the members teasing seonghwa and mingi and jongho says, "mingi-hyung, you really looked like you wanted to kiss him," and everyone kind of laughs and seonghwa puts up a fight and mingi makes a silly kissy face and then it's over, right?
except later, mingi's drying his hair from the shower and grabbing a water from the kitchen and seonghwa's sitting there, decompressing, quiet, and looks up. watches the way the fridge lights up the edge of mingi's profile, the way his lips part around the edge of the glass. says, "did you?" and mingi tilts his head, makes a confused noise, and seonghwa sits up a bit straighter, "did you? ⊠want to?" and the sound of mingi setting the glass down on the counter is suddenly much, much louder than it should logically be, and that's answer enough
Is this actually a safe space to say (let me clarify I understand guessing peopleâs sexualities is bad and I know itâs bad Iâm bad I know) I truly believe in woosan⊠like⊠they have to be a real couple. Am I missing something?? Like. Same with matz. I truly believe they are a couple. Am I really terrible for this. Like. I see people online saying I ship them but I donât ACTUALLY ship them and if you do youâre weird.. butâŠâŠ. Am I weird or evilâŠ. LikeâŠ
i actually want to answer this seriously because while i do think this is a fun and games environment here over at makesoneteam headquarters, this is something i am very passionate about
i am taking your hand between mine gently when i say this: you HAVE to kill the cop in your mind.
you need to understand a few things here. one, and i cannot overstate this enough, speculating about other humans is not evil or bad. it is normal. it is, if you wanna get down to it, somewhat biologically innate-- we have to parse out who we view as a threat or not to survive, you know, even if that is informed by social cues that are culturally influenced or etc etc etc (and that can get messy and we can go into that later but just know since this is The Bad Faith Website i am well aware of how this is sometimes not a good thing). you-- yes, you-- make assumptions about people all the time. and you-- yes, you!-- are the subject of assumptions about other people. all the time!
put another way-- are you 100% honest and upfront 100% of the time about 100% of your identity? or do you think that people are filling in the gaps based on context, their own lived experience, and sheer guesswork? and do you think that those people are probably wrong sometimes? and sometimes they're right? but ultimately, if those people are not using their assumptions to harm you, Does It Fucking Matter?
"guessing peopleâs sexualities is bad" is some puritanical bullshit i need you to kindly escort out of your home at this moment. you do it all the time-- society does it all the time. assuming someone is default straight is, in fact, a form of speculation. and it's okay. it literally is okay. it happens all the time-- to you, to me-- and we all miraculously live.
when it becomes bad-- when any of it becomes bad-- is when you use your own speculation to justify harm. but note-- VERY IMPORTANTLY-- i did not say "when you take your own speculation as truth". we will get to that in a second. if you use your own speculation to justify harm in any way, you've crossed the line. and by harm, i can mean a variety of different things, from literal physical harm to emotional harm to harm to yourself in the form of forming unhealthy parasocial attachments to all the other types.
but like. here's the thing. you believe that santa claus is real? okay! fuck yeah! why the hell not! does that mean you hate every parent that puts out toys for their kids on christmas? no? then who fucking cares!
you believe that woosan is real? fuck yeah! why the hell not! are you going to bring it up to them directly? are you going to interfere with their lives? are you going to use it in a way that is going to harm them or you? no? then whooooo fucking caaaaaaaaaares.
and i say this because people do care, inexplicably, because they have this grand moral complex wherein they believe that they can purge their minds of any impure thoughts and it will make them Better Than Everyone.
look, there are people that would tell you that fantasising about other people sexually is morally wrong because the object of your fantasies does not consent to it or whatever the fuck. there are people who would love nothing more than for you to believe that you are an evil and dirty and bad person who is committing heinous crimes by speculating on sexuality and making some barbies kiss, because they have their own internal shame, likely informed by some purity culture bullshit, and they cannot fathom a world that is not black and white. they cannot possibly fathom a world wherein there is, god forbid, nuance. wherein someone can have thoughts that may or may not be true-- and, i'm gonna say it here, may or may not be harmful!-- and not be An Awful Irredeemable Evil Person.
and to those people i say: lmao get fucked. sorry could you not hear me over your mom screaming my name? i said get fucked. like i'm fucking your mom. currently. i'm having sex with your mom
on a serious note: this is the kind of talk that is harmful, too. it borders on symptoms of disorders like OCD wherein you punish yourself for having impure thoughts. i am not saying you have OCD pleeeeeease do not take that this way, but i am saying that consistently monitoring your own internal narrative, daydreams, fantasies, and silly fun beliefs about two guys who you will never know personally and can never definitively say anything about for anything impure will rot you from the inside out eventually.
let it go. breathe. and if tumblr user ihavenofunever thinks you are a bad person for it, they can sit with the knowledge that they just speculated about you, a person they do not know. in the meantime, i am going to continue holding your hand while we take that cop out back and shove him into a well. okay? okay
because this is the Bad Faith Website: this does not apply if the things you are choosing to believe are rooted in oppressive systems or actively harmful rhetoric (e.g., if you believe something about someone because of a racist belief). but equating "thinking two guys are likely kissing in secret" to that is another form of puritanical bullshit that people need to seriously introspect on
serving size: park seonghwa x m!reader
synopsis: repressed homo who thinks attraction is the same as when a dog has a rabbit between its teeth goes skinny dipping with his two boy best friends and the hoy guy from college
nutrition facts! nsfw (ends right before the actual sex tho womp womp), 4.1k, non-idol au, skinny dipping, soooo much sexual tension, sooo many innuendos, reader's mentioned to have an erection (~once and a half-ish), there is a line about "showing them his" but u could take it as two things, he's also described a few times to be "weaker" than everyone else, thrash's habit of equating predator/prey language to sexual attraction, lowk weirdo freak reader, sub!reader (only very explicitly at the every end), almost dudebro bsf!wooyoung, lightly proofread
matz version of this fic is up on my ao3!
Mingi had his ass crack out before you could even see the Hole. Bounding across the dirt path and launching himself with one kick, and all the evidence you have of his body hitting water is a faraway crackle, raindrops in a puddle. You take a few more steps before Wooyoungâs next, dropping the water cooler, the cans and bottles singing with the motion. He steps out of his shorts mid-run, not looking at his feet, following a magnetic pull, and cannonballs loud. Youâre close enough to see it this time, the way the water parts and then geysers, dots of sunlight filtered by the canopy dancing along the waves. The commotion ripples outward in thick ringlets across the blue, stretching out and licking where it meets soil, beckoning you. Runaway droplets stop short of hitting your sandals.
The Dickhole had been Wooyoungâs little secret: a swimming hole at your hometownâs fringes, densely packed with thick-bottomed trees that fanned up and out like veins, the pool an enclosed jewel. The only clue to its existence was an overgrown dirt path and a singular wooden sign parked out front, decked out in graffitied dicks. Freshman Wooyoung had heard of the spot from the older boys on his volleyball team, all who have long since graduated, paired off, and moved far. Swore heâd take you and Mingi when he got his permit. That first time you saw the sign, âNO SKINNY DIPPINGâ was an enraged scrawl, and the dicks were merely decorative trimming. Five of them were Wooyoungâs. Two were Mingiâs. Itâs been replaced a total of four times since, and the dicks have spread like mold across the twin Pâs. It took you till the summer before college before you showed them yours. And then it became tradition. Your trio was physically separated after graduationâmaybe you cried, face shiny and snotty in every picture taken of the three of youâbut you all reunited during breaks. Skinny dipping at the Dickhole was mandatory. No one outside of the three of you were allowed to know about it. Wooyoung made that clear. Had a tone like you were all going to split open your palms and join hands when he said it that first time, thick arms across the backs of your necks, cradling you close. You remember shaking for some reason. So when Wooyoung suggested Seonghwa come along, you were immediately suspicious.
Sitting across from one another in Main Streetâs ice cream parlor. Wooyoung had just clocked out of work, cashier at a supermarket farther out in the plazas. His thighs were splayed on a little red seat, Wooyoungâs bumpy knuckles stretched around those boxy kiddie cones, two scoops of something obnoxious like Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough topped with nuts. You got sorbetâtart raspberry, rich violet red, thick enough to bite. Wooyoung started the conversation out wellâAny hot dudes on campus? Your spoon hovered between your lips. Replied Why do you wanna know? You window shopping? And Wooyoung shoved you, grin hidden behind tight lips, forgetting you were made of the same shit the first little pigâs house was, so you nearly flew off your seat like a napkin in the wind. Iâm serious. I wanna know if my buddyâs crushinâ on anybody, and you stand to prove you could. Nice talking to you, Wooyoung, and there was a hand on you againâcupped over your shoulder, shoving you back down.Â
Of course there are, you eventually admitted, flattening the bowl of your spoon against your tongue, looking elsewhere. But I donât talk to them. Wooyoung said he didnât know why, and you rolled your eyes. He does know.Â
Does that mean Seonghwaâs not coming?
Your stomach dropped into your crotch, almost let your spoon fall to the ground.
Dude, you talk about him all the time, but Iâve never met the guy. You were barely listening, the sorbet melting below your tongue.Â
Just invite him. He can come with us to the Hole.
Seonghwa places his beach bag down beside your sneakers, one of those plasticy see-through ones that casts glassy colors on the ground. The straps sway with the movement of the wind. You look back up and Seonghwaâs disappeared behind his white tee, elbows to the sky, curving, curling like a swanâs neck, the shirt separating from his body like melted gum. He reappears like the sun from behind tree trunks, hair tussled, lip caught in his teeth, and drops the top into his beach bag. Dips his thumb between his hip and the band of his shortsâdeep, dense blue. Youâve seen those exact pair of shorts before: Seonghwa shirtless at some house party. A polaroid tacked onto the corkboard behind his desk. Faintly blown out, though you could still discern the flash of Seonghwaâs smile, his tanned skin, the pool in the backdrop. Youâd been in Seonghwaâs dorm for academic reasons, reallyâstudy buddy for an exam you shared, criss-cross on a shaggy rug, peering up at Seonghwa perched on his bed, binder in his lap, legs swinging absentmindedly. Youâd been inside a few times prior, during your lab partner days in freshman year, but the photo was new. Recent. Caught sight of it when Seonghwa tip-toed out for a bathroom break, stared hard like you were memorizing the lines of his limbs. Couldnât stop thinking about it when Seonghwa came back, looming above you on the bed, calves dangling like chunks of meat on hooks.Â
Theyâre in front of you now, the blue shorts, with the white drawstring youâd imagine bouncing as Seonghwa moved, now hanging low as they slide to the ground. Seonghwaâs legs step out, and the blue bottoms sit bright against brown earth, like a poisonous frog. And you have just enough gall to run your eyes back up, to the exposed flesh, to the rounded muscle, shapes of Seonghwa youâve never seen before, never thought youâd see before but imagined. Not voluntarily, just one of those things you canât really control. You see a dog and think Woof. A still frame of the ocean and smelling the sea salt. Lemon, sour pucker. See your friend and think of how his body might look under his t-shirt.
Heâs got beauty marks. Little dots kissed into his flesh. You follow their path up his back, and they transition into spots around his shoulders, expanses of sun-kissed skin. Wooyoung and Mingi hoot from afar. The sense gets knocked back into your brain like a punch. You jerk your head away. Seonghwaâs laughter grows farther, punctuated by soft splashes.Â
You tug your own swim trunks in a flustered rush, Wooyoung letting out a pitched, ringing whistle, which Seonghwa seconds with a howl.
The Dickholeâs not wide enough that swimming across is an athletic feat, but itâs sizable for only four bodies. When you were 16, it felt ginormous, like it could swallow you whole. Youâd never been swimming any other place than your relativesâ 5-foot deep above-ground pool, and even then you hadnât done so since you were 12. The water was clear enough that you could see the evidence of little livesâtadpoles nestled in the outermost corners, a salamander or two darting across when the water got too rough, the birds that swooped by for a drink. Yet you remember being terrified of hairs tickling the soles of your feet, the bumps of the rocks as you approached the water. Some unknown parasite lurking, translucent and thin as the waterâs surface, waiting to slide into your ear canal and burrow in the grooves of your brain. You didnât tell them you couldnât swim, not out loud. Wooyoung was one of those kids who was dropped into water, used his instincts to survive. Tried to use that same lesson to help you, slung over his shoulder as he walked into the center of the pool. Mingi was nicer about itâverbally guiding you when Wooyoungâs heavy-handedness wasnât doing much but making your nose burn with the threat of tears. Above average height high school junior with vocal fry cooing at you like youâre a spooked horse: Hey, you got it, dude. Câmon. Youâre alright. Hands on your waist once Wooyoung lets go, just to help you accumulate, get used to paddling. You remember Wooyoung off to the side, brows lifted. You and Mingi were always closer to Wooyoung than each other. You chalked his behavior up to the location, the seclusion. Perhaps Mingi was just pure of heart. Maybe there really were parasites in the water.
âAlright!â Yells Wooyoung from the far end of the Hole, clapping his hands together, grin wicked. âLetâs play Chicken!â
Itâs been a long-running joke between you three (or, perhaps just you and Mingi): Wooyoungâs affinity for this particular water game. You call it his fetish, pisses Wooyoung right the hell off when you do. Youâve done Marco Polo, Sharks and Minnows, and raced each other. Wooyoung brought a beach ball one time and you got demolished in 2v1 water polo, but never Chicken. And Wooyoungâs been dying to play Chicken, but you really canât do it with three people. You wonder if thatâs the only reason he allowed Seonghwa to join.Â
Regardless of Wooyoungâs intentions, Seonghwaâs all about it, because of course he is. Tells you to hop on his shoulders, and now youâre sure this is all a ploy, that Wooyoung and Seonghwa set this up somehow. You donât know why you agreed, though itâs easy to forget when you sit on Seonghwaâs shoulders, and are hoisted up and out of the water like you weigh nothing. The heat of Seonghwaâs blood interrupts the cool freshwater, thrumming between your thighs, slotted against you like stiff rock and rushing river waterâsomething eroding the longer they stay latched. Seonghwaâs hands clutching tight around your ankles whenever Mingi pushed real good. And sometimes theyâd slip, lose grip around the meat of your leg, and Seonghwaâs nails would bite into your skin. And your entire body would stirâresponding like one big, inflamed bug bite, itchy, itching for relief. You were sure theyâd leave little crescents, remnants of the way they pressed, the way they choked. Seonghwa would apologize afterwardsâeyebrows upturned and eyes soft with guilt, but smiling, always smilingâwhen you came back up from being knocked down, Wooyoung and Mingi too busy roaring like the tryhards they are, water still in your ears. The words on your tongue are Thank you, but you only manage to nod and weakly pat Seonghwaâs arm. You play for roughly an hour. Back hitting water, sinking slightly, vaguely entertaining the idea of drowning just to save you from this torture. You donât win a single match, and thankfully Mingi suggests drinks before they can trade places.
Seonghwa swims up to where youâre now wading. His hair clings to his face, dark strings sculpting to his brow bone, to the hard line of his nose. Heâs flushed, heaving hard and heavy.
âCanât believe youâve got this place all to yourselves,â he says between breaths, craning his neck to gaze at the treetops, taking in the scent of cooling air and wet soil. âItâs pretty.â
âYeah. Weâre a dying breed. I think itâs the pools. I mean, itâs good though. Private. Wooyoung doesnât like others knowing about it.â
âSo Iâm a special guest?â Seonghwa says, honeyed, teeth bared. He leans in, and your vision blurs, seeing only the white in Seonghwaâs mouth. You donât shove him away, letting Seonghwaâs body jostle the water, letting his laughter fan across your face, letting his elbow nudge into your bones.
âYeah, yeah.â Your face is hot. Youâre sore from smiling.
âThanks for inviting me.â
Seonghwa places his wet hand on your dripping arm, and the sensation is like cigarette butts being put out on your skin. A firecracker exploding in your submerged fist, red-hot pellets burning holes in you like paper, like a cheap napkin, melting through flesh and tendon and bone. And then Seonghwa squeezes, and the meat beneath his fingers diesâsizzling, scarring tissueâand regrows, tingling with fresh, raw nerves. The crescents on your thigh throb. You suddenly remember youâre naked.
âAre you cold?â He asks, and youâre just blinking.
âHuh?â Is he staring?
âAre you cold?â Seonghwa repeats.
âNo, the waterâs good. Nice.â
âAlright. Youâre just tight. Like, your arms. And youâre kinda shivering.â
âOh,â is all you say, all you can say. Wooyoung, Dear Wooyoung, comes clamoring over in wide strides, like Godzilla coming to tear down the Golden Gate Bridge. The water laps at your navel. Seonghwa lets go. You sway with the motion, chasing the heat of his skin.
Wooyoung gives you a once over. âGrabbing a drink. You guys want?â
âPlease and thank you,â chimes Seonghwa, throwing a thumbs up before he swims away. You shake your head, turning to follow Seonghwa, but are seized.
âHeâs a guest,â Wooyoung whispers. âCome and grab his drink.â
Wooyoung reaches land first in hulking steps, dripping onto the dirt below. Your arms find their way across your chest instinctively. You glance over your shoulder, spotting Seonghwa drifting besides Mingi. Theyâre talking. Mingiâs splayed like a lily pad, arms cushioning his head. The bottles bump against each other and ring like bells.
Wooyoung pops one open. It sighs softly, cool breath mixing with the humid air. Youâre still looking at the water.
âHowâs it hanging?â Wooyoung taps the rounded edge of his glass against your inner thigh, near the crescents, earning a high-pitched gasp. Wooyoung grins. It peeks past his drink as he tips his head back.
âSeonghwa seems chill,â he starts again after smacking his lips, wet from both the beer and the water. He pulls out another bottle, handing it over to you, ignoring your glare. âKinda glued to you.â
âIâm the only one he knows, Wooyoung.â
Wooyoung shrugs.
âYou suck at Chicken, by the way.â
You punch Wooyoungâs arm, making him nearly drop his bottle. The grinâs back.
âAll Iâm saying is,â he pauses to suck back a burp, âhappy to facilitate, but donât start fucking in the water. Not my car, either.â
You kick Wooyoungâs calf and start to walk away. âFuck off, seriously.â
Wooyoung catches you with a hand on your shoulder. Yanks you backwards with a tug, and hooks his arm around your neck, caging you close, mouth to your ear.
âSeriously though, dude. Heâs into you. Donât pass that up.â
His breath is warm. Your face is warmer. You purse your lip.
âReally donât want to listen to advice from a guy whose idea of wingmanning is Naked Chicken.â
âDid a lilâ something though, didnât it?â Wooyoung takes a swig with the arm around your neck, pressing you closer as he does. âYouâre sporting a semi, dude.â
Your eyes go wide. You drop your head almost immediately. Wooyoung lets you go with a light shove, cackling wildly.
âYouâre too easy, man.â
He takes the bottle from your hand and opens it, handing it back and slapping your bare back. You kick dirt at him before scampering back to the water, trying not to look back down. Seonghwa swims over, tipping the bottle to his lips like heâd been parched.
Ë°đŒđ đđž
By the time you pack up and leave, youâre nearly dead weight. Seonghwaâs prepared enough to supply everyone with their own towel, which Mingi thanks him for with a lazy bow. You fumble with your swim trunks, nearly falling asleep when your shirt goes back over your head, though itâs not enough of a distraction to miss Seonghwa sliding his own bottoms back on. Wooyoung hands Seonghwa a sharpie and they defile the sign on their way to the car. You all pitch in for food, something hot, fast and greasy. You dip in and out of consciousness on the ride to the drive-thru, the rumble of asphalt beneath the tires lulling you to sleep. Fluorescent lights of chain restaurants breezing past the window, the sky melting into pinks and purples, your hair still damp along the nape of your neck. There was a violent bump somewhere along the way, you shooting upright, groggy, Wooyoung screeching like heâd rolled under the wheels. Seonghwaâs hand jumped to your shoulder, fingers ice cold, the soft, instinctive squeeze waking you right up. Wooyoung ordered 4 burgers for the car, fries and a large Coke. Mingi got a Crispy Chicken Biggie Bag. You ordered a 20-piece, large fries and Sprite, all of which you and Seonghwa shared.
Wooyoung and Mingi had enough of the outdoors, opting to head into Wooyoungâs room to play Smash, leaving you and Seonghwa in the driveway, empty doggie bag sitting between you. Wooyoung had flashed you a knowing look, which was immediately met with your middle finger.
A breeze kicks in. The trees shudder in response, the wind licking up your exposed arms, cooling his sweat. It blows through the hair in your eyes like windchimes. Youâre surrounded by nothing but foliage; cricket harmonies and frog songs, and the scent of the body besides you. The sunâs set, hidden behind the trees lining Wooyoungâs house, leaving only shadows in its wake. Faint, warm glowing from somewhere faraway, unreachable. A lightning bug would flicker in front of the growing dark of the forest before disappearing back into the thicket. Seonghwaâs eyes wrinkle with satisfaction. You donât realize itâs aimed at you until itâs too late.
âI know I said it before,â Seonghwa starts, leaning back on his palms, head lolling lazily to look at you, âbut Iâm really glad you invited me. And that Wooyoung okayed it. I had a lot of fun.â
âMe too,â You respond. âTo both. Iâm glad you came.â
Seonghwa beams, teeth emerging behind his lips like he canât help it.
âHow often do you guys go?â
âTo the Hole? Usually on the really hot days, I guess. Or whenever Wooyoung suggests it.â
Seonghwaâs head swings back to the forest. âHeâs nice. A little crazy, but, yâknow, nice.â
Itâs your turn to smile, small and fond. âYeah, heâs definitely one of those things.â
âAnd Mingiâs kinda hot.â
Your face twists. A surprised cough mixes with a hearty laugh, and suddenly youâre wheezing.
âWhat?â Seonghwaâs staring like he doesnât get it. âHe is!â
Youâre clutching at your sides. âWooyoungâs gonna be pissed when he finds out.â
âOh shit, are they together?â
Your ribs almost cave in. Youâve fallen back on the car roof, hands over your eyes because you think youâre crying now. âSeonghwa, please. I canât. Fuck.â
Seonghwaâs joining in now, still upright, wracked with giggles. When you finally calm, youâre on your back, facing the night sky, sighing deep as your body finally settles. Your stomach hurts from laughing. Your cheeks are sore from smiling. You turn and catch Seonghwaâs eyesârounded, soft, gazing down at you. He doesnât turn away. Your smile falters.
âThe mosquitoes are gonna eat me alive,â youâre saying, because itâs true, and because the wind suddenly haltsâthe way birds go silent when a hawk looms overhead. The heat burrows its way back beneath your skin, congregating at the nape of your neck, in the pits of your arms. You can feel every bit of food from earlier swirling around in your gut, sizzling, digesting in a pit of bubbling acid. Your abdomen clenches. Seonghwaâs curved mouth isnât helping.
âWanna continue the convo inside?â He asks. Respite. A laid trap.
âProbably should.â You pick at the corner of your mouth, afraid thereâs crumbs. âYou tired?â
âI could be.â Seonghwa shakes some of his hair out of his eyes. âAre you?â
You sift through a hundred different scenarios that succeed that sort of question. Youâre splayed like a dissected frog in most of them. All of them make your pulse spike.
âI guess not,â is your idea of a safe response. Seonghwaâs flashing cuspids over it.
âWell, letâs keep you from gettinâ sucked dry, then,â he says and you think thatâs not fair. Thatâs just not fair. Seonghwa slides off the car roof, and you copy him. Your shorts ride and you tugs them back down, split-second humiliation. Seonghwa notices. You arenât certain but you assume. You trail behind as you both head for the house, Seonghwa sticking to the side of the sliding door, letting you scurry ahead so he can turn the lock.
Youâre standing by the frumpy leather couch. Itâs tan, a hand-me-down from Wooyoungâs grandmother. The backs of your knees graze the armrest, the damp skin catching. You can faintly hear the game charactersâ crying out down the dark hall. Seonghwaâs approaching.
âYou know, I never took you for the type.â
You cock your head.
âTo skinny dip.â
You open your mouth, but decide thereâs no good way to follow that. You canât look at Seonghwa. You think heâs getting closer. Maybe youâre shrinking. âIâm not really.â
Seonghwaâs hands are tucked behind him. He doesnât say anything else, but heâs still smiling. Itâs warm. Placating. Like heâs waiting for you to gather your courage.
You wrap your arms around yourself like your body isnât on fire. âI feel like I should apologize for your first impression of my friends being their soft dicks.â
Seonghwaâs eyes go wide, and thereâs a full second or two of silence before he bursts into a full-body laugh. Covering his mouth, shaking his head, tipping over himself with the force of it. You canât do anything but watch, flickering across Seonghwaâs flushed face, to the inside of his mouth, to the way his lips splay as he laughs, to the tears welling in his eyes.
âItâs fine. I was literally naked, too.â
Your chest tightens. Yeah, I saw. But you donât say that. You donât say a word, because youâre remembering the dots. Seonghwa quirks his head, dog-like.
âYou donât have to be embarrassed, either.â Oh God. âWeâve been friends for a while. I mean, I used to get changed in your room whenever I slept over. I donât mind you seeing my body.â
Your throat bobs. It gets quiet again. But youâre looking at Seonghwa, vision loose and unfocused but you can still see. The shape of him ebbs and flows like a pulse, and you canât quite catch the rhythm. Your swallow, throat bobbing. Seonghwaâs eyes catch the motion.
âYouâre shaking again.â
âYeah, uh, itâs kinda cold. The A/C and everything.â You rub your arms to prove it.
âHm.â Seonghwaâs knee brushes yours. Hot. It burns. He leans closer.
You stand there for a while. The air charged and crackling across your skin, making the hair on your body stand. Youâve broken eye contact. Like staring at the sun.
Seonghwa opens his mouth.
âHey.â
You hum in response. The sound pitches.
âCan I try something?â
You turn. His shallow breath hits your nose. Heâs leaning in. Your eyes flutter.
And Seonghwa is climbing, climbing. Seonghwa is looming, heâs large and terrifying and all teeth and gumline. Open your mouth, Seonghwa says, and you follow because all youâve ever wanted to do was listen, was to be told. You make a sound as you obey, high in the back of your throat, punched-out. Youâve never heard it before, it escapes you before you can define it, the vibration still prickling on your tongue. It rings in the dead air, accompanied only by the puffs of the leather under your spine, under the weight of Seonghwaâs knees, and the gushes of breath from Seonghwaâs nose. The last sound youâll ever make. And Seonghwa swallows it, unhinges his jaw and clamps down, knocks the wind from your lungs and you canât breathe, canât see anything but the swirls in Seonghwaâs iris, his sunkissed skin turned to pure pigment. Seonghwa smells like falling sun, tastes like lake water and salty fries. Your sternums knock against each other like ramâs horns.
Seonghwaâs hand falls on your thigh. He looks down.
âIs that from me?â
You look, too. Inner thigh, the spot where Seonghwa grabbed you earlier during Chicken. You hadnât looked at the marks, only really seen them in your mind. Theyâre pronounced, more than you imaginedâdistinct arches in a row of four branded into the meat of your thigh, sensitive interior, a hot-spot. Seonghwa brushes the tips of his fingers along the rivets, gently fitting his nails in their spots, smoothing over it with interest. Right beside it is a swollen organâtucked under cloth, bursting open, peeled fruit, oozing and swelling next to Seonghwaâs tender touches. You, on your back, vulnerable, easy prey, easy target, wanting and open, splayed, bleeding, leaking.
Seonghwaâs nails lift. Contact. Your pulse throbs. Your hips jump upwards. Seonghwa pulls back.
His lip is swollen and glossy, mouth ajar, teeth visible and sparkling like eyes in the dark. Youâve seen that face somewhere before, in starved juvenile lions. Limber. Wired. Springs for bones. Something weaker in their sights: its head on a swivel, inches away from drooling maws. Unaware how soft its flesh would be against an open, awaiting mouth. How the maw fantasizes about the ecstasy of swallowing, the sensation of a pulse between it, something living reduced to meat.
Seonghwa is looking at something. You think itâs you.
i have like thirty things (fun things. hobbies. not getting paid just for the love of the game) do to, so since its taking me so long to do Any of them, i shall refurbish smth i wrote for a class into a steaming hot pile of ateez rpf đ for the People
