pool.
then he laughs because that's the american dream. nowhere for american dreams in a city that never sleeps and where no one ever leaves...
Author:vvipforseungri
Rating: pg
Pairing: gri for the most part
Word Count: 525
Genre: gen
Summary: few writer's block drabbles i'd like to share
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no matter how hard I try.
AN: don't mind me, i should be sleeping, except i'm listening to Epik High's Ghost and it is beautiful.
it's cold ; nyongtory
it's cold.
you press closer to me, being thoughtful, you think, but if anything it makes me shiver even harder. your fingers, cold as ice, trace the lines of my face. yours lips, blue with frost, are feather-light against mine.
your cool breath as you whisper your lies and your half-truths.
i want to run, but i can't see five feet ahead of me.
want to scream, but the sound freezes in my throat, your fingers wrapped around it.
want your cold, cold heart in my hands.
puppet ; jiyong-centric
sometimes jiyong feels like a puppet, mindlessly singing and dancing along to a showtune, wearing his brightest brights and his biggest wooden smile. he croons about long-lost loves and loves-to-be. the words almost lose their meaning, from the millions of times that he's had to sing them in order for it to sound just exactly right. he convinces the throngs of fans that he's a heartbroken fool, a bad boy, misunderstood and vulnerable.
he's that great.
no one notices that the words he sings are emotionless and that he's dreading the days when his strings come loose because even if he's just a puppet, he's a puppet who craves an audience.
ghost ; gen
our fingers don't touch, even if they're outstretched, the tips of mine not quite meeting yours. you look at me with sadness in your eyes, you with your dull grey eyes.
dead eyes.
i bang against the invisible wall that separates us, pounding with my fist until it hurts, screaming your name. you don't seem to hear me, though. you only stand there, grey grey grey, watching me with those eyes, fingers in front of yours.
it's at that moment that i fucking hate it, fucking hate that you're dead, fucking hate that all i have left are memories and what-ifs and your ghost.
chase ; gri
seungri runs. the soles of his shoes aren't wonderful on the rough forest ground, and he's afraid he'll slip. he pants, the stitch in his side steadily getting worse and worse. his heart races and burns through the oxygen, propelling him further and further into the blackness of the forest.
jiyong knows seungri can never outrun him, but it gratifies to see him try. jiyong likes the chase, you see, likes the desperation in seungri's movements, likes the scent of fear and adrenaline on seungri's skin, likes the ways seungri's eyes contract in fear when jiyong finally ends the game and tackles seungri to the ground.
jiyong bares his teeth and leaps.
numbers ; gri
seungri will never forget the number of times his heart has been broken.
he can just ask jiyong.
american dream ; seungri-centric
one day, seungri thinks he'd like to own a house with a porch and a backyard and grass for any kids of his to play on. he'd like big open windows and delicate white lace, grand staircases and grand pianos. hardwood floor and crystal chandeliers. he'd like a fine wine cellar kept at just the right temperature and he thinks he'd like a pool.
then he laughs because that's the american dream. nowhere for american dreams in a city that never sleeps and where no one ever leaves...