Be So Fucking Proud Of Yourself For Passing The Hardest Moments Alone While Everyone Believed You Were

Love Me Out Loud

Pairing: Mingyu x fem!reader

Featuring: BooSeokSoon, the rest of team ENFJ, Kim Taehyung, Irene/Joohyun, Younghee

Synopsis: Kim Mingyu was your first, but to him, he was for sure you were his endgame. One year out from university, no one expected you to be dating the former campus heartthrob. It's why you had to hide it from everyone – Mingyu's 14.5K Instagram followers, at least. However, the return of your childhood best friend Kim Taehyung to Seoul for a wedding, forces Mingyu to rethink the secrecy of your whole relationship. 

Genre: Fluff, angst, smidgen of crack, established relationship, secretbf!mingyu, medschoolgrad!reader, childhood bestfriend!taehyung, bestfriend!younghee, title inspired by Chungha's Love Me Out Loud

Warnings: Use of profanity, mentions of food and alcohol, inaccurate statistics about couples, lack of communication, insecurities, yes I chose cliché wedding songs . . . I think that's it?

WC: ~14.6K

A/N: Surprise 🤡 This fic was inspired by Mingyu's IG thirst photos. Also . . . high-key low-key me projecting my beef with him onto the couple in this au😳 I deeply apologize in advance if the main conflict of this fic is kind of stupid 😭 I needed to . . . uh, vent out some steam :') Only Kim Mingyu can make me feel this deeply to the point where I can smash out almost 15K words in three sittings, despite recently declaring Vernon (and maybe Jihoon) as my new biases . . . (I am not proud).

I was this close to throwing out this fic, but @onlymingyus encouraged me to follow through with it, so here's the final result. Thank you for believing in my hot recycling writing when I can't, fam 😭

Other things: Per usual, this is unedited, so I'm sorry for any grammar and error mistakes. One of these days when I'm feeling ambitious, I will come back and fix them. This will probably be my last update in a while! I have a couple big exams coming up I need to focus on. I also need to work on those 1K fic drabbles (and finishing my 2 other series 🤡)! I'll be lurking around simping over Vernon, but for the most part, I'll see you all on the other side in a few weeks, hopefully having passed my exams with flying colors and with some new stories and updates in hand.

Last, Kim Mingyu if you're reading this: Sir, please love me back in my dreams at the bare minimum!!! 😭💔 #iykyk

Permanent taglist: @sleeplessdawn @woozarts @wonuziex @rockwidthyou @bibinnieposts @jeonghanniehae95

“He looks like a . . . a fuck boy.”

Her brows knitted together with a frown set on her lips, Younghee sank down into the wooden chair and shot you a concerned look. Mirroring her disappointment, though for different reasons, you pouted and lowered the image of your new boyfriend closer to your chest. Silently, you clicked the side button of your phone that turned your screen black. 

“He’s not,” you mumbled, your feelings hurt that your best friend would think you were that dumb to fall for a fuck boy. 

Younghee let out a heavy sigh, running her hands through her long wavy black hair. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear and clasped her hands together, tilting her head curiously to the side. “What’s his name again?”

“Mingyu,” you replied promptly, “Kim Mingyu.”

“Kim Mingyu, Kim Mingyu, Kim Mingyu,” she repeated like a mantra, tapping her chin curiously. She narrowed her eyes, “The name sounds familiar.”

“He . . . went to the same uni as me,” you added – not that it mattered a whole lot. Younghee didn’t know many of your friends from university as she didn’t attend with you when the both of you graduated from high school. Rather, she went down her own unique path, opting to attend culinary school and now owning her own bakery. Busy with your post-graduation and adult lives, the two of you hardly found the time to sit down like this and catch up anymore – it’s almost been a year since you last saw Younghee and had a lot to update her on, your relationship Mingyu being the main new occurrence. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, she asked, “I don’t remember you talking about him.”

“That’s because I didn’t,” you cleared your throat and took a long sip of your own drink before replying. “We didn’t run in the same circles – I mean, we did, he’s friends with Seokmin and Seungkwan, but I was hardly around when he was because ya know, medical school is busy . . . We met after I graduated.”

“Ah,” Younghee nodded slowly. 

“He’s really nice – a sweetheart,” you volunteered. You rubbed your arm, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Treats me well . . . and s-stuff.”

“I mean, I hope he does,” Younghee replied. She shrugged and turned back to her iced coffee, twirling the straw nonchalantly as the ice sloshed against one another inside. 

You frowned and let out a heavy sigh. Your shoulders slumped forward. “What don’t you like about him already? You haven’t even met him yet”

“I never said I didn’t like him.”

“You said he was a fuck boy and keep giving me these weird looks.”

Younghee rolled her eyes. She hated how observant you were at the wrong times. “I said he looked like a fuck boy,” she pointed at your phone, “And I don’t know? It’s the air, the vibe, about him in his pictures? He’s definitely good-looking and you can tell he knows it – it’s like . . . arrogant?”

“He’s not–”

“And don’t lie to me, you can tell, the man has had bitches before you.”

“Okay and? We’re nearing our thirties, haven’t we all dated someone at this point?”

“You’ve never dated anyone before Mingyu and there’s a chance that there will be bitches after you.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” you scoffed. As much as you loved your best friend, she was quick to judge and did not know how to filter herself at times. “Also, I did date before this! There was –”

Younghee pointed at you, her eyes wide and playful as she was trying to make a point. “Hoseok doesn’t count – you both were so shy, nothing came about it.”

Annoyed, you pressed your lips tightly, waiting for Younghee to finish rattling off nonsense about Mingyu. She wasn’t wrong per se, but she also wasn’t right. Mingyu was one of three major heartthrobs at your university, and unironically, they were best friends with one another: Kim Mingyu, Joshua Hong, and Lee Chan. Like those cheesy coming-of-age movies set in high school, people gawked at them in the hallways while they blessed everyone with their presence. Women flocked in their direction at parties, hoping at a shot to be their companion for the night, or perhaps even the next few months. 

They each had their own charms, it just depended on what you preferred. Joshua Hong was the soft “indie” type. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts, daydreaming and sketching away in his notebook or strumming his guitar during his free time, the former Film major was quite the romantic. He was warm, kind, and soft-hearted. He was the owner of the gentle tinkling laugh that had women and men alike on their knees. Lee Chan was the youngest, but the boldest, of the trio. Effortlessly, funny and shameless, he was quite the flirt; yet known to be quite serious when it came to studies. And last: Kim Mingyu – arguably the most popular out of the three of them. He was a man written by a woman: Handsome, tall, well-built, respectful, and friendly. His photos on Instagram surmounted hundreds of likes within hours of posting them. Rumor had it that brands had offered him deals for modeling, but he always turned them down, opting to focus on pursuing his career in architecture instead. He was practically a university socialite, though that did come with a downside. 

“Are you done?” you asked when you saw Younghee lean back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

She nodded. “All I’m saying is you need to be careful with men who look like him. Looks can be deceiving.”

“I understand where you’re coming from and thank you for your concern,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “But . . . give him a chance? Mingyu’s . . . the first guy I’ve really liked in a long time.” You peered up at Younghee through your lashes, gnawing at your bottom lip. “I also thought he was going to be like that in university, up to when Seungkwan first introduced us: arrogant, only here for an ego boost and to play with me and go about his life, but . . . I don’t know, he has his flaws, but something’s . . . different about him. I promise.”

Younghee eyed you curiously, chewing the tip of her straw between her pearly white teeth. She turned your words in her head over and over like she was observing a stone in her hand. To her, Mingyu was an interesting shift from your type, which you had claimed your last crush, Hoseok, was. He wasn’t ugly, but from the first look, you knew that wasn't all there was to him like Mingyu. Hoseok was cheerful – he added color to your dull, gray life. His style was definitely unique to put it kindly, but he was supportive and got along well with all of your friends, especially Seokmin. She hadn’t met him yet, but one look at the picture of Mingyu wearing a black T-shirt reading, “ART THAT KILLS,” and coyly looking at the camera while putting on his headphones was enough to set off alarms in her head. 

Younghee let out a sigh and dropped her empty plastic cup onto the table. Her lips contorted as her eyes wandered around the cafe before they landed on you. Reaching over to place her hand over your clasped ones, she leaned in, trying to read your face. Clearly, you were upset with her. She wasn’t sure if you were just so far up Mingyu’s ass that you didn’t see the red flags, or maybe, she was wrong and Mingyu really was a good guy, so you genuinely did like him. 

“How long have the two of you been dating again?” Younghee asked. 

“Seven months,” you mumbled. 

She nodded. It was a sizable amount of time and you usually did have a good read on people to break things off before they got toxic – but maybe Kim Mingyu was a different breed. “And why is that I’m only finding out about him now? As your best friend, I kind of expect you to blow up my phone the day you made it official.”

“We agreed to keep it on the down-low,” you played with your thumbs, avoiding her eyes. Your mind flitted to the day, Mingyu and you talked about it on his old beat up blue couch. You still remembered the way his hands gingerly crept up to caress your own, his eyes silently pleading you to give him a chance.  “A secret, if you will?”

“But I’m your best friend,” Younghee frowned. She felt her stomach churn, though she was trying to keep calm and let you explain your side of the story before she misunderstood.

“You are!” you exclaimed, covering her hands with yours now. You folded your thumbs over her fingers. “B-but for my sake, I chose to keep it a secret and I asked him to do the same – he was only doing what I asked him to do . . . Not many people knew about us. Only Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Seokmin really did – Seungkwan set us up anyhow. Mingyu only told his friends recently too.”

“Okay,” Younghee replied slowly, “Why did you want to keep it a secret then?”

“I - I . . . Mingyu is, err, famous?” you offered. 

“All of it in one go, girlie, don’t stutter,” Younghee encouraged you, “I won’t understand otherwise.”

You huffed out a breath, blowing off the fringes in your eyes. “This is so cliche,” you muttered, “But Mingyu . . . was the, uh, ‘campus heartthrob’ at our university. A lot of people liked him and, uh, you were right, he dated a lot of people before me. With those people, he . . . was very vocal about his relationship with them on Instagram – you know, like, posting cute couple pictures and stuff. You knew when they were together, and you knew when they weren’t anymore, or when he found someone else. As much as I like him, I don’t want everyone from university who follows him to be all up in my business – especially since we graduated already. I-I like my privacy and the small world I built in university. You know too, I hardly use my IG account.”

“Anything else?” Younghee offered, giving you the space to add any sparing details. 

Biting your bottom lip, you replied, “I’m also scared about how my parents, especially my mom, will react when they find out I’m dating Mingyu . . . You know how they are.”

“You didn’t even tell your mom!?” Younghee exclaimed. 

“I know I’m almost twenty-six and I shouldn’t be scared of my mother, but I am,” you wailed, burying your head in your arms. “I wanted to be sure before I introduced Mingyu to them, let alone, tell them about him because I’m scared they’ll give the same scolding you did – but worse.”

Younghee let out a chortle. She rounded the table to sit in the seat next to you, pulling your form into her arms. “You’re the cutest.”

“Stop finding joy in my misery,” you whined. 

“But in all seriousness,” Younghee rubbed circles into your back, “I get it now. It makes sense why you kept it from me, especially when we run such opposite lives – you at the hospital and me at my bakery.”

You nodded, letting out a soft hum. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Though,” Younghee started teasingly. You glowered at her in annoyance, only eliciting a playful smile dancing on her lips, “You must really like him if you’re this cautious and scared.”

You shrank back against the window. “I’m just . . . not sure he feels the same. What if I do like him more than he likes me?”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s Kim Mingyu, and I’m me – I didn’t see this coming.”

“Did he approach you, or did you approach him?”

You thought for a bit. “The former.”

“And what made you cave in?”

“ . . . Seungkwan?”

“You dated him for Seungkwan?” 

You shook your head furiously. “No, no, no – I, um . . . Mingyu . . . after we met at Seokmin’s birthday party, we, uh, hung out a few times – as friends, friends only. But one day, he just casually asked me out on a date.”

“And how does Seungkwan play into all of this?” Younghee shook her head. 

“At first I told him no because I thought he was joking, but he was persistent. The first time turned into a second, then a third, then a fourth. I thought he’d give up by the fifth time, but he asked again, and he probably told Seungkwan about it because shortly after, he gave me a good long talk,” you peered up Younghee, “You know, Seungkwan and his long talks.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she chuckled and replied, “I know them the best.”

“But yeah,” you said in a small voice, perching your chin meekly on your hand. 

“Well, I think he’d be blind not to like you as much as you like him,” Younghee reassured you. 

You scoffed. “You’re obligated to say that as my best friend.”

“Y/N,” Younghee rolled her eyes, “You’re ambitious, pretty, humble, easygoing – you’re a fucking doctor for heaven’s sake. You’re everyone’s dream girl. Give yourself some credit.”

“I don’t know, Younghee,” you muttered. 

Younghee wanted to shake you. As amazing as you were, your insecurity was one of the things that always seemed to get the best of you. It made her heartache that after all your achievements at such a young age, you still succumbed to self-doubt. If only you saw you through her eyes. 

“When do I get to meet this ‘Kim Mingyu’?” Younghee asked, hoping to get your mind off of things. 

“You . . . want to meet him?” you asked nervously instead. 

She nodded. “I need to scope him out – make sure, he’s not here to play with my best friend’s heart.”

“Oh god – don’t. Soonyoung already gave him a hard enough time,” you chuckled at the memory of Soonyoung’s shocked expression when the two of you showed up hand-in-hand, the older man eventually pulling Mingyu aside and giving what Mingyu described as a “stern dad warning.” “But I do really want you to meet him . . . and he wants to meet you too.”

“Oh?”

“I talk a lot about you to him,” you nudged her in her ribs. 

Younghee smiled and pulled you into another hug. “I’m happy for you, truly – though, I don’t trust Mingyu 100% yet. Come by the bakery after work or on the weekend sometime. We’re gonna play on my turf.”

“Younghee,” you warned, jokingly. 

As you pulled away, your phone lit up, Mingyu’s caller ID, a photo of him with his dog Bobpul that he insisted on, displaying on the screen. Younghee wiggled her eyebrows at you playfully. 

“Hello?” you answered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Younghee moved to press her ear next to your phone, hoping to also catch a word or two from your boyfriend.

“What are you doing right now? Where are you?” Mingyu asked softly. His voice was rasp and low as if he just woke up from a nap. 

“I’m meeting with Younghee, remember?” you peered up at your best friend. She smirked at you, lightly slapping your shoulder in excitement. 

Mingyu let out a soft hum. You heard ‘poof’ in the background, assuming he rolled onto his back and collapsed on his bed. “How much longer are you gonna be there? Do you work today? I miss you – I want to see you.”

“I don’t work today, but I was hoping to spend more time with Younghee,” you side glanced at her, heat creeping across your cheeks. She was angrily holding up her two pointer fingers in a cross, suggesting you cancel your plans and run home to Mingyu. You rolled your eyes and shoved her away. “You know I only get to see her every few months and I saw you two days ago.”

“Mmm . . . it’s been too long though,” Mingyu groaned. 

“I’ll see you tonight? After the movie?” you offered. 

“I wanna see you now,” he chuckled. 

“Gyu.”

“Y/N.”

“You are insufferable,” you chortled. 

“But you’re stuck with me, so,” you could just picture him skittishly shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ll come over after, okay?”

“Okay,” he pouted jokingly, “Don’t be too long, love.”

“Bye, Gyu.”

“Bye.”

When you ended the call, you were met with Younghee’s shit-eating grin. A moment of silence passed before she erupted in a thunder of squeals and giggles. 

“You two are so gross, but so cute!” she latched onto your arm. “‘Love’? What other pet names does he have for you? Babe? Honey? Sweetheart?”

“Stop,” you groaned, reaching for your purse. “Let’s just go to the movies.”

“Sure thing, love,” Younghee winked facetiously. 

. . . .

As promised, you returned to Mingyu’s apartment that evening. Initially, you had only planned on staying a few hours before returning to your own home; however, like more times than not, he managed to convince you to stay the night. Hence, why you were lying in the crook of his arm on his bed, wearing one of his many black T-shirts that were much too large for you, the hem hitting you below mid-thigh.

Because Mingyu couldn’t sleep unless it was completely pitch black, there wasn't a trace of light. He had chosen a windowless bedroom, so not even the slightest sliver of moonlight would seep through. Your only sense of him was his large body half underneath you and the steady rise and fall of breathing. 

“I told Younghee about us,” you muttered, tracing invisible circles into his abdomen.

Mingyu replied with a soft hum, followed by a sigh of relief. You felt him shifting underneath you, turning until you were laying on his bicep. You peered up at him through your lashes, the light from outside reflecting off his deep brown irises shining like stars. Mingyu’s hair was getting long as his messy dark bangs were starting to skim the tops of his lashes. 

Mingyu reached over and brushed a few strands of loose hair from your face, letting his fingers linger a little longer along the curves of your cheeks. He gave you a small smile. “And?”

“Do you want me to be honest or do you want me to sugarcoat it a little?” you whispered. 

His smile grew into a grin – he was already expecting to not be well-received by Younghee as you’ve told him she was rather blunt and critical. It took her almost half a year to warm up to Seokmin because she claimed he was too nice to be true. Especially in the case that he was your first boyfriend in a while, Mingyu knew he’d have to be more than ‘nice’ for Younghee to welcome him into your life. 

Mingyu slipped his arms lower, wrapping them around your waist. He pulled you closer to him; you automatically placed both of your hands on his chest in efforts to create some distance between the two of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like his physical affection, but rather, you weren’t used to someone being so clingy and touchy with you like this before. 

“Lay it on me, love,” Mingyu whispered, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I have to hold you in case it hurts too much.”

“You can just hold me if you want to, Gyu,” you giggled. 

“You’re my emotional support teddy bear,” he insisted. 

You rolled your eyes. Nonetheless, you found yourself snaking your arms around his waist as well. “Younghee thought you looked like a fuck boy.”

“Hhmm,” Mingyu hummed. You could already picture the slight pout setting on his face. You knew he didn’t like it when people made this assumption about him based on his appearance. 

“She’s . . . kind of nervous about you for me,” you continued to explain. It was as Mingyu expected, “But . . . I reassured her that you were good and she wants to meet you – but she thinks we’re gross.”

Mingyu let out a breathy chuckle. “Why?”

“When you called, she overheard you calling me ‘love’,” you squirmed a little in his hold. 

“Do you think it’s gross?” Mingyu asked instead. 

You pressed your lips into a tightline, answering his question with silence. Had you been an outsider watching the two of you, you might have said the same thing as Younghee: gross. However, admittedly, the pet names he gave you like, ‘love’ and ‘teddy bear’ made you feel warm and fuzzy inside – almost special if you will. There was a small voice inside of you that questioned if he did the same with his various past girlfriends. 

You buried your face into his chest, the scent of floral laundry detergent filling your nostrils. He must’ve pulled this out of the dryer recently. You felt a rumble bubbling through his body as Mingyu let out another chuckle at your reaction. You had a feeling, he already knew what you were going to say. You’ve only been dating seven months, but he already read you so well. 

“Kind of,” you finally replied, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 

“I . . . don’t blame you,” he reassured you. He planted a brief kiss on the crown of your head, while rubbing your back. “We are kind of gross, but . . . I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like it when you call me ‘Gyu.’”

“It’s not that special of a nickname,” you pointed out. 

“It is when you say it,” he immediately replied. 

You were glad he couldn’t see you right now as your cheeks grew warm. Again, you found yourself burying your face deeper into his chest – as if it could take anymore of you. Simultaneously, you were silently cursing yourself for swooning so easily at each flirt he shot your way. You shouldn’t let him have this much of an effect on you. What happens when the honeymoon phase is over? Will he still be calling you ‘love’? Will you still feel this special for doing the bare minimum?

“What are you thinking about?” Mingyu asked, his voice soft. 

“Nothing,” you lied. 

“You’ve been quiet for a while now though.”

“I’m just getting tired,” you sighed. You pulled back from his chest, fluttering your eyes shut. “We should sleep.”

Because he didn’t want to argue, Mingyu chose to leave it at that. Perhaps another day he’ll ask what’s been keeping you so preoccupied. With a deep breath, Mingyu turned and tightened his grip on you, molding his body against yours. He could feel you moving in his arms, trying to find a position to get comfortable. 

“Good night, Gyu,” you whispered when you had stopped turning. 

“Good night, love,” Mingyu replied. 

. . . .

You spun around at the familiar sound of his Leica camera shutter going off. Mingyu smiled softly, a fond look in his eyes as he admired the photo on the back screen. Placing the pumpkin spice candle back on the shelf, you shoved your hands in the pockets of your peacoat and walked over to him. Leaning over, you tiptoed peering over his shoulder looking on as well. The picture was of your profile as you read the label of the candle, your hair spilling over your shoulder. You knew Mingyu loved photography and you could appreciate it, but you couldn’t help but frown at the thought of him taking photos of you unaware. You just didn’t like taking pictures unless you had to; they made you uncomfortable, even if it was just Mingyu. Silently, you nudged his side, snapping him out of his musing. Mingyu lowered his camera and turned to face you, a nervous smile dancing on his lips. 

“Gyu,” you said softly, “You know I don’t like pictures.”

“You looked nice though,” he mumbled. 

You frowned at him. 

“Candid pictures are the best,” he tried to convince you. 

When you didn’t respond, only pressing your lips into a thin line and looking away, Mingyu finally relented with a soft sigh. He only wanted to love and appreciate you for who you were and that included taking pictures. He wanted to show you, you through his point-of-view; yet, you didn’t want it. Hooking the red camera strap around his neck, he reached over to place his hand on the crook of your elbow, tugging you closer towards him. 

“Hey,” he said more firmly this time. You peered up at him silently through your lashes. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but . . . I just like taking pictures of the people I love.”

Though you understood where he was coming from, it didn’t necessarily make you feel any better. Especially when the Instagram images of Mingyu with his previous girlfriends have flashed through your mind. 

“You’re beautiful and I just want to remember small moments like this with you,” his hand trailed from your elbow, down your forearm, naturally fitting them into yours. He gave you a reassuring squeeze. “But if you really are against it, I’ll stop.”

Guilt flooded your system at his words – it was the same unsettling feeling you had when you had asked him to delete his first Instagram story of the two of you. It was a photo taken by Seungkwan, Mingyu’s arm wrapped loosely over your shoulder while your head was tucked away in the nape of his neck with your arm resting on his chest – a closer look would reveal the bashful smile on your face. 

“Why?” Mingyu had asked innocently through the phone when you had anxiously called to ask him the favor. 

“I just like my privacy,” you had simply told him. “I would also rather . . . uh, keep our relationship out of the . . . public eye right now,” you chuckled nervously, “On the down-low?”

It wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth. 

“Okay,” he replied. Little did you know, his heart sank a little. He was excited for your relationship when it started that late spring – as corny as it sounded, it was as if the cherry blossoms bloomed late that year, just for the two of you to come together. Nonetheless, Mingyu wanted to try and be understanding and accommodating – you weren’t quite like any of the other girls he dated previously. “For future references though . . . would you be comfortable if I post pictures of us? Photography,” Mingyu let out a breathy, but nervous chuckle, “It's kind of a hobby of mine and I like sharing the ones I took.”

You had taken a minute to reply, your mind running at 100 miles per hour, weighing the pros and cons of the situation. It was as if the course of your whole relationship flashed before your eyes, the end seemingly soo and grim. 

“I-I . . . um, for now, let’s not,” you stuttered, “Maybe as we go along I’ll be more comfortable – just ask.”

But as time continued, the situation didn’t seem to get better. Similarly to today, you’d only get quiet when he took pictures of you, quickly reminding him not to post it on Instagram. Though he was curious if there was more of a reason beyond your privacy, Mingyu never dared to question you. Yet, it made you all the more guilty as time went on. 

He loved photography and he loved you – Mingyu was an altruistic and rather pure soul, so you knew his words weren’t without substance. You didn’t want to cut him off from his passion either – refraining from sharing your relationship was already a huge sacrifice for him. Mingyu was extroverted, confident, and unafraid to show himself to the world, and this included his photos and you. For that, you loved him, but you wouldn’t want him to change that for you. 

“It’s fine,” you finally muttered. 

Mingyu frowned, unconvinced. “Is it though?”

You pulled away from his hold, though not letting go of his hand. “J-just . . . give me a heads up next time okay? Like ‘hey, babe, I brought my camera and I might snap a few pictures,’ okay?”

A mischievous smile replaced the sullen look on his face. He cocked a curious eyebrow in your direction. “Babe?”

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

Mingyu nodded, acknowledging your point. “I know, I know – I’ll let you know next time.”

“Don’t post it on Instagram,” you added. 

Mingyu felt his heart drop into his stomach, unsettled. It’s been seven months and most, if not all of your friends knew at this point. Were you still so worried? Nevertheless, he shooed away the turbulent feeling and nodded. “Promise.”

Looking down at your watch, you tugged Mingyu along towards the exit of the store. “C’mon, it’s almost time to meet Younghee.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, nervous. 

You chuckled at him, “Just be you and she’ll love you.”

“I purposely wore this jacket instead of my leather one because I thought it wouldn’t make me look like a fuck boy,” he noted as you pushed open the door. A clang sounded through the store as you walked out, being met by the crisp air of autumn. 

You paused in your steps, turning to him and grabbing either side of his collar. Pulling him towards you, you placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “Mr. Kim,” you teased, “I think we’re past the point in adulthood where you can refer yourself to a fuck boy.”

“Mr. Kim? Are we getting–”

You pecked his lips again to stop him before he could say anything suggestive. “We’re not in university anymore,” you explained, “Nor are we . . . the young adults we used to be.”

“Babe,” Mingyu interrupted, dragging on the word. “You don’t have to be in university to be called a ‘fuck boy’ – Joshua has a full-time job and I can assure you, he still is one!”

“But you’re Kim Mingyu and you aren’t one,” you tilted your head coyly at him. 

He pouted, stomping his feet. “I’m just still . . . mildly offended that she would think that.”

“Admittedly, I showed her a very hot picture of you,” you joked, hoping to take the edge off of him. You patted away an invisible crease on his jacket. 

 Mingyu wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, replying in a low voice, “Did you now?”

“I did,” you placed two fingers on his forehead and pushed him away, eliciting a whine from him. You chuckled and marched along. “Younghee doesn’t like people who run late, so we gotta hurry.”

For a moment, Mingyu watched you walk down the street, your hair swaying behind you. He was grinning stupidly and happily, and people were probably staring at him on the street, but he didn’t care. Serendipity was the best way to describe your presence in Mingyu’s life. To this day, he still wonders why he didn’t notice you then when the both of you still attended the same university, your friend groups even clashing through Seungkwan and Seokmin. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have you now. You had problems and differences, but he was hopeful the two of you could work them out. You had to – it’s what people who love each other do when things get hard. 

When you were a good distance away and noticed the lack of Mingyu’s presence, you turned around, eyebrows furrowed at him still standing by the streetlamp where you left him. He was grinning, though you weren’t quite sure at what. Just as you were about to call his name, he came jogging in your direction. Immediately, he linked hands with you and marched forward towards Younghee’s bakery again. Though he paid no mind to you, you stared at his profile curiously. Sometimes, you wondered what went on in that pretty head of his.

. . . .

Mingyu liked to think that he was a confident man, always willing to stand up to a challenge. If there was anything he wanted to do, he could put his mind to it and see it through. Yet, sitting here in front of Younghee with coffees that had grown lukewarm and half-eaten cranberry scones on the table, his cheeks burned with shame, the feeling of failure settling in the bottom of his stomach like a rock sinking to the bottom of a lake. Even with your presence next to him, Mingyu couldn’t help but feel like he had just flunked one of his university exams – it was like that, but ten times worse because he knew that there were no revisions. 

To put it plainly, rather than this being a pleasant meeting between new friends, Younghee had just grilled him and Mingyu stumbled through it like a rat lost in the sewers. Interestingly, however, the first meeting seemed to go differently for Younghee, your friend, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest, with a sly, but pleased smile dancing on her lips.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Underneath the table, you felt the warmth of Mingyu’s hand previously resting on your thigh leave your leg, nervously clasping his hands together in his own lap. His eyes fell from Younghee, choosing to take up interest in the creases of his hand instead. Mingyu’s short lashes fluttered quickly . . . almost as if he was blinking back tears? Concerned, you reached over and placed your hand over his, gently pushing them apart, so you could slot your hands in one of them. It didn’t require much effort as Mingyu knew, he needed your reassurance more than ever right now. 

“Well, I should probably get back to work,” Younghee casually glanced down at her watch. “Gotta close the shop and prepare for tomorrow – lots to do.”

“Of course,” Mingyu replied softly. He looked up and smiled at your best friend, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

In contrast, Younghee grinned and leaned over the table. “It was an absolute pleasure to meet you, Mingyu,” her eyes flickered to you before they rested on his figure again. “I guess . . . you’re . . . much different from what I was expecting. I can kind of see why Y/N likes you now – I hope you stick around, get to know you better, make sure you’re the right fit for my best friend.”

“Younghee,” you warned.

She winked at you playfully. “I’m kidding, Mingyu – but really, it was a pleasure.” Younghee stood up from her chair and wiped her hands on her worn brown apron, stained with blotches of flour here and there. She extended a hand for Mingyu to take. “Come by again, okay?”

Mingyu was utterly confused at the invitation, but took her hand nonetheless. He moved towards the door of the bakery to grant you and your best friend a few moments of privacy to say your goodbyes. You were making your way over, adjusting your purse on your shoulder when Younghee suddenly called your name again. You responded with a soft hum. 

“Joohyun’s getting married at the end of next month,” Younghee announced.

Mingyu watched the way you gripped onto the leather strap, your feet stuttering to a stop at the drop of the news – at least to him it was. 

“Taehyung,” she continued, stretching out the last syllable. Mingyu noted the way your eyes visibly widen at the sound of the name, “He’s coming back for it, ya know?”

“Taehyung?” you choked. You spun around to look at your best friend, your mind reeled back to the lanky teenage boy with the round chocolate eyes and boxy grin, his hair neatly cut into a bowl cut. “As in Kim Taehyung?” 

The space between Mingyu’s eyebrows dipped at the tone of your voice. It was definitely surprise, but was it the good kind? As in you were excited to hear again about this person? Or was it the bad kind, in which he left a dent in your heart? Either way, Mingyu did not have a good feeling about it.

Younghee nodded. “I’m surprised he hasn’t contacted you.”

“He hasn’t,” your voice trailed off, “We haven’t chatted for a while – lost touch the first or second year of university because we both got busy.”

“You’re going, right?” Younghee asked. You saw the way her eyes trailed to your boyfriend standing behind you, her lips pulled mischievously between her teeth.  “With Mingyu?”

Right – Mingyu. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know the way Mingyu’s lips were already set in a small pout, a crease between his sharp brows now softened in a dispirited expression. He thought he knew everything about you – good, straightforward communication and no secrets, like the two of you agreed. But why was this the first time he was hearing about Joohyun and her upcoming wedding when you seemed to have known for a while now? 

Pressing your lips together, you nodded once stiffly. “Y-yeah, I think so.”

The hesitancy in your voice wrung Mingyu’s heart in a funny way. 

“Good,” Younghee chuckled, hiding her smile behind the back of her hand. “Him in a suit would make for a dashing Instagram photo with lots of thirsty comments underneath.”

. . . .

“Who’s Joohyun?” Mingyu finally asked. 

The two of you were on your way back to his car parked a few blocks away from Younghee’s bakery. The first half of the walk was oddly quiet, but you had chalked it up to Mingyu feeling disappointed about his conversation with Younghee. His usual charming ways did not quite work on the girl as it did with most people. You figured he needed his time and space to process the situation, only asking every now and then if he was okay and where he wanted to go for dinner. However, it seemed like it wasn’t Younghee on his mind, but rather someone else. 

Mingyu reached into the pocket of your jacket, intertwining his fingers with yours that were tucked away inside. He eyed your side profile carefully, giving you a soft squeeze, waiting for you to return the gesture – it was your thing. He did this when he was nervous (which was not often) and needed reassurance, but too shy to tell you the truth out loud. 

“She’s, uh . . . a friend,” you explained, squeezing his hand, “From high school.”

“How come you never mentioned her?” he pressed on. 

“She wasn’t ever really relevant in our conversations,” you replied softly, “And we weren’t that close really.”

“But close enough to be invited to her wedding – in a month,” Mingyu huffed, “That you didn’t tell me about.”

“I-I was going to tell you,” you stuttered, “Ask you – eventually. I just wasn’t sure how.”

Mingyu let out a half-hearted chuckle. “How hard could it be? You know I would happily go anywhere with you.”

You shrugged, jostling your linked hands. “Our . . . agreement, you know?”

Even though it’s been months since the two of you decided to keep your relationship fairly hidden, it still didn’t fail to send a sting through his heart. He tried to be understanding and respectful of your values of privacy, but Mingyu liked to love loud. Holding your hands at events with friends, kisses out on the sidewalk, and cute Instagram photos of the most seemingly boring things were beautiful to him. 

“How much longer do we have to keep it this way though?” Mingyu asked quietly. 

“Mingyu,” you started slowly. 

“I mean, at this point, all our friends know, right?” he pressed on, cutting you off. You could hear the exasperation in his voice overtaking his thought process. “Seungkwan, Seokmin, Soonyoung . . . I told Josh and Chan recently, and today we met Younghee.”

“I know,” you muttered, “B-but . . . there are just . . . so many other people who’ll be at the wedding.”

“I don’t care about those other people,” Mingyu deadpanned. 

“And if I do?”

At this point, the both of you had stopped walking, your hands still linked. Mingyu searched your face for an answer – anything, yet you always managed to stay so stoic somehow. In contrast to him who wore his heart on his sleeves and his current emotions written all over his expression, your heart was hidden in the folds of your jacket while an expressionless mask shielded your true feelings. It made you seemingly strong, but sometimes, for him, Mingyu wished you would let your guard down and tell him what was bothering you. 

“Is this about that Taeyong guy?” Mingyu asked abruptly. 

Your eyebrows ticked, furrowing together momentarily before they returned to their places. A small frown on your face, you corrected him, “Taehyung.”

“Taehyung, Taeyong – tomato, to-mah-to.”

“Why are you asking about Taehyung?” 

Mingyu shrugged, “I . . . dunno – you seemed pretty shocked to hear his name again and I was wondering why.”

“He’s just a friend who Younghee and I grew up with.”

“You seem to have a lot of friends I don’t know about,” Mingyu mumbled. 

“He was a neighbor from down the street and we went to school together, but he ended up going to a different university. I really mean it when I say I haven’t seen him since the first year of university,” you quickly summarized, hoping to calm his nerves. “Any other questions?”

Mingyu twisted his lips, glancing at the crack along the curb. “Who was he to you?”

“A friend,” you answered promptly. 

“Anything more?” 

You shook your head fervently. “Why are you so curious?”

“I mean, Younghee specifically mentioned him. Seokmin and Seungkwan went to high school with you too, but she didn’t talk about them going,” he shrugged like a child upset on the playground, “Frankly, I’m curious – perhaps, mildly jealous.”

“Mingyu,” you frowned. You leaned in and wrapped your arms around his waist. “Taehyung was just a good friend of ours and neither of us have really heard from or seen him in a while. We see the other two fairly regularly. I’m surprised Tae’s even coming back for this.”

“Tae?” Mingyu repeated. You’ve only ever shortened his own name – he assumed he was special.

“Gyu,” you scowled at him for latching onto the miniscule change in detail. 

Mingyu gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He should give you the benefit of the doubt, right? It’s been years and if there was something between you and this Taehyung, it would’ve happened already. If you said you were friends, then you must’ve been. He had no reason to question you otherwise. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Mingyu nodded and stepped towards you, bringing his hands up to your waist too. 

“Okay,” he relented. He peered up at you, “But . . . the wedding?”

“What about the wedding?”

“Are we . . .” his voice trailed off, hoping you’d finish the thought for him. 

But your answer was something he didn’t want to hear. 

“I, uh . . . I do want to go with you,” you stuttered, “A-as my plus one.” 

Visibly, Mingyu’s eyes lit up. 

“But, I’m not sure yet,” you finished, your voice soft followed by a shaky breath. “Let me think about it, hm?”

The light in his eyes dimmed as quickly as they came. "What is there to think about?"

"It might not seem like a big deal to you, but it's a big deal to me – just . . . Be patient, okay?"

The corner of his lips sagging, he nodded slowly. “Okay."

Because that’s all he could do right now. 

Be okay with it. 

. . . .

Leaning against the pillar of the front office, Seungkwan cocked a curious eyebrow at you as you walked in, yielding a red lunchbox that you weren’t holding before you left. A wolfish grin grew as you neared with your eyes wide, silently warning him to keep any snark comments he had to himself. It didn’t deter Seungkwan from teasing you, however – it never did, especially when it came to Mingyu. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he jovially joined your side. 

“Mingyu came by again, didn’t he, love?” Seungkwan asked, using the nickname, he’s heard Mingyu call you more than a thousand times at this point. 

“Shut up,” you grumbled. 

“He packed you lunch too?” Seungkwan pointed to the red lunchbox in your hand. “You guys are so domestic.”

“He didn’t – I just forgot it at home,” you tried to explain as you got onto the metal crate. 

“Oh so he spent the night?” Seungkwan pondered aloud, hiding a chuckle behind his hand. 

Aggressively punching the button reading ‘9’, you turned to your supposed friend and glared at him. “Boo Seungkwan if you know what’s good for you–”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Seungkwan let out a boisterous laugh as the elevator door closed. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder. “I just think it’s very cute to see you so in love – I feel like . . . a proud mother, that’s all.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake him off your shoulder as the elevator door opened. If there was one bad thing about working at the same company as your friend, it’s the constant teasing when you were trying to be serious. The two of you weaved around the hallway towards the lunchroom, engaging in a light conversation about your weekends.

“Younghee finally met Mingyu,” you announced when the two of you settled down at a lunch table. 

“Oh yeah?” Seungkwan stuffed the egg salad sandwich in his mouth. “How’d it go?”

“You know Younghee,” you shrugged, “She was all ‘no shits’ and serious – her talk was worse than Soonyoung’s! I’m pretty sure she scared Mingyu.”

Seungkwan chortled, taking a quick swig of his sparkling water to wash down his food. “Sounds like Younghee.”

“He did well though,” you nodded, poking your chopsticks at your vegetables. “I think she likes him enough for now.”

“Is she the last friend you have to tell?” Seungkwan asked, knowing well about your decision to keep yours and Mingyu’s relationship a secret from the beginning. 

You paused, letting the chopsticks that were halfway to your lips drop with a clatter against the container. Your mind reeled back to the part you left out of meeting with Younghee: Joohyun’s wedding and Taehyung. 

“Younghee brought up Joohyun’s wedding,” you started, your voice suddenly growing soft. 

“And?” Seungkwan pressed on. He was confused with your change in demeanor. 

“I . . . hadn’t told Mingyu about it yet.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan puckered his lips. 

That was kind of bad. 

“Then Younghee said Taehyung was coming back to town for it.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan reiterated, as if it couldn’t get any worse. He remembered Taehyung very well. 

“Yeah,” you muttered. 

Silence ensued while you picked at your food. Seungkwan watched you carefully, questions about your situation spinning in his mind as they always have since you asked him, Seokmin, and Soonyoung to stay quiet about your relationship with Mingyu. Initially, the request to keep it a secret made sense: it was a new relationship, let alone with Mingyu. However, the two of you got along so well, it didn’t make sense for you to be insecure now. You telling Younghee was the final step to ending all of this, no? From Seungkwan’s point-of-view, all your dilemmas and inner turmoil could be solved with one simple solution. 

Holding his sandwich up to his lips, Seungkwan let out a sigh and shook his head. He looked up at you, his round eyes narrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it – why don’t you want people to find out about you and Mingyu still?”

You chewed slowly on your rice, taking your time to grind each piece and swallow it down with a sip of ice water. Seungkwan refrained from eating his sandwich until you replied. 

Your eyes flickered hesitantly up at him before they fell on your tray again. Bringing your fist to your lips, you faked a cough, clearing your throat of your food. 

“Y/N,” Seungkwan said sternly. 

“I-it’s . . . too early, okay?” you stuttered. 

“You’ve been together for almost a year now,” he deadpanned. 

“It’s only been seven months,” you corrected him. 

“And?”

“Mingyu’s best relationship lasted six months and we just barely made it past that,” you explained, the pace at which words were flying out of your mouth was astronomical. “I just want to make sure it’s not just a honeymoon phase and our relationship works out okay before it . . . gets out there. I’m comfortable with our close friends knowing, but not the whole world and Mingyu knows quite literally, the whole world.”

“What do you mean?” Seungkwan scrunched up his nose. “He’s friendly, but he doesn’t know the whole world – you're exaggerating.”

You sighed heavily, slumping over on the lunch table. “Unlike me, he’s quite friendly and makes friends anywhere he goes – it could be a rock and he’d somehow make relations with it! His Instagram following is also insane for a regular, non-celeb person.”

Seungkwan frowned and shook his head. “And that matters because . . .?”

You suddenly felt small and bare – vulnerable in a place where you shouldn’t be so. For some reason, however, the small voice at the back of your head told you that maybe you should share this insecurity with someone – and perhaps that someone could also be Seungkwan. “Mingyu’s been in a lot of relationships before me and, uh, I just . . . don’t want to be another girl who dated Kim Mingyu.”

Seungkwan’s eyes soften at your response. 

“Is that why you don’t want to post a picture with him on Instagram?”

“Partly,” you shrugged, “Research also shows that 67 percent of couples who post about their relationship consistently are insecure and about 45 percent of those social media couples break up.” You sucked in a sharp breath and lifted your eyes to meet Seungkwan’s gaze. “And as you know, Mingyu’s past relationships kind of . . . followed that trend.”

“Aaaww, my dear, Y/N,” Seungkwan cooed. He ruffled your hair lovingly. “You really think Mingyu is unsure of your guys’ relationship, so he needs to upload pictures to reinforce it?”

You swatted Seungkwan’s hand away and brushed your strands back into place. “Shut up,” you grumbled. 

Seungkwan smiled at you apologetically, stars shining in his eyes. “You really love him, don’t you?”

“Love is a stretch,” you stammered, “But like? Yeah, um, I like him . . . a lot.”

“Honestly, Y/N,” Seungkwan took a bite of his sandwich, “I don’t think you need to worry about anything. You’re different.”

“What do you mean, different?”

“Different from the previous girls,” he replied with his full. He took a swig of his iced Americano to wash the food down. “He’s different with you.”

“As in . . .?”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, shooting you a look of disbelief – as if you grew antennas from your head. “I guess it’s not fair to assume you’d know, but I’ve been around when Mingyu dated other people and I’m currently around while he’s dating you, and honestly? I hope he keeps dating you. Of course, getting engaged and marriage aside, but I’ve never seen him so . . . calm and sure before? I’m not sure if ‘sure’ is the right word, but there’s a sense of stability and content – maturity, maybe? I haven’t seen it before. Sure the other girls might have been prettier or more fun, and he squealed like a thirteen year-old girl getting tickets to a BTS concert after amusement park dates, but with you? He looks like he’s actually having fun cleaning with you.”

You tuned out as Seungkwan continued to ramble on. It was indeed nice to get an outsider’s perspective rather than being stuck in your own head. Your friend was probably right, and you were being irrational. But that’s what fear did to you. Mingyu was understanding and you know if you brought it up eventually, he’d be more than willing to listen and reassure you to the world's end. There was a piece of you that still hesitated, nonetheless. What if he got mad at you?

“If you’re that worried about it, I’d just bring it up to Mingyu – he’s understanding and has a good head on his shoulders,” Seungkwan finally finished ou. 

Stuffing your cheeks with rice, you gave Seungkwan a small nod. “I’ll think about it.”

. . . .

[unknown number]: hey

[unknown number]: this is tae :) 

[unknown number]: kim taehyung from high school if you remember me haha

[unknown number]: younghee gave me your new number – i hope you don’t mind:)

[unknown number]: i just wanted to say hello and see if you were free to meet up?

A warm mug of coffee in his hand, Mingyu paused and stared blankly at your phone as each new message from Taehyung flashed across your screen. He frowned, tightening his abdomen as if it would do anything to control the nerves swirling in the pits of his stomach right now. Baseless thoughts flooding his mind, he failed to hear your padded footsteps behind him.

“Whatcha doing, Gyu?” you asked, reaching for your coat.

Swiftly, he turned around and smiled at you, though it didn't reach his eyes like most times. 

“Ready?” Mingyu asked, avoiding your question. 

He didn’t miss the way the space between your brows dipped slightly at him avoiding your question. You chose not to hound him on it, however. 

“Yeah,” you untucked your hair from the collar and reached for your phone. 

Holding his breath, Mingyu watched you carefully as you swiped at the screen. His heart sank a little when the little smile on your face formed at the new messages from an old friend. It was the smile he pictured you would have every time he sent you something. 

Tugging on the arm of his jacket, Mingyu asked softly, “Who’s got smiling like that?”

You stopped in the middle of tapping away at a new message to Taehyung. You pulled your lips into a slight pout. “Like what?”

Mingyu waved his hand at your face before tucking them into his pockets. “Like that – the small one where you’re incredibly happy but you’re nervous to show it.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, clicking off your phone and dropping it into your purse instead. You extended a hand for him to take. “Only you Mingyu.”

“You sure?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me it was Taehyung messaging you?” Mingyu muttered. 

It was now your turn to frown. You didn’t have anything to hide from him nor was it the idea that he was snooping at your texts that made you upset. It was the fact that he was withholding his feelings from you. He was upset, jealous maybe, and he didn’t want to tell you. 

“Gyu – are you still hung up on that?” you asked.

His gaze drifted to your hands. He rubbed small circles into the back of your skin, opting not to answer. 

Gently, you pulled your hands from him and moved up to cup his cheeks instead, forcing him to look at you. He stared at you reluctantly with his puppy-like eyes. 

“He’s just a friend, Gyu,” you reminded him, “No one’s taking me away from you.”

Mingyu gulped, scared. You’ve never been quite this certain with your words before. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Wrapping his fingers around your own, he pulled them off his face, lacing them together in the space between you. He took note of the new coat of baby pink nail polish on your fingertips.  Silently, he brushed the rough pads of his fingers over them – they were calloused from the barbells at the gym. 

If you told him not to worry, there was no use in worrying, right?

You loved him and he loved you. 

“Okay,” Mingyu finally relented.

“Let’s go get those groceries now, hm?” you hummed, tightening your fingers around his. 

He nodded, his heart swelling once more. It was simple, grocery shopping, but it was in the ordinary things like this that were all the more precious because they were with you. 

. . . .

“Kim Taehyung?” Seokmin sits back, wracking his brain for a mental image of the man. 

Despite your reassurance, Mingyu was growing skeptical – more of Taehyung’s intention than he was of you. These past few days, you had been texting Taehyung non-stop and it was making Mingyu nervous. Your giggles were becoming more frequent and whenever Mingyu asked, it was always “back in high school Taehyung and I did this” or “Taehyung just said the funniest thing” when it wasn’t even that funny. 

It was bearable until it wasn’t. 

When you broke the news to him yesterday that you had agreed to meet up over coffee with Taehyung, it really pressed Mingyu into acceleration mode – nearly veering off a cliff. 

Was Mingyu worried that you would intentionally cheat on him? Absolutely not – you loved him and it showed enough. You were just happy to see your childhood friend again. Admittedly, the two of you did have some pretty bizarre memories. The story of when Taehyung got Hot Tamales stuck in his nose in detention was quite entertaining – Mingyu choked on his salad at that one.

Was Mingyu worried that Taehyung might try to pull something funny and sweep you up from under his nose? Absolutely. You were smart, pretty, shy, but outgoing enough. You had a charm to you that was attractive and alluring. Not to mention, Mingyu has done his research (read: Instagram stalking) and Taehyung was undeniably gorgeous. His aesthetic was classy and sophisticated, sprinkled in with a touch of goofiness. 

He definitely seemed to be “your type” – Taehyung was every girls’ dream type: a handsome gentleman with a touch of humor. 

Hell, even Mingyu almost fell for the man.  

Hence why today, Mingyu recruited the help of Seokmin to prevent you from falling for Taehyung and Taehyung from falling for you.

In an attempt to help jog Seokmin’s, Mingyu slipped his phone across the table, the screen displaying Taehyung’s Instagram page. Seokmin narrows his eyes curiously at his friend and reaches over for the phone, slowly scrolling through the pictures. As he gets further and further down, you could see the epiphany forming on Seokmin’s face. 

“This Kim Taehyung!” Seokmin screeched. He snapped and pointed at Mingyu. The latter winced back in confusion at his friend’s sudden excitement. Hands clasped tightly over Mingyu’s phone, Seokmin leaned over the table as if he had a secret to share with Mingyu. “Taehyung from high school – yes, I remember him. He hung out with Y/N – and so Younghee by default too, a lot. I thought it was a little weird at first, but didn’t think much of it since they just seemed like good friends and he was a nice kid! He grew up on the outskirts of town, kinda grubby, to be honest, but very sweet and goofy – shy too.” 

Seokmin wiggled his eyebrows as if he had the hottest tea to spill. “But,” he dragged out, “Senior year at someone’s graduation party, we found out he did actually have a crush on Y/N!” 

Seokmin glances down at the pictures again, his eyes latching on a black and white photo of Taehyung staring mysteriously into the camera, a hand placed teasingly by his temple. His forearms were ripped. Seokmin shook his head in amazement, letting out a shocked groan. “Wah, I can’t believe he grew up to look like this! He’s gorgeous! Almost identical to V of BTS!”

Eyes downcast on the chipped mahogany table, Mingyu couldn’t help but frown at Seokmin’s reaction. If his friend was this excited and shocked to see Taehyung again, how would you react? Let alone, knowing the two of you were close friends too. 

Seokmin finally took the hint when Mingyu remained quiet, calming down from his marvel. “I mean,” Seokmin coughed, thumbing through Taehyung’s profile some more, “He’s not that handsome – nothing compared to you Mingyu. You’re much better looking than him.” He stopped at a photo of Sesame plushies lined up on the couch. “I mean look at this – he likes stuffed animals like a kid!”

“Seok,” Mingyu deadpanned. 

Seokmin shrugged back, mumbling a soft apology. He cleared his throat. “Okay, um, well, why are you asking if I know him?”

“Y/N’s meeting up with him tomorrow,” Mingyu explained. 

“Aahhh,” Seokmin nodded slowly, starting to put the puzzle pieces together. “You’re nervous she’s gonna fall for him, aren’t you?”

Mingyu’s eyes flickered up timorously at him then downcast at his fingers. 

“Eeeyy,” Seokmin dragged out, “Have a little faith in Y/N? She’s whipped for you even if she holds back a little.”

Mingyu frowned even at Seokmin. 

“Okay, well maybe not a little – she holds back a lot, but she’s just nervous, okay?” Seokmin tried to reassure him. 

“About what? I try my best to remind her she’s the only apple of my eye every day,” Mingyu pouted. 

“I mean, I would be scared too if I was dating you,” Seokmin noted. 

Mingyu furrowed his brows at Seokmin, wondering what his friend was getting at. However, that wasn’t the purpose of this meeting though. He had to get to the main point – it was easy to get caught up in tangents with Seokmin. 

“I need you to help me tomorrow,” Mingyu started again. 

“Huh?” Seokmin frowned. 

“I’m gonna follow Y/N and Taehyung to their coffee thing tomorrow,” Mingyu told him, “Make sure he doesn’t pull any funny moves on her.”

“Mingyu, don’t you think that’s a little –”

Mingyu sighed heavily, cutting off his friend. “I . . . just want to make sure, Seok,” he fumbled with his thumbs. “I . . . really like Y/N – like really, really, really like her.”

“So you . . . love  . . . her?”

“I . . . think so,” Mingyu pressed his lips into a thin line. “I just . . . don’t want her to slip out of my grasp.”

MIngyu looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes literally sagging at the thought of losing you. The sad expression on Mingyu’s face tugged at Seokmin’s heartstrings (granted, he cried very easily, but still). What's worse could happen if he just lets Mingyu follow you this once? Mingyu would only be reassured because Seokmin was sure you wouldn’t swoon so easily for Taehyung. If you had, you wouldn’t be here with Mingyu all these years later. 

“Fine,” Seokmin sighed. “Whatchu got for disguises?”

. . . .

Detective trench coats, sunglasses, and a fake mustache. 

Very original. 

Seokmin rolled his eyes behind his Ray Ban sunglasses as Mingyu looked not very covertly over his menu, craning his neck to get a better look at you and Taehyung. A bell of laughter erupted from yours and Taehyung’s table. You threw your head back, covering your fabulous smile with the back of your hand. 

“Can you hear what they’re talking about?” Mingyu whispered. “What’s so funny?”

“Mingyu,” Seokmin tugged at the fake mustache that his friend made him wear. Fuck, it was itchy. “You’re being ridiculous – why would we be able to hear what they’re saying? We’re literally on the opposite end of the cafe!”

“Am not!” Mingyu pouted. “You just need to listen better.”

“They’re literally just laughing like old friends,” Seokmin peeled the mustache off, wincing in pain as it tugged at his upper lip. “Mingyu, when you said we were following them, I thought you meant just standing from afar to make sure Tae doesn’t put his hand on her ass or something.”

Seokmin had expected his friend to protest in return, but Mingyu just remained silent. Through the sides of his shades, Seokmin could make out his hardened gaze was hardened on you and Taehyung. You were leaning over the table while Taehyung held up his cell phone aimed at the two of you. Seokmin presumed he was just taking a selfie. Your pink-glossed lips were spread wide in a happy grin, Taehyung holding up a playful peace sign. Why was Mingyu so upset?

“Uh, Mingyu?” Seokmin called. 

Still no answer. 

The moment Taehyung set down his phone, swiping at his screen, Mingyu whipped out his own device. He quickly logged into Instagram and typed in ‘thv’, pulling up Taehyung’s page. 

“Mingyu –”

Aggressively, Mingyu pulled the toggle down to refresh the page. He did it again and again, until a new photo popped up in the upper left corner. 

‘Reunited </3,’ the caption read under a photo of you and Taehyung he had taken just moments ago. 

That was the last straw for Mingyu. Aggressively, he got up from his chair, nearly toppling it over. He ripped off his sunglasses and started walking – stomping, towards your table. 

“Oh – oh my god, Mingyu! Stop!” Seokmin hissed as he lunged forward. Mingyu’s pace was a tad too fast for Seokmin, his fingers barely grazing against his coat. Before Seokmin knew it, they were both standing at the foot of your table and you were blankly staring up at Mingyu.

Taehyung peered up innocently, his face lighting up when he saw Seokmin. 

“Seokmin!” Taehyung called cheerfully. 

“H-hi!” Seokmin laughed nervously. He punched Mingyu’s shoulder, but his gaze was hard and set on you. 

Taehyung looked back to you, then Mingyu, and back at you. He figured half as much as you and the tall, handsome man were acquainted with one another. 

“Who’s this?” Taehyung asked curiously. He brushed his wavy bangs out his eyes, tucking hand into his pocket. A gentle smile on his face, his eyes scanned your boyfriend up and down, oblivious to the daggers Mingyu was sending his way.

“This is . . . Mingyu,” you explained hesitantly. It was as if time was moving through viscous honey, all eyes on you waiting for a further explanation beyond his name. Yet in this moment, all you could see was the man who’s name just slipped from your mouth. Usually, it tasted like cotton candy, but the shift from envy to desperation in his eyes as he anxiously gnawed at the inside of his cheek, waiting for you to tell them the truth, the taste of iron spreading across your tongue. 

“He’s . . . a good friend,” you finished, your voice soft.

And that was the final nail in the coffin. 

“Oh!” Taehyung chuckled innocently, already extending a hand towards Mingyu. “We’re the same. I’m Taehyung, Kim Taehyung – also a friend of Y/N’s. Nice to meet you!”

Silence, then a beat. Only the chatter of the other customers and the hissing of the espresso machine filled the air.

Mingyu pressed his lips into a thin line, clearing his throat and offered Taehyung a tight smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Taehyung.” 

“Do you guys want to sit with us?” Taehyung offered, moving his Boston bag from the chair next to him, already making room for the two. “We were just about to order.”

Mingyu chortled half-heartedly and shook his head. “Thank you, but we should be on our way. Just . . . stopped to say ‘hello.’” Mingyu’s eyes flickered to you once more. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

And with that, Mingyu was gone. 

. . . .

Coffee with Taehyung was anything, but fun after Mingyu and Seokmin’s departure. As much as you tried to stay engaged and keep up with his stories about traveling across Europe with his new job, it was clear your mind was elsewhere. You were on edge, eyes flitting to your watch every five minutes, your fingers tapping at your phone screen every chance you got to see if you got any messages from Mingyu (spoiler: you didn’t). It was Taehyung who cut the hangout short. He knew something wasn’t quite right between you and your so-called “friend,” but was a polite man and pretended not to notice. Taehyung fibbed and told you he had forgotten he had a meeting to attend instead.

After bidding him goodbye, you sped walk back to the safety of your apartment, already rehearsing in your mind what you would say to Mingyu when you call him later. You paid no mind to the fact that his car was parked in the guest lot. Nor did you bother to listen to Mrs. Lee who worked the front desk, when she tried to tell you she saw Mingyu coming in earlier, only offering her a brisk nod. 

Hence, when you finally opened the door to your safe haven and let out a deep breath, pressing your body against the silver handle, you didn’t expect the familiar sound of Mingyu clearing his throat.

Your eyes shot up to find him sitting at your kitchen island, his elbows propped up on the table. The trench coat he was sporting earlier was draped over the chair next to him, suggesting he immediately came to your apartment after leaving the cafe. He had a key to your place after all.

Your breath hitched in your throat, unsure of what to say. You knew you had fucked up introducing him as a friend to Taehyung, but your thoughts were jumbled and you couldn’t dare face him now. All you had prepared earlier vanished from your brain. 

You had to move (and think) fast as Mingyu was already making his way towards you, getting out of his chair. You pushed yourself off the door, preparing yourself to walk past him and drop your stuff off in room in an effort to give yourself a little more time to think. You should've known better that Mingyu would never let you make it that far though – not with this large of an elephant in the room.

Mingyu stood 187 centimeters tall and showed in his reach as his hand latched onto your bicep, stopping you abruptly in your tracks. His head turned robotically towards you, staring holes into your head. You could see in the side of your eye, the hurt in his face, silently begging you to say something.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply before you spoke. "Can we not –"

"No," he said softly.

“Mingyu–”

“No,” Mingyu stated more firmly this time. His voice was loud and commanding, taking you by surprise. He’s never raised his voice at you before. You caught sight of his grip on the edges of the granite counter; he was holding so tight, his knuckles grew white. 

“We’re not going to wait anymore – we’re talking about this now,” Mingyu continued. He took note of your stunned expression. “I’m tired and this is wearing on me, Y/N; I’m not sure how much of it I can take, but I also know I don’t want to lose you over something that could’ve been easily solved if we were just . . . honest about our feelings. I truly want this,” he waves his finger between the two of you, “to work . . . So please."

You gnawed the inside of your cheek, staring into his sharp dark brown eyes. You weren't used to them filled with so much sorrow and anger, and it pained you knowing you were the cause of it. As much as you were afraid of the dark path where this conversation may lead, you also knew it needed to be had if you wanted your relationship with Mingyu to progress – and you did.

With a heavy sigh, eyes downcasted on Mingyu’s hand on your arm, and nodded, silently agreeing to talk this through. His hand slipped down the expanse of your arm and laced his fingers with yours. His grip, but even in trying times, he held your hand ever so tenderly – because this was Kim Mingyu: unshakeable, yet soft hearted. 

“Where do you want to start?” you asked quietly as the two of you settled onto your blue couch. He still hadn’t let go of your hand. 

Swallowing harshly, you could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Are you ashamed of me . . .? Of dating me?”

Your heart sank; though his words were minimal, the look in his eyes was deep. That was the thing about Mingyu. Perhaps he never cried in front of you (or anyone for that matter) and he never got outright angry, but one look in his eyes and they were a dead give away about the feelings swirling in his heart and the thoughts tumbling in his mind. Right now, his eyes told you heart was bruised and his mind was confused and set on one thing only: you. 

“It’s not that Mingyu,” you muttered. You could feel your airway tightening, your esophagus growing stiff. It was getting hard to even swallow your own saliva. 

“Then what is it?” Mingyu asked impatiently, “Why is it that you didn’t tell anyone outside of our mutual friends about our relationship? Why did you wait seven months to tell Younghee? Why did you introduce me as “a good friend” to Taehyung? Why can’t I post pictures of you, of us, on my Instagram, but Taehyung can?”

There was a long pause before you spoke again. It only grew harder for Mingyu every ticking second, he could feel an uncomfortable warmth spreading across his chest, threatening to boil over. 

“I’m scared,” you replied in a small voice. If it hadn’t been dead silent, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have heard you. 

“What?” Mingyu frowned. “What are you afraid of?”

“This,” you shook his hand, gesturing between the two of you. “Us. You and me. I’m . . . like, it’s too good to be true --you're too good to be true. And it's not even because you're handsome or whatever, Mingyu. It's your patience and consideration. It's your willingness to drop everything for the people you love. Do you remember that time Seungkwan got a flat tire? You had a big presentation at work, but rescheduled it and left early to go help him. You love so . . . so openly and loudly, not just through words. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I even deserve you? I’m scared that it’s all a dream and tomorrow when I wake up, you’ll be gone. I’m afraid that I’ll grow too attached – fuck, I'm probably already in too deep, and when we don't work out, it'll hurt more than it needs to.”

Mingyu sucked in a sharp breath, nodding slowly as he digested your confession. So this is what Seokmin must’ve meant when he said he would be nervous too if he was you. Truthfully, it was hurtful to hear all of this, but not necessarily irrational. Mingyu too thought you were too good to be true – all his past relationships were rather vain, ending because he wasn’t who they had dreamed him to be. They found his love for architecture boring and when he couldn’t meet their expectations of extravagant dates, they pouted until Mingyu came running with flowers and chocolates. It got tiring - fast.

However, the difference was in that Mingyu trusted the process and let himself grow attached to you. Never mind the thoughts of no longer having you by his side while taking Sunday morning strolls or staying up until 4AM on Friday nights because you both thought it would be a good idea to try the Starbucks PSL at 8PM. He lived in the moment, and while this didn’t mean he didn’t think about a future with you, he wanted to relish in all phases of being in love with you. What hurt him was the fact that you harbored all these feelings to yourself, not trusting him to understand your emotions and insecurities.

"And is that why you want to keep us a secret? Because you're scared I'm going to leave you?" Mingyu finally asked. 

"It’s not . . . Completely baseless," you muttered, looking away from him. 

"Then tell me more."

"It’s stupid."

"I'm sure it's not." He raised his eyebrows at you, silently warning you not to be stubborn but also reassuring you that he just wanted you to be heard. He knew how stuck in your head you could get when you were overcritical of yourself.

"When . . . we were in university, I followed you on Instagram because you know,” you shrugged, picking through your mind to find the right words. “And I saw all the girls you dated and how . . . they didn't last.

“And one day, I was doing some light reading on Pledis Times and there was a study that talked about couples on social media . . . How they felt insecure and overcompensated with photos and videos of each other . . . And ultimately, most of them broke up. I, um . . . as much as I lo– I mean like you, I feared that the louder we were about ‘us,’ I’d just end up being ‘just another girl’ who dated Mingyu.”

It was nothing to be shameful of, yet, your cheeks burned. You couldn’t bear to look at him. As the silence between you grew louder, the urge to flee to the sanctuary of your room became overwhelming. You squirmed in your seat, inching away from him. 

“Love,” Mingyu chortled. You felt him give your hands a squeeze in an attempt to stop you from moving. 

“I told you it was stupid,” you muttered. 

Rather than replying to you with words, however, Mingyu leaned over and captured your lips instead. He pressed against you with just enough pressure to reassure that you were his whole world, but not enough to scare you off. The kiss was firm, but tender – like Mingyu. 

When he pulled away, an apology spilled from your lips as if on instinct. You weren’t sure why but you felt you owed him one. Mingyu shook his head slowly as rested his forehead against yours, while his fingers played with the loose ends of your hair. 

“You don’t need to be sorry for your own feelings,” Mingyu said. 

“I ended up hurting you though,” you whimpered. 

Tucking your head under his chin, he hummed. “I think I’m more hurt by the fact that you didn’t tell me you were feeling this way. I just assumed you just wanted to keep things under wraps because we were a ‘new thing’ and wanted to take things slow.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again. 

“It must’ve been hard, hm?” Mingyu noted as he stroked the crown of your head. “I don’t know what else I need to do, but trust that I’m utterly heads over heels about you, alright? If you need me to tell you every day until you believe me, I will.” he tugged your hand out of your lap and placed it over his heart. There was a fast, but rhythmic thump.

”You feel that?” he asked.

You chortled softly. “Mingyu, I think I know where you’re going with this and it’s kind of corny.”

“I don’t care – you’re the only girl who has made me feel this way. The sight of you excites me, but it all feels . . . right. I’m scared, but I’m reassured things will fall into place in due time.”

You curled your fingers around his heart, letting his voice vibrate from his chest and flow into your ears melodically. 

“As unreal as I seem to you, you are equally a dream I don’t want to fade either,” Mingyu continued to explain. “No one has ever sat patiently and listened to me ramble about cameras for two hours, let alone when you don’t know the first thing about photography. You match my ‘grandpa’ energy, willingly going on hikes with me on the trails hours away from the city to keep me company. Heck, you didn’t even blink twice when I accidentally sneezed on you or scratched my ass in front of you during the first month we dated.”

“Gyu,” you chuckled, burying your face into his chest. 

He kissed the crown of your head. You could feel smiling into your hair. “Instagram, old girlfriends, old boyfriends–”

“Taehyung was a childhood friend,” you remarked.

“Old childhood friends,” Mingyu corrected himself, “And statistical data aside, it sounds like we’re both scared – and that’s not a bad thing, okay? It means we both care deeply about this relationship and neither of us would let it slip away so easily. That said, I also don’t want that fear getting in between us. I love you and I trust you – I could only hope you feel the same for me.”

And for the first time in your relationship, you decided you wanted to be strong for Mingyu – you needed to be. Too long you’ve locked away your feelings and let them run how you act around him with others. Rather than hiding away in his embrace and kissing him in secret, perhaps it was your time to love him just as loudly as he has loved you all this time. 

Rising from his chest, you peered up at him through your lashes. There was nothing but adoration for you gracing his face, patiently waiting for you to say something. 

“I do,” you replied hesitantly, “I . . . love you and I trust you too, and I’m sorry if I’ve struggled to show it, but I’ll be braver – I’ll change.”

“I don’t want you to change,” Mingyu cupped your cheeks, squishing them together. “I love you for you, and If you don’t want to be vocal about it, we don’t have to.”

You pushed his hands away and pecked his lips, shaking your head. “I want to – no more hiding. Let your 14.5K Instagram followers know that I’m utterly head over heels for you, Kim Mingyu.”

He grinned from ear to ear, his cheeks puffing up like marshmallows. He leaned over and gave you another breathtaking, yet simple kiss. How he was so relieved to be able to show you to the world.

 “I have a lot of pictures to choose from, you know?” 

. . . .

Joohyun’s wedding was a success – the blizzard outside and blustery wind seeping through the windows aside. Her and her new husband’s wedding photos were going to be absolutely stunning with all the winter white snow though, Mingyu had whispered to you during the ceremony. Bellies full of chicken and mashed potatoes, garters and bouquets tossed to all the single people, the reception was finally getting started. The DJ played bopped to the upbeat dance music, people starting to stream in and join the bride and groom.

Mingyu had an arm thrown over your shoulder, his hand resting on the head of your chair. Arms crossed, you leaned into his chest and watched your friends sing and dance happily to Tao Cruz's Dynamite. You had that smile on your face that Mingyu adored so much – the small one where you knew you were incredibly happy, but afraid to show too much of it.

Mingyu watched the crowd while pointing out funny occurrences on the dance floor. Soonyoung getting top excited and wrapping his tie around his forehead. Chan and Seungkwan were krumping in the corner as a small crowd formed around them. They both backed away when Seulgi pushed between them, however, a round of "oohs" and "ahhs" at her sharp and playful dance moves.

"Hello, Y/N," a familiar voice called from afar. Your attention turned to the source of the voice, your face spreading into a grin at the sight of Taehyung weaving through the tables. Though Mingyu knew he was ultimately no threat, he couldn’t help but stiffen at the presence of the other man.

Taehyung tipped his head in Mingyu’s direction. "Y'N's good friend," he teased, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Tae," you greeted him with an eye roll, "How's the party going for you?"

"Splendid," he tucked his hand into his pants pocket. "Got myself a nice cocktail earlier, caught up with Younghee, and even caught myself a garter," he pulled out the thing and waved it in the air.

"Gross," you chuckled.

He winked at you playfully and tilted his head at the dance floor. "What do you say, old friend? Wanna dance? Make it up to me when you went with Seokjin to prom instead?"

Instinctively, Mingyu found himself wrapping a hand around your waist, tugging you protectively into his side. Taehyung took note of this. "Your good friend is rather possessive."

You gave Mingyu a warning look, gently pushing his hand off your abdomen. You gave him a reassuring squeeze in an attempt to calm his nerves. "Mingyu’s actually my boyfriend."

Taehyung nodded. "I figured when he looked like he was ready to take me out at the cafe," he clicked his tongue against his teeth. He laughed at the sheepish look that crossed Mingyu's face. "It was worth a shot though," he shrugged, "In all seriousness, I'm happy for you, Y/N. He seems to like you a lot."

"Thank you," you turned and peered at him shyly through your lashes. Mingyu took it as a cue to press his lips against your temple.

"Alright, alright," Taehyung waved you off, shielding his eyes. "I'm gonna leave you lovebirds alone," he pointed at pretty blonde in a silk spring green gown sitting in the corner, her eyes wandering the venue. "I'm gonna go shoot my shot over there."

"Sure thing, buddy," you giggled.

He gave you both one last wave of goodbye. "The next wedding I see you at, it better be yours!"

"You caught the garter, Tae!" you shot back.

He gave you both one last boxy grin before he turned his back to you. Immediately, Mingyu let out a brisk 'tsk'.

"I like him, but he sure knows how to push my buttons," Mingyu huffed.

"It’s Tae," you giggled watching your friend approach the girl. She blushed when Tae extended a hand. "He teases a lot – it's his thing."

"Ladies and gentlemen, why don't we slow it down for the night?" The DJ tapped into his mic and announced, not giving Mingyu a chance to pout further. The gentle strumming of the guitar in Ed Sheeran’s ‘Photograph’ filled every corner of the room.

Mingyu brushed his lips gently against your cheek. His hot breath hit your skin as he asked, “If you won’t dance with Tae, will you dance with me?”

You rolled your eyes as if the answer wasn’t obvious. Your hand was already reaching for his own, leading him to the dance floor. Not letting go of him, you spun around to rest your free hand around his neck. The two of you settled into a gentle sway, Mingyu holding you by your waist and guiding you through the waltz. He grinned at you, his canines peeking out. Even under the dim lighting, his sharp eyes twinkled with fondness. Your face reflected his joy, the small smile spreading into something bigger. 

You loved him and he loved you, there was no denying it.  

“Bro,” Seungkwan sipped on his drink, nudging Seokmin. He pointed at you and Mingyu on the dance floor. Seokmin grinned widely, fishing for his phone in his pocket. He aimed his camera at the two of you, zooming in and adjusting the lighting to best capture all your features in the photo. 

“They’re so in love, I’m kind of regretting introducing them to each other,” Seungkwan grimaced, swallowing down the bitter taste of his alcohol. 

Seokmin slapped his arm. “Don’t say that – they look cute.”

Seungkwan leaned over and peeked at the photos on his friend’s phone. He nodded in approval at the one that captured your grin over Mingyu’s shoulder, your dress swirling at your calves very prettily. 

“Post that one to the ‘gram,” Seungkwan chuckled.

“Ew, don’t say that,” Seokmin looked at him scornfully. “You sound like an old fart.”

“They’ll thank me later,” Seungkwan shrugged. 

Even after your intervention, neither you nor Mingyu had posted anything onto the web to suggest that you were dating to your followers – not that it was a big deal to either of you at this point. If a good photo comes up, you would. It was just not on the forefront of your mind anymore and the both of you had been too busy to look through Mingyu’s gallery. 

Seungkwan figured, if you guys wouldn’t be loud about your relationship, he would – it was the least he could do to support the Mingyu-Y/N agenda. 

Nonetheless, it didn’t take an Instagram post to know you were mad about one another. 

Without words, pictures, or even a peep of your voices, Kim Mingyu loved you loud enough and you loved him, equally as clear.

Wedded Bliss

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Warnings: 18+. Dubcon. Corruption kink. Virginity loss. Arranged marriage between enemies. Brat taming. Breeding kink. Beefy, mob boss Bucky devolving into a fall-to-his-knees-just-to-fuck-you kind of horny mess.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You kissed him and wished him dead in the same breath. You said ‘I do’ and meant ‘I don’t,’ exchanged your vows like your own last rites, and felt him slip the ring on your finger as if he’d just tightened a noose around your neck.

You didn’t want to be a bride, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be the bride to Mr. James Buchanan Barnes.

Frankly, you were mortified.

And terrified, too, now that you knew your groom might actually kill you in the kitchen of your honeymoon suite.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

“I walked down the aisle, didn’t I?”

Another plate went crashing on the wall behind your husband’s head just as he managed to duck. He side-stepped a spray of porcelain and glass and probably crushed several hundred shards beneath his polished black oxfords when he walked—stalked—over to you.

You’d just reared back to hurl a serving plate at his face when you found your speed swiftly outmatched. Bucky had your elbow gripped between his forefinger and thumb in less than a second, and, pinching the bone like he might readily break it, he said, even as always,

“Put it down.”

You did as he told you and dropped the platter to the floor with a crash.

Rather than berate you for the broken china—or the four other pieces before it—your husband only smiled.

“Are we done?”

Hell, you wanted to be. Slide over a pen and a one-way plane ticket to someplace in BFE, and you’d be signing those divorce papers in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, your dear husband was just referring to the temper tantrum.

You weren’t totally sure if you were finished on that front, so you looked him up and down and shrugged.

“Now darling—” he started.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Light of my life—”

“I’ll kill you.”

Your cool, level-headed groom took each gibe like it was his sworn duty, and only when he yanked your wrists behind your back and shoved you toward the bedroom door did you sense that he might not be too pleased with your behavior.

Your knees struck the edge of the California King at the center of the room, and before you could will yourself not to fall face-first, Bucky nudged you hard again.

Still pinning your hands behind you, he followed your collapse on the bed and leaned over your prone body.

His breaths were hot on your ear; you could tell he was smiling as he started to hike your dress up your legs.

“It’s all part of the deal, doll.”

You wriggled under his hold and tried to angle yourself better to see him, hoping he’d see your scowl.

“The deal was to get married,” you reminded him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed, just then starting to trail a finger up the uncovered skin of your calf with his other hand, “And what is it that married people do?”

You kicked your foot reflexively, paused, then said,

“Fight. Constantly. Probably resent each other for the better part of two decades before we finally decide that ‘making it work’ for the kids isn’t worth it at all, and I claim half of everything you own in a bitter divorce.”

That earned a chuckle from Bucky. He kept his roaming hand brushing up the back of your thigh and squeezed the flesh just below the swell of your rear.

“Don’t worry, my lawyer drafted a pretty good prenup.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but then he was tracing the contour of your ass with his palm, and you cut yourself short. Bucky carried on, careless as ever.

“But the kids you mentioned,” he said, “How are we supposed to get those?”

You pursed your lips and tried hard not to move when his fingers drifted inward—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. The bottom of your dress was bunched around your hips now, leaving you sorely exposed. Had your bridesmaids not thrust that stupid white lingerie set upon you hours before the wedding, you probably would’ve chosen something a little more modest than a thong. But here you were.

At least the sight seemed appealing to your husband, whose eyes hadn’t left you once while his hands grew even hungrier to feel your warmth.

“I’m hoping a sperm donor or one of your double-crossing mobster friends will knock me up, honestly,” you said, feigning enthusiasm at the thought.

A tart slap delivered to your ass told you that Bucky hadn’t found that funny. After, he started kneading the skin a bit harder.

“No shot,” he shook his head, suddenly gliding his fingers down closer to your core and waiting for you to say something in protest, “Only one that’s gonna be pumping this thing full of babies is me, I promise.”

It was like he wanted your retaliation, whether that be by a thinly veiled look of disgust or a reactionary jab of your own. You weren’t keen on fulfilling any wish of his, but at this point, you felt you had no other choice. When you sensed he was distracted by the newly-discovered heat between your legs and had loosened his grip on your wrists, you flipped yourself over on the bed. Shoved at his chest before he knew what to do with himself.

Of course, the push didn’t send him far, but it was enough to get his attention—and his hands off of you.

“I’m not having your babies, Barnes! I am never going to fuck you, no matter how long we stay fake married,” you spat.

At that, Bucky just raised his eyebrows and wet his lips. You were cramming your wedding dress back into place, glaring at him the whole time, and were scarcely more aware of the bright, teeming city outside the window than you were of your husband’s own growing erection.

Finally, you’d said it. His new wife wouldn’t fuck him. The sound of your resistance was almost a pleasure unto itself, and the longer you stared at Bucky with growing contempt and resolve not to do that thing, the more determined he became to make it happen.

Cat-and-mouse games had long been a staple in his life, and he was pleased to see them carry into his marriage as well. Surely if he’d triumphed in every pursuit for the last twenty years—facing the likes of some seriously execrable bandits and racketeers—he could take on a bratty woman less than half his size. You said you didn’t want his babies now, but just wait until he’d fucked you full of his cum once or twice. You’d be begging him for it in no time at all, and shortly thereafter, he’d have you barefoot and pregnant as many times as he liked. Always swollen with one of his children and whining for more.

The woman before him now had a murderous glint in her eyes, but he could fuck that away easy. In fact, he would live to do it. He traced the outline of your thigh over your dress and smiled when you tried not to recoil.

“Surely you didn’t think we’d be finger-painting and reading poetry to each other on our wedding night, hm?” he asked, almost delicately.

“Thought you might have one of your other women lined up,” you snorted. When you tried to move away, Bucky pinched your leg to make you stay. You winced.

“That’s not funny,” he said, a little more consternation in his tone. Like he actually cared whether you thought him a profligate Lothario or not, “Now that we’re married, it’s only you and me. No mistresses, nothing.”

Yeah, and he was just as likely arriving to your marital bed a blushing virgin. You rolled onto your side and pretended not to feel him tighten his grip as you did.

“Try the carnal part of our marriage yourself and I’m sure you’ll find I’m an exceptional fuck,” Bucky continued, speaking low as he stroked the chiffon of your dress.

You didn’t doubt the man was good—certainly the extent of his sexual escapades as a twenty-something seemed to demand it—but exceptional? No fucking way. You knew men like Bucky, with the world and every walking pair of tits at their fingertips, and almost all were incurably selfish. Cocky. The kind to jackhammer a woman for three consecutive minutes, roll over, and say, ‘Did you cum?’

No, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell your husband’s sexual prowess was even half as good as he claimed it was. Deciding to bite your tongue for the first time that night, though, you just stared at him blankly.

What you didn’t know was that your silence only stoked the flames of his ego, prompting him to press the matter further.

“What? You think I can’t fuck?” he said, “Any woman lucky enough to bed me has cum at least twice. Every time.”

Sure they did, Bucky, you wanted to say, but were suddenly drawn into his lap before you could speak.

“But let’s pretend I can’t,” he said, heedless of the face you made as soon as you were straddling his hips, “You wouldn’t let your husband prove himself tonight?”

“I don’t fuck strangers.”

Bucky smiled at that.

“Everyone’s a stranger until you get to blow them, honey,” he teased, squeezing your hips when you didn’t seem amused at all. Then you let out a cry, feeling yourself thrown back on the mattress like a rag doll while Bucky moved off.

Before you knew it, he was tugging your ankles down the length of the bed and widening his stance just a bit. He stopped pulling once your knees were grazing his black dress pants and your feet were dangling off of the bed.

“You like skylines?” he asked.

You frowned and raised a brow that he was quick to interpret as a ‘yes.’ He hauled you onto your feet.

“‘Course you do. All pretty girls like pretty skies,” he rattled on, strolling with you step-by-step to the set of French doors at the end of the room.

Bucky led you out to the balcony. The air was warm as it ever was, dull gusts of the evening wind curling up from the coastline below. Just as your husband had promised, the skyline of Santorini greeted you on either side, and you had to admit, it was more than just pretty. The views from your villa were absolutely breathtaking.

You stood with your back to Bucky, hands resting on the marble balustrade, and you felt him there, behind you. You didn’t bother to tilt your head when he drew even closer.

“What do you like most about it?” The question was simple enough, punctuated with a kiss on your shoulder. Your eyes scanned the horizon, the sea, even the quiet little streets down beneath, and you racked your brain trying to think of an answer that might satisfy him.

Before you could, though, you sucked in a breath when you felt your dress start to come undone at your back.

Bucky was unzipping your gown, gentle as ever, and probably grinning from ear to ear as he watched you shift uncomfortably in place and try to hold the material above your breasts where it had been fastened all day. Presently, you kicked your heel backward and hoped it would land somewhere near his balls. You missed.

“James,” you hissed.

Bucky groaned at the sheer intonation of his name on your lips.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why are you undressing me?”

Bucky had successfully dragged the zipper all the way down to your ass, and it seemed he was trying to shimmy the dress off your frame. You held on tight.

“I’d like to fuck my bride over the balcony railing, if that’s alright with you,” he answered truthfully.

The man was nothing if not blunt and crass. You turned around to give him a look, yanking your gown even closer to your chest.

“I’ll— I’ll tell my mother, Barnes.”

You felt stupid as soon as you’d said it—using your go-to threat whenever you were in distress. What were you, eleven?

“Your mother?” Bucky repeated, words steeped in derision, “Last I recall, mommy dearest was practically begging me to get you pregnant at the reception.”

Your jaw clenched, and you internally cursed your whole family. Your parents were supposed to be on your side throughout all of this—it was bad enough they’d pawned you off to a mob boss of unrivaled infamy all to settle a debt, but this? Your mother had assured you just the day before that Mr. Barnes was bound to tire of you within the year. No mention of sex or babies whatsoever.

The same mother who had beat you over the head with the notion of your own virginity since you were old enough to read, the one who had underscored just how important it was to wait for the right man to give yourself body, mind, and soul to, turning around and telling this filthy criminal to have you any way he liked. And knock you up? The fucking nerve of that woman.

You were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own backstabbing family that you hardly felt Bucky drag your dress the rest of the way down your body. It was only when you were completely bare before him, and your husband had just started to skim his lips over your tummy that you tensed with surprise.

“I don’t have to fuck you just yet, doll,” he murmured, having sunk to his knees and only moving lower. Then the corners of his lips twitched, “Least not with my dick.”

You tried to pry his head from between your legs before he could stretch his tongue so much as an inch.

“James!”

Again with that name.

“You know, I love when you call me that, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky was peering up at you now, soaking in the sight of your body in a white lace bra, panties, and stockings.

“Is my bride feeling shy?” he teased, gently nipping at your inner thighs.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling in that moment, to be honest. Revulsion, betrayal, arousal, you name it—each crowned with an all-encompassing hatred for the man currently occupying the space between your legs—while a still stronger desire almost hoped he would stay.

“You can hate your husband all you want and still let him tonguefuck you,” Bucky growled against your skin.

Like he’d read your mind.

In reality, your husband hardly needed the powers of telepathy to tell him just how turned on you were; the sopping wet spot in your panties said as much. From his vantage point, Bucky saw the disgust in your eyes slowly eclipsed by lust, and with a single flick of his tongue, he knew he would have you exactly where he wanted you.

“Just let it happen, honey.”

He felt your fingers thread tight through his hair and the first stir of your hips in tandem. One small, delectable whimper crossed your lips, and it took everything in Bucky not to tear your panties straight off with his teeth.

Instead, the man opted for a soft, gentle lick over your clothed slit. Testing the waters.

Your whimper was quick to meld to a moan, and then, just as fast:

“N-no, Bucky.”

To your dismay, his tongue didn’t retreat, only making firmer laps against your centre while his lips grazed the lace. He gripped your thighs and wedged himself deeper, and again, you cursed the paper thin fabric of your panties for letting you feel everything his mouth was doing. He hadn’t even made proper contact with your cunt, and your knees were already starting to shake.

He pressed a kiss above your clit through the flimsy material, and you almost tore a clump of hair from his head.

“No. Please.” You hardly made sense to yourself; it was clear you wanted his touch, but something inside you wasn’t quite ready to submit to the idea that this was all okay. That your husband’s tongue and lips might be meant for something like this, and you didn’t have to feel so guilty for wanting it either. Fucking purity culture.

“My pretty girl,” Bucky presently murmured above the fabric, words sending a dozen little shockwaves in their wake, “My beautiful fucking wife.”

The man inhaled your scent and could’ve sworn he was in ecstasy. Blinded by desire as he was, he really wasn’t bullshitting in the slightest when he gathered you to him and said you were the best; he’d genuinely grown transfixed by the feel of you, in spite of every fibre of his being telling him not to. The marriage was arranged, fake, and fueled by hatred—and somehow, Bucky couldn’t get enough.

Nor could he wait any longer. One light swipe of his finger tugged your panties aside, and then he was latching on, no cover this time, to take your clit between his lips. Sucking hard, going fast, needing it bad.

A moan rang loud in his ears, and your hand on his head was instantly joined by the other. You yanked his hair like you never had before, pulling so tight at the roots as though your pleasure depended on it. Bucky smiled around the soft pearl in his mouth and flicked it gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Feel good, baby?” he breathed.

His head tilted up to you, and he could see you were struggling just to breathe, face painted with a medley of emotions.

You didn’t know if you could, or should, be feeling this good from a man so evil. Bucky flattened his tongue and licked a long stripe up your pussy to ensure that you would. Then he posed the question again, smirking.

“You like my tongue on this wet, needy cunt?”

His words were so damn obscene, but you nodded anyway. Feeling small and powerless beneath those big, broad hands as they pinned you back on the marble and spread you even wider for the taking.

He loved how innocent and lewd you looked at once, wincing with pleasure and still trying to keep your composure like you thought a good girl should.

Bucky wanted to break that resolve. He brought one hand closer to your entrance.

And, just as your breaths were starting to hitch and grow more ragged in your chest, he pushed two fingers inside. The act surprised your husband almost as much as it did you—not quite, but almost—upon feeling how tight you were, how resistant to even two digits you seemed to be. He hardly knew whether to shove them deeper or pull them out, so fast did your muscles contract around him.

When you whined a loud, protracted, ‘FUCK!’ he figured he would stick with the former. He grinned, having never heard you speak, much less swear, out of pleasure like this.

Your head lolled back and your body made an arch when his fingers curled inside you. You were panting, moaning, coating his hand with your juices, and Bucky knew you were close.

He started pumping his fingers in and out while his tongue worked your clit, chin practically doused in your arousal by now. A swell of pride rose within him: he could finally bring you home to that sweet release, have you a shaking, soaking mess above his face like you were wholly his and no one else’s. He moved his tongue even faster and sank his fingers straight down to the knuckle.

Then, unexpectedly, both were robbed of your touch.

Seized with fear, you shoved Bucky off and stumbled away from his glistening face. You took off toward the doors and fled the balcony before you could think.

“What the f— honey? Honey?!” Bucky sputtered. He bounded after you.

You’d thrown yourself in the master bathroom and locked the door behind you in the blink of an eye. Outside, your husband had only to stare in pure bewilderment and awe, mind reeling at what had just happened.

Fucking hell, he knows. He knows! You collapsed against the door and slid down a couple inches. Your hand reflexively flew to your mouth to stifle the sounds when Bucky began pounding the wood behind you.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s—what’s goin’ on?”

In truth, you’d rather chug bleach than divulge the thought that had just scared the everliving fuck out of you back there. It was stupid and senseless and should’ve been frightening you for weeks before it ever came to this, but here you were, panicked in the bathroom of your honeymoon suite because you’d never done this before—and you’d never reached climax in your life without bursting into tears.

Fuck, you felt stupid. How could you think this would be any different—or that Bucky’s tongue wouldn’t eventually attempt to wrest an orgasm out of you?

It’d just felt so good, you thought maybe a new climax brought by someone else’s fingers might free you from the same unsavory demise you’d met a hundred times before, but then it hit you, shortly after Bucky had plunged his fingers inside, you were going to cry.

You winced when Bucky’s knocks grew louder, his voice gaining more ire by the second, it seemed.

“Open the fucking door!”

He’d rake you over the coals for this. Getting so close to what he wanted, only to have his silly little bride snatch it all away and run hiding in the en-suite bathroom? Your stomach turned at the thought of what men in the mob were liable to do with women like you—what Bucky might conceivably do now that you’d sparked his rage.

Your eyes darted to the window just as his fist shook the doorframe behind you. You ran over to the tub, tucked squarely beneath the windowsill, and climbed onto it just to get a hold of the fastenings around the glass.

One click synchronized with the furious cadence being hammered on the door, and just as you started to slide the pane up the way, a heavy thud sounded outside. The weight of your husband’s body being thrust against the door, most likely.

You bit your lip and lifted one leg over the windowsill, shuffling your body even closer to the outside world.

Three floors up! Have you lost your mind? You could hear your father’s words ringing in your skull already. There was a ledge, you reasoned, no more than ten feet below, if you could just grab hold of the frame right there and slide down the cool stone you might—

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned.

You watched your husband heave through the busted door of the bathroom, wide eyes and a ‘Here’s Johnny’ flourish raging hot on his face. Your heart leapt to your throat, and you started to lower yourself out of the window, hoping desperately for that ledge below to be sturdy. But before you could make it even half of the way there, strong arms were circling your frame and yanking you back inside, hurtling straight into the bathtub with Bucky tumbling over you.

“What are you doing?!” he roared.

You wriggled under his weight, petrified of the fiery look in his eyes as he lurched over your frame.

He straightened up just enough to shake you by the shoulders—like a parent reprimanding a child.

“What the fuck was that?! Huh? You think that’s fucking funny, jumping out windows?”

No, no, not funny, you wanted to bite back, but found your mouth dry and unable to speak. When Bucky shook you again, you had only to whimper a pathetic sound.

The man was enraged. Stubble still damp with your juices and looking undeniably frazzled and spent, he drew closer to your face and demanded you look at him. When he took hold of your cheeks in both hands, the command couldn’t have reached you any more clearly.

“What— what was that for?” his voice lowered as he tried to catch his breath. You still couldn’t move.

“I-I don’t—” you stopped and hardly knew how to say it:

Sorry to cut our tonguefucking session short, I was just afraid I might burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears while you licked and sucked me through the best orgasm of my life. I’d rather jump off, or out of, a building than tell my mob boss husband that I can’t cum without crying. By the way, I’m a virgin!

Instead, you just blinked and stared back at him.

“Can’t…do it,” you murmured.

Bucky’s expression only grew more puzzled by the words out of your mouth. He squeezed your face tighter and leaned in even closer.

“Do what? Sex? Fuck, I— I didn’t mean to be that aggressive, hell, I’m sorry.” He stopped to run a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you could’ve sworn you saw the first glint of compunction in his eyes.

He looked away a few seconds, as if collecting what fragmented thoughts he could, then brought his head back down to your level and took your hands in his.

“Honey?” he tried getting your attention, just barely above a whisper now, “I know the whole thing’s fucked, I know.”

That was the understatement of the century. To your surprise, Bucky’s gaze softened when he saw a scowl cross your face.

“We don’t…have to do anything. I was just pushing your buttons earlier. Being a dick.”

His tongue moved to wet his lips once more, this time without the seductive, smug demeanor he usually wore and simply exhibiting discomfort. He swallowed. The bow tie around his neck appeared to him to be fastened far too tight all of a sudden, and then, haphazardly, he started clawing at the garment to get it off.

You didn’t know why you felt compelled to help. It was like all ten fingers just lifted of their own accord to join Bucky’s hands in trying to undo his tie.

The silk fabric wasn’t tied, but knotted, crudely and inflexibly, beneath the little black bow. You frowned. Still unable to meet his gaze as you worked your fingers under the tangled material and tried to pretend like the two of you weren’t still sweating profusely from the events that had just transpired—both the tonguefucking and the window-jumping.

“Who tied this, a five-year-old?” you muttered.

“I’m thirty-eight, thanks,” Bucky returned just as quietly.

Both of you indulged in a smile that lasted no longer than a second, but you felt the tension ease a little.

This was not where you thought your dreaded wedding night was headed before. Curled up in a bathtub with your hands around your husband’s neck—and not actually trying to kill him—while Bucky blinked almost nervously the longer your hands lingered on his collar. It seemed he’d found something especially tantalizing on the wall behind your head, because his stare remained fixed on that spot the whole time you fiddled with his tie.

Maybe that, along with the last ebb of alcoholic influence from the reception still coursing through your veins, had emboldened you to come right out and say it while Bucky was looking away. You couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never had sex before.”

At last, the tie loosened a little.

Bucky flicked his gaze back to yours in a second.

“What?”

You lifted a brow, wondering if he really needed an explanation as to what it meant to have never gotten laid before, but you decided against indulging him any further. Bucky seemed keen on doing that all by himself.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t my overbearing mother make sure you knew?”

“Yeah, I thought she was full of shit,” Bucky answered bluntly. Then, catching sight of the semi-offended look in your eye, mixed with a tad more amusement than indignation, he added, “I mean— I didn’t think you’d, uh, wanna wait…twenty-five years for some action.”

He winced when he realized that sounded just as bad. His throat cleared shortly to make way for a new attempt at comity, but you cut him off, shaking your head as you finally got the knot to untangle.

“No, I get it. I don’t know why I waited this long either,” you shrugged.

As soon as you’d freed him from his bow tie, you started to stand from the bath tub. Bucky, too, straightened to his full height and started to close the window while you walked back to the bedroom.

You eyed the rose petals strewn across the duvet and felt a little more relaxed this time around. The weight of the V-word had been lifted from your shoulders, and now you had only to share the crying-while-cumming stuff to Bucky later on. Much later on, you hoped.

You crawled onto the bed and stretched out on your belly, playing with the soft red petals and wondering if room service was still offered at this hour.

Bucky had just stepped out of the bathroom when he halted at the threshold. Saw your body sprawled out on the bed, back arched and ass pointed in the air as you reached over for the phone on the nightstand. He stared for a second too long and felt a familiar stir in his pants.

Sonovabitch, he started to think, before chiding himself silently, Shut up, man, she’s a virgin. Be cool. Be cool—don’t make her jump out a window again.

He ducked back in the bathroom and eased the door to just a crack while you discovered a voice on the line:

“Hi! Hey, I’d like to order room service to, uh…” your voice trailed off. Then, covering the mouthpiece, “James, what’s our room number?”

Inside the bathroom, Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his name. Already palming his erection through his dress pants as he leaned against the wall.

“We rented the whole building, dear,” he called back.

“Oh.” He could just imagine the slight pout on your lips as you spoke. Then you asked if he wanted anything to eat, Bucky thought only of the sweet nectar between your legs, and he answered aloud, no, he was fine, really.

For the first time in his life, the man felt positively ashamed he was about to rub one out in a bathroom, alone. It wasn’t like this was the first it had ever been done, but now there was you, innocent and oblivious in the next room over, while Bucky undid his belt and quietly freed his cock from his dress pants. It felt kind of perverted, in a way, but he knew he needed this release to put his mind at ease and not feel so affected by you.

While you scanned your phone for a menu and chatted with the concierge downstairs about various food items, Bucky was spitting in his hand and fumbling for his shaft. You talked American Wagyu sirloin, lobster thermidor, and seared Faroe Island salmon while he thought achingly about the way your cunt had tasted and how badly he wanted to try it again.

How did he feel about an artisan cheese platter? Bucky hardly had the wits about himself to answer beyond a strangled, ‘Whatever you want, honey’ and a tightened fist around his cock, stroking hard to get the filthy thoughts out of his head before the food arrived.

Ever sweet, soft, supple, and savory—his mind reeled with fresh memories of that place between your thighs, and he almost lurched forward in pleasure.

Your brute of a mob boss husband was irreparably pussy-whipped and hadn’t even fucked you yet. He gripped the bathroom sink beside him and sincerely wished it wasn’t his hand doing the work right now. But of course, he had to be patient, had to be kind—couldn’t force himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t ready.

Again, he spit in his palm and jerked himself fast.

Any minute now, he thought with some relief.

Your feet padded softly into the living room as the pleasure inside him was starting to crest. Still pining for your warmth and the way your legs trembled around his head, Bucky was all but fucking his hand at this point. He’d snagged his bottom lip between his teeth in a lopsided smile and groaned, too low to be heard, and pumped himself even faster for his impending orgasm.

A thought crossed your mind as you stopped ahead of the sofa. You pivoted.

Suddenly, you were skipping back to the bathroom, wanting to know Bucky’s wine preferences before you placed another order.

You barged in and froze.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, darting out just as fast.

Five seconds slower and you probably would’ve seen Bucky blow his load all over the sink. As it was, the man was left sorely at a loss for any form of release and heaving fast, ragged breaths from the colossal scare you’d just given him.

Good fucking going, Buck—your wife wants to cuddle and eat cheese and you’re out here beating your meat.

Bucky shoved himself back in his pants and waited an excruciating minute for the sound of your second window exit of the night. A slammed door, a frantic phone call, a few sobs into your pillow as you realized how dirty and depraved your husband was, anything.

He was only met with silence.

Taking one more shaky breath, Bucky reached for the doorknob and started back out. Cautiously.

The man took his slow, silent leave of the bathroom with his gaze trained toward the doors—half-expecting to see his bride rappelling from the balcony—but then quickly shifted to the bed. Finding you kneeling at the edge.

“James?”

Your voice almost pained.

A word was all it took. Bucky was back on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted it to go away, honey. I’m sorry.”

Go away? You quirked a brow and couldn’t hold his gaze much longer; just trailed your vision down his torso to his pants, then his erection, still standing prominent as ever.

Bucky struggled to decide whether you were ticked off or intrigued, seeing your eyes make their painful appraisal of his length beneath his pants. Your brow was pinched, but your head was cocked. Almost curious.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked, gaze fixed on the spot.

Immediately, Bucky rose to his feet and crawled back on the bed, seizing your body with both of his hands.

“No! No, not mad at all,” he mumbled as he sidled up beside you. Pleased to see you hadn’t recoiled, “I was just, uh…missing you, ‘s’all.”

If his men could see him now, Bucky was sure he’d be the laughing stock of all the town. Doting and kind, eyes softened beyond recognition, he just watched you and wanted nothing more than to repair the smile that had ebbed from your face. Come ridicule, hell, or high water, the man was infatuated with his bride—all broken plates and attempted window escapes be damned.

Presently, you brought your hand down to his bulge.

Bucky stiffened but didn’t speak. He wanted you to do this on your own, of your own volition.

“You seem kinda mad to me.” You hardly knew what you were doing. Just rubbing his length and hoping it was something he’d like.

Where Bucky had wanted to see you smile, you just wanted to hear him grunt and whine—maybe grab your hips and beg you to do something, please. You’d never felt any such degree of control, and you suspected Bucky had never not felt it himself. You wanted him desperate.

You were playing a dangerous game, you knew it, but something inside those baby blues said he wanted to do it, too. Do anything for you, quite frankly.

You watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s broad chest and stroked his length even softer.

“James.”

“Uh-huh?” His mouth hung open with a gentle grunt, fighting every instinct to buck into your touch.

At last, you squeezed his shaft and prodded him on. Let your head drift closer to his so his lips would graze the apple of your cheek, and just when you sensed he wanted a taste, you tilted your face toward his own,

“We haven’t even kissed since the ceremony.”

Bucky stared blankly at you, enrapt with the pulse of your fingers. You could tell he was aching to move.

“Oh yeah?” he murmured.

You nodded a wordless affirmation and slid sharply back in bed as Bucky lunged after you. Your hands flew from his pants to the plush mattress behind you as you shifted—or, rather, scrambled—back in place and felt your husband climb over you hungrily.

“That what my wife wants?” he murmured, frame slotting tight between your legs.

You nodded again, and had only to suck in a breath before Bucky was devouring your lips. The kind of flushed, frantic, filthy kiss that would’ve doubtlessly wrought looks of horror on every face at your wedding had he grabbed you that way after the declarations of ‘I do’ had been spoken.

You loved him like this, impassioned and a bit unhinged.

His tongue worked his way past your lips and scoured every soft, fleshy inch between the insides of your cheeks before he took your face in his hands, kissing you roughly.

Something hard and throbbing nudged your sex, and suddenly you were whining in his mouth. Wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Ah, honey, don’t,” Bucky groaned, visibly straining to contain himself. When you dug your heels even deeper in his back, the groan that followed from him was hoarse and guttural.

“I thought— I…fuck,” your husband turned his head to curse as you grinded your hips up to his. You had to bite back a smile.

“I just wanna do what married people do,” you murmured coyly, pretending not to see when Bucky shot you the most red-hot, wanton look he’d imparted all evening.

“Yeah?” Like a kid in a candy shop the size of Sears.

Bucky took your face in his hands once more and made sure to scan your expression for any shred of doubt. On finding nothing there, he sat panting, half-disbelieving and half-contemplating all the wretched things he wanted to do to you. You squeezed his sides with your thighs and just hoped your husband knew what to do, because, in truth, you didn’t have the first fucking idea.

A few dry, clinical terms flashed before your mind’s eye, along with your mother’s bleak depiction of what treatment lay in store for a woman on her wedding night, and as Bucky started to work his belt and his pants off, you just hoped he wouldn’t be cruel.

He couldn’t be, right? He’d only mowed down a hundred men and dismembered dozens more, you were told, but surely a set of eyes this soft, caring, and kind couldn’t belong to a monster. You let him lift your hips and shimmy your panties, garter belt, and stockings down your legs, and when he returned, you tried your best not to betray the thoughts in your head.

Bucky hadn’t been with a virgin for as long as he could remember—maybe ever. His own ‘deflowering’ an ancient relic of his boyhood and the multitude of partners since then a mere flurry of nameless faces, he sincerely couldn’t recall a time when he’d asked, or cared, whether the woman beneath him had her cherry intact. He didn’t suppose it could be too different, as he peeled the last pieces of your lingerie set off your body and saw you seemed perfectly ready. He ran a finger between your folds and felt you shiver with what looked like excitement. Piece of cake, he thought, smiling.

No doubt he would take great joy in making you his own. His bride, his wife, an unblemished beacon of light in a life as sordid as his, looked perfect spread before him. You would adjust to his size. Bucky trailed the head of his cock up your slit and coated himself in your juices, and just when he’d bracketed his other arm around your head on the pillow, you let out a small sound.

“Are you sure it’ll fit?”

Bucky fisted his length and pressed the tip to your entrance.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

He hadn’t yet met a woman who wasn’t able to fit him.

“Okay.”

Somehow, your voice sounded even smaller, head lodged between pillows and the crook of Bucky’s elbow. You felt small. Frankly, it didn’t seem like your husband was quite computing the worries that were pervading your brain, but you decided he knew best—your mother had assured you that husbands always did—and when Bucky first pressed the head of himself to the seam of your cunt, you hardly even whimpered.

You watched his brow furrow above you. He tried to go further.

Your folds were as soaked as he’d ever seen a woman’s, your hole practically pulsing with desire, and somehow, he couldn’t push in.

Bucky snagged his lip between his teeth and braced himself with the aid of the headboard, taking your hip in his other hand. A breath sounded on your lips the second he adjusted, and shortly thereafter, he felt your gaze on the same place he was watching: the spot where your bodies were trying to connect.

His features darkened at the prospect of failing, or even appearing incompetent to you in the slightest. He’d done this hundreds of times before, why wouldn’t it work?

When he felt your eyes trail back up his body and study his face—maybe wondering why her new groom hadn’t gotten around to thrusting into her yet, he thought—he felt a swell of panic and pushed.

Against his better judgment and the feel of your body, he muscled his way through and forced his cock inside. Bottoming out in a single, stabbing thrust.

You seized in pain but wanted to be a good wife for him.

Bucky, too, felt his hips stutter at the resistance your walls were giving him, but then remembered how he’d sworn to be a dutiful husband, and kept going.

Together, you stared anywhere but the other’s face and gritted your teeth for two entirely different reasons—you, in agony, and Bucky, in ecstasy, the latter hoping with everything in him that you liked this as much as him.

Bucky took a tender, if not slightly awkward, rhythm rutting against your body and stared steady at the headboard like he always did.

You were in pain and faced with nothing but his hulking chest, moving up and down, back and forth, over and over again like a goddamn seesaw from hell while it felt like your insides were presently being torn to shreds.

Who fucking enjoys this? you wanted to wail, but feigned a moan instead, raking your nails down Bucky’s back, Why isn’t he looking at me? Why isn’t he touching me?

Your walls involuntarily clenched around him, and he swallowed a moan.

Just think of baseball, beer, math, the Roman Empire, anything to keep from busting right now, Bucky told himself as he clenched his jaw and fought to maintain his pace. Your pussy just felt so. fucking. good.

Beneath him, you had tried and failed to fight back tears. The burn was just too much; the longer he thrusted, the more your walls contracted, and confusingly, stupidly, it seemed like he was using you. Your mother was right, most likely, that sex was just a means to an end for men like Bucky, and your husband didn’t care about your pleasure at all. You fought hard to keep the waterworks at bay, that one thing you hadn’t wanted Bucky to see, but eventually, the tears were flowing freely.

You stifled a sob that your husband mistook for a moan.

He fucked you even faster and felt a grin start to twitch at the corners of his lips when you made a sound that seemed consistent with pleasure.

“Feel so fucking tight,” Bucky grunted, about to lower his gaze to your face for the first time since he’d entered you, “So nice and tight and w—hey, hey, baby?”

He stilled inside as soon as he saw that you were crying. Took your face in his hands and almost couldn’t believe the sight of your tear-stained cheeks beneath him.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, scanning your face for any signs of harm.

You just shook your head and tried to brush him off.

“Keep going, I’m good.”

Bucky seemed angered at the suggestion. He brought your face closer to his and stared almost reproachfully down at you. Then he paused a beat and swiped one of your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“N—”

“Don’t lie.”

You squirmed a bit and winced. That was answer enough for Bucky, and he slowly pulled out of you.

“Aw hell.”

The two of you glanced down to see a blooming red spot on the comforter. Bucky rubbed the blood in disbelief.

He’d gone too far. Again. Hurt something inside of you that couldn’t be fixed with a kiss. While you struggled to sit up among the pillows, Bucky was running a hand through his hair and cursing himself up and down.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he scowled.

“I didn’t wanna interrup—”

“If I’m making you bleed, you stop me, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well you seemed to be having a pretty good time!”

Bucky didn’t need to tell you in words what was painted on his face; he was pissed off and probably bound to slip off the bed any second, when your tears started welling up again. Then he eased off, remembering he was more mad at himself than anyone else, and slid closer to you. He tried pulling you into his chest, but you didn’t budge.

“C’mon,” you said, grabbing his wrist, “Let’s keep going.”

Bucky eyed you incredulously.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” you insisted. He shot you a glare but didn’t protest when you guided his hand between your legs.

You were spread back open for him in no time. Still stinging like hell and ready for another go. Bucky almost couldn’t believe it.

“My headstrong wife.” He managed a smile before kissing the crown of your head, and kept right on kissing that spot no matter how far his fingers were traveling.

“You owe me two orgasms, remember, Mr. Barnes?”

It seemed Bucky’s boastful claims of late were in fact the furthest thing from his mind as he crawled back over your body. He pried your knees apart and left just enough room for his frame, taking his fingers to your folds and rubbing in light, gentle circles.

The bleeding had stopped. What little remained was long forgotten, and duly, the pain from recent memory was slowly but surely purged with every flick of his thumb. Bucky planted an arm next to your head and kept touching you there until your face relaxed completely.

When he chanced a finger inside, he was careful not to rub so much as plunge in quick, shallow motions, and at the first signs of pleasure, press light and tender kisses on your skin.

“If it hurts at all, you tell me.”

He sounded stern as he inserted another finger, but really, the man was all putty in your hands, wanting to please you and tease you in any way that he could.

When you told him faster, he sped up; you gripped his hair and said slow down, he did the same. He curled his digits in time with every whimper and moan you made and took care not to be too harsh on your sweet spot.

The only time he paused was when you looked up and asked him point-blank: could he fuck you sweet and gentle now?

Bucky paused. Swallowed.

The man would’ve screwed you six ways to Sunday if you asked him; that wasn’t the problem. The only traces of hesitation remained where your eyes said something different. Even as he shuffled between your legs at your behest, aligned his cock with your entrance, and felt a wave of desire wash over him, he pressed his forehead to yours and searched your glossy gaze once more.

“You sure about this, bunny?” he murmured.

Your heart melted at the name. You couldn’t deny you were frightened, and perhaps a bit worse for the wear after your last attempt, but his words were a comfort, his hand on your cheek a welcome gesture. When his thumb grazed your lips, you kissed it and nodded.

“Alright sweet girl,” Bucky said, tone laced with affection.

This time, before pressing the head of himself inside, Bucky caught your lips and kissed you softly. Rubbed himself up and down your slit—paying extra attention to your clit—and coated himself completely before trying to penetrate you again.

Your cheeks flushed, and you kissed him harder.

“P-please, Bucky, fuck me,” you murmured against his mouth, eliciting a small grunt from him.

“Yeah? You want your husband’s cock inside you, doll?” He kept the pretense of teasing, but really, he was just trying to make sure you wanted this as badly as he did. By the blissed out look on your face and the soft, ceaseless squelching noises produced by your arousal, he got the message pretty quickly.

He breached your folds with just the tip at first. You both felt your muscles contract. Instead of blindly pushing ahead like he had before, Bucky trained his gaze on your face and watched for any signs of discomfort.

“Everything okay, bunny?” he hummed as he brushed a few strands of hair from your face.

You were half in awe of how attentive he was, and doubly impressed by the stretch that followed—like a pinch, but nothing like the pain you’d felt before. You peered up at your husband and squeezed his shoulders.

“It— it doesn’t hurt this time,” you said, breathless.

Bucky could’ve caved at the sweet, innocent expression alone—like you were pleasantly surprised this hadn’t caused excruciating pain—and his lips moved down to pepper your cheeks with kisses again.

“Doll, I’m so sorry.”

The sounds and sighs of your pleasure beneath him, along with the words telling him it was okay, really, he hadn’t meant to do it, all made him feel even guiltier for having hurt you in the first place. It took him some time assailing your face with tiny, apologetic kisses before he even thought to feed you another inch.

When he finally plunged himself deeper, it wasn’t without your express permission; even then, Bucky feared he might split you in two.

The whole time he eased himself inside, he was moving his gaze between your face and the place between your two bodies—watching you open for him and take him inch by inch. He rubbed his thumb over your clit when you whimpered.

“Doing so good for me.”

“Stretching so nice for this cock.”

“My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Every syllable of his praises flooded your head like honey. Feeling him stretch you out, fill you up, and rock you softly with his first shallow thrusts, all while talking you through it, had your mind ablaze and near-euphoric.

Pleasure practically searing your veins, you didn’t even hear yourself, or really mean to say it, as soon as you did.

“This doesn’t feel dirty at all.”

An epiphany to you and a puzzle to Bucky.

“What’s’at, honey?” He was still rutting his hips and slowly picking up speed. Your husband groaned when you clenched around him and pulled him even deeper—before you realized what you’d said.

Your cheeks flushed.

“I— I was always told sex made you dirty. This feels—” you stopped to swallow a moan when Bucky grazed a particularly sensitive spot inside you, “pretty nice.”

‘Pretty nice.’ Your husband couldn’t help the smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he leaned down to kiss you. He wrapped his big, muscly arms around you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Makes you dirty?” Bucky said, disbelief evident in his tone before his smile broke into a grin, “Baby, you’re the cleanest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t let you endeavor to protest, just buried his face in your neck and pressed teasing kisses all over the skin while he continued to pump in and out of you. He knew to keep hitting that spot, too.

You were drowning in whimpers and kisses when Bucky brought his lips to your ear.

“Doesn’t make you dirty at all,” he assured you, “Just makes you my wife.”

You clawed Bucky’s back when he sped up a little, and you felt the pleasure soar to even greater heights when he propped your legs above his shoulders—a brand new angle for him to bend you like a pretzel and fuck you good.

“You take this cock too nice to be dirty,” he gritted his teeth and continued to soothe you just how he knew you liked it, “Such a good little wife, sucking up every inch of me like you were made for it.”

Your lips parted in a soft ‘o,’ feeling him plunge the depths of your cunt like he never had before. Bucky slipped his thumb in your mouth while he held your face.

“That what you are, bunny? A good girl?”

You nodded your head and sucked his thumb, feeling yourself fucked dumb as you did. Bucky loved that blissed out look in your eyes.

“Good girl for daddy?” he cooed.

Your ankles trembled around his neck as soon as he said it. You nodded again, yes, you were, and felt a light coil start to form in your lower stomach as Bucky kept pounding you and pushing his thumb between your lips.

Then, with a pop, he plucked the digit from your mouth and brought it down to your clit. He started soft at first, but before long he was rubbing vicious circles on that little bundle of nerves, watching you come undone before his eyes and clench around him even tighter.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, fisting the sheets underneath you both as you squirmed.

“Mhmm?” Your husband pretended to be oblivious.

“I w— I’m gonna—” The words could scarcely leave your lips without finding themselves punctured with a whimper as soon as they were spoken. Bucky thrusted harder.

“Gonna what? Cum for daddy?” he grinned, “Make a mess all over this cock?”

Your moans of pleasure more than sufficed for an answer. You nodded and winced, felt your whole lower half seize with a warm and heady feeling, and before you knew it, Bucky’s thrusts were sending you spiraling over the edge, with a wave of bliss following shortly behind. Sounds of skin slapping skin hardly faltered, and Bucky kept rubbing and fucking you all throughout the waves of your high.

Tears sprung to your eyes, and you didn’t care. Your mind was alight with more bright, fervid feelings than you could count or comprehend, and your body washed over with pleasure.

You clung to Bucky and felt him keep fucking you, even as you shrieked against his skin.

“One more for me, honey.”

You didn’t think that was possible. You had just spilled all over him, squeezing his cock like a vice and screaming his name, and now he wanted it all over again? So soon?

Your fingernails sunk into his arms as he continued to rut into you, and you started to shake your head.

“C-Can’t Bucky, I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears still streaming down your cheeks.

“Sure you can.”

Your husband had his mouth at your ear again, panting as the pace of his thrusts grew faster. He tilted his body slightly forward so your legs were pushed even higher above you—damn near grazing either side of your head—and pounded you relentlessly.

His voice seemed so calm and assured as he spoke,

“Cum for daddy. Show me just how fucking good this cock makes you feel and cum again for me.”

With a command like that, how could you refuse?

You came a second time, hands seizing Bucky's forearms, and screams tearing through your chest as you rode your high impaled on his cock over and over again. The sights and sounds and repeated, pulsing spasms of your pussy on his shaft sent Bucky chasing his release not long after, and you felt a warmth spread inside you.

Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, your cheeks practically drenched already. As you came down from your high, you started to blink.

But just as you lifted a hand to sop up the moisture, Bucky was leaning over you and into you with the brightest smile. Then he was kissing each wet, salty stain like it was the most natural thing in the world, sponging soft and gentle touches all over the spots your tears had overflown.

It seemed every nerve ending in your lower half was on the fritz, your body little more than mush underneath him, but somehow you managed to catch his mouth as he traversed the skin. You kissed him back, and Bucky drew you closer.

The two of you separated for a second, Bucky’s cock still resting comfortably inside you and his broad frame engulfing you in bed. He paused a beat. Seemed to consider something in his mind before speaking aloud.

“Honey,” he started, unsure of how he wanted to say this.

You peered up at him, curious. His seed had filled every contour and crevice of your aching walls and was just then starting to dribble out of you. Bucky seemed unfazed. He cupped both hands around your face.

“I love you.”

You blinked. No fucking way you were hearing those words.

“What?” You felt too awestruck to say anything else.

“I love you,” Bucky repeated. A smile was starting to tug at his lips, his thumb tracing your cheek while you stared at him in disbelief.

You would’ve liked to speak.

Would’ve loved to say those three little words right back.

In fact, you had just opened your mouth to tell him that, when a sound at the foot of the bed startled you both.

The warm glow of moonlight pouring in from the window panes was your only means to see it. But sight wasn’t worth much at all when a man appeared and pressed the barrel of a gun to Bucky’s temple, letting out a chuckle.

Another man, clad head-to-toe in polished black tactical gear approached from the far end of the room. Bucky gritted his teeth but remained motionless, hearing that man cock his firearm as well. You were surrounded on either side of the bed. Your blood ran cold.

“Sorry to interrupt the fun, Mr. Barnes,” the man on the left spoke so low and gruff he could scarcely be heard.

When Bucky started to stir, the man on the right raised his pistol as well. Curled his finger on the trigger.

“We haven’t even met your beautiful bride.” A set of cruel, glinting teeth turned in your direction. Suddenly, all eyes were trained on you—along with a third handgun, pointed at your head, as another man approached.

“Wedded bliss treating you well so far, Mrs. Barnes?”

When it’s over, leave. Don’t continue watering a dead flower.

Unknown

“How amazing is it to find someone who wants to hear about all the things that go on in your head.”

— Nina LaCour

“If you’re struggling and your people are just sitting there watching you struggle, they’re not your people.”

— Unknown

off the record

❝ go ahead and ask your questions, but i want you to ride my thigh while you do. ❞

PAIRING ▸ johnny suh x fem!reader 

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, crack, college au, sports au, journalist au, fuckbuddies to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual tension, lots of teasing and flirty banter, smut (this is so self indulgent), dirty talk, oral sex (fem. receiving), squirting, orgasm denial, praise, kinda degradation, thigh riding, fingering, sex in front of a mirror, steamy scene in a shower, johnny is actually very soft, alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, ft. annoying best friends chenle, jisung, and mark

SUMMARY ▸ when you get the biggest scoop on one of the sports teams, you’re determined to get in on the front page of the school newspaper. unfortunately, your only lead is the basketball team’s captain, johnny suh, and not only is he a tough nut to crack, but he’s also a little too good at distracting you.

PLAYLIST ▸ good intentions by rini • thinkin bout you by katie

WORD COUNT ▸ 12737 words

TAG LIST ▸ @leeknowsredeyeliner @geniejunn @huangberryyy @greasywall @sehunniepot @yasmini24 @gomjohnny @vantxx95 @jenoxygen @wasssuhjohnny @sadgirlroo @commentgirl @dreamycomets @sokkigarden @nohuyck @epiphany-beom @nachotequilaqueso @chitaphrrrr (+ dunk shot! tag list at the end)

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so much for supporting this series !! this one took a while but it was so fun to write. part of the dunk shot! series but it can be read separately ♡ hope you enjoy !!

ACCORDING TO SOCRATES, YOU WERE POISON TO A STUDENT ATHLETE.

The so-called Socrates in question, named Zhong Chenle, had once told you that if he wasn’t your best friend, he would hate your guts. In the sports world, jocks and journalists didn’t seem to get along very well. Flattered, you responded to your dear friend with your middle finger.

Chenle considered himself real smart, even going as far as to compare himself to one of the greatest philosophers (hence, the nickname Socrates you deemed upon him). Yet, with this vast amount of supposed intelligence, your best friend still couldn’t seem to figure out why you were hovering around Johnny Suh like a fruit fly.

“He knows about the steroid scandal,” you explained calmly. “I just want to find out what he’s hiding.”

Zhong Chenle’s brain decided to translate this into: “I am madly in love with Johnny Suh,” so now, your stupid best friend was convinced that you had the biggest crush on the basketball team’s captain.

Continuar a ler

Every one says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have something to forgive.

C.S. Lewis