Fics like My American Angel

Mingi doesn’t speak right away. He just stares, slow and thorough, like he’s memorizing every inch. “Goddamn,” he finally breathes, voice thick. “Look at you.” Yeosang bites his lip, pleased and nervous all at once. He gives a tiny spin—arms out just a little, the skirt flaring gently, cashmere catching light in soft waves. When he stops, facing Mingi again, his cheeks are flushed bright pink and his eyes are shining. “Do you like it?” he asks, voice small but hopeful. Mingi sits up straighter. “Like it? Baby, you’re killin’ me.” He reaches over to the nightstand without looking away, fingers closing around the Polaroid camera he keeps there for moments exactly like this. The kind with the square flash and the instant film that spits out pictures you can hold right away. “Stay just like that,” he says, already lifting the camera. “Right there by the mirror. Give me another little twirl.”

Fics like My American Angel

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