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[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Open Door Policy

G/N.

Jake's office-

Well. 'Office' sounds much better than it looks. A cleared backroom in a leaky warehouse off the main Big Deal street, surrounded by boxes and metal racks and filing cabinets. In the centre sits a surprisingly nice desk and chair that Brad and Lineman showed up with one day and no questions were asked.

Meetings and meals are shared in this overcrowded space. That somehow fits Jake Kim and his loyal followers and all of their headaches.

Anyway, Jake's office has an open door policy.

As befitting, really, of the beloved leader of Big Deal. Where members can bring their problems no matter how small or insignificant. Ranging from potentially not hitting the amount of money needed for Gun and Goo to-

"Boss, someone ran over my bike." Jerry holds up his undersized misshapen bike in one hand, a contrite casual Sinu trailing behind.

His favourite interruptions though, usually bring him a different sort of headache. The kind where he knows he has a deadline to hit, numbers and problems to crunch through, but the temptation of procrastination is too much.

He recognises your knocks. The rapping of the knuckles that somehow betrays your excitement at seeing him.

Jake's "Come in" returns the joy in equal measure. The way your eyes meet and light up when he asks "How can I help?" with his trademark grin.

You hold yourself back, as you often do.

("I don't want the crew to feel awkward," he tells you one time, many times. Actions not matching his words when he presses heated kisses against your neck and pulls you into his lap, "Open door policy, can't have them seeing anything that makes them uncomfortable.")

"Just wanted to say hi, Boss." You tell him, noting the way his breath catches at your 'Boss'. "See you at home," and you turn around to leave.

"Wait!" Jake leaps up from his chair, reaches you in one and a half strides and wraps his arm around your waist. "You're not even going to give me a kiss?"

His pout is met with your roll of eyes, "What happened to making the guys feel awkward-"

Jake leans in, breathes "Just this once."

It's a lie, it's always a lie. You can never bring yourself to mind though, when you feel his smile against your lips and his fingers brand themselves into your skin.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism with Reader: Subway Stumble

Jake, Gun, Goo. G/N. Super short and a lil fluffy.

With a screech of the subway's brakes, you stumble off balance, face planting straight into the chest of your companion. For most, it might have been a soft landing, except the wall of hard muscle makes it anything but. You look into his face-

Jake Kim chuckles, and you immediately scrunch your nose.

"Don't-" you warn, but it's too late.

"Falling for me?" He grins, toothy and pleased, chuckling at his own cheesy line and you roll your eyes, giving him a gentle elbow in the stomach.

"Shut-" 

Your retort is cut off when you stumble again at the train lurching forward. Jake's hand darts out, cobra quick, steadying you, pulling you closer, and resting on your waist.

He leans down, voice low, tone amused, breath hot in your ear. "Careful, Y/N."

Gun Park raises an eyebrow, smirk on his lips.

Lauding his own superior balance over you. His body completely still, feet planted firmly, unaffected by the swaying of the train.

You throw him a withering glare, which you thought worked well... until you trip once more into him.

"Stop that," he snaps, exasperated at your poor form. His hand whips out, grabs on to yours. "Hold on-"

You blink a couple times at your hand in his.

"And stay still."

"Watch the suit!" Goo Kim grumbles, having to hold himself back from shoving you off him.

A designer suit is a designer suit, can't have it all wrinkled by (Goo's own face wrinkles at this)- public transport.

"Your suit looks ridiculous," you spit back, eyeing up his ostentatious two piece with distaste.

"You would think so,"

"Whatever-" The train lurches and you stagger forward, unable to stop the momentum, preparing to hit the floor with a thud-

Until you feel a tug on the back of your clothes, and you're yanked sharply back and upright.

"Careful, cupcake." Your blonde companion smirks, not foregoing his leash on you.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seongji Yuk x Reader: Tanghulu

G/N. Sweet, so tooth rottingly sweet. Childhood friends to... 🤷🏻‍♀️

Syrup glaze on sun ripened fruits. Sugar on sugar. A concoction that can only be dreamt of by children.

"Want one?" You thrust the treat, a row of skewered candied strawberries, into the Offering's palm.

Six fingers grip around the wooden stick. Brings it up to his nose, giving it a cautious sniff, before tugging a piece of fruit into his mouth with his canines.

"Good, right? They're my favourite."

He chews once then pulls a face as the crunchy sweetness bursts onto his tongue. "Too sweet."

.

.

Everyone knows who the offering, the sacrifice is, but few know his name.

Seongji Yuk.

Not monster, or freak, or whatever the cruel children and adults call out to him.

You only know him as Seongji, rough around the edges but sweet (deep down) like the tanghulu you love.

He knows you as the first person that showed him kindness, friendship in the form of syrupy fruits, without wanting anything in return.

.

.

Seongji finds solace and freedom on the mountain, peace away from the Child God, grows tall and muscular and impossibly strong.

…Acquires a taste for tanghulu.

Tells the few that ask that he thinks they will be a trend soon. He's just getting ahead of the curve.

But the truth is: he knows that your taste has never changed.

You pluck the fresh tanghulu from his grip. He grumbles as he always does, and tosses an unimpressed look your way.

Yet his grip had already slackened. Doesn't think about your fingers brushing his. How he chooses your favourite fruits, prepares it the way you like, mastered it over the years, again and again and again.

"You're the best!"  You tell him, skewer poking out between your lips.

Seongji smiles, small but sweet. Like the tanghulu you love, made just for you.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Cat

G/N. Silly. Fluffy.

"You lil shit!" Goo yelps, sharply retreating.

It's a millisecond too late. His reflexes are beat. Fresh scratch marks litter his hand.

Eyes narrowing behind his glasses, he snarls "I'll kill y-"

And is cut off by another swipe, missing his face by a whisker.

"Yeah sorry he does that, he's a menace." You're half apologetic, half grinning that your other menace, the newly acquired blonde delinquent, has finally met his match.

It's an adversary Goo never expected: your fluffy little feline companion.

Goo's not heartless, okay? He's not completely resistant to cute charms (yours, for example). One second the cat had rolled over, exposing its impossibly soft and fluffy belly and who was Goo to turn down such an adorable invitation?

It turns out that the belly was as soft and fluffy as it looked.

For a brief moment, Goo and your cat were mutually (or so he had thought) enjoying the experience... The next-

Well.

Shit. This hurts.

He's had way worse directed at him, yet he didn't expect those little tiny claws to sting so goddamn much. Goo knows you shouldn't harm animals. Still, he couldn't help asking-

Nursing the scratches on his beautiful skin, "I can't kick it right?"

Judging from the glare you gave him, it's very much a no.

.

.

The cat is out to get him.

If cats were capable of plotting and scheming, which this one is, it absolutely is trying to get rid of the other being now taking up your time.

(No, Goo is not batshit and paranoid, thank you.)

Goo eyes the cat with distrust, currently purring in your lap.

"Sweetheart, I wanna put my head there!" he whines, and is given nothing but a chuckle in response as if he's joking.

To add insult to injury, he swears that stupid cat smirked at him too.

.

.

"No, not yet," You push Goo off you, the playful kisses now having taken a distinctly non-playful, and very much hot and heavy turn.

Readjusting his glasses, "Huh, why?"

"My cat’s there," You nod somewhere over his bare shoulder, and his head turns to follow your eye line.

That stupid cat is right fucking there.

"Shoo him out, sweetheart," Goo murmurs, lips grazing against your neck once more.

"I feel bad."

Goo stops. Looks at you with an arched eyebrow. Barely manages to repress a disgruntled sigh.

You know you sound crazy, and you know your cat won't hold it against you. Nevertheless, with a grimace, you tell him, "It's his bedroom too!"

.

.

Turns out it is the cat's bedroom, and also the cat's apartment.

Which it showed by arching his back and hissing everytime Goo appeared in his periphery.

Perhaps only when Goo was with you, did the cat tolerate his presence. Then you got called away for a couple weeks and Goo, like a lovesick idiot, offered to stay and look after your pet for you.

Now with him just on his own, he is proving to be very much an unwanted guest in claimed territory.

Luckily, the hostility and hissing from both sides calmed down after the first few days, eventually turning into an uneasy truce.

Only after feeding the cat, and offering treats (not that Goo wanted to, it was only under your instructions) during the first week did it seem to accept the blonde's presence. As if it somehow knows that this idiot is its final defence before starvation.

So the cat tolerates Goo, even if it is still a bit frosty and begrudging.

.

.

The most unexpected and surprising point though, arrives towards the end of your absence.

Soft meows stirs Goo from his slumber.

He wakes in time to see the cat pounce onto the bed, kneading his paws into your pillow.

"You miss Y/N?" He asks, and receives another meow.

It sounds distinctly like a yes. All frostiness, in the quiet darkness, has melted away.

"Me too," he murmurs.

Maybe it's because Goo is almost asleep again and his defences are down, or maybe they both just miss you. But when he reaches out to stroke the cat's head, he receives, for the first time, a purr. 

A low rumbling, contentment. Gentle pressure, nudging against his palm.

Finally- 

A shared understanding as they both eagerly await your return.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seongji Yuk x Reader: Favourite

G/N. Sweet and a lil fluffy.

A message notification diverts your attention from the tanghulu.

"Oh he’s cute!" you say, jabbing your finger at Seongji's phone screen.

Seongji squints at the profile photo of Jaegyeon Na, King of Incheon. Cute? Him? 

With his black hair and red tips, sharp eyes and cutting gaze. Adorned head to toe in some brand name or another. That piece of junk that he calls Initial N in the background. Perhaps some people would find him attractive but Seongji didn't expect him to be your type-

Shrugging, "He looks like you," You gesticulate vaguely, "But y'know, tacky."

Seongji holds back a frown at that comment, unsure whether to dwell on you thinking that Jaegyeon Na and him look alike, or the implication that you also find himself cute.

His face must have betrayed him though.

With a grin, you tell him, "Don't worry, you're still my favourite."

You pat his hand in what was meant to be an assuring manner.

"Finish your tanghulu," he manages but the words feel awkward coming out. Decides to file this conversation, these thoughts away for another time. Leaves the dots unconnected for now.

.

.

Your words run round his head that night.

Favourite. Favourite. Favourite.

Moonlight spills through the window. Seongji holds up and examines his hand.

For the first time, he doesn't notice his sixth finger. All he can feel is the ghost of your touch as he remembers your hand on top of his.

.

.

Seongji doesn't have favourites. Refuses to even acknowledge the pack of strays he has attracted.

Time that was supposed to be spent in isolation on a lonely mountain is filled with chaotic company; a ragtag group that call themselves the Cheonliang Fam.

But as he watches you kicking dirt at Vin for mouthing off, escalating into more bickering and choice words, then Mary encouraging you to punch Vin in the face-

If Seongji did also have a favourite, then it would no doubt be you.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seongji Yuk x Reader: Treats

G/N. Meeting Seongji for the first time.

"Your teeth are gonna fall out."

The monster of the mountain looks at you, face blank though eyes amused, tanghulu hanging from his mouth.

You've seen him enough times to know there's not much monstrous about him, apart from his overwhelming sweet tooth.

Rumours of this monster were grossly exaggerated.

Maybe you should have had more self preservation than to wander the mountainside when such tales persist. Yet when you found out the monster was a mere man, a mere boy close to your age, who seemed to have a penchant for sugary, syrup covered fruit-

You realised the only thing to fear was cavities and tooth decay.

Still. It helps to have someone with such a reputation on your side, you decide as you toss over a pack of fruit gummies.

A hand shoots out and swiftly catches it.

(Six. You swore you saw six fingers on that hand.)

"Thought you might like these," you shrug as he gives you an odd look, "See ya!"

.

.

After the fifth pack of candies you threw at him, the guilt sets in.

You make your way through now familiar half hidden paths, searching for the monster.

He's there. Sitting in front of his giant wok, surrounded by freshly made tanghulu. Scents of sugar and caramel fill the air.

"You're here again," The words are spoken so quietly you almost missed them. His voice is softer than you expected.

"I bought you more things," you hold out a small plastic bag. He gives you the same look each time. 

"Open it," you encourage, shoving it more forcefully in his direction.

With little trust - which is somewhat unfair, you think, considering all the treats he has received from you - he takes the bag.

(Six. You know you saw six fingers on that hand.)

He opens it, peers in, face clouded with caution. Then-

Eyebrows shooting into his hairline, eyes widening almost comically, mouth forming an 'o'-

The tension breaks and he chuckles.

"It's one thing if all the tanghulu you eat rots your teeth, that's your own fault," You rub the back of your head self-consciously as he pulls out more fruit candies, as well as a new toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash one after the other. "But if it's because of me then..."

"You're strange," he says, staring at you like you're a puzzle he can't quite figure out.

His words have no bite.

.

.

"Seongji Yuk," he eventually provides his name with reluctance. In exchange, you provide the rest of the banchan and rice to accompany his homemade kimchi.

(Your single braincell stopped functioning the first time you realised he does in fact eat something besides sugar.

It's endearing, this supposed 'monster' making his own tanghulu, making his own kimchi.

You kept comparing his recipe with your own before eventually he asked you to leave out of exasperation.)

"Well Seongji, your kimchi needs more saeujeot," It's not bad, it's just missing something.

"You don't have to eat it," he grumbles, swallowing down an extra big mouthful.

.

.

"So..."  You stall, elongating the word, letting it drift into the night. You don't really know Seongji well, hell you don't know him at all. Maybe it would be intrusive to ask.

You hear a rustling beside you. "So what?"

"So… you live on this mountain?"

"I do."

"Huh." You gaze out at the stars. It's a pretty peaceful existence, or it would be if not for Cheonliang. "On your own?"

"Yes."

"Do you ever get lonely?"

A beat. Then - "No."

Oh.

You turn to him and see his face blank but eyes amused. Messy hair and high cheekbones highlighted by the fire.

"Well I can visit you if I get lonely then."

There's a huff of laughter. Seongji knows he can't stop you anyway. He turns back toward the vast inky sky. Takes in the scattered stars. Feels the heat from the flames, a heat that settles into his cheeks.

A smile dances on his lips when he tells you "Okay."

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Letters

Final chapter spoiler! G/N. Taehoon in the military and you ask for-

"Letters?"

"Yep!" you grin, popping the 'p' as Taehoon looks on incredulously.

"Why the fuck would I send letters when I can just text you?" 

"Because," you tip onto your toes and reach up to kiss him, "It'll be romantic."

Profanities are mumbled under his breath.

.

.

Taehoon feels like an idiot. He feels so cringe he's going to crawl out of his skin.

He texted you today, video called you last night. Yet your request for letters runs round and round his head.

Rattling like an incessant, annoying bug. Reminding him of your request accompanied by hopeful eyes and a sweet kiss.

Fuck.

The paper looks so very blank. Large and looming and intimidating. Like an exam sheet 5 minutes before the end and nothing has been scribbled down.

How is he even supposed to start this?

'Dear Y/N,' 

-is immediately scratched out, scrunched up then tossed towards the garbage can.

.

.

You receive a letter a few days later. 

Your name and address written in scratchy chicken script. The fact that it was delivered successfully is a miracle in and of itself.

With uncharacteristic patience and utmost care, you peel open the envelope. 

A few paragraphs fill half the page. You read over his words, feel the hesitation between the lines, and soak up the love that you know has been poured into this act. Just the fact that he has done this says more than enough.

.

.

Taehoon is snippy, snippier than usual on video call tonight. His short dark hair and uniform seemingly amplifying his hard edges.

You know his leg is bouncing out of shot.

"Haven't you received it yet?" He cuts you off mid-sentence.

"Received what?"

"What do you think?"

“Your letter?”

Taehoon confirms it with a scowl.

You give him a grin, brushing past his question and leaving his mood sour.

.

.

There's mail waiting for him. Correspondence.

In a plain white envelope, with simple stamps.

But the writing- 

His name, with your particular slant of characters and loops as unique to him as your laugh.

The way he opens the envelope is the opposite to you. Teared open, fingers urgent.

(When was the last time, anyway, that he received a handwritten letter?)

His eyes scan the words. What could be cringe, he finds endearing. What could be sappy, warms him. 

Feels your absence more than ever after reading, counts down the days until he can see you again. 

He regrets his letter. That he has none of your poetic ramblings, or interesting turn of phrases. That he isn't able to express his emotions, taking pen to paper like a duck to water, as well as you do.

He’ll have to do better with his next one.

Yet- 

Taehoon is left love drunk, mood light and floating on air when sleep takes him that night.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun and Goo with Reader: Manga Raws

G/N. Silly.

Gun has a headache. The type of throbbing that starts at the temples before spreading across his entire skull, his ears and jaw and neck, that would leave a weaker person debilitated.

Fortunately he is not weak. Unfortunately, he still needs to put up with you and Goo.

"Please?"

Goo takes one look at you, and mimics your expression, "Yeah, please?"

Gun peers, features not indicating any discomfort, impassively into yours and Goo's face. Both batting your eyelashes at him, mouth pulled down, bottom lip jutting out in a way some would describe as cute and pitiful.

He takes one drag of his cigarette then blows the smoke in your direction.

It has the desired effect.

Goo reels back, spluttering and waving the fumes away and pulling you back with him.

"Say something!" He stage-whispers into your ear.

"Like what?"

"Anything! I don't care. Do whatever. Get on your knees and beg or blow-"

"Stop if you don't want me to pluck out your tongue," You shove the blonde roughly, eyes narrowing at his words.

There's a huff of amusement behind you and you seize your opportunity.

"Gun," you coo, whirling round, "The manga raws are out, the translations are always shit and delayed. You're fluent in Japanese. Of course we were gonna ask you. It's gonna take five minutes, tops."  Your reasoning falls on deaf ears, charming smile ignored, and Gun raises an eyebrow in your direction.

It's time for your trump card.

"I know you have a headache. You know that we won't stop being annoying until you help us. And we all know that that headache can get much much worse."

Goo nods enthusiastically in your peripheral vision.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, Gun begrudging caves, "Fine-"

"Oh!" You weren't sure it was going to work, "Thanks-"

"Except," Gun throws Goo a smirk, "You can't tell Goo what happens."

You give Goo a thumbs up behind your back at the same time as you grin and say, "Deal!" 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism Guys: Ruffling their Hair

G/N. Gun, Jake, Sammy, Ryuhei, Johan, Vincent. Goo here

Gun Park

Ducks, dodges and weaves your outstretched hands. Honestly, you should be grateful. You've seen him punch someone for much less. However, your need to find out whether his hair, with all that product, is crunchy or greasy or just rock solid overrides all sense of self preservation.

To your surprise, more than anything, it is soft. As is his accompanying sigh and look once your fingers reach their target and he lets you caress his locks.

He doesn't allow you to do it often, and you care about not having broken fingers to do it too much. Once that urge kicks in though, Gun eventually gives in.

Jake Kim

It's rather unbecoming for a leader to get their hair ruffled, especially to those outside of his inner circle. The first time the rest of the crew saw you ruffling their boss's hair, they exchanged odd glances.

And Jake knows this. He grumbles each time you do it in front of everyone. He knows this takes the shine off his reputation somewhat, yet he makes it easy for you anyway.

Leaning down so you can run your hand through his hair, messing it up, before he then smooths it back down with a half hearted whine.

Samuel Seo

The first time you stroke his hair, there is no immediately discernible change in his demeanour. He gives you a look for messing up his immaculate hair but tolerates it nonetheless.

What gives away how much he likes it, and how much he craves your touch, is the way his eyes flutter shut, the way his breathing slows and deepens, how his body slackens. Not enough for anyone else to see, but enough for you to feel.

It calms him, and he finds the gesture sweet. Not that he would ever admit it outloud.

Ryuhei Kuroda

You ruffled his hair once. Once. He practically melted, then you found his head within reach in almost all situations.

An overeager, overbearing (rabid attack) puppy at the best of times, and being appropriate eludes Ryuhei anyway. But you ruffling his hair seems to have opened up pandora's box and made him realise how touch-starved he is (by you specifically) at all times.

He treads a fine line between annoying and adorable, although usually the former, but there's something wholesome about how much he wants you to run his fingers through his hair.

Johan Seong

From the way he tensed up at you ruffling his hair, you thought you did something way worse.

It was a spur of the moment gesture. Him glaring at you beneath his fringe, looking like a sulky puppy, you couldn't help it.

His mom was the only one that touched his hair, and after that - the other time was the mad doctor. Johan's hair a physical embodiment of trauma.

And then you ruffled his hair, reminding him that it's just hair, that touch can be sweet and kind, and unleashing waves of nostalgia. Looks like you just acquired a prickly puppy.

Vin Jin

Scowls until he's absolutely sure you're not going to try and reveal his eyes then he relents. Sort of.

You manage to graze his hair, just a bit, before he slaps your hand away. He lets you, enough times (until he has had enough and tells you to go away) that you eventually know exactly the texture of his hair. Felt it when it was short, buzzcut, often covered by a cap; temporarily bleached to match Mary's; cropped and left long on top; finally now - long enough to tickle his chin.

"Your hair has grown long," you say, running your fingers through his hair. A hum of agreement is all he responds with but he doesn't move away anymore.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Samuel Seo x Reader: Falling

G/N. Soft. Sammy realises something.

It's not that you were flirting with Samuel. That, he was used to. That, he knew how to deal with, how to keep his guard up.

In fact, objectively, most people would say it started out innocently. You simply took an interest in him, asking him questions, showing your genuine curiosity in ways he can't recall anyone doing in years.

You ask him about his evenings and weekends. Beneath the front of polite small talk and corporate humdrum, he recognises the attentiveness in your gaze, the follow up questions, the conversation that continues.

It's unusual. 

Everyone that plays a regular part in his daily life only cares about what he could do for them. Everyone else outside of it, unfamiliar faces in the clubs and bars that he frequents, would only care about the one thing from him.

(Although, the feeling is mutual.)

However.

You didn't take more than he could give. You read his moods and his cues. Then the first time he makes you laugh; an unprofessional, muttered comment about Chairman Eugene that results in you guffawing and his ego swelling-

Well. He supposes that is the start of his downfall.

Samuel has enough discipline to not get overly distracted at work, to seek you out just because, but not enough not to time his coffee breaks with yours.

Conveniently bumping into you. Civil nods of acknowledgement turning to small greetings turning to smiles and chit chat turning to inside jokes and a light hand resting on your lower back.

Funny how he used to stay into the late evening and early mornings working in his office, yet now he leaves with you. Walking alongside until it's time to part ways at the front entrance. One time, during a particularly vicious typhoon, offering to drive you home which you graciously accepted.

And then finally, the most important time - when you both had an awful day, a stressful day. Staring at spreadsheets and reports until your eyes blurred, back to back to back meetings and calls without time for caffeine or nicotine breaks-

You both step out of the building and breathe a collective sigh of relief. Samuel is nothing if not opportunistic. He seizes his chance and asks if you want to grab a drink or a coffee or anything just to unwind.

You agree.

You end up at a dessert parlour, both high on sugar and each other.

Him leaning in, mirroring your body language and movements, gaze gentle and soft. You smile at him like you always do, bags already forming from the long day but eyes still shining and bright.

Samuel realises he was wrong before.

This is when he starts falling. 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Military Service

Final chapter spoiler! G/N. Fluff.

Your presence slips into stories with other troops. Places you visited together, things you both experienced, time spent side by side.

"Did you used to hang out at the arcade on your own?" A fellow soldier asks Taehoon.

Taehoon thinks of your face lit up in the artificial glow, his battle victories and KO reflected in your eyes. He responds to the question with a shrug.

It used to be true, after Do Woon, then it wasn't true at all once he met you.

.

.

"Are you stupid? Of course Haeundae beach is the best!" A voice pipes up amidst the mess hall chatter.

"Boring." Someone else dismisses, "Everyone always goes there. Overcrowded."

Overcrowded. 

That's one way to put Taehoon's time with you and the Yoo Hobin Company at Daecheon beach, another well known tourist spot.

He spent most of the time annoyed on the train journey, irritated on the sand, shoulder barging people on the pier, and growling at men ogling you for too long.

But then you two ended up drinking on the pier alone that night; you swaying from drinking too much and Taehoon stone cold sober-

"You're really bad tempered you know," you narrow your eyes at Taehoon, who whips his head round at your slurred speech and scowls, "and your personality is definitely something. You're abrasive and mean and hotheaded." 

Taehoon’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline at this unprovoked attack.

"How you have any friends I don't even know. It's like people are attracted to you being an asshole. I suppose I can't talk." You tap your chin, deep in thought and oblivious to how much he looks on the brink of storming off, "Though... I guess you're sweet in your own way. You're cute too. Especially when you pout. I don't pout!" You taunt, in a tone eerily similar to his and you cackle at your own hilarious impression.

Taehoon subtly stops his bottom lip jutting out.

"And you look after me. Even if you also deny that." You direct a drunken grin his way, and don't notice that he doesn't look mad anymore. You didn't even realise he was mad in the first place. "Your disrespect for my personal space is sometimes infuriating too but often hot." You take a swig of your beer muttering, "I don't know why I'm telling you this." 

Taehoon smirks, leaning into your space, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tilting you up to face him.

"Hot, huh?"

"Asshole," you breathe. You don't know whether the rush of blood to your cheeks is a result of the alcohol or something else.

Taehoon arches an eyebrow, incredulous at your audacity. "I'm the asshole? After everything you just said? You want me to beat you up?"

You huff, looking anywhere but him. "I don't really think you're an asshole. Most of the time. I think I just... I really like you."

You had your first kiss that night. 

You always tell everyone you don't know who kissed who, and Taehoon is surprisingly gentlemanly enough not to say. 

But you remember leaning in first, feeling his gasp-turned-chuckle-turned-sigh on your lips.

.

.

His lungs are on fire, heart thumping in his ears, sweat dripping down his face 

Put through his paces with an 80lb pack on his back, paying for his cocky attitude in the first month to his superiors.

He feels their eyes, impressed though lips curled, as he finishes the 6am drills first yet again. 

"Shit!" Taehoon turns to see a private finishing behind him, a good minute slower, before dropping to all fours and dry heaving.

"H-How the fuck are you so fast? Who did you train with?"

Technically his dad. Taehoon gives his answer, clipped and curt.

What he doesn't mention is you sitting in the dojo all those evenings and nights and early mornings too. In the corner on your laptop, surrounded by books, half falling asleep. Or simply - watching.

What he also doesn't mention, nor has he ever confessed, is that your presence spurs him on to work harder, kick harder, punch harder.

If just for the way your face lights up, mouth forming an 'o', the occasional applause when he's been particularly impressive.

He calls you cringe every time.

Yet he has never mentioned how his chest puffs with pride at your praise, but he thinks it may have been obvious anyway.

.

.

Taehoon spots you, back to him, gently swaying to the music on your own. No doubt eyes on Rumi and Wangguk’s first dance as husband and wife, like everyone else.

Your hair looks longer, though of course it is. It's been months.

Self consciousness creeps in. Taehoon wonders if you mind that he hasn't had time to change, his bomber jackets untouched for so long. He wonders if you will like his hair, short and natural, military standard.

Most of all-

If you will still feel the same. After all, young love is fickle, flighty, fleeting.

He swallows down his nervousness and ignores the fluttering in his stomach.

.

.

You feel an arm curling round your waist. The weight of the hand and the heat of the embrace you've dreamt about for nights on end.

"I've been waiting for you," you whisper.

Taehoon kisses you. It feels like the first time, on the sun bleached pier, all those years ago.

Except, he leans in first. 

The softness of your lips just as he remembers, and tonight, he feels your pleased sigh ghosting his skin.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Ryuhei Kuroda x Reader: Hobbies and Interests

G/N. Fluff. Ryuhei is so. SO!!

Ryuhei is good at some things.

Fighting is one, and good is an understatement. You've heard of his conquests, seen some of the aftermath - the state of his victims, yet there isn't even a scratch on him.

Hair maintenance too, you suppose. Sure you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel but being his sort of blonde takes a lot of time and care, the fact that it's so soft to the touch instead of brittle and straw like is impressive, so yeah - you'll give him that.

Well done Ryuhei on your exceptional hair.

However. There's a lot of things he's not good at.

Being slick, for example. That poor rizzless bastard.

(Although the more left unsaid about you for falling for what little charms he has the better.)

Drawing is another one.

Which you found out because for some reason, he insists on partaking in your hobbies with you.

Sometimes you get more distracted looking at him than focusing on what you want to create. He's cute, the way his brows furrow, nose scrunches and lips turn down when what's in his brain doesn't translate to the canvas.

It doesn't really matter anyway, as what Ryuhei draws is usually obscene. Comprising of you two in compromising positions.

You alternate between wanting to burst out laughing or sighing whenever he shows you his handiwork with a shit eating grin.

Cardio too, surprisingly. Though you're not convinced.

He has started to exercise with you, joining you on your runs. You think he should be far faster and fitter, yet he always lags behind.

You suspect he's checking out your ass.

"Are you?" You ask when you both take a breather and stretch out your muscles.

"Yep," he smiles toothily, completely shameless and like butter wouldn't melt.

.

.

"Ryuhei,” He brightens instantaneously hearing his name on your lips, but loses his shine when he sees your exasperation. “You don't have to do everything I do."

He tilts his head, brows knitted together. You think you can see his one brain cell trying to work. Ryuhei is one of those people that mould themselves to their other half's interest and lifestyle. It could be completely fine, if only this wasn't quickly becoming his only personality trait.

You try to make it simple for him, "What do you like?"

"Me?" He blinks twice.

"Yep."

"Humping-"

"Something else."

"You-"

"Something else."

He pauses. "Ride my bike."

"Good!" You clap your hands encouragingly, "Anything else?"

"Ride you-"

You cut him off sharply. "What did you like to do before," you gesture between the two of you, "us?"

He ponders for a moment or two before shrugging.

"I dunno. I don't care " Then seeing the look on your face, "I'll think about it."

Ryuhei throws his arms around your waist and pulls you close. He breathes down your ear, aiming for seductive except it tickles, "For now I'd like to do you-"

"Ryuhei!"

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Making space

Requested. G/N. Fluff.

Goo likes to buy you things. Lots of things.

He's a fan of capitalism anyway. Supply and demand. He buys and buys and buys and it used to be for himself, except now it's for you.

Anything your heart desires. Things you want, things you don't want; need, don't need - it's all the same to him.

And when you complain about having too many things, your home running out of space, he offers to buy you a new goddamn apartment.

"Goo," you shake your head, exasperation painted on your face as he pouts cutely.

"Y/N," he repeats back in the same tone, mimicking your pose and expression.

"It’s… a lot," Being with Goo was always going to be a lot, you just didn't realise it would manifest tangibly too. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. Goo opens his mouth to argue. However, you press on-

 "I really do appreciate everything but look… I barely have room to move," You gesture at your surroundings filled with stuff. Nice and expensive stuff, but stuff nonetheless, "And you really shouldn't go around offering to buy people apartments."

"Not people, I offered it to you," Goo whines.

You give him a look, imploring him to realise how ridiculous that sounds. How out of touch he is.

He slumps. "Fine fine, Cupcake," Waving a hand in your direction, "Have it your way. Keep living in this dump-"

"I do not live in a dump-"

"Or," Goo adjusts his glasses, pausing for dramatic effect and glancing in your direction to make sure your attention is fully on him, "I have lots of space. You can move in with me."

"W-with you?"

He shoves his hands in his pockets, a look of mischief in his eyes and a shark grin on his lips.

"I like having you around. We can be partners in crime." He gives a shrug, body carefree and relaxed as if he didn't just offer you to join your lives together and live with him. 

As if this isn’t a huge fucking deal.

You stand there mouth hanging open as he nonchalantly checks his watch muttering something about work and Gun and Charles.

"Think about it, Cupcake.” Goo takes his leave, pressing a kiss to your cheek on his way out-

“Think about all the trouble we would get up to. It'll be fun."

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Reader: Smiles

G/N. So soft. Brainrotting with @steamedeggs over who else?

Jake can always make you smile. It's maybe the one thing he prides himself on above all. Above his fighting skills, above his natural leadership, above his charisma, above (though he will never say this aloud) Big Deal.

He can pull a smile from your lips, the kind that reaches your eyes and makes him puff his chest out with pride, as easily as he pulls laughter (reluctant or otherwise) from your tongue.

It's a gift, at least he likes to think so. 

And a gift only he is bestowed with (again, at least he likes to think so).

.

.

The frequency of your smiles drop. The wattage of your beam declines. You mention that the grind of everyday is wearing you down, pressures from your workload dulling your shine.

Jake can sense your half hearted 'lol' and 'haha' through text, your perfunctory laughter down the phone.

Even tonight, together after being like two ships passing for weeks; his well-timed wordplay, his goofy faces and silliness which is usually a surefire hit - misses its target.

The smile never reaches your tired eyes.

Jake deflates. He swallows down the pout on his lips and instead wraps his arms around you as you sigh against his shoulder.

He holds you for seconds, for minutes, for perhaps hours until your tension starts to ebb away and you begin to feel like yourself again.

You sigh once more.

"Better?" comes the low timbre of his voice.

You're silent but he feels you nodding. 

Then. Finally. You reward him.

A small chuckle, breath ghosting his skin, like bright rays cutting across storm grey clouds.

In Jake's arms, you feel light as air. Your laughter lifts him, and he floats along beside you.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Name

G/N. Soft as always.

You call him 'asshole' when he's pissing you off. Full name 'Gun Park', like a disappointed parent, when he's at his worst and your lips are pursed, brows furrowed and eyes ablaze.

'Yuzuru' when you're teasing and alone together, and 'Shiro Oni' when you're trying to piss him off.

It tends to work every time.

He's just 'Gun' to you most days. Short and clipped and normal, nothing of it, when you're with polite company; elongating the vowels when you're being particularly annoying, or you want something from him.

That also tends to work every time.

Gun doesn't have a nickname for you.

He doesn't deviate from your given name apart from the occasional 'hey' or the complete silence when you have angered him so much he doesn't even acknowledge your existence.

You have, however, learned all his different tones.

The hard edge when you are this side of irritating and a second away from getting your ass kicked, accompanied with an exasperated huff when you surprise him (good or bad), laced with mirth and humour when you share a joke, or taunting and biting when he's feeling superior.

Which is often.

But there's something new, and you don't know whether it's your imagination or not. It creeps into his voice more and more.

He says your name, hushed and reverent, like he enjoys it on his tongue and on his lips and his eyes cloud over with something you haven't seen before.

He says your name like it's a new word, a new concept, he has recently learned. As if every time he says it, it unlocks something new for him.

He says your name, and you see his eyes flicker towards your lips. You see his adam's apple bob and hear his breath hasten. You think he leans in, you think you see his lips part and a light flush on his cheek.

It could be your imagination. You like it, either way.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"

Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you.

Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo

Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.

A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.

With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.

Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.

Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.

"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."

He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.

.

.

"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."

He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.

"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."

.

.

"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"

Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.

Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.

"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."

He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."

.

.

Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.

Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.

He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.

You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.

.

.

DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.

He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.

"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.

"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."

.

.

Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.

"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."

He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.

"Jake, cmon."

You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.

"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"

.

.

Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-

(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)

When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.

He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.

"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: Arranged Marriage

Requested (a few times! You like this trope huh.) G/N. Arranged marriage trope but this blorbo is soft for you.

Gun is concerned.

This marriage, this alliance, was to consolidate power between his clan and yours. Born of convenience. It was supposed to be a business partnership, nothing more. Cold and unfeeling-

Was unfeeling. But then the feelings crept in. Little by little, day by day, moment by moment. With every gaze, every smile, every word, Gun felt himself losing control. Slipping and falling.

Your presence was easy to adjust to. You were quiet, at first. Taking up little space and staying out the way. Except it became too easy for Gun. Having someone else in his home, a comforting presence of someone on the same side as him; that is there, for better or worse, even if it's just supposed to be on paper and nothing else.

Your gaze attentive, smile sweet and words sincere. Mind sharp and tongue even sharper. You continually helped him plot his next move, pointed out gaps in his defence he couldn't see, cared for him in ways he never experienced before.

Despite everything, despite what some would believe - Gun Park is human after all. 

How could the feelings not creep in? How could the thoughts not linger late at night when he knows you're in the next room over, sleeping alone, instead of next to your husband (even if it's just supposed to be on paper and nothing else).

This marriage is of convenience, but it can be of other things too. Gun is never one to back down without a fight, and this is worth fighting, it’s worth dying on this hill.

He stops outside a florist and wonders what flowers you would like.

He pauses outside a restaurant and wonders if a date there would be to your taste.

He notices couples his age, spending time together, hands roaming and muttering in each other's ears, and wonder if you would like that too.

However. One step at a time.

As you cuddle up next to him that evening, watching a movie, a mundane activity, a mundane action expected of any couple - he wonders where this closeness has come from, if he started it or you.

Either way, Gun doesn’t want to wonder anymore. He's ready to confess.