[Kaylor oneshots]

homemade dynamite (1)

haven't been on here for a while, but i'd thought it be fun to get back into a semi grind writing phase. a little too long for a oneshot, but i loved writing it.

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The stubby squeaks of her white airforces were enough to turn some heads. But her stare kept them from ever looking away. Her gaze was sharp, concentrated, always looking forward, making her way through curious eyes and buzzing crowds. Her movements were swift, and fluid, but her looks were as solid as steel, with cheekbones that could cut through anything that came within their path, and eccentric, verdant, almost cactus green eyes that could pierce through your soul if you looked long enough. Though, she was usually the opposite of what was expected of her– she was a bubbly persona; always finding a way how to showcase her pearly whites and put her heart of gold on display. She got along with kids, I mean, she had to– she had coding classes to teach to teens who often dream too far ahead. But nevertheless, she was a walking powerhouse, and it was almost impossible for that to go unnoticed by anyone in her presence.

She's grazed the cover of millions of magazines around the world. She was an international superstar in her own might– from Harper's Bazaar to Vogue and beyond. In fact, Anna Wintour dubbed Karlie as one of her most prized possessions. She was living the American dream, the life under the spotlight, with the terror and trauma of the press, jetsetting around the world– London in the morning and Cannes for the afternoon. She had the bron, and the brain. Almost the top in her class and a fresh NYU graduate. Expert coder and expert vegan cookie baker. She really could do no wrong. The it girl of the century, and the girl every girl dreams to be, New York presents, the one and only, Karlie Kloss.

She dawned a black sports bra that had a set of cuts down the middle and threads that tightly hugged her neck, showing off her toned abs– of course, that's to be expected froma supermodel– along with a golden necklace, bearing a pendant of the letter 'K' . She had washed, ashy blue jeans that hung just above her shoes. With a matching, classic, Louis Vuitton handbag to top it all off, she maneuvered through the streets of Manhattan, earning some hollers and whistles from passerbys, to which she paid no mind to.

From big, tourist-filled avenues, she made her way into the seemingly less popular routes of The Big Apple. One away from the heavy honks and clouds of smoke steaming out of yellow cabs. Bright colours grow dull as she continued her path; white fences and red brick walls made up most of the passage, as well as graffiti scarred walls, and lonely mini markets, selling only the basic necessities to get by. The model continued her walk, before cutting through a small alleyway, only to be met by a clutter of the most expensive and well-rounded flats of the city.  An expensive neighbourhood, to accomodate a priceless princess. The bedazzling emerald of the world.

After an array of lefts and rights, next to lonely stop signs and expired parking meters, she came across her destination; a crimson, apple red door enclosed in a white frame, with a golden door knob and a mailbox that had Snoopy printed all over it. Cute, but such word would never be used for the next set of things to take place.

A knock shattered the silence of the neighbourhood.

In a hoarse, resonant voice, the man on the other side replied, "Password."

"Lennon drives barefoot."

Her answer was met with a jingle of keys and a series of clicks of locks coming loose, with the door swinging open. Before her stood a man that towered over her already giraffe-like figure. He boasted a muscular build–a build you'd see on a typical bodyguard–hidden under his bespoke tracksuit, and a clean, sheek black pair of trainers. His hair was neatly styled, and a tattoo of a dragon slithered around his neck. He had coffee brown eyes and almost a menancing stare– but he slowly lowered down his guard as recognition dawned on his face.