#247seulgi

[247avery]

                                            B L I N G  ♕  R I N G

                                        swing sweet charity, take what’s left of me                                               a new beginning or is this the end?                                         swing sweet seraphim, take me back again                                             or watch me make the messes of men

[247avery]

HANDS TO MYSELF

CAN'T KEEP MY HANDS TO MYSELF NO MATTER HOW HARD I'M TRYING TO I WANT IT YOU ALL TO MYSELF YOUR METAPHORICAL GIN AND JUICE @247seulgi​;

the summer of year three, avery finds kang seulgi exceptionally attractive. maybe it’s the hormones, it’s normal after all for a teenage girl to be going through phases. but maybe, maybe--her beating traitorous heart declares--it’s the sunlight caught in her eyes, the faint scent of florals when the breeze wafts through the room and seulgi’s hair dances almost beckoningly. maybe, it’s those lips.

those damn lips.

“seulgi.” avery addresses her clearly, tone curious and eager eyes flicking over sharp alluring features. faintly in the back, she can hear the crashes and explosions of the movie they had chosen to occupy their time with on such a balmy summer day, but avery had long lost interest over that particular flick, not with her heart booming in her ears, her head light and her mouth suddenly parched--as if kissing kang seulgi will be the solution to all of that.

“seulgi.” she tries again, impatient for one and vaguely insulted for another. she’s a beauty now, not one to be ignored. restlessly, avery moves, determine fueling the firm grip on the other’s knees as she pulls and turns, easily tugging naughty intoxicating seulgi to face her.

and to her credit, she manages to swallow past the lightheadedness that seizes her for almost a moment too long--when the scent of her shampoo and touch of her skin teases her senses.

“let’s kiss.” 

the curve of her lips tell a story, finishing off wordlessly what her voice failed to fill in.

let’s kiss like before-- her head in her lap, hidden within aisles and aisles deep in the school library. lips against lips, fingers threading through soft locks and heart pounding in unison.

“let’s do it again.”

like before.

[247taemin-blog]

         & ; @247seulgi

His fingertips have gone numb, drawing patterns on the condensation of his glass. His eyes take surreptious sweeps at the room, an attempt in discretion that ultimately only betrays the churning of his stomach, the restlessness. A quick glance to his right hand, to his ring finger, nail tracing the pale band latched onto the digit.

The restaurant is their usual meeting spot. Taemin avoids the school’s general vicinity to best of his ability, avoids Southeast Side or anywhere that has a Jinri’s fingerprints marked on its walls. It’s low profile, inviting and so terribly busy, cacophonous choruses of chatter and tinking cutlery drowning away any soft whispers that might wander past his lips.

He never dwells too much on the fact he has an usual meeting spot.

He blinks and she’s there, soft eyes and saccharine smiles as usual, and his heart never fails to skip that beat, like he’s thirteen and his fingers are still clean and begging for some filth. He leans forward, all smiles, and takes the kiss she offers, hanging on for a beat too long.

It’s the first time he finds himself on that cliff, caught between dry land and the soft roar of the ocean. The dark waters sloshing under him call his name, and the melody is quite nice. It would be so easy to let himself go, feel as the waves digested him whole.

The thumb he presses against his ring is a reminder to hold onto firm land, the silver anchoring in reality.

“Hey.” The chill he feels on his nape comes out on his tone, gaze evading contact. Quite the greeting, he thinks over a chuckle that lost its way somewhere in his throat. Nevertheless, straightforwardness has always served him best. It's best to avoid the petnames, the softness – the sugar coating. “I have something for you.”

Good news first, as usual.

The guidebook advises never to leave a lady empty-handed. He obeys, word by word, and nudges the box across the table top. His father’s assistant had made the purchase two days ago, the most expensive item in stock, as he has demanded. A necklace in gold, diamond stones glimmering on the charm -- his own sunshine in a bag. It’s sensibly more intimate, more serious, than the usual small endearments he’d dedicated to her in the past, the usual passing token of silly, blind infatuation.

It’s a preamble.