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3027960 · 2 months

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hakwon teacher! reader x soldier! horangi

(please ignore the formatting, written on mobile!)

you were exhausted, plain and simple. long days, hundreds of kids, the expectations of management, it was all piling up. and you were trying really, really hard to make friends with your fellow teachers, but most of them wanted to go out and party in itaewon every night. it's not that you didn't drink or party, per se, but teaching 20 six year olds from 4pm - 10pm while hungover was not an experience you wanted to repeat any time soon.

'ah, it's raining' you thought as you exited your school building. you'd forgotten an umbrella, which honestly was your fault, you knew how mercurial seoul's weather could be in the summer - if it wasn't 98% humidity and hot, it was pouring rain.

regardless, you hurried down the street to your favorite soon dubu restaurant. rainy weather called for hot soup and the stress of the day called for food so spicy you would regret it tonight.

the ahjumma called a welcome to you as you entered before returning to her cooking. you sulked back to the rickety table in the back corner - your normal spot - before calling out to the woman

'저기요!! 순두부찌개 한 개 주세요. 그리고, 맥주 한 병 주세요!(excuse me! one soon dubu soup please. and one bottle of beer please!)'

'네, 알겠습니다! (okay! understood!)' she returned, the pots underneath her sizzling.

as you waited for your order, the place slowly began to fill up. despite it's shabby appearance, the food was good and cheap, the owner nice, and the beer cold. what more could you ask for? it'd become 'your spot' once you'd moved to seoul, a stone's throw from your school and school-provided apartment, as well as cheap enough to indulge in on your measly teacher's budget. the ahjumma had come to know you (and help you practice your elementary korean). so you came back at least twice a week.

as more people filed into the small shop, you noticed a group of soldiers come through the entrance, their military fatigues in plain view. you rolled your eyes and turned your attention to you phone. korean military men were not much unlike their american counterparts - self-absorbed, rude, and generally distrusting of foreigners.

'guess that checks out in any country' you thought bitterly

despite every male of serving age being required to do their time, those that chose to stay in the forces certainly got a reputation for being 'fuckboys' as they say.

you turned to your phone as you waited for your food, texting your only friend here in seoul - an office worker you'd bet at a PC room.

a short wait later, the ahjumma brought out your meal and your beer. you could feel the weight of the day begin to melt off as the steam rose off of the hot stew. muttering a quick '잘 먹겠습니다 (i will eat well/thank you for the food)' before dipping your spoon into the red broth.

you made a move to bring it to your mouth, a figure seated themselves across from you. you raised your head from your meal, analyzing the new figure. angular face, honey brown eyes, dark hair, and high cheek bones, from what you could tell. he was wearing a mask over the bottom half of his face. what you could see what littered with small scars, along with a large scar slicing his eyebrow.

you blinked, before muttering a quiet '안녕하세요 (hello)'

he glared down at you, before leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread under the rickety table.

'american?' he asked, his accent lilted

you nodded. you had no idea what a korean soldier was doing sitting across from you, eyeing you down like a piece of meat.

'i could tell, you are,,,, how do you say 통통한’

your shoulders fell. you recognized that term, in all the time you'd been living in seoul. although the city was pretty metropolitan, korean society certainly dictated a certain appearance, one that you were definitely not a part of.

'thanks' you muttered reproachfully. honestly, you wished this guy would just leave you the fuck alone and let you get back to your dinner.

he shook his head, dragging a hand down his face.

'아니 (no), i mean no...씨발 (fuck)...how do you say in english? 한국어를 할 수 있어요? (do you speak korean?)'

you rolled your eyes, pinching your fingers together.

'god my food is going to get cold' you thought

'조금 (a little)'

'네, 오케이. 제 친구들은 돈을 걸었어요 (my friends bet money),,, for 데이터 (date)?' he hummed, gazing away from you and holding his chin. you looked around him to the group of soldiers gathered at the other end of the restaurant, their attention solely on you and the masked soldier at your table.

you looked back at the masked soldier, a hot anger rising in your stomach. fuck these stupid soldiers. fuck this stupid day. you smiled a grin that felt all too fake.

'야, 이름이 뭐예요 (hey, what's your name)?’ your voice was like belladonna, sweet but poisonous.

he grinned, thinking he'd won.

'호랑이’

your smile dropped in an instant. 'horangi. tiger. what a stupid name' you thought bitterly.

you raised your spoon, grabbing the handle and wielding it like a weapon:

'호랑이 씨, 축을래요?! (horangi sir, do you want to fucking die?!)'

horangi's eyes widened in shock before crinkling up into tiny half-moons. he leaned forward in his chair, a full body laugh taking hold of him. your mouth dropped open in shock. surely he wasn't laughing at you?

'야, 어떻게! 재웃겨! (wow, what, super funny!)'

you leaned back in your chair, mouth open. he stood up, still laughing.

'진짜 (really)... how do you say... you are 재미있어요 (interesting). 고리고 너무 귀엽다 (and really cute). 데이터 (date) another time? 네 (yes)?'

he stood up, adjusting his mask, before making his way back to the table of soldiers, leaving you confused in his wake. you were cute?

(maybe a part 2?)

(also if ur curious on what i think horangi looks like, look up korean actor seo kangjoon!! in korea mandatory military service has to be done somewhere between 18-30 soooo i think since horangi was in both the korean army, special forces, and now kortac he's probably between 30-38, if he started his service when he was 23-25!)

#cod #call of duty #chubby reader #fat reader #horangi #horangi x reader #kim hongjin #kim hongjin x reader

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3027960 · 2 months

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the space in between- part vi

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

the next morning, your pounding hangover wakes you up. your eyes feel dry and like they're throbbing in their sockets, and your tongue feels too big for your own mouth. fuck, what even happened last night? some of the mob came over, and then they left, and then john came over... did he leave? you cautiously peek over your shoulder at the empty mattress behind you. the pillow doesn't even seem to be disturbed. oh, thank god. there was a nonzero chance you might've let that man talk you into something regrettable after a few drinks. or a dozen. you forget how many there were.

getting out of bed is slow-going, especially since you can feel your pulse pounding in your head. slow, measured steps get you to your bedroom door with squinted eyes, and you try to recall where the closest pair of sunglasses would be. you hear pained groaning and it takes a moment to realize it's coming from you. when you open your bedroom door, john fucking price is waiting on the other side with a glass of water in one hand and a serene, bemused smile on his face. shit, he didn't go home, and now he's seeing you at your absolute dirt-worst. his sudden appearance startles you a little, and you can't help but gasp and hold a hand to your chest, trying to settle yourself.

"sorry, good morning." he says warmly and quietly, handing you the glass. "take these."

he hands you the water and a handful of pills, and you squint at him skeptically. he huffs out a small laugh.

"painkillers and vitamin b, plus a few other vitamins. that's all." he says softly, and you nod silently as you take them. it strikes you as soon as you swallow down the last pill that you just blindly trusted a very bad man, and you feel all of the anxiety and fear that you'd managed to suppress with beer come rushing back to the forefront. oh god, your fucking mouth went off last night. you sassed members of the mob, for fucks sake. who knows what kind of damage control you're going to have to do, considering you don't remember the last parts of it.

"i'm sorry, i'm really sorry, about all of it." you blurt out, hands suddenly shaking for no reason. john pulls the water glass out of your hands before you drop it, running a big comforting hand down your shoulder.

"about all of what, sweetheart? everything's fine. easy, easy," he soothes as he pulls you in to a one-armed hug, which just makes you shake even more. "tell me what's got you all worked up."

the words don't come. you just shake your head wordlessly, trying to fight off tears. fuck, don't cry, don't you dare fucking cry. be a big girl and suck it up, take it on the chin, dust off your shoulders and move on.

"i think i was probably a fucking idiot last night. it's so embarrassing." you admit, trying to downplay your horror at maybe pissing off a goddamned mob boss, or his trusted second who wears a human fucking skull for a mask. john just laughs, not unkindly. it makes you feel a little better to hear he's not mad.

"no, you weren't, you were lovely company. even when you insisted repeatedly that i must have sabotaged your employment." he teases. oh, god, that's exactly the kind of thing you worried you might do.

you squint at him through the eye-melting golden sunlight streaming through the curtains.

"did you get me fired?"

"no. as much as i rather like the idea of you working for me, i like staying in your good graces more. lord knows you'd never forgive me if i meddled in your life much more than i already have. satisfied?" he asks, and you search his face for any hint of deception. you're not sure you could even clock it even if you did see anything, a man like john price is probably a very practiced liar. you bite your tongue and hold back a cutting remark about how he's meddling right now. you don't think it's a good idea to let your throbbing, irritated brain run the show right now.

"ok." you say, even though you're still not entirely sure. yeah, he's convincing, but he's also a career criminal. guys like that lie for a living, it's half their job to be convincing, that's what keeps them out of prison. if there's any skepticism on your already scrunched up and grumpy looking face, john doesn't comment on it.

"come on, i'll make breakfast. nothing fancy, mind, but i think a hot meal will do you some good." john says genially, keeping his voice low like the fucking prince he is. your head throbs anyways.

"there's instant hash browns in the cabinet above the stove, and sausages in the fridge." you offer, seeing as it's the only way you can really help out in this state. your head is still throbbing and the pills haven't kicked in yet. god, where the fuck are your sunglasses? you content yourself with squinting as you shuffle to the kitchen table, burying your face in the darkness and safety of your crossed arms on the tabletop. you can hear john moving around in the kitchen behind you, pans being gently set down with obvious thought and care for your aching head. you don't know how long you keep your head down and eyes closed, listening to him make your breakfast, careful about the amount of noise he makes. it's sweet, really, and something inside of you flinches at the thought of calling someone like john price 'sweet'. you adjust your arms, folded on the table to act as a pillow, and hit a box with your elbow. ah, right. your box from the office, filled with your belongings. may as well put it away while food's still cooking. you force yourself to open your eyes again with a little groan, and grab your belongings with a sigh. that's when you see it- at the bottom of the box there's an edge to a false bottom, and you can see pages sticking out. you lift up the cardboard flap and pull them out. it's email printouts, page after page, discussing you and your coffee shop kiss with john, with pictures attached. the thread dates all the way back from when the pictures were taken up to the day before yesterday. they call you a 'pr nightmare' and 'liability'. a few of them call you a 'dumb cow' and speculate as to whether or not you'll be arrested soon. the explicit decision to terminate you as soon as it all died down was made less than a week after the photo circulated. this was lydia's doing, putting this in here for you to find, it must have been. she was trying to help you, to let you know what was going on behind closed doors. what she thinks you can do with this information, god only knows. oof, now you feel bad for sabotaging your computer in front of her. you hope she didn't get in trouble for that, somehow.

"holy shit, john. i apologize, you definitely didn't get me fired. well, not intentionally, anyways." you say as you hold out the print outs to him. he strides towards you and shuffles through them with a furrowed brow, looking more and more offended as he continues reading. maybe it was a mistake to show him this.

"could easily get them to give you your old job back if you threaten to take this to court, i imagine." he says with an icy tone that you know isn't directed at you, handing the pages back reluctantly. he's mad on your behalf, and it's kind of endearing. oh holy shit, you gotta stop that. do not let yourself think of him as sweet or nice anymore, you're gonna get hurt if you start to believe that.

"i don't wanna work there again." you say automatically, shoving the papers back in your box, and you really mean it. there's no one and nothing you miss from that place, and the paycheck wasn't even that good. if anything, this was maybe the kick in the ass you needed to try to find something better.

"so what do you want?" john asks, and something about his tone makes you realize he actually cares what your answer is.

"to eat breakfast and chase away this hangover. i'll figure out the rest later." you deflect, and john lets you, chuckling good-naturedly as he goes back to tending your hash browns and sausages.

"any big plans for the rest of your day?" john asks conversationally as he stirs the potatoes with an aromatic sizzle. he must've put garlic powder on them, that beautiful genius. god bless.

"uh, at some point this afternoon i'm gonna visit my dad, but that's it." you say carefully, sipping at your coffee.

"what a dutiful daughter." john sounds so proud for some reason. "you two pretty close?"

it's hard to really answer that honestly without spilling your guts. the fact is, you and your dad were close. 'thick as thieves' is the phrase your mom used about the two of you when you were growing up. when you started school, he altered his work schedule so he could be home when you got off the bus, having some snacks prepared and asking about your day. he'd listen to you prattle on for hours about things you'd learned in class, gossip you'd heard about classmates, and homework you were dreading. he did that every single school day from kindergarten until you graduated, calling it 'father/daughter tea time' and getting a little teary at your very last one before you moved out to start your independent life. he doesn't have your mom's name tattooed on him purely out of superstition, but he'd gotten yours written right above his heart. last time you'd gone to visit him in the memory care unit, he'd been surprised and delighted to learn that he had a tattoo. you'd just been happy that he knew who you were that time. it's not always a given.

"used to be, but. you know. got older, stuff changes. still like spending time with him though." you say, not lying so much as just not telling him everything. it isn't his business, really. he doesn't need to know all your baggage just yet. or ever. it's not like this is a relationship... right?

"good of you to keep tryin'." john puts down the steaming plate in front of you, and it's just what you needed. sausage and hashbrowns, cooked to perfection and making your mouth water. you hum noncommittally.

"your parents still together?" he asks, and you have to think about how to answer that without showing your hand. you don't know why, but dad's alzheimer's diagnosis seems too personal to share with someone like him. it almost feels like exposing your weaknesses, and you're not willing to do that with someone who makes the caveman part of your brain scream predator.

"mm, living separately but still married. it's complicated." you say in lieu of the actual answer, my dad doesn't know who my mom is half the time but my mom still loves him too much to leave.

"fair enough." he says around a steaming mouthful of potato.

"john, can i ask you something?" you ask carefully. he seems to sense your hesitation and smiles at you warmly, like he's inviting your questions wholeheartedly.

"almost anything, sweetheart."

"what is this? what are we doing here? and don't say 'eating breakfast'." you say, pointing your fork at him.

"ah. well, i am trying to make a very good girl realize that i am not an entirely bad man." he sips his tea, blue eyes locked onto yours over the rim of his mug. "is it working?"

"only a little bit." you say honestly, and a small flash of hurt crosses his face before he resumes his nonplussed expression. you saw it, though. you did. and it made you feel bad to have done that to him, despite it being the truth.

"ah. i'll have to work harder, then." he tilts his head to the side a little. "my reputation still make you that nervous, sweetheart?"

all you can do is nod a little bashfully as you shovel another forkful of seasoned hot potato into your mouth. he leans forward, forearms resting on the table and his foot sliding behind your ankle as he looks at you with a sad little smile.

"i understand. i do. i worked hard to get the notoriety i have, and it's done me a lot of good professionally, but it seems to be standing in the way of convincing a very nice woman to give me a shot." he sighs softly, sipping his tea again. "not sure what i can do about it."

you're an absolute tangle of emotions, and the hangover doesn't help. if john was anyone else, if you'd met him any other way, you'd be thrilled to have this large, handsome man's attention. as it is, you can't help that uneasy feeling, like you're going to be raided by the police at any minute or kidnapped by a rival gang. still, the pull you feel towards him seems undeniable, as foolish as it is.

"i like you, john, i do, but-" you try to get your thoughts together, jumbled as they are in your pulsing skull. you try not to notice how he seems to light up at your admission. "-i'm worried. i only got the littlest taste of what it's like to be briefly associated with you, and frankly, it sucked. i just- i don't wanna get shot, you know?"

you try to make it a joke, but the thoughtful look on john's face just confirms for you that it's a very real possibility. well, shit.

"i'll do whatever i can to keep you safe, but i would be lying if i said i could protect you from everything." he says slowly. "you're still fairly safe, though. not much in this town is worse than me, if the papers are to be believed."

he's trying to crack a joke, but it just drops a lead weight in your guts. your mom is going to be so pissed. she's right to be, of course, especially since you'd told her nothing was going on between you and john price. john sees the conflicted look on your face, and reaches over to take your hand.

"look. we can take this as slow as you like. keep it as quiet as you like. i just want a chance, sweetheart. i think you're something special, and i won't be satisfied until i know for sure." he says gently, earnestly.

"know what for sure?"

"if a girl like you could ever love a man like me." john says, and it'd be a corny line if not for how sincerely he says it. the word 'love' has you sputtering.

"i- john, we- i mean, i barely know you."

"i'm tryin' my best to change that, sweetheart." he says with a small smile. he nods at your plate. "how's your breakfast?"

"just what i needed, thanks john."

"yeah? feelin' a bit better?" he asks, and you take stock. the throbbing in your head has mostly subsided, daylight no longer hurts, and you don't feel like your guts are as in perilous a shape as they had been. you might actually make it through the morning without hugging the toilet.

"definitely." you say, and john smiles more broadly at you. it looks genuine, like nothing else on earth could have made him happier to hear. he reaches for your empty plate.

"good. i'll do dishes, you go rest on the sofa." he instructs as he gathers the dishes. "need more coffee?"

"i'm good, thanks." you say as you trudge out to the living room, plopping down on your couch. did he sleep here last night? you can't see a trace of it, or any of last night's happenings. he must've picked up all the beer cans and pizza boxes for you while you slept. that's... unexpectedly sweet. fuck, wait, no, you gotta stop thinking of him that way. this is a man whose yard got dug up because cops thought there might be bodies buried there. there weren't, but. that's not the point... right? like, yeah ok, cops lie all the time, fabricate shit just to get a 'win'. you've seen it before, the footage on youtube of your local p.d. planting evidence during traffic stops and tazing people who only sass them. but does that make john totally innocent? it's hard to wrestle with these thoughts when your brain is only just now coming out of the haze of pain and dehydration. you ponder whether you think cops or mobsters are bigger liars as you cradle your hot mug of coffee in your hands, feet tucked under you on the couch as you listen to the sounds of running water and clattering dishes in your sink. it's domestic in a way you haven't experienced in a long time. you've missed it, really, and it's hard not to feel a little vulnerable as all the loneliness you'd been trying to ignore for the past year or so comes bubbling up to the surface. it's so nice, just existing with another person in your space like this. it's been too long, and you worry that it's your loneliness, not your logic or rationality, that is going to be calling some pretty important shots in regards to the man in your kitchen soon.

your thoughts distract you enough that you barely notice john sauntering into the living room and settling down right next to you on the couch, his thigh pressed to yours. he gingerly extracts the hot mug of coffee from your hands, leaning to put it on the coffee table as he twists slightly to face you better. slowly, he leans in close, nose gently nudging against yours just like last night, giving you ample opportunity to stop him or push him away. you don't.

"can i kiss you, sweetheart?" he asks quietly, like he's afraid of being overheard in your empty apartment.

"yeah, ok." you murmur automatically, before you have a chance to actually use your brain and think before you speak. john flashes a smile, bright and victorious, before sliding a hand against the back of your neck and kissing you gently, warm lips against yours, almost reverent in nature. you can feel him lean into it, pressing against you as he sucks on your bottom lip with a pleased hum. he's so warm, his chest pressed against yours, and you grip his shoulders just for something to hold onto as his tongue slides over your lips and across your teeth. it isn't until you feel one of his hands slide up your back, under your shirt a little that your brain catches up to the fact that you're kissing john fucking price on your couch and his fingers are definitely underneath the band of your bra. that's fine, you suppose. doable, and not at all alarming. what he says next, though, low, gravelly, and panted into your open mouth, overwhelms you to the point of making you flinch.

"all mine."

you wriggle along the back of the couch and out of the kiss, trying to squirm out of his embrace as the alarms go off in your head. that kind of possessiveness is dizzying, and you're not sure how much of it's real and how much of it's just talk. either way, it's too much coming from the likes of him.

"sorry, let's- let's just keep this breezy, ok? take it slow, keep it casual. like i said, i'm still getting to know you." you sputter, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment. you're not some stammering virgin or anything, but everything about john make you feel like you're in way over your head. probably because you are.

"sorry, love. i'll try, but i'll be honest, i'm going have a hard time doing that. not sure i can be casual about a girl like you." he sounds a little breathless already, good lord.

"y'know, you don't really know me either, we've only met a handful of times. that's it." you point out.

"i know enough. you're the girl who passed my tests and made for exceedingly lovely company last night. would like to get to know you even better, if you'll let me." he murmurs. "make you a deal- we'll just keep this thing between us quiet while we figure out what we want this to even be, yeah? as badly as i want to show you off to the whole city, i don't think you'd much like that, would you?"

"i would not, no." just the thought of it makes your guts churn a little, but that sensation might just be leftover from your hangover.

"all right, then. it's decided. we'll try this out, at your pace." he says with a decisive nod as he gets to his feet, and you can't help but get up and follow him to the door. "i should be on my way, i imagine my boys will be a bit cross with me for disappearing all night. oh, speaking of-" john looks up at you as he ties his boots. "you didn't happen to mention the mole business while you were chatting with them last night, did you?"

"i don't talk about things that aren't my business." you say immediately, and he beams up at you.

"if i had a ring in my pocket i'd propose right bloody now." he says as he gets up from kneeling, pulling you gently back into his arms. "see you saturday?"

"yeah, john. you know where to find me." he smirks and leans in to kiss you again, soft and gentle, clearly reluctant to part with you before slipping out the door with a wink and leaving you flustered and re-evaluating all of your life decisions in your entryway.

#john price x reader #cod #call of duty #chubby reader #fat reader

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