Jules 🚬🔪

But the corporate walls are thin. The hum of the hard drives is a stark reminder of where you are—a building crawling with night-shift security, where one wrong sound could ignite a scandal.

Mingyu feels your hesitation. He tears his mouth from yours, breathing raggedly, his dark eyes scanning your face. "Not here," he grits out, reading your mind. "I can't—I won't have you here."

He pulls away just long enough to grab his discarded shirt, throwing it back over his head in one fluid motion. His hand finds yours, his grip tight and possessive, as he pulls you off the console. "Come on."

He leads you down the corridor, past the darkened practice rooms and silent vending machines, to the back elevators. The ride down is suffocating, the air thick with the scent of his sweat and your shared arousal. He backs you against the elevator wall, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath hot on your lips. "Tell me you want this."

"I want this."

The doors slide open to the underground parking garage. His private, heavily tinted vehicle waits in the shadows, the engine already humming. He opens the door, practically bundling you into the passenger seat before sliding in beside you.

The drive through the midnight neon of Seoul is a blur of tense, suffocating anticipation. The city streaks past the tinted windows—flashes of fluorescent convenience store signs, the red glow of traffic lights, the distant pulse of club districts. Mingyu's hand rests heavy and possessive over your thigh, fingers digging into your skin every time the car stops at a red light. His thumb traces slow circles on the inside of your knee, pushing higher with each block, stoking the fire burning low in your belly.

Neither of you speaks. The silence is dense, charged with everything you haven't said—all the jealousy, the fear, the aching need—compressed into the few feet of space inside the car.

The moment the apartment door clicks shut behind you, the remaining walls of your existence crumble under the sheer weight of what you almost lost. The darkness of your hallway swallows you both as he pushes you back against the wood, his mouth finding the sensitive spot below your ear.

"Took you home," he murmurs against your skin, "because I need to hear you. Really hear you. Just you."

Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Your palms meet the heat of his chest, the rapid thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. He returns the favor, stripping your shirt over your head, his hands mapping the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, unhooking your bra with deft fingers.

He walks you backward through the dark apartment, your legs hitting the edge of the mattress. The bedroom is bathed in the faint glow of the city filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the sheets.

He presses you down into the mattress, his weight settling over you, his hands bracketing your face. His thumb traces the swell of your lower lip, still swollen from his kisses. "You thought I wanted her," he says, his voice a rough, gravelly vibration against your throat. "You actually thought I could touch someone else after having you."

A shiver courses through you. The lingering ghost of your jealousy acts as an accelerant to the flame, transforming the slow burn into a raging inferno.

"Answer me," he demands, pulling back to look into your eyes. "Did you really think that?"

"I saw you," you whisper, the confession tearing from your chest. "I saw how you held her. How she touched you. I thought—"

"You thought wrong." His voice is hard, certain. "She is a job. You are the only thing that's real."

He unbuttons your jeans, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear, leaving you bare beneath him. He kicks off his own sweatpants, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh. He doesn't immediately push inside; instead, he covers your body with his, skin to skin, his face hovering inches above yours.

"Never again," he breathes. "Promise me. Never run from me again."

"I promise."

He shifts, positioning himself at your entrance. His eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze as he slowly, inexorably pushes inside. The stretch is intense, overwhelming—a fullness that borders on pain before melting into pure, electric pleasure. He buries himself to the hilt, pausing there, letting you feel every inch of him, letting the reality of your connection sink in.

Then he begins to move.

It becomes your most intense, uninhibited night yet. He moves inside you with a fierce, worshipful rhythm, each thrust a declaration, a reclaiming. His thumb presses hard into the soft flesh of your waist to anchor you to his stride, his grip tight enough to leave marks that will turn into a deep purple tomorrow, an evidence of his possession etched into your skin.

He holds your right leg bent around his waist, the angle shifting so he reaches deeper inside you, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur and your back arch off the mattress. The new depth steals the air from your lungs, a broken cry escaping your lips.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice strained. "Eyes on me."

You force your eyes open, meeting his intense stare. In the dim light, his pupils are blown wide, swallowing the dark irises. There is no distance between you now—no cameras, no choreography, no corporate machinery. Just him, moving inside you, his breath mingling with yours.

He kisses you—gentle, passionate—a stark contrast to the fierce rhythm of his hips. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, as his hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple. The dual sensation sends sparks down your spine, coiling the tension tighter and tighter in your core.

"You're mine," he murmurs against your lips. "Say it."

"I'm yours."

He thrusts deeper, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet room. His hand leaves your breast, sliding down to where your bodies join, his thumb finding your clit. He circles it with the same relentless rhythm, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he breathes, his voice cracking. "I need to feel you."

The coil snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you, a blinding wave of pleasure that makes you clench around him, your nails raking down his back. He follows you over the edge a moment later, burying himself deep as he spills inside you, a guttural groan tearing from his throat.

He collapses against you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. His face buries in the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. He holds you like you are the only real thing left in a city of manufactured illusions, completely erasing the dancers and the corporate noise.

"Never do that again," he whispers into your skin, his voice raw. "Don't run."

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, feeling the rapid beat of his heart slow against yours. "I won't."

The night stretches on, a tangle of limbs and whispered confessions, of skin and sweat and the kind of intimacy that makes the rest of the world fade to static.

You wake up late the next morning alone in your bed, your body aching with a vivid memory of his touch. The sheets are tangled around your legs, smelling faintly of his expensive cedar-and-sweat cologne. The space beside you is cold, the imprint of his body still visible on the pillow.

A note sits on the nightstand, his handwriting familiar and slanted: "Sorry I didn't wanna wake you baby. Had to leave early, schedule. I love you. -M"

I love you.

The words should warm you. Instead, a cold tendril of unease curls in your stomach—a premonition you can't quite name. You shake it off, attributing it to the emotional whiplash of the past few days.

You stretch, wincing at the soreness between your legs, the bruises on your waist. You pad to the bathroom, splashing water on your face, trying to shake the lingering fog of sleep. The apartment is quiet, the morning light filtering through the curtains in soft, golden slants.

You open your laptop to check the rendering status of your footage, your mind already shifting back into professional mode. The screen loads, the familiar login screen appearing. You type your credentials.

A stark, gray dialogue box flashes across the screen.

CRITICAL ERROR: ACCESS DENIED.

You frown, retyping your password. The same box appears. Your corporate credentials have been suspended.

A spike of adrenaline shoots through your chest. You grab your phone, pulling up the internal company messaging app. The screen refreshes, then displays a cold, impersonal message: Account Deactivated.

Your email? Invalid password.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matches the spinning in your head. This isn't a glitch. This isn't a server error. This is deliberate.

A sharp knock on your door makes you jump.

You cross the apartment on unsteady legs, pulling the door open. A corporate courier stands in the hallway, his expression blank, his hand extended. He hands you a sleek, silver security envelope without a word, then turns and walks away.

You close the door, your hands trembling as you break the seal. Inside is a single sheet of heavy cream paper, embossed with the company's logo at the top. The letter is from the Legal and Risk Management Department.

It demands your immediate presence on the 19th floor of the Seoul headquarters at 11:00 AM. Failure to attend, it warns, will result in immediate legal escalation.

The words blur before your eyes. The 19th floor. The restricted level where careers go to die.

You dress in a haze, your movements mechanical. You choose a simple black dress—not because you want to look professional, but because your hands won't stop shaking long enough to fasten anything complicated. You gather your belongings, your mind racing through possibilities, each one worse than the last.

The ride to headquarters is suffocating. The city moves around you—pedestrians, traffic, the relentless pulse of Seoul—but it feels distant, muffled, like watching a film through frosted glass.

The 19th floor is blindingly white. Minimalist. Sterile. The walls are bare, the furniture sharp-edged and expensive. The air smells of cold air conditioning and polished glass.

You are ushered into a massive conference room, the quartz table stretching before you like an altar. Two figures sit across from you: a stone-faced HR director, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, and the head of corporate security, a broad man with a neck like a tree trunk and eyes that miss nothing.

Neither speaks. The silence stretches, thick and oppressive.

The security director finally moves, sliding a tablet across the smooth surface of the table. The screen lights up, displaying four clear, devastatingly high-definition CCTV screengrabs.

The first: The Corridor. A low-light capture from weeks ago, showing Mingyu standing too close to you behind the main stage. His hand brushes yours, your faces inches apart. It's ambiguous enough to explain away—if you squinted.

The second: The Hallway Hug. A devastating hallway camera shot taken directly outside the dance studio. The camera catches you in full frame, your arms wrapped tightly around Mingyu's neck as he holds you flat against the corridor wall. His hands are buried in your hair, pulling your face into his shoulder. It is an undeniable, intensely intimate embrace that no professional excuse could ever cover up.

The third: The Edit Suite. A timestamped midnight capture from the previous night, showing a sweat-damp Mingyu entering the room and your hand locking the door behind him. The timestamp reads 11:47 PM.

The fourth: The Parking Garage (The Escape): A screengrab from the company's basement structure capturing Mingyu perfectly in frame as he holds his car door open and firmly guides you inside by the small of your back, proving you left the building together.

The evidence is irrefutable. A timeline of your secret, laid bare in high-definition.

The HR director speaks, her voice clipped and clinical. "It has come to our attention that you have been exploiting your close-quarters access as part of the social media team to compromise a premium solo asset. This constitutes a severe breach of contract, company policy, and the non-fraternization agreement you signed upon employment."

She pauses, letting the words sink in. Her eyes bore into you, waiting for you to cry, deny, or beg for your job.

You look at the images. You look at her. A strange calm settles over you, a clarity born from the certainty of what you feel. You refuse to reduce your love for him to a corporate violation. You refuse to pretend it was something tawdry or calculated.

You lock eyes with the HR director and say steadily, "I won't deny it. Everything on that screen is real."

The room goes still.

The security director's jaw tightens. The HR director's expression hardens. There is no triumph in their eyes—only the cold satisfaction of a clean execution.

"Your contract is nullified effective immediately," she says, her tone final. "Your security badge will be deactivated within the hour. You have thirty minutes to pack your office desk. Security will escort you out of the building."

No appeal. No second chance. Just the swift, merciless blade of corporate justice.

You stand, your chin held high. You don't look at the tablet again as you walk out of the conference room. A security guard falls into step beside you, his presence a silent reminder of your new status: trespasser.

The walk to your office is a blur of white walls and pitying glances. You pack your hard drives, your cameras, your personal items into a cardboard box. Your hands are steady now, your expression blank. You don't look at the photos pinned to your corkboard—the behind-the-scenes shots, the candid moments, the memories of a life you've been evicted from.

The elevator ride down is silent. The security guard walks you to the main entrance, the glass doors sliding open to release you into the humid Seoul afternoon.

You step onto the pavement, the box clutched against your chest. The city rushes around you—cars honking, pedestrians weaving, the distant rumble of the subway beneath your feet. The heat is oppressive, the air thick with exhaust and the smell of street food.

However, to you, the idea of having to marry a stranger for the sake of alliance and not out of love felt like a death sentence. The idea of surrendering your virtue and your body to some foreign prince who saw you as nothing but a bargaining chip made your stomach churn uncomfortably. 

So instead of sleeping, you find yourself at the archery range behind the eastern stables, long after the castle has fallen into slumber. 

The moon stands proud and high in the sky, washing over the training grounds and the dew-kissed grass with pale light. You’d dismissed the guards earlier with sharp words about needing fresh air, which was both a lie and a truth. Now, you’re standing in your nightgown, nocking another arrow onto your bowstring with shaking fingers. You’ve been here long enough that you could feel the painful creases in your hands from wielding the bow for so long. Out of frustration, perhaps. 

As you prepare your stance and aim, you let the arrow fly, but it runs wide and embeds itself into the outer ring of the target with a dull thud. 

You let out an irritated groan, already reaching for another arrow from your quiver. But as you prepare to fit the arrow onto your bowstring, a pair of heavy footsteps from behind makes you freeze for a moment, before your shoulders relax. Only one man moved with that quiet, confident stride.

“Princess.”

The deep voice sends a shivering thrill down your spine that has nothing to do with the chilly air.

When you finally turn around, that’s when you see him𑁋Sir Kim Mingyu emerging from the shadows, wearing a dark tunic and breeches instead of his usual armour, with his sword still strapped to his hip. His broad frame casts long shadows across the grass, dark hair slightly disheveled from the breeze, his eyes flickering between your trembling hands, to the poorly shot arrow, then back to your face. Even in the nightfall, you can see the concern etched in his perfectly sculpted features.

He has always been one of the most successful knights in the kingdom𑁋strong, loyal, and overwhelmingly skilled with both blade and blow. Ever since he had been assigned to protect you personally three years ago, he had always been in your shadow; although at some point in time, he started feeling less like a shadow and more like a presence you silently yearned for.

Mingyu pauses a few paces away from you.  

“You should not be here at this hour,” he says, though his tone is more sincere than scolding. “It is not safe. Even with the castle asleep, there are eyes everywhere.” 

You lower the bow in guilt, fingers aching from the string. “I am aware.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your𑁋”

“No!” You cut in sharply, before wincing at your tone and softening it. “I… I cannot go back. Not at this moment.”

Mingyu studies you for a long minute, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw almost makes him appear ethereal. He doesn’t move closer𑁋not yet𑁋but he doesn’t retreat either. He can sense the anger surrounding you, clearly expressed by the way you seem to be striking the target, not aiming. 

And from years of watching over you, he knows when not to put more pressure on a wound that’s been hurting from the inside. He knows this perhaps more better than anyone. 

But he also knows it’s not his duty to assist you in that way. His duty is to protect you physically and nothing more. Not to soothe whatever ache may be plaguing your heart, or cross that invisible line that’s stood tauntingly right in front of him for years, just like now. Emotion has never been part of the oath he took. 

Yet… he still takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he stops directly ahead of you. 

“Let me assist you then,” Mingyu assures softly.

You scoff at that, rolling your eyes. “You are not on duty.”

His lips curve up into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “When have I ever been off-duty where you are concerned, princess?” 

That sends a lump to form in your throat and your heart thundering against your ribs. You almost want to push him away and order him to leave you alone, but his presence alone in front of you wraps around you like a comforting hug that you’ve always longed for. It’s almost enough to stop the restlessness coursing through your veins, if only for a single moment.

You hand him the bow and quiver. He takes it without hesitation, his large, calloused hand brushing over yours and sending warmth racing up your arm. Then he places himself directly behind you, close enough you can feel the heating radiating from his broad chest even through his tunic. 

“Show me your stance,” he orders. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you spin on your heel to face the target, bringing your arms up and positioning them as if you’re wielding an invisible bow. 

Mingyu’s eyes slowly trace over you𑁋over the line of your shoulder and the delicate curve of your spine beneath your nightgown. For a split second, his breath catches and his jaw clenches. He forces himself to focus back on your posture instead of allowing it to run lower. Gods, it feels debauched to think of you in that way. 

He steps closer until his chest is nearly flushed with your back, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill of the night. 

“May I, my lady?” he asks, letting his hands hover over your waist.

My lady. You’ve been referred by that term many times𑁋from the maids, servants, and the townspeople whenever you visited the villages. But it strikes you like an arrow whenever it comes out of his mouth. 

You swallow hard. “Yes.”

The second Mingyu’s hands settle on your waist, a spark races through your body. His large palms span over the thin silk of your nightgown. He smells faintly of earthy cedarwood, a scent you’ve come to associate with safety and comfort whenever he draws close to you. The roughness of his calloused skin drags across yours as he gently adjusts your posture, guiding your hips into a more steady alignment. 

You sense him step away briefly before caging his arms around you once more, his hands enveloping yours as he brings the bow back into your grasp. It feels more steadier in your hold with his strength supporting you, though you’re certain he can hear the way your pulse is racing against the wall of his chest.

His fingers press lightly over yours as he helps you fit the arrow into place, his thumbs innocently grazing the back of your hand. 

“Easy now,” Mingyu murmurs lowly, his voice devastatingly close to your ear. “You are trembling like a leaf in my arms, princess.”

Your breath catches. “I am not.”

“You are.” 

“The night is cold, that is why.”

“Then I shall keep Your Highness warm, yes?” Mingyu quips amusedly, chuckling lightly at the small pout that crosses your face when he peers down at you with that familiar soft charm. The sound vibrates against your back. You hate how easily he’s able to unravel you. “Now, breathe in with me, princess.”

You do𑁋you try to, at least𑁋drawing back a singular breath in rhythm with him. Your eyes falter to a fleeting close as you bask in his warmth and presence. Mingyu then guides both of your grasps together in pulling back the string of the bow.

“That’s it, good girl,” he mutters softly, the praise landing in that deep timbre before you have time to brace it; it almost makes you break your stance. “Focus.”

Mingyu notices it as well, a quiet yet sharp inhale leaving him and ghosting over the sensitive caress of your neck. He presses his body more against you, his large arms wrapping more securely, almost possessively, around you. How can you possibly focus when he’s tangled around you like this? 

Together, you slowly pull the bowstring taut. The world suddenly narrows to the whisper of his voice and the strength of his arms caging you in. 

“Release,” he commands. 

The arrow flies. 

And hits the centre of the clay target with a satisfying swipe. 

What possesses you in the next moment is beyond proper, maybe even beyond reckless. A wide grin splits your face in half, and before you can even process it, you’re turning around and enveloping your arms around Mingyu without a second thought. The bow and quiver clatters forgotten to the ground. 

You end up shifting your weight on him a little too eagerly from the buzz of excitement coursing through your limbs. Mingyu tries to steady you, but𑁋even in his tall and strong form𑁋it throws him helplessly off balance at the same time. He twists instinctively around you, hugging an arm around your waist while the other braces against the grass. 

The two of you end up falling in a heap on the ground, a startled yelp escaping your lips when the world tilts all too suddenly. But Mingyu absorbs most of the impact himself while shielding you from the worst of it. 

The air leaves his lungs in a soft grunt. 

It takes you an entire minute to realise what just happened. Now you find your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, with your nightgown pooled over his thighs. Mingyu lies directly beneath you, his dark hair fanned across the ground, staring up at you with equally surprised eyes that quickly soften into something… fond. You swear that you feel all the anxious thoughts that had been consuming your mind as of late disappear just from the comfort of his presence alone. 

You can’t help but gaze down at him for a long moment, taking in the way the moonlight paints his features in a silver glow, how it highlights his nose to the point you’re able to detect the small mole on the tip of it. When the corners of his mouth begin to lift up, that’s when you push yourself off him.

“I𑁋my apologies,” You sputter out of panic as you roll off of him, your face burning with embarrassment. “I did not mean to𑁋I just got excited because we𑁋Gods above, I cannot believe I practically tackled you.”

A deep chuckle rumbles out of Mingyu’s chest. He turns on his side instead of getting up, propping his head up on one hand. “You have nothing to apologise for, princess.”

You shake your head, brushing away some dirt clinging to the ends of your nightgown. “It was very much undignified.”

Mingyu’s grin only widens. “Undignified?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve survived worse battles, my lady,” he retorts playfully. “Trust me. If I can handle a sword tournament, then I am certain I can handle being attacked by an overzealous princess.” 

You blink down at him, processing his ridiculous words, when a laugh tumbles out of you before you could stop it. A real laugh. Not one of those polished ones out of courtesy that you were taught during etiquette lessons𑁋it’s the kind of laugh that causes your nose to wrinkle and your shoulders to uncontrollably shake off whatever decorum you have left. 

You don’t even notice the enchanted expression on Mingyu’s face until reality sinks back in again and the silence returns. A distant owl from somewhere calls beyond the stables. You feel your throat tighten. 

“I… I must return back to my chambers,” You say as you stand up, smoothing down the creases in your nightgown. “I do not want to be scolded about my rebellious behaviour again, neither do I want the maids to be reprimanded.”

Mingyu watches you with a thoughtful expression, the moonlight threading through his lashes. He’s always secretly adored the rebellious side of you𑁋perhaps it gave him a sliver of hope at times. Then with a reluctant exhale, he rises up from the ground, retrieves your fallen bow and quiver, and falls into step behind you like a shadow. 

“As you wish, princess,” he states, returning back to his composed demeanour. “I shall escort you back to your chambers safely.”

You think you’ve tried on over fifty dresses at this point.

Maybe even more, to be honest. You had been standing so long that the sun had almost shifted across the entire sky. Your limbs ache from being continuously prodded at by the seamstresses and your spine feels as if it’s going to crack with every gown that you try on, each one different than the last. There was crimson for passion and power, ivory for purity and virtue. 

The small comments the servants had been making throughout the session have left a permanent sour taste on your tongue. 

“The lower neckline ought to certainly entice Prince Moon of Wolhae…” 

“And the embroidery here on the train matches perfectly with Prince Lee of Seongguk…”

“Her Highness has lovely shoulders. They should be emphasised…”

You stare blankly at yourself in the full-length mirror that stood in front of you mockingly. Gods, you appear almost unrecognisable. Your lips are stained rose, your hair twisted into an elaborate hairstyle it feels as if your scalp is screaming for mercy, and this latest gown cinches your waist so tightly you’re basically buried in silk and feel almost lightheaded. 

Then, you find your eyes instinctively drifting to the figure stationed at the corner of the room.

Mingyu is standing motionless like a statue, yet you can sense that familiar commanding presence of his even when he isn’t doing anything. He’s wearing his silver knight armour, the polished plates gleaming underneath the natural rays of sunlight pouring into the room. His gaze seems to have travelled elsewhere in the room out of respect.

But for the briefest second, his eyes meet with yours in the mirror.

Your cheeks burn instantly.

“Your Highness?” a voice suddenly strips you out of your thoughts.

You blink at one of the seamstresses holding out a pair of necklace options to you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Would you prefer sapphire or emerald?” she asks. “In my opinion, I believe the emerald would compliment your skin beautifully… although sapphire would draw attention from Prince Kang of Wangbi. His house colours are blue, after all.” 

Her words stab you straight through the heart.

Your eyes dauntingly flicker between the two options. They’re both extravagantly beautiful, without a doubt meaning to mark you as available, desirable, ready for whichever prince offered the best fit for the kingdom, not for you. Only the kingdom. Love was perhaps an unattainable concept of fiction in the world you’ve been raised in since birth. 

The truth of it makes you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

“Neither of them,” You deadpan quietly at first, before your voice raises more sharply, “I cannot bear anymore of this nonsense.”

The room freezes and collectively falls into a hushed silence. You see all the seamstresses exchange nervous glances with each other, all of them hesitating together. 

“But Your Highness, we must perfect any altercations for the𑁋”

“I do not care!” You snap back harshly, heat brimming in your eyelids. “I am exhausted from all the fittings and the expectations of the upcoming ball. So, please… leave me at peace. That is an order.”

For a moment, no one dares to speak, before the head seamstress bows deeply and begins to gather all the fabrics, pins, jewelry, and ribbons scattered around the room, not wanting to worsen the situation more than it already is. The other seamstresses follow in swift panic, and you watch them slip out of the door one at a time. 

Until you’re alone in the room.

Well, not entirely alone. 

Mingyu still remains. 

A trembling breath leaves you all at once. The slightest movement makes your knees wobble as you’re still wearing this awful gown. It feels too tight, too suffocating, and you want nothing more than to rip out every sewn pearl out of its wedge. 

You start with that by tearing off the pins in your hair and letting it clatter onto the floor. Strands of your hair finally tumble out of its confinement, making your scalp sigh in relief. Then you try to wipe the stain off your lips with the back of your hand, but it relents and only leaves a faint smear across your skin. 

Frustration boils even harder, and before you can stop yourself, you reach behind your back to tug viciously at the laces of the gown. 

“Traitorous dress,” You murmur under your breath self-depracatingly. “How dare they taint my body with their expectations…”

When your attempts to loosen the bodice comes to no avail, your shoulders sag to the floor in defeat. But as you lift your eyes back to the mirror, that’s when you spot Mingyu again. He’s shifted in your direction slightly, still rigidly standing in the corner in silence. You clench and unclench your fists at your side. 

“Sir Mingyu?” You call out to him.

Mingyu immediately shifts his attention to you. “You called, princess?”

“May…” You bite your lip shyly, glancing at him over your shoulder. “May you grant me some assistance?”

“Of course, my lady,” he responds solemnly, his eyes flitting down to where you’re weakly tugging at the strings of your gown. “Would you like for me to call in the maids?”

“I… no, I do not wish for the maids or anyone, for that matter.” You shake your head. “I… I am seeking your help.”

A stunned pause from him. “My help?”

“Yes,” You say, voice hammering in your chest as you spin on your heel to face him with an exhausted, pleading look. “Please… I feel as if I cannot breathe in this.”

Mingyu sucks in a sharp breath. He hesitates once again, conflict flickering in his dark brown eyes, before he inclines his head in a shallow bow. 

“As you command, princess.”

He crosses the room in three measured strides, the soft clink of his armour bouncing off the walls. You turn your back to him once more. In the mirror, you watch him approach you from behind. 

Mingyu slides his gauntlets off and sets them down on a nearby table before returning back to you. His nostrils flare visibly at the sight of your back offered to him, the beautiful line of your spine exposed willingly for him where the gown had already begun to slip. He’s standing way too close, close enough he can smell the lingering scent of jasmine on your skin.

“Sir Mingyu?” Your voice snaps him out of your thoughts.

He clears his throat soundly. “Yes?”

“Relieve me,” You croak out brokenly. “Please, I beg.” 

The soft plea strikes him in the chest like a blade. He mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear, despite the close proximity. With a shuddering inhale, his bare, trembling hands find their way to the laces, slowly beginning to pull them apart one by one. 

With each one loosened, you feel the suffocating weight of the dress slowly but surely dissipating away and giving you more room to breathe.

Mingyu keeps his eyes fixed on the laces𑁋tries to keep them fixed on the laces and nowhere else. His hands that are trained to wield swords and bows are surprisingly gentle with each one he undoes. Unbridled relief fills your ribs by the time he reaches the middle of your back, and you can’t help the little involuntary moan that leaves your mouth. 

His hands falter for a second from the sound. 

Gods above, help me.

The thoughts that swim around him are completely unbecoming of a knight. He has no right to notice how the silk of the gown parts beautifully like water, no right to think that if he leaned in a little more, he could brush his lips against the nape of your neck and breathe you in like a man begging to worship his lover. How it would be so easy for him to ruin his honour by ruining you instead. 

He would be gentle with you𑁋you are far too precious to be handled roughly. He would drop to his knees and worship you right there until the sun set and rose again if you requested, because the thought of some unworthy prince treating you like nothing but a prize at an auction angers him more than anything else. 

His armour suddenly feels too tight around his body. 

“Almost done, princess,” he mutters hoarsely. “Only a few more remain.” 

You nod nimbly at his words. You keep your eyes trained on the mirror as his hands continue the rest of their descent down your back, untying the rest of the lace. At one point, his knuckles accidentally graze the warm skin above your spine, causing you to flinch. Mingyu notices it right away. 

“My apologies,” he says and lets his hands hover above your skin, too afraid to continue. “I did not mean𑁋”

“It is alright,” You tell him. “I… I do not mind your touch.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw at that as he resumes the rest of the journey. By the time the last one is undone, he takes an immediate step back to give you more space to breathe, but the absence of his warmth hits you right away when the cool air caresses your skin. 

Slowly, you allow the gown to slip to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a thin and translucent chemise you had been wearing underneath. Mingyu redirects his eyes instinctively to give you whatever privacy he could𑁋always the honourable knight he is𑁋but his ears picks up the sounds of you shifting around the room for a few moments. 

You reach for a light robe draped on a nearby chair and slip it around your body, tying the sash around your waist. Then you turn back to Mingyu who is still facing away from you. A chuckle leaves you.

“You can look now, Sir Mingyu,” You assure him playfully.

Mingyu does not move right away. For a man who could read a battlefield like the lines on the back of his hand, he seems suddenly unsure how to interpret a simple room. But when he finally turns his head, he’s met with the sight of a faint smile across your face. 

You appear so vulnerable now. The gown from earlier had been extravagant, sure, but none could compare to this version of you standing in front of him𑁋the one who had stripped herself from all the frustrations the day placed on her. Gods above, Mingyu can stare at you all night and never tire if it means seeing you happy and comfortable in your own skin.

“You seem relieved,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.

A soft laugh escapes you. “That obvious?”

“Very much so,” Mingyu replies knowingly. “How are you faring?” 

A mixture of happiness and relief washes over your features simultaneously. You step up to the grand window and bask in the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass, letting out the deepest breath you never realised you’d been holding in this entire time. 

“Like I can breathe again,” You say, closing your eyes for a singular precious moment to allow the peace to wash over you. “Both physically and… metaphorically as well.”

Mingyu observes you for a few, long moments. Without hesitation, he steps up to the glass right beside you, his armour gleaming under the sunbeams. The window catches a perfect view of the rolling green hills up ahead and the royal gardens down below. 

The two of you stand in front of the window for a long while. Outside, the kingdom stretches out endlessly beneath the afternoon sky. The gardens bloom with a beautiful colour palette of serenity and rose quartz flowers and the rolling hills melt into distant mountain peaks that you’ve always dreamed of exploring if you ever got the chance to.

But you know you would never get that opportunity. You have always been confined to your duties as a princess since the very day you were brought into this world. The only world you’ve always known was within the walls of the castle and the expectations that came with it. 

As you were growing up, you’ve only ever yearned for something… more. Something real. Something where you can allow your heart to travel to wherever it desires without fear or consequence. To experience a love that wasn’t manufactured out of duty or arranged into existence. You’ve always wondered what real love feels like. 

You glance up at Mingyu ponderingly. 

“May I… ask you a question, Sir Mingyu?” You ask unsurely. 

Mingyu lifts a brow. “Of course, my lady.”

“Have you ever… courted a woman when you were younger?”

A flicker of surprise graces his features. He appears almost stunned to speak at first, his dark eyes widening slightly, before nostalgia softens his face. There’s a shadow of reluctance tucked behind his gaze as he ducks his head down briefly for a moment. Not to avoid, but to think.

“I… Yes, I have courted women back when I lived in the village, before knighthood,” he answers. “Most were fleeting though, and I have learned a lot from those experiences.”

You nod solemnly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the next question you’re about to ask.

“Were you in love with any of them?”

Mingyu hums pensively. 

“There was one, yes. She was the baker’s daughter, while I was the blacksmith’s son,” Mingyu continues with a faint smile. “She always had the brightest laugh, and flour dusted her cheeks no matter how many times she wiped them.”

A knot in your stomach tightens from his words, the jealousy flashing through so irrationally. You hate how desperately you want to ask the name of who he speaks to fondly about; about whether or not she still occupies his heart to this day.

Mingyu notices the way you shift your feet uncomfortably.  

“But her father wanted her to marry another man, one with prospects and a bag full of coin.” He exhales slowly, letting his fingertips trace over the dust on the edge of the windowsill. “I had nothing to offer her, so… we parted ways ultimately. From what I hear, she is happily married with two children now.” 

That’s when you finally lift your eyes up at him, catching how the sunlight captures the warm brown of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” You mutter out quietly.

Mingyu just chuckles. “Do not be sorry, princess. It is all in the past.”

“Still,” You add in, shaking your head. “I have always thought of love as something… eternal. Lovers who stay together through thick and thin until the end of their days.”

Mingyu tilts his head curiously at you. “Has the topic of love been consuming your mind as of late, Your Highness?”

Heat rises through your cheeks at his question. For a heartbeat, you allow yourself to look at him. With Mingyu, you have always felt allowed to express yourself without the pretense of propriety. It’s always been easy with him, it seems. 

“Yes,” You confess bashfully. “It has.”

A heavy silence follows after your voice fades. A silence of contemplation and, oddly, comfort. You know if you speak such words to your parents or any other soul in the castle, they would look at you with nothing but disapproval and claim that your rebellious behaviour causes a negative look on the kingdom. 

Mingyu watches you carefully.

“Have you ever fallen in love, princess?” he asks simply.

The question steals the breath from your lungs. A simple question that requires a simple answer of yes or no. Yet… it is not so easy. 

You’ve read about love in the stories that fill the grand library’s walls. You’ve seen love in the way the palace gardeners tend to their blooms preciously through pricked fingers. You’ve heard about love when you overhear the stories told by the kitchen maids about the stable boys. Love has always surrounded you in every crevice in life, but it’s always felt so distant.

Until now. For the first time in your life, someone has asked you about your heart, not your duty. 

“I…” You hesitate, forcing your gaze back out the window. “I believe that I𑁋”

Before you could finish, a loud knock pounds at the door, startling you and Mingyu at the same time. Mingyu’s hand instinctively reaches out to his sword when a second more persistent knock arrives when the first one is left unanswered, already ready to shield you from any kind of danger. 

A muffled voice speaks through the wood, “Your Highness? The Queen requests your presence in the solar. She wishes to review the guest list for the upcoming ball.”

Dread slivers down your spine at the request. Your eyes flicker between the door and Mingyu𑁋when did he stand so close to you?𑁋who is already back to wearing that disciplined mask on his face, the warmth of his softened features that were there a minute ago now tucked away carefully. Yet his eyes… they still seem to betray him. 

The sight makes your heart stutter painfully in your chest. 

“Tell Mother I shall be there shortly,” You call back to the door. 

When you hear the servant’s footsteps fade away down the corridor, you release a shaky breath, grabbing the ends of your delicate robe and drawing it over yourself to hide how your chest is rising and falling erratically. You don’t catch the way Mingyu’s fingers tighten at his side, fighting the urge to reach out to you even if you are just an arm’s length away. 

“I do not want to go,” You admit unsteadily.

“I know,” Mingyu murmurs back. “But you must.”

You peer up at him with guilty eyes.

“I… I apologise for my question earlier,” You say weakly, bowing your head down apologetically even if you have more authority than him. “I did not mean to intrude on your past.”

Mingyu’s facade cracks at your words. He shakes his head. 

“You could never intrude, princess.” He hesitates momentarily, before adding on, “You may ask me anything and I will always answer truthfully. I… I feel honoured that you trust me with such vulnerable questions.”

Your heart squeezes as a grateful smile of your own graces your lips. 

You nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “May you escort me to the solar, Sir Mingyu?” 

Mingyu lets out a quiet sound that almost sounds like a laugh and offers his armoured arm for you to hold. He doesn’t bring up that you still have yet to answer his question from before. You’re the princess at the end of the day𑁋you don’t owe him an answer as much as he owes you one. 

“It would be my honour, my lady.”

Mingyu know it’s his duty to stand here𑁋to watch over the ball and ensure the safety of the guests, and especially you𑁋but he swears that he cannot breathe in his armour with every man that stands way too close to you. With every lowly prince that settles a hand on your hip, whispering sultry words in your ears that will attempt to sway you in their direction. 

No matter how far he stands away from you, he can still spot how visibly uncomfortable you are. He catches the stiffness in your shoulders, the polite smile on your face that never quite reached your beautiful eyes, and the brief, desperate glances you stole in his direction when no one else was looking.

Say the word, princess… and I’ll end this for you, he thinks. 

A low, bitter sound escapes his throat. He should not have the right to feel this jealousy when you’re only fulfilling your duties. He knows where your heart stands when it comes to the arranged marriages you’ve grown to despise. 

The only question is… if your heart did not lie with any of the princes, then where did it lie?

“Your Highness, it is an honour to share this dance with you,” Prince Moon of Wolhae whispers in your ear with a coy smirk. His hand is pressed firmly into the small of your back, pulling you closer than necessary as he leads you in a slow dance while the orchestra plays an intimate melody in the background. 

You force a courteous smile, even if every thought in your mind is begging you to pull away. Prince Moon stands too close to you, close enough his breath is too warm on your skin and his compliments come off intentionally calculated. You’ve already shared a dance with two other princes before him, and the activity of the day has begun to take its toll on you.

There was Prince Lee of Seongguk from earlier, who you swear had hands that trembled more than yours, but he was friendlier than the others. While Prince Kang of Wangbi spoke mostly more about his future heirs and himself than asking about you. And then there was Prince Moon, whose comments became more crude and entitled by the minute. 

“You dance beautifully as well,” he continues, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Together, we could build something unstoppable, should I say. Your kingdom’s ports… my army… and you in my bed every night, hm?”

You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, a grimace forming at your painted lips. “You are very forward, Prince Moon.”

He merely chuckles, seemingly dismissing your discomfort. “Because I know what I want, princess. And what I want is you.” 

Although Mingyu can’t hear your conversations, his blood boils and his fists clench so tightly it makes his gloves creak regardless. Get your filthy hands off her, bastard. You do not own her. 

Prince Moon keeps mumbling sweet poisons to you as the dance continues and the music begins to swell. The large chandelier hanging from the high ceilings casts shards of glittering gold on the floor, shimmering off your dainty circlet crown and the elegant jewelry that decorate your body.

“I admire your ambitions, Prince Moon.”

“Ambition is what wins kingdoms, my lady,” the man retorts easily, spinning you around with practiced ease. His eyes rake over your neckline as he dips you briefly, before bringing you back up with him face-to-face. His hand drops lower on your back. “Tell me, princess𑁋how do you prefer your maidenhood to be claimed? Sweet and gentle or… rough and delicious? I bet you have imagined it, yes?” 

Your stomach churns with disgust at his inquiry, but a traitorous flush creeps up your neck like a snake. Yes, you can’t deny that you have thought of it before, more often than a princess should, but never with a man with greedy hands, cold ambition, and who speaks to you as if you were some common tavern wench in front of the entire Royal Court.

You’ve imagined it with someone else entirely. A man with hands that are not plagued with conquest and rings of greed. But a man with hands as gentle as a feather on your skin. A man whose touch makes you feel wanted rather than hunted, who makes your heart ache out of longing and not out of fear. 

A man that you love. 

When Prince Moon spins you around again, your gaze frantically searches through the vast ballroom for Mingyu. You desperately try to decipher through all the smiling faces of the guests and nobles, through the goblets of wine being passed around, through the sea of glittering jewels and shiny silk.

Until they finally find him.

Mingyu is staring at you𑁋has been staring at you this entire time𑁋standing frozen in the corner with his dark eyes icy cold, unreadable, and almost… sad. Because a knight is not allowed to interfere with royal courtship or diplomacy. A knight is certainly forbidden from challenging a crowned prince over a woman who can never belong to him. 

But consequences be damned. He made a promise to the oath he took three years ago: to protect you for the rest of his life. If he receives punishment for fulfilling his oath, then he would gladly trade his knighthood to keep you safe from these perverted vultures. 

A smirk spreads across Prince Moon’s face when he notices the flush on your cheeks. 

“The idea certainly appeals to you, doesn’t it, princess?” he continues to pry.

Gods, you want to slap this man senseless across the face. 

“I believe you are forgetting yourself, Prince Moon,” You claim through gritted teeth. “I am not some conquest of yours to be spoken of so vulgarly.” 

Prince Moon’s nostrils flare in amusement. “Why are you pretending you do not crave the same things every woman does, princess?” 

For a spell, you simply stare at him. Then, you pull your hand away from his shoulder. The movement seems to break the rhythm of the dance instantly.

“I do,” You answer quietly.

The man’s smile widens.

“But not with a man who mistakes vulgarity for charm.”

His smile falters.

Around you, the orchestra continues to play, the sounds of the violins soaring to their crescendo as other couples drift across the polished dance floor, blissfully unaware that one dance has come to a standstill. 

You lift your chin to look at him, a cunning look to your face.

“You speak of kingdoms and armies as trophies, and of women as though they are no different.” Your gaze drops to the hand still resting on your lower back, and you reach down to pry it away as if it’s a leech. “I have met merchants at the market with more grace than you, Prince Moon.”

Irritation flashes across his face. “You wound me, princess. You would reject an alliance between our kingdoms over a few words?”

“I would reject any man who believes his merit is the gold upon his brow,” You deadpan sharply. “Or any man who believes a crown excuses the absence of decency.”

Several nobles glance curiously in your direction, but you don’t let their eyes tug at your determination.

“You may find that beggars cannot be choosers, Your Highness,” Prince Moon remarks stiffly, eyes narrowing down at you. 

You scoff lightly at that, rolling your eyes to his indifference. When the crescendo of the orchestra fades away, that’s when you take your chances to fully separate from him. With a cold smile and a searing glare, you rip his touch fully away from your skin, and it feels as if you can breathe out a long breath at last. 

After that, you offer Prince Moon a shallow curtsey𑁋more out of simple etiquette than respect𑁋as the violins fade into an awkward silence until there’s only the sounds of your thundering heart and the murmurs rippling through the surrounding nobles. 

“Thank you for your time, Prince Moon,” You begin evenly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if they had been stained. “I appreciate your… candor. It highlights your character vibrantly. I wish you a pleasant evening and safe travels on your return to Wolhae.”

Prince Moon’s jaw tightens. Your eyes sparkle victoriously under the chandelier. 

“A pity,” the man chides in disbelief. “I had hoped that the stories of your grace were true. You do recall that your parents invited me here for a reason, is that not right, princess?”

You hold his gaze with a steely look.

“You are correct,” You answer. “But I am disappointed that a prince does not know the difference between an invitation and a promise.” 

Your words land hard enough for a hushed silence to fall across the room. Prince Moon has the audacity to open his damned mouth to argue, but it falls back to a quick close when he realises that everyone is watching this happen right before their eyes. Everyone is witnessing royalty reject another in the middle of the grand ballroom. Your hands at your side start to tremble, but you hide them carefully within the folds of your dress. 

Gods, you definitely know that your parents are likely going to place your head atop a spike in the morning for this. You can already hear in your head the lecture that awaits you after sunrise. But the strength you’ve been holding on for the past weeks all crumbled the second you shared a dance with the first prince. 

The adrenaline and anger that had been keeping your spine straight is now entirely drained from your body. Before your knees could buckle, a warm yet commanding presence appears by your side instantly. 

“Prince Moon,” a voice deadpans𑁋Mingyu’s voice. He bows his head low enough to satisfy simple etiquette. “Her Highness has made her wishes clear.”

Prince Moon flits his eyes to him, dragging a condescending look up and down his stance.

“And who are you to involve yourself in royal affairs?”

“Sir Kim Mingyu of the Royal Guard.”

“So you are a servant, then?”

“I am whomever the royals of this kingdom prescribe me to be,” Mingyu states without flinching. “In this case, I serve the princess of this nation, who has clearly expressed her displeasure.”  

The tension between the two of men only thickens that even seems the ballroom itself is holding its breath. Prince Moon’s face contorts with humiliated rage. For a second, you think he might consider snapping back again, but Mingyu shifts imperceptibly closer to you, his gauntleted hand hovering near your lower back.

The prince’s eyes flicker calculatingly between the two of you. Whatever he sees in Mingyu’s dead stare makes him think better of it. 

He offers a stiff, quite literally mocking bow to you. 

“Very well,” Prince Moon spits out. “Until we meet again, princess.” 

You watch as the man stalks his way back into the crowd. Murmurs ripple throughout the ballroom𑁋most appear to be siding with the prince, because of course𑁋but you don’t let it get to you, can’t let it show that it’s getting to you. 

“Your Highness.”

When you look back up at Mingyu, everything else seems to fade. Worry and the tiniest hint of anger𑁋not at you, but for you𑁋crosses his face when he catches you the hazy exhaustion on your features. 

“Shall I escort you somewhere quieter, my lady?”  he asks quietly so only you can hear, already offering his arm to you. 

You nod, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. You keep your gaze to the floor as he escorts you through the crowd of guests, who part like water for you and Mingyu, their scandalised eyes following every step.

“Did you see how she dismissed Prince Moon?”

“Bold… or foolish.”

“The King and Queen will not be pleased with this, certainly.”

You clench your jaw, trying to fight off the burn threatening to rise in your cheeks from their remarks. Mingyu doesn’t say anything yet, but the protective way he keeps you close to him is louder than any of their words. 

He leads out the grand side doors, down the torchlit corridor where you walk past the watchful eyes of your painted ancestors on the walls. The farther you travel away from the ballroom, the fainter the music becomes, and the more you feel like you can breathe again. 

Mingyu shuts the door behind you when you enter the grand library. The entire room had been cleared because of the ball taking place. Towering shelves of books stretch out endlessly before you, the smell of old ink and parchment lingering through the air. You always come here whenever you wanted to escape𑁋you forget at times that it’s still part of the palace. A quieter and vulnerable part of your world.

The books you’ve read here never judged you. 

Your shoulders drop to the floor before you realise how long you’ve been holding them up.

“I think I may have ruined everything,” You admit quietly after a long while of silence. “I feel as if I may have jeopardised my title, my status, and yet… I do not feel sad about it, but𑁋”

“𑁋relieved?”

You blink back at Mingyu in surprise. 

“Yes,” You finish. “Relieved, strangely.”

Mingyu tilts his head skeptically. He steps up into the space right next to you, where your eyes are roaming over the books on the walls.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he begins, clearing his throat soundly. “I believe that you were the most radiant one up there.” 

A choked laugh bubbles out of you despite everything. “Even if I humiliated myself in front of the entire court?”

“Especially then, princess.”

“You are just saying that to make me feel better, you liar,” You accuse teasingly. 

“Lying would be against my oath,” he remarks, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I have been nothing but truthful during our times together, my lady.”

The banter has always been easy between the two of you, you realise. The burdens and scrutiny waiting on the other side of the door feel less frightening to face when you know Mingyu is right by your side. You know that at any moment, this temporary peace could be ruined and you’d be exiled back to your duties𑁋or worse, exiled from the kingdom because of the scrutiny. 

Mingyu’s eyes roam over the quiet reflection on your face, and he feels his heart ache in his chest. 

“Come here, princess.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What𑁋”

Before you can finish, he’s wrapping his armoured arm your waist and drawing you into his hold. The cool metal of his gauntlet presses gently on your lower back, and before you know it, you find yourself swaying together in the middle of the dead-silent library.

“No music,” he points out with a fond smile. “Just us.”

There’s no grand chandelier above your heads, no judging nobles or entitled princes. There’s only the soft glow of lanterns, moonlight filtering in through tall windows, and Mingyu’s presence wrapped around you. It feels more intimate than anything else. 

“You are terrible at this,” You say playfully, even while resting your cheek on his breastplate. “The armour makes you clunky.”

A huff of amusement leaves him. “Forgive me. I am a knight, not a dancer.” 

“It is alright,” You reassure him calmly. “Follow my lead.”

He does𑁋well, he tries to𑁋and there’s something so endearing seeing a man so formidable fumble a little when attempting to move with you. But after a few more turns, his movements become surprisingly graceful when he allows himself to stop overthinking about it. 

You lead him in slow, sweeping circles across the grand library, your shared giggles ringing out into the room when his armour accidentally clips one of the shelves a little too harshly. At one point, he spins you smoothly and dips you down, one arm secured at your waist while the other supports your back. Your circlet glints under the moonlight as your head tilts back.

He holds you there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, gazing down at you with such open adoration that you almost forget that no one else is watching you now. But when he pulls you back upright again, your faces are only a breath away from each other. Your breaths hitch at the same time from the closeness.

The world suddenly narrows. His scent fills all of your senses, and the way his dark eyes drop down to your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you, as if it was only ever meant for you. 

You rise on your toes instinctively, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. If you lean in a fraction closer, your mouths would meet in a soft yet long overdue𑁋

The heavy doors of the library slam open with a force enough to make the surrounding bookshelves tremble. Mingyu reacts faster than thought, spinning you around so that his body is a protective wall between you and the intruders. His hand flies down to the handle of his sword even as recognition hits him. 

Three elite guards step into the room with their expressions hardened. The captain strides forward, eyes narrowing between the two of you.

“By royal decree of the King and Queen,” he announces authoritatively. “Her Highness is to return to her chambers at once.”

Mingyu’s face turns molten. “She is under my protec𑁋”

“Stand down, knight. Consider this a warning for your actions tonight,” the captain spits back harshly. “There will be far worse consequences than a reprimand if you overstep your duties.”

Mingyu’s body visibly tenses, but he offers a stiff, obedient bow of his head. “Understood, Captain.”

The captain nods curtly, then gestures to his men. The two other guards step forward and take hold of your arms, already urging you to the door. 

“Mingyu𑁋” Your voice cracks as you twist your head back to look at him.

He takes one unconscious step forward, his hand twitching at his sword, but the captain’s warning glares stop him cold. 

The heavy doors slam shut behind you, cutting him off from view. The corridor feels colder without him. 

Your chambers is quiet, almost too quiet.

The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn tight that not even moonlight can spill inside to grant you peace, and only a few candles flickered on your bedside table, casting long, almost taunting shadows across the cold stone walls of your bedroom. You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed in your nightgown, with your knees up to your chest and your arms wrapped loosely around them.

No matter what, sleep refuses to come. After the ball had ended, you were banished immediately to your chambers by your mother’s icy command, her parting voice still ringing in your ears about how you had embarrassed the entire kingdom in one single night. 

Yet it’s not your mother’s voice that disturbs your sleep, not entirely at least. Rather it’s Prince Moon’s vile words. His words about your title, your autonomy, your maidenhood. You know that you shouldn’t allow his words to affect you as much as it does, but your mind can’t help but wander. All your life, your maidenhood has been treated like nothing but a transaction. A part of you that you always owed for alliances and bloodlines, not out of love. Never has anyone asked what you wanted. 

Your thighs press together underneath your nightgown, a restless kind of heat blooming low in your stomach. For years, you resigned yourself to this untimely fate; but tonight, after rejecting all the princes so publicly, you decide that this is the night where you would finally choose yourself. 

Anxiety throbs beneath your ribs as you rise from the bed and cross the room with bare feet. You pause right before the heavy oak door, fingers hovering over the latch. This is lunacy that you’re about to commit, but the fire in your veins refuses to be quelled by reason tonight. Opening the latch, you crack the door open enough to catch one of the maids passing by in the corridor.

“Hyejin!” You whisper-yell into the dark hallway.

The girl startles from your voice, her lantern swinging around when she turns to the sound. She glances both ways before rushing to your side with a silent bow. She has always been loyal and discreet, and knew better than to question odd requests at odd hours.

“Yes, Your Highness?” she asks hushedly.

“Find Sir Mingyu at once,” You instruct her urgently. “Tell him that I require his immediate presence. And do not notify a soul, please.”

Hyejin’s eyes widen fractionally, but she merely nods. “Of course, my lady. I shall return with him swiftly.” She spins on her heel and vanishes into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost. 

You shut the door and lean back against it, pressing a hand to your racing heart. The minute that drag feels like an eternity. Your legs pace around the room in anticipation, straighten your already-flawless blush-colour coverlet on your bed, adjust the candles, then you sit again only to stand once more.

Doubts swarm your head like storm clouds. What if he refuses? What if we are discovered? What if I am𑁋what if we are both𑁋ruined forever? But beneath all your worries burned a defiant need. You wanted this. You wanted him.

When three measured knocks land at your door minutes later, your breath catches in your throat. Pursing your lips tightly, you approach the door and unlatch it carefully. The door creeps open slowly, before a pair of heavy footsteps slips inside. 

The world suddenly fades into complete silence when Mingyu closes to the door behind him with a soft click and slides the bolt into place. He’s still in his ceremonial armour from the ball, the intricately engraved steel shimmering like stars under the candlelight and the red cape behind him flowing down to the floor like a waterfall. 

Mingyu’s ready eyes sweeps across your chambers naturally as he strides in your direction𑁋from the high curtains that drape down to the ground, to your heavy wardrobe, to even beneath your four poster bed𑁋to spot any kind of danger that might be lurking. It’s only when he finds nothing does he allow his gaze to settle back on you.

“Princess,” he calls worriedly, catching the distraught expression on your tired features. “What is the matter? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head diffidently. 

“No.”

“Did Her Majesty𑁋”

“No.”

Mingyu falls silent.

“Then why have you summoned me at this hour, my lady?” he asks, more softer this time. 

You hesitate, fingertips digging carelessly into the thin fabric of your nightgown. The words you rehearsed in your head suddenly feel too bold and dangerous.

This is it. There is no going back now.

“I… I want you to teach me,” You admit shakily. 

Mingyu blinks, arching up a thick brow. “Teach you?”

“About… pleasure.” 

The colour drains from his face almost instantly, before a deep flush creeps up his neck that you see hidden in the shadows of his gorget. He takes an instinctive step back, the metal of his greaves scraping against the floor. 

“I-I beg your pardon, princess?” he coughs out flusteredly, his voice coming out rougher than expected. 

The weight of your words hit you, but you refuse to let your courage crack anymore. You step up toward him until the tips of your feet barely graze his boots, closing the distance he tries to create. Even through his breastplate, you feel the heat radiating off him. It helps to ease your nerves only slightly.

“I want you to teach me…” You begin nervously. “...how to have sex.” 

Mingyu’s breath hitches audibly, his composed mask shattering entirely. His gaze turns dark as he fights the battle raging in his head right now: honour clashing with desire, duty against the tug of his heart. A shiver runs through his tall frame. He attempts to force his attention elsewhere, pretending this was nothing but his imagination, yet your request has permanently imprinted itself in his mind and… and he cannot deny that this is reality. 

Gods, the thought alone has him aching already. 

“Princess, I𑁋do you understand what you are asking me right now?” A pensive look washes over his face. “I am your sworn knight. You cannot… say such things to me. If anyone were to find out, we would both be punished before our next breath.” 

But even as those words leave his mouth, he betrays himself regardless. His hands flex at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out to you. 

You reach up to brush a path over his chest, and he sighs in restraint as if your hand burns him. 

“You are my sworn knight, Sir Mingyu,” You repeat, guiding your hand up until it rests on his warm chin. “The only man I trust the most in this world. With my life, with my heart, and now… my body.” A sharp heat prickles beneath your eyelids. “I do not care about the risks because I choose you. I always have. So I… I beg of you to show me what it is like to sully my virtue. Please.” 

Nothing but desire flashes through his thoughts. Mingyu rests his armoured hand over yours that’s on his chest and leans down to rest his forehead on yours. You both breathe each other in for a moment, his warmth breath grazing upon your lips.

That is, until he sinks to his knees, peering up at you with nothing but unyielding devotion, with your hand still in his. The position alone makes heat flood into your core𑁋seeing your powerful knight on his knees before you. 

“I am yours to command tonight, my princess,” he says, pressing a vowing kiss to each knuckle on your hand which sends sparks up your spine. “And I will show you what it is like to be worshipped so sweetly… that you forget every cage duty has tried to force on you.” 

Before you can speak, Mingyu flips your hand over to trace his lips over the pulse point at your wrist, never breaking eye contact with you. Slowly, he trails higher to kiss along the sensitive skin of your forearm, to the crook of your elbow, and one at your shoulder. Then he rises back to his feet, cups your cheek with a gauntleted hand, and begins to lean in. 

Your eyes squeeze shut naturally, your body bracing for the first real kiss. But Mingyu teasingly pauses just short of your mouth, a smile forming at his lips as he relishes the sight of your features up close for the first time. 

He mutters something along the lines of beautiful before claiming your lips. 

Mingyu kisses you slowly at first, learning the shape of your mouth, then it grows needier as you part your lips for him. His tongue brushes against yours tentatively, never demanding more unless he knows you want it. Your fingers curl desperately on the edges of his armour while the world tilts around the two of you. 

“I have yearned for the taste of your lips for years, my lady,” he whispers against your mouth, gripping your waist a little tighter. “To have you now is truly… a privilege I will never take for granted.” 

He begins to shed his armour with his mouth never leaving yours once, stripping his gauntlets and the heavy pauldrons on his shoulders until they fall uselessly to the floor. Piece by piece, the barriers between your bodies disappear𑁋the breastplate, the vanbraces around his forearms, the gorget on his neck𑁋leaving him in only his linen undershirt and breeches. 

Your impatient hands roam underneath his shirt, caressing over the strong planes of his chest. Mingyu chuckles at your eagerness and pulls off his shirt entirely, letting it join the pile of steel on the floor. You pull away from him to just admire in awe. 

Moonlight may have been kinder to the sight of him, but the candlelight illuminates him even more. His broad shoulders hold strength and the faint scars across his defined chest and abdomen make him appear more real. More yours. 

You trace over the line of an old battle scar beneath his collarbone. His body tenses from your touch.

“You are staring, princess,” Mingyu murmurs amusedly, though his cheeks are flushed. He strokes your lower lip with a fingertip. “Do I please you?”

“More than I can say,” You say with a soft smile. “My knight is… quite ravishing to the eyes.”

A boyish grin tugs at his mouth. He nuzzles his face into your neck. 

“Ravishing, am I?” he muses playfully, lips brushing against the skin there. “Then I suppose I must live up to my title, my love.” 

Without a second thought, he lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. A surprised giggle escapes you before it is swallowed down by another deep kiss. He carries you a few steps toward your grand bed. The velvet coverlet feels cool against your back when he lays you down carefully, his large body hovering over yours. 

His hands slip under your nightgown and chemise, his calloused hands caressing over your thighs. 

“May I take this off, princess?” he asks, dark eyes searching yours for any hesitation. 

“Yes,” You breathe out, clutching weakly at his shoulders.

Mingyu slowly draws the fabric upward. The cool air of the room kisses over the sensitive skin of your legs. You lift your hips up to help him, and he peels the gown over your waist, your breasts, and finally over your head. It flutters to the floor like a discarded flower petal, leaving you in only your thin chemise. The candlelight almost makes it appear translucent.

His fingers toy with the straps of your chemise, glancing back up at you for permission again. When you give him a small nod, his face softens with such tenderness it makes you far too shy to maintain eye contact as he peels the delicate lace down your body. Shivers run up and down your skin, not from the cold but from the weight of his stare. Like you’re the only star in the sky. 

His throat bobs visibly.

“Fuck, princess…” Mingyu curses, letting his hands glide up your sides before resting on the underside of your breasts. He caresses over one gently with his large palms, taking your nipple between his fingertips, causing you to let out a soft moan. “You are an art piece… crafted with perfection by the heavens themselves. Untouched by the world, but allowing her knight to ruin so sweetly.”

He leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly while his free hand plays with the other. Your body arches needily against his, and the velvety heat of his tongue has you clenching around nothing. He continues his journey downwards, his mouth tracing a path of fire between the valley of your breasts and lower over your stomach, stopping when he reaches your mound. 

Mingyu spreads your legs a little wider, groaning when he notices how wet you already are. 

“Gods above, look at you.” He strokes soothingly along the inside of your thigh, settling between your legs more comfortably. “Your sweet little cunt is weeping for attention. May I taste you, my lady? This will be your first lesson in pleasure.”

You nod urgently, already digging your hands into the silk sheets of your bed.

With a grateful smile, Mingyu leans in and presses an open-mouth kiss to your folds. You jolt at the wet contact, but he grips your hips firmly to hold you in place. “Easy, sweet girl. Stay open for me. Let me devour this innocent pussy…”

He drags the flat of his warm tongue from your entrance and up to the little swollen bud at the top. 

“This pretty pearl right here is your clit.” He teasingly circles his tongue around the sensitive nub, before sealing it in his mouth with a loud suck that echoes off the walls of your chambers. “So sensitive… You taste like the sweetest, most forbidden nectar.”

You cry out a whimpered gasp when he sucks it more firmly, the pleasure striking you hard like lightning. Your hands find their way into his dark hair, burying him into you even more. Mingyu grunts at the sensation and doubles on his efforts, switching between gentle sucks and rapid flicks of his tongue on your pussy, keeping his eyes solely locked on the way your face twists with pleasure. 

When he pulls away for a breath, you look down and the sight nearly destroys you𑁋Mingyu, your loyal knight, between your legs with his lips glistening with your wetness. 

“May I… put a finger inside you, my lady?” he asks breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your slick folds. “Just one for now. Only if you want, princess.”

“Yes,” You sigh out, trembling with need. “I want it, please…”

Mingyu kisses your knee appreciatively and returns to your aching core. At the same time, he teases a thick finger at your entrance and coats it with your arousal, before gently pushing inside. Your body welcomes him instantly. 

The stretch is foreign to you, but he works it through you thoroughly. He curls his finger in an upward motion that has your walls fluttering around him. The simultaneous sensation of his tongue and fingers makes you grip his hair even tighter and your hips to grind against his face. 

“Mingyu, it feels so good…”

“Mmmh, good girl,” he praises sweetly, voice muffled against you. “Let me add a second one, yeah? To stretch you more open for me…” 

He works another thick finger alongside the first. The burn between your legs melts away the brief discomfort of the stretch into pure heat. His fingers thrust in and out of you at a steady rhythm as his mouth continues lapping at your pussy. Your loud, broken moans bounce off the walls of the chambers as the pleasure builds rapidly, your hips practically riding his face.

Mingyu growls when he feels your thighs start to tremble harshly around his head. 

“That’s it, my love,” he murmurs hotly against your dripping cunt. “Give me your pleasure, your first ever orgasm from a man who yearns for you…”

“Fuck, I𑁋Mingyu𑁋!”

Pleasure explodes through you like wildfire. A blissful cry of his name rips out of your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed as your walls clamp down tightly around his fingers. Your hips jerk against his face, riding the waves while he continues licking and sucking, drinking in every drop of your release. 

He slows when your moans turn into soft, overstimulated whimpers and your thighs fall open in exhaustion. With one final kiss to your swollen folds, he withdraws his fingers and hovers back above you. His heart squeezes with pride when looks down at your flushed, trembling body. 

“You are enchanting when you let go, my princess,” he says before kissing you deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “I could spend the rest of my days between your legs and never tire.”

A subtle shift of his body has you feeling the heavy outline of his hardening cock through his breeches. Mingyu inhales sharply when you roll your hips against his once, his ears red with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. 

“I… fuck𑁋we do not have to, sweetheart,” he mutters, though the way he’s involuntarily grinding on you says otherwise. “You have given me so much than I deserve tonight, and I would rather die than cause you pain.”

You cup his cheek tenderly, grazing over his cheekbone. A fresh wave of nerves and desire twists in your belly.

“I want to,” You whisper. “I ache for it, Mingyu. Please… make love to me.” 

Something in him shatters at that, as if his last thread of restraint snaps into two. His eyes fall shut for a moment, nostrils flaring at your plea. When they open, his eyes have darkened with hunger, and he leans in to capture your lips with a kiss so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. His large body pins you deeper into the bed, the heat of his bare chest searing against your skin. 

Mingyu pulls away just long enough to shove his breeches down his thighs, kicking them away. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free𑁋thick and heavy, curled slightly with a glistening tip already leaking for you. It’s your first time ever seeing a man this undeniably aroused for you. He’s so beautiful and intimidating that you can’t help but just stare. 

He notices your wide-eyed expression and lets out a shy, self-conscious chuckle.

“Have I frightened you?” he questions worriedly.

You shake your head. “No… You’re… big. I did not expect…” The words die on your tongue, but hungry curiosity sparkles in your eyes. 

Tentatively, you reach down to touch his length, and his cock twitches harshly from your touch. He’s impossibly hard, the skin smooth and hot as you wrap your hand around him to stroke him experimentally from the base to the tip. A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest. 

“Shit…” he moans out, his hips jerking into your touch before realising it. “You do not have to𑁋fuck, your hand feels like magic𑁋”

You watch in awe as another bead of precum leaps from the tip. Emboldened, you swipe your thumb over it, spreading it down his shaft. Mingyu’s head falls forward into your shoulder, his breaths coming out in hot pants. 

“Easy, my love,” he warns, catching your wrist and pinning it to the bed beside your head, your fingers lacing together. “If there is a next time, you may touch me as you please. But for now… I need to be inside you.”

Mingyu uses his other hand to guide his cock to your entrance, rubbing the flushed head along your soaked and sensitive folds. He doesn’t push inside just yet.

“Tell me again, princess,” he commands. “Tell me you want your knight to corrupt you.”

“I want you, please,” You plead longingly. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Claim me as yours.” 

That’s all it takes.

With a groan, he starts pushing inside. His cock is much thicker and hotter than his fingers were. You gasp from the intense stretch, your nails digging crescents into his biceps as your body struggles to take him. He pauses to give you time to adjust before burying himself even more until he’s fully inside of you, whispering soothing praises and peppering your face with kisses to distract you from the discomfort. 

“Gods above, I cannot believe… I am inside of you, my lady,” he mutters hoarsely. “So warm… so tight…”

When the burn eases away, you shift your hips into his and let out a small, needy whimper. That’s all the permission he needs. 

Mingyu thrusts into you with a slow pace, dragging his cock along your sensitive walls. This was a dream that plagued him every night𑁋a dream of finally having you to himself and not those wretched princes, loving you the way you deserve, ruining you for any other man, even if it’s only for a single night. A night that he will cherish to his very grave. 

His jaw clenches tightly as he tries to keep himself from losing control too fast, but it doesn’t help when your moans grace his ears like a symphony and the way your nails are raking red trails down his back spur him on even more. 

“Mingyu𑁋ah𑁋faster, please𑁋”

“Faster?” he repeats breathlessly. “As you command, my princess.”

Bracing his strong arms at your sides, he snaps his hips deeper, harder, into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies shamelessly meeting reverberating throughout your chambers that you are sure someone can hear if they passed too close to the door, but the thought only sends a forbidden thrill through you. 

He swallows your moans with a devouring kiss as he continues to fuck you. One hand grips your thigh higher to hit that sensitive spot inside of you, and it sends that familiar pleasure to tighten in your stomach once again. 

You embrace your arms around his neck. “I’m close, Mingyu𑁋”

“Gods𑁋fuck, me too,” he says into your sweat-slicked skin, but his pace starts faltering. “But I have to… shit, I have to slow down, princess𑁋I cannot cum inside of you. I cannot ruin your future…”

Mingyu starts to pull back, but you feel the strain in him, the way his body is refusing to comply with how he slows his thrusts. But you don’t let him stray away; instead, you tighten your arms around like a vice, keeping every thick inch of you sheathed inside your cunt. 

“No, do not pull away,” You pant in his ears, fingers greedily threading into his damp hair. “I need you, Mingyu𑁋I do not care about the consequences. I choose this. I choose you. Fill me up, my loyal knight. I beg you…”

Something raw and possessive bursts out of him at your desperate pleas, his eyes flashing with overwhelming love and hunger. He curses lowly to himself, as if hoping the heavens won’t hear the sin he is about to commit, before driving back into you roughly, giving into everything he’s held back. 

“You will damn us both… and yet I cannot deny you ever,” he pants into your neck. “Your knight obeys… always. Take me, my love𑁋cum for me. Now.” 

Your second orgasm crashes into you harder than the first. Waves of ecstasy whiten your vision, your body arching off the bed as clench around his cock one final time. The feeling of your release sends Mingyu over the edge completely. He buries himself inside of you, filling you to the brim with thick ropes of his heat. He grinds slow and deep through both of your orgasms, pushing every drop as far in you as possible.

Mingyu doesn’t pull out of you yet for several long moments. He cages your trembling form in his arms as if he’s afraid the world might tear you apart if he lets go. He presses kisses along the column of your throat and up to your jaw, then to your swollen lips, lingering a little longer than usual. Only then does he draw away to peer down at you with glassy, vulnerable eyes. 

“I love you, my princess,” he confesses quietly. “I have loved you silently for years, since the first day I swore my oath to protect you. I have always adored your resilience, your beauty… among many other things.” 

Your blink sleepily up at him, your heart swelling at his words.

“I love you too, Sir Mingyu,” You whisper back, nestling your nose against his. “I always knew that my heart belonged to you, too.”

A soft, boyish smile crosses his lips, the kind that always made your stomach flutter during daylight hours when no one was watching. After some time, he coaxes himself out of you with a grunt, a generous trickle of his release coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you. His gaze darkens at the sight, but he does not push for more.

He rolls himself onto his back and wraps his arms around your middle, letting your head rest on his broad chest. One of his hands soothingly traces shapes on your spine while the other brushes through your disheveled hair. 

“Stay with me tonight,” You mutter into his skin. “Do not leave before dawn. I wish to wake up in your arms just once.”

“I will never abandon you, my love,” Mingyu assures you, tightening his hold on you. “But we must prepare ourselves for what the morning light will bring. If your parents find out𑁋”

“What if we run away together?”

Mingyu freezes at that. A shadow of conflict rises in his features, but there’s something else there too𑁋something dangerously close to hope.

“You cannot mean that, princess,” he tells you. “It is not so easy. You know that.”

“I do mean it,” You say back stubbornly. “I know I will never be forgiven for rejecting every prince at the ball. Gods, they will probably sell me off to the highest bidder by the end of the week. But I do not want a crown if it means being stuck in a loveless marriage. I want a life with you, Mingyu. A life where we can love freely and perhaps… build a family one day.”

He can imagine it so clearly: a life with the two of you in some hidden cottage in the mountains or a village by the sea, where he can wake up to your smile in the mornings and worship you into the depths of the night without fear or duty holding him back. A life with a little one𑁋or more, if you wish𑁋running around. A child who holds your tenacity and wields his softness. 

“You tempt me more than any devil, my love,” he proclaims, nuzzling his face into your hair. “But running away now without a plan would put you in greater danger. If we do this… we must be smart. Find allies and gather belongings. Perhaps… in a few months time, when the storm of tonight has settled.”

You pout lightly. “So we wait?”

“For now,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose. “But know this𑁋I am yours. If you wish to run, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and lay down everything for a chance at a life with you. I promise you that.”

The weight of his promise settles warmly in your chest more than the exhaustion crawling through your bones. You rise in his hold to kiss him deeply and unhurriedly, before allowing him to hold you.

“Rest now,” Mingyu orders softly when you part, tucking you into his side once more. “The world is still asleep. Let me hold you while I can. Tomorrow we face the wolves… but tonight, you are simply mine as I am yours, my angel.”

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over the years, you learned how to do your make up, fix your hair, dress well— all to hide cracks in your being, to conceal the flaws you hated. you became pretty. this way, it didn’t matter if you were loud, or annoying, or weird. no one questions the pretty girl. 

it felt like a mask on most days. heavy. suffocating. but you learned to live with it. you learned to live with the mask so perfectly that you’ve forgotten how to take it off. for better or for worse, it became a part of you, and now, you can’t tell where the mask ends and the real you begins. 

you stare at yourself through the mirror, barefaced and raw. you can’t help but feel like… an anomaly. 

the mask is getting heavier. with each passing day, the cracks grow bigger. 

you don’t even know how you got here. on most days, the voices in your head that talked you down were mere whispers, easy enough to push back. to tuck away in some far corner of your brain and pretend it isn’t there. 

but the voices are especially loud today. 

yelling. 

so loud that you don’t notice the door to your bedroom open or mingyu walking in. you don’t notice his presence until he’s curling over you, arms winding around your middle as he rests his chin on your shoulder.  

“you okay?” he looks at you through the mirror with a fondness you don’t think you’ve ever felt from anyone. “was calling you for dinner but you weren’t responding.”

“oh.” your eyes dart to the ground. “sorry.”

you debate with yourself for a moment, unsure if you should tell him. he doesn’t need to hear it from you to know that you’re not okay, because he knows. he somehow always does. and maybe… that’s enough for you to feel seen. 

“you can tell me,” he says after a beat and he kisses your shoulder. “you can always tell me.”

your heart wrenches in your chest and the corners of your eyes sting. before you know it, tears are streaming down your cheeks. you hurry to wipe them away but mingyu turns you by the shoulders to face him. then his hands cup your cheeks to tilt your head to look at him.

“what’s wrong?” his voice is gentle, radiating with a warmth you want to drown in. 

his thumbs brush away at the stream of tears before he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“gyu…” you start, trailing off when you hear your own voice start to quiver. his heart drops into his stomach because you never call him by name. 

you look at him, eyes glossy, and mingyu sees you. “i’m… i’m not too much, am i?”

mingyu thinks getting shot would hurt less than this.

“never, baby.”

you’ve never had a person, anyone to run to when you feel like you’re at your lowest. because you knew everyone around you already had a person, so no one ever really needed you.

but as you stand in the silence of your room, mingyu kissing your tears away, holding you like he’s terrified you’d break— you realize kim mingyu is your person. and you’re his, too. 

on tough days, and sad days, and mad days, and everything in between. through anger and laughter, and meltdowns and crashouts. on days you feel like you’re ripping at the seams, mingyu has seen every side of you and loves you still, patiently putting the pieces back together each time. 

you don’t know what you did to deserve him, and frankly, there’s a part of you that still believes that you don’t, not when you come with this many odd parts.

yet he’s here. showing up again and again, even on your worst days. 

he searches your eyes for a moment, then leans in to press kisses over your lids as your eyes flutter shut. “you are enough,” he says with a kiss to your forehead.

your lips quiver. you want to stop crying, to stop feeling like this, but you feel like a prisoner in your own mind.

“why do you stay?” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“because i love you,” he replies without hesitation. “because you’re my person, and there’s no one else i want but you.”

“i’m weird.”

he cracks a smile. “i like your weird.”

“i love your weird,” he follows up. “i love your weird, and your loud, and your different, and i dream about your laughter so i wake up yearning to hear it.”

you crack a smile too. mingyu’s chest finally loosens.

“i love you. every part of you,” he says, tender. sincere. real.

“thank you,” you whisper in reply. “i love you too.”

The male head choreographer and the lead female dancer take the floor. They are professionals, their bodies lean and efficient machines. The music hits—a dark, bass-heavy R&B track that vibrates in your chest. It’s sensual, slow-burning, designed to make the audience hold their breath. Mingyu's solo.

You lift the camera, muscle memory taking over. Frame the shot. Check focus. Roll.

The choreography is immediately provocative. It’s an intense, intimate story told through heavy hip lines, lingering touches, and breathless proximity. The female dancer arches her back, her spine curving like a bow as the choreographer’s hand slides down her ribcage, resting heavy on her hip bone. It's clinical, precise, executed with the cool detachment of two artists showing the mechanics of a machine.

But you aren't watching them.

Your lens, almost of its own volition, drifts to the side of the frame. Mingyu stands across the room, arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of pure, hyper-focused intensity. He isn't Mingyu right now—he's the Idol, the Dior Prince, the product. His eyes are dark, tracking every fluid movement of the dancers with a clinical calculation, stripping the routine down to its parts, preparing to mimic it.

He is watching another woman's body move in ways you know intimately. He is studying the curve of her spine, the arch of her back, the way her chest rises and falls. You feel a sharp, irrational spike of heat in your stomach. It’s not just jealousy; it’s the jarring dissonance of seeing the man who held you under the stars now preparing to simulate that same intimacy for twenty thousand screaming fans.

The demonstration ends, and the room erupts in polite applause. Mingyu steps forward, shedding his jacket. "Okay," he says, his voice low and serious. "I'm ready to learn."

"Take the far corner," the choreographer instructs, pointing to the dimly lit edge of the studio. "We need to lock in the body contact."

Mingyu nods, walking past you without a glance. He doesn't see you. He is already in the zone, his gaze fixed on the female dancer following him. You force yourself to move, swinging the camera toward the staff adjusting the light stands, or Seungcheol stretching his hamstrings in the corner. You pretend to adjust your aperture. You pretend to be professional.

But your eyes betray you. Every few seconds, your gaze snaps back to that corner like a magnet to steel.

They are close now. Too close. The choreographer is molding them together, pushing Mingyu's chest flush against the dancer's back. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matches the bass of the track still looping in your head.

"Arch your back more," the choreographer says, his hand pressing on the dancer's lumbar spine. "Mingyu, you need to feel the curve. Your hips need to lock here."

Mingyu's large hands settle on her waist. It’s a standard dance hold. It means nothing. But to you, it’s a violation. You remember the weight of those hands. You remember them sliding down your own sides, hot and possessive, in the dark of the villa. You remember them gripping your hips as he moved inside you, the way his thumb pressed into the soft flesh of your waist as he held you open for him.

Now, those same hands are public property. They are tools of the trade.

"Look at the angle of her shoulders," the coach says, adjusting the dancer's posture. Her body bends backward, her head resting on Mingyu's shoulder, her neck exposed and vulnerable.

The sight hits you like a physical blow. It triggers a vivid, agonizing flashback. The kitchen island. The morning sun cutting across the marble floor. You were arched back just like that, your head thrown back against his shoulder as he stood behind you, his body supporting your weight while his hands explored your front. You remember the coolness of the countertop against your spine and the scorching heat of his chest against your back. You remember the exact angle of your hips, the way he had groaned your name into your ear, a sound meant only for you.

"Hand on the ribs," the choreographer commands.

Mingyu obeys. His hand flattens against the dancer's lower ribs, his fingers splaying wide.

A physical ache blossoms in your chest. You remember the cliffside soaking tub. The steam rising around you. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus. You remember his hand resting in that exact spot, the oil making your skin slick, the way his thumb had traced lazy circles over your ribcage while he whispered about wanting one more night. You remember the intimacy of that touch—the tenderness of a man caring for you, washing you, worshipping you.

Now, his hand is performing. It is a prop in a story meant for the crowd. The realization crashes over you with a suffocating weight: his body, which felt so entirely yours just days ago, is a commodity. And you are just another member of the audience, watching from the dark, holding a camera, capturing the fantasy for someone else.

"Quick break! Thirty minutes!" the manager yells.

The spell breaks. The dancers separate, Mingyu stepping back with a polite nod, his face instantly shifting into a mask of charming exhaustion for the staff nearby.

You don't wait. You don't look at him. You grab your gear bag and slip out the heavy soundproof door, desperate to escape the image of them burned into your retinas.

The hallway is empty, sterile. You walk fast, your heels clicking on the linoleum. You bypass the breakroom where the smell of delivery boxes and coffee wafts out. You can't eat. You can't sit there and pretend to smile while the ghost of his touch haunts you.

You find a vending machine in a quiet corridor. You feed it bills, grabbing an iced coffee even though your hands are shaking. You down it in four long swallows, the cold sugar rushing through you, doing nothing to settle the churning in your gut. You hide in the bathroom for twenty minutes, splashing cold water on your face, trying to wash away the jealousy, the insecurity, the gnawing feeling that you are losing him to the machine that created him.

By the time you return to the studio, the break is nearly over. The main overhead lights have been killed, leaving the massive room in a heavy, dim twilight. Only the foot lights along the baseboards glow, casting long, distorted shadows up the walls. The audio monitors hum with a faint hiss.

You push the heavy studio door open just enough to peek through the narrow glass slit. You need to check if everyone is back before you barge in with your equipment.

You freeze.

The room isn't empty.

The solo track is playing softly over the monitors, looping a specific, slow section of the bridge. The bass pulses, a low heartbeat.

Mingyu and the female dancer are in the center of the floor. But they aren't practicing the routine. This dance is different—raw, effortless, stripped of the mechanical precision of the coaching session.

There are no mirrors to check angles, no coaches to correct form. It’s just movement.

Mingyu is standing directly behind her. Their bodies are flush, pressed together from chest to hip. She isn't arching away; she is melting back into him, her head tipped back against his shoulder, her hands looped up and wrapped securely around the back of his neck.

His hands are clamped firmly around her waist, anchoring her to his stride. They move together in a slow, grinding sway, hips rolling in perfect sync. It looks comfortable. It looks practiced. It looks like muscle memory.

Your heart jumps into your throat, choking you.

The silhouette is a perfect, cruel mirror of the night on the beach. The way he held you on the grey sand, watching the stars wheel overhead. The way your body fit into the curve of his like a puzzle piece. The way he moved with you then—not for a camera, but for the sheer pleasure of being inside you.

The jealousy that had been a knot in your chest suddenly tightens into a noose. It’s visceral. You can't breathe. You can't think. You are paralyzed by the sight of him holding someone else with that same easy intimacy, the intimacy you thought was exclusive to you.

"In order to execute a number like this well, they have to build absolute chemistry together," a low, casual voice says directly behind your shoulder.

You spin around, your pulse skyrocketing, a gasp catching in your throat.

The head choreographer is standing there, clipboard in hand. He isn't looking at you; he's looking through the glass, nodding with professional approval. He doesn't know. He doesn't see the ruin in your face.

"It needs to look real," he continues, his tone clinical, cold. "The audience needs to believe it. They need to believe he's in love with her for those three minutes."

The words ground you like glass.

Believe he's in love with her.

In this world, the intimacy you shared in Jeju—the whispers, the confessions, the desperate, sweaty tangle of limbs—is yours. It belongs to you. But the performance? The fantasy? That belongs to everyone else. He is selling a dream, and you are just the witness, trapped behind the glass, watching the dream be built for someone else.

You feel sick. You feel hollowed out.

"I… E… Excuse me Sir, I have to go," you stammer, clutching your camera bag to your chest like a shield.

The choreographer looks at you, surprised. "We're starting again in five."

"I'm not feeling well," you manage, your voice thin. "I think it's something I ate. I need to go home."

He frowns but waves you off. "Fine. Get some rest."

You don't wait for permission. You turn and flee down the corridor, the sound of the bass-heavy track fading behind you.

You don't remember the drive home. The city blurs past the windshield—neon signs, traffic lights, the endless stream of headlights. You are operating on autopilot, your mind screaming. You walk into your apartment and drop your keys on the floor. You kick off your shoes. You fall onto the sofa, fully clothed, and stare at the ceiling.

The silence is deafening. It doesn't have the warmth of the villa. It just has the echo of your own spiraling thoughts.

Is it real? Is any of it real?

A buzz on your phone vibrates against the cushion. You ignore it. Another buzz. Then another.

Finally, the screen lights up with a call.

Mingyu.

You let it ring until it cuts to voicemail. A minute later, he calls again.

You turn the phone over, pressing your face into the pillow, trying to drown out the noise, trying to drown out the image of his hands on her, the choreographer's words echoing in your head.

They have to build absolute chemistry together.

The male head choreographer and the lead female dancer take the floor. They are professionals, their bodies lean and efficient machines. The music hits—a dark, bass-heavy R&B track that vibrates in your chest. It’s sensual, slow-burning, designed to make the audience hold their breath. Mingyu's solo.

You lift the camera, muscle memory taking over. Frame the shot. Check focus. Roll.

The choreography is immediately provocative. It’s an intense, intimate story told through heavy hip lines, lingering touches, and breathless proximity. The female dancer arches her back, her spine curving like a bow as the choreographer’s hand slides down her ribcage, resting heavy on her hip bone. It's clinical, precise, executed with the cool detachment of two artists showing the mechanics of a machine.

But you aren't watching them.

Your lens, almost of its own volition, drifts to the side of the frame. Mingyu stands across the room, arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of pure, hyper-focused intensity. He isn't Mingyu right now—he's the Idol, the Dior Prince, the product. His eyes are dark, tracking every fluid movement of the dancers with a clinical calculation, stripping the routine down to its parts, preparing to mimic it.

He is watching another woman's body move in ways you know intimately. He is studying the curve of her spine, the arch of her back, the way her chest rises and falls. You feel a sharp, irrational spike of heat in your stomach. It’s not just jealousy; it’s the jarring dissonance of seeing the man who held you under the stars now preparing to simulate that same intimacy for twenty thousand screaming fans.

The demonstration ends, and the room erupts in polite applause. Mingyu steps forward, shedding his jacket. "Okay," he says, his voice low and serious. "I'm ready to learn."

"Take the far corner," the choreographer instructs, pointing to the dimly lit edge of the studio. "We need to lock in the body contact."

Mingyu nods, walking past you without a glance. He doesn't see you. He is already in the zone, his gaze fixed on the female dancer following him. You force yourself to move, swinging the camera toward the staff adjusting the light stands, or Seungcheol stretching his hamstrings in the corner. You pretend to adjust your aperture. You pretend to be professional.

But your eyes betray you. Every few seconds, your gaze snaps back to that corner like a magnet to steel.

They are close now. Too close. The choreographer is molding them together, pushing Mingyu's chest flush against the dancer's back. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that matches the bass of the track still looping in your head.

"Arch your back more," the choreographer says, his hand pressing on the dancer's lumbar spine. "Mingyu, you need to feel the curve. Your hips need to lock here."

Mingyu's large hands settle on her waist. It’s a standard dance hold. It means nothing. But to you, it’s a violation. You remember the weight of those hands. You remember them sliding down your own sides, hot and possessive, in the dark of the villa. You remember them gripping your hips as he moved inside you, the way his thumb pressed into the soft flesh of your waist as he held you open for him.

Now, those same hands are public property. They are tools of the trade.

"Look at the angle of her shoulders," the coach says, adjusting the dancer's posture. Her body bends backward, her head resting on Mingyu's shoulder, her neck exposed and vulnerable.

The sight hits you like a physical blow. It triggers a vivid, agonizing flashback. The kitchen island. The morning sun cutting across the marble floor. You were arched back just like that, your head thrown back against his shoulder as he stood behind you, his body supporting your weight while his hands explored your front. You remember the coolness of the countertop against your spine and the scorching heat of his chest against your back. You remember the exact angle of your hips, the way he had groaned your name into your ear, a sound meant only for you.

"Hand on the ribs," the choreographer commands.

Mingyu obeys. His hand flattens against the dancer's lower ribs, his fingers splaying wide.

A physical ache blossoms in your chest. You remember the cliffside soaking tub. The steam rising around you. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus. You remember his hand resting in that exact spot, the oil making your skin slick, the way his thumb had traced lazy circles over your ribcage while he whispered about wanting one more night. You remember the intimacy of that touch—the tenderness of a man caring for you, washing you, worshipping you.

Now, his hand is performing. It is a prop in a story meant for the crowd. The realization crashes over you with a suffocating weight: his body, which felt so entirely yours just days ago, is a commodity. And you are just another member of the audience, watching from the dark, holding a camera, capturing the fantasy for someone else.

"Quick break! Thirty minutes!" the manager yells.

The spell breaks. The dancers separate, Mingyu stepping back with a polite nod, his face instantly shifting into a mask of charming exhaustion for the staff nearby.

You don't wait. You don't look at him. You grab your gear bag and slip out the heavy soundproof door, desperate to escape the image of them burned into your retinas.

The hallway is empty, sterile. You walk fast, your heels clicking on the linoleum. You bypass the breakroom where the smell of delivery boxes and coffee wafts out. You can't eat. You can't sit there and pretend to smile while the ghost of his touch haunts you.

You find a vending machine in a quiet corridor. You feed it bills, grabbing an iced coffee even though your hands are shaking. You down it in four long swallows, the cold sugar rushing through you, doing nothing to settle the churning in your gut. You hide in the bathroom for twenty minutes, splashing cold water on your face, trying to wash away the jealousy, the insecurity, the gnawing feeling that you are losing him to the machine that created him.

By the time you return to the studio, the break is nearly over. The main overhead lights have been killed, leaving the massive room in a heavy, dim twilight. Only the foot lights along the baseboards glow, casting long, distorted shadows up the walls. The audio monitors hum with a faint hiss.

You push the heavy studio door open just enough to peek through the narrow glass slit. You need to check if everyone is back before you barge in with your equipment.

You freeze.

The room isn't empty.

The solo track is playing softly over the monitors, looping a specific, slow section of the bridge. The bass pulses, a low heartbeat.

Mingyu and the female dancer are in the center of the floor. But they aren't practicing the routine. This dance is different—raw, effortless, stripped of the mechanical precision of the coaching session.

There are no mirrors to check angles, no coaches to correct form. It’s just movement.

Mingyu is standing directly behind her. Their bodies are flush, pressed together from chest to hip. She isn't arching away; she is melting back into him, her head tipped back against his shoulder, her hands looped up and wrapped securely around the back of his neck.

His hands are clamped firmly around her waist, anchoring her to his stride. They move together in a slow, grinding sway, hips rolling in perfect sync. It looks comfortable. It looks practiced. It looks like muscle memory.

Your heart jumps into your throat, choking you.

The silhouette is a perfect, cruel mirror of the night on the beach. The way he held you on the grey sand, watching the stars wheel overhead. The way your body fit into the curve of his like a puzzle piece. The way he moved with you then—not for a camera, but for the sheer pleasure of being inside you.

The jealousy that had been a knot in your chest suddenly tightens into a noose. It’s visceral. You can't breathe. You can't think. You are paralyzed by the sight of him holding someone else with that same easy intimacy, the intimacy you thought was exclusive to you.

"In order to execute a number like this well, they have to build absolute chemistry together," a low, casual voice says directly behind your shoulder.

You spin around, your pulse skyrocketing, a gasp catching in your throat.

The head choreographer is standing there, clipboard in hand. He isn't looking at you; he's looking through the glass, nodding with professional approval. He doesn't know. He doesn't see the ruin in your face.

"It needs to look real," he continues, his tone clinical, cold. "The audience needs to believe it. They need to believe he's in love with her for those three minutes."

The words ground you like glass.

Believe he's in love with her.

In this world, the intimacy you shared in Jeju—the whispers, the confessions, the desperate, sweaty tangle of limbs—is yours. It belongs to you. But the performance? The fantasy? That belongs to everyone else. He is selling a dream, and you are just the witness, trapped behind the glass, watching the dream be built for someone else.

You feel sick. You feel hollowed out.

"I… E… Excuse me Sir, I have to go," you stammer, clutching your camera bag to your chest like a shield.

The choreographer looks at you, surprised. "We're starting again in five."

"I'm not feeling well," you manage, your voice thin. "I think it's something I ate. I need to go home."

He frowns but waves you off. "Fine. Get some rest."

You don't wait for permission. You turn and flee down the corridor, the sound of the bass-heavy track fading behind you.

You don't remember the drive home. The city blurs past the windshield—neon signs, traffic lights, the endless stream of headlights. You are operating on autopilot, your mind screaming. You walk into your apartment and drop your keys on the floor. You kick off your shoes. You fall onto the sofa, fully clothed, and stare at the ceiling.

The silence is deafening. It doesn't have the warmth of the villa. It just has the echo of your own spiraling thoughts.

Is it real? Is any of it real?

A buzz on your phone vibrates against the cushion. You ignore it. Another buzz. Then another.

Finally, the screen lights up with a call.

Mingyu.

You let it ring until it cuts to voicemail. A minute later, he calls again.

You turn the phone over, pressing your face into the pillow, trying to drown out the noise, trying to drown out the image of his hands on her, the choreographer's words echoing in your head.

They have to build absolute chemistry together.

You padded softly down the basement stairs of the house you shared with Mingyu, the cool wooden steps familiar under your bare feet. The air grew warmer as you descended, carrying the faint scent of clean sweat and the metallic tang of iron weights. It was late afternoon, sunlight filtering through the small high windows in narrow golden beams that cut across the home gym Mingyu had set up with so much pride.

He had turned one of the larger basement rooms into his personal sanctuary shortly after you two moved in together: mirrors lining one wall, a rack of neatly organized dumbbells and plates, a treadmill in the corner and the centerpiece: the adjustable weight bench with its sturdy black padding and chrome frame. Mingyu called it his "little kingdom" and on most days, it was filled with the rhythmic clank of metal and his occasional triumphant grunts.

Today, though, the sounds were different.

You paused at the bottom of the stairs, tilting your head. Instead of the steady rhythm of reps, you heard a heavy sigh, followed by the dull thud of a barbell being racked with more force than necessary. Then silence, broken only by his low muttering. "...come on, what the hell..."

Your heart tugged a little. Mingyu had been training hard this week, preparing for a upcoming photoshoot and some dance practices that required him to stay in peak condition. He was always disciplined, but he was also kind to himself on most off days. Something felt off today.

You stepped into the room quietly, your oversized t-shirt (one of his, of course) brushing against your thighs. He was sitting on the edge of the bench, elbows on his knees, head hanging low so that his damp dark hair fell forward, hiding his eyes. His grey tank top clung to his broad chest and shoulders, darkened with sweat along the collar and under his arms. The veins in his forearms stood out prominently from the effort he’d already put in. His black shorts rode up slightly on his thighs and even in frustration, the sight of him made warmth bloom in your belly.

But right now, it wasn’t desire that hit you first, it was concern.

"Mingyu?" you called softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head snapped up. For a split second, his handsome face brightened at the sight of you, those sharp eyes softening, the corners of his lips twitching toward a smile. Then the frustration settled back in, clouding his expression like a shadow.

"Hey, baby" he said, voice a little rough from exertion. He tried to sound casual, wiping his face with the small towel draped over his shoulder. "Didn’t hear you come down."

You crossed the room, the rubber mats cool and springy under your feet. Stopping in front of him, you reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm, flushed from the workout.

"I brought you some water and a protein shake" you said, holding up the bottle and shaker you’d prepared upstairs. "Figured you might be getting thirsty after... how long have you been down here?"

He took the water with a grateful nod but didn’t open it right away. Instead, he set it on the floor beside the bench. "Couple hours. Lost track."

You glanced at the barbell still loaded on the rack above the bench. The plates looked heavier than what he usually warmed up with on chest day. From the way the bench was adjusted and the sweat soaking through his shirt, he’d clearly been pushing hard.

"Everything okay?" you asked gently, stepping between his spread knees so you could cup his face with both hands. Your thumbs stroked along his sharp jawline. "You sound... frustrated."

Mingyu let out a short, humorless laugh and leaned into your touch for a moment before pulling back slightly. He ran a hand through his messy hair, pushing it back.

"I can’t lift for shit today" he admitted, voice low and edged with annoyance. "Bench press, my usual working weight feels like it’s doubled. I barely got through three reps without my form going to hell. Shoulders are burning already, and my chest just... won’t activate right. It’s like my body decided to betray me out of nowhere."

You frowned, glancing at the bar again. Mingyu was incredibly strong; he prided himself on his consistency. He followed a solid five-day split, hitting chest, back, shoulders, arms and legs with focused intensity. Off days happened, but he rarely let them rattle him this much.

"Maybe it’s just an off day" you offered, keeping your tone light and soothing. You knew how he could get when his perfectionist side kicked in. "You’ve been going hard all week. The photoshoot prep, those extra dance rehearsals... your body might just need a break."

He shook his head, jaw tightening. "I don’t have time for off days. The shoot is in ten days. I need to look sharp, defined, strong. Not like I slacked off." His gaze dropped to his own arms, flexing one unconsciously as if testing it. The muscle popped impressively, but he scowled anyway. "Feels weak. Like I’m back to rookie levels or something. Pathetic."

The self-criticism in his voice made your chest ache. This was classic Mingyu, the guy who was confident and playful most of the time, the one who could light up any room with his bright smile and easy laughter, but who also held himself to impossibly high standards. He was husband material through and through: attentive, protective, always making sure you were taken care of. But when it came to himself, especially his body and performance, he could be his own harshest critic.

You slid your hands down to his shoulders, feeling the tension knotted there. "Hey. Look at me."

He did, reluctantly. Those warm brown eyes met yours, frustration in them alongside a hint of vulnerability he rarely showed anyone else.

"You are not weak" you said firmly, squeezing his delts. "You’re human. Even Mingyu Kim gets tired sometimes. Remember last month when you pulled that muscle during leg day and still tried to power through? You took two rest days and came back stronger. This is the same thing."

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against your stomach. The contact was warm and grounding. "I know. Logically, I know. But it pisses me off. I was supposed to hit a new PR on incline today. Instead, I’m racking the bar like a beginner after six reps. My mind’s in it, but the muscles just aren’t cooperating."

You carded your fingers through his damp hair, massaging his scalp lightly. He hummed softly at the touch, some of the tension easing from his broad frame. Being this close, you could smell his familiar scent: clean sweat mixed with the faint woody cologne he always wore, even to the gym.

"Want me to spot you on the next set?" you offered, though you both knew you couldn’t actually handle his heavy loads. It was more about the gesture.

Mingyu chuckled against your shirt, the sound vibrating through you. "You’d get crushed, baby. Cute offer, though."

You smiled and tilted his chin up again. "Then talk to me. What’s really bothering you? Is it just the weights, or is there more?"

He was quiet for a long moment, thumbs absently tracing circles on the backs of your thighs where his hands had settled. "It’s stupid. The company’s been riding everyone about visuals lately. With the comeback preparations overlapping with solo schedules... I just want to feel in control, you know? Like I can push my body and it listens. Today it’s not. Makes me feel... off. Like I’m letting myself down."

Your heart swelled with affection. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then one to the tip of his nose and finally a lingering one on his lips. He kissed you back gently, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

"You’re not letting anyone down" you whispered against his mouth. "Least of all me. I love you exactly like this: sweaty, frustrated and still the strongest, kindest man I know."

Mingyu’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile at that. "You always know what to say." He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist so you were half-sitting on one of his thighs. The muscle flexed beneath you, solid and warm. "Thanks for coming down. I was just sitting here sulking like an idiot."

"Not an idiot" you corrected, nuzzling into his neck. "Just my big, dramatic boyfriend who thinks the world ends if he can’t bench 130 kilos today."

He laughed properly then, the rich sound filling the gym and chasing away the last of the heavy atmosphere. "Hey, it was 135 last month. Don’t sell me short."

You grinned, happy to see the spark return to his eyes. For the next twenty minutes, you stayed with him, handing him lighter weights when he decided to switch to accessory work, counting reps out loud in an exaggerated cheerleader voice that made him roll his eyes and laugh, and stealing kisses between sets. He did some lighter dumbbell presses, focusing on form and mind-muscle connection rather than ego-lifting. You could see the frustration gradually melting as he moved, your presence a steady anchor.

At one point, he pulled you onto his lap fully while he rested between sets, his large hands splaying across your back under the t-shirt. "You’re too good to me" he murmured, voice softer now. "I don’t deserve how patient you are when I get like this."

"You deserve everything" you replied, tracing the line of his collarbone with a fingertip. "And I love taking care of you. Even when you’re being a grumpy gym rat."

He squeezed your hips playfully. "Careful. Calling me grumpy might get you in trouble later."

The teasing glint in his eye sent a little thrill through you, but you kept things light for now.

Eventually, Mingyu stood, stretching his arms overhead with a groan. His tank top rode up, revealing the defined V of his hips and the trail of dark hair disappearing into his shorts. You tried not to stare too obviously.

"Think I’m done for today" he announced, wiping down the bench with a spray and cloth. "No point forcing it and risking injury. Tomorrow’s a new day."

You nodded approvingly, helping him rack the lighter plates. "Smart choice. How about we head upstairs? I’ll make you that chicken breast you like and we can watch something dumb on TV."

Mingyu turned to you, pulling you into a full hug this time. His body enveloped yours completely: tall, broad and radiating heat. "Sounds perfect. But first..." He dipped his head, capturing your lips in a deeper kiss than before. It started sweet but lingered, his tongue brushing yours just enough to promise more. When he pulled back, his voice had dropped an octave. "Thanks for grounding me, baby. Really."

You smiled up at him, heart full. "Always."

You didn’t even make it up the stairs.

Mingyu’s arm was still slung around your shoulders when he suddenly stopped at the threshold of the gym, turning you gently but firmly back toward the room. The overhead lights hummed softly, casting a warm glow over the mirrors and equipment. His body heat radiated against your side and when you looked up at him, the frustration that had clouded his face earlier had shifted into something darker, hungrier.

"Actually" he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges "I’m not ready to go upstairs yet."

Before you could ask why, his large hand cupped the back of your neck and he pulled you into a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

It wasn’t the soft, comforting press of lips from earlier. This kiss was deep, demanding, laced with all the pent-up energy he hadn’t been able to burn off with iron. His mouth moved against yours with purpose, tongue sliding in to taste you as if he needed this more than oxygen. You gasped softly into the kiss, hands coming up to grip his damp tank top, fingers curling into the fabric stretched tight over his chest.

Mingyu groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. He walked you backward without breaking the kiss until your back met the cool mirrored wall. The contrast of cold glass against your heated skin made you shiver. His body pressed flush against yours, solid, towering, every hard-earned muscle molded to your softer curves.

"Fuck, baby" he breathed against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to speak. His forehead rested against yours, eyes half-lidded and dark. "You coming down here, being all sweet and patient with me… it’s driving me crazy in a different way now."

Your heart raced. You could feel the shift in him, the frustration from his failed lifts transforming into raw, restless need. His hands roamed down your sides, slipping under the hem of his oversized top you wore, palms hot against your bare waist.

"Mingyu…" you whispered, but it came out more like a plea.

He kissed you again, harder this time, one thigh sliding between your legs to press up against your core. The thick muscle flexed deliberately and even through the thin fabric of your panties, the pressure sent sparks shooting up your spine. You moaned softly, grinding down instinctively.

"That’s it" he murmured, lips trailing along your jaw to your ear. "Let me hear you. Been thinking about this since you walked in looking so fucking cute in my shirt."

His words sent heat flooding between your thighs. You tilted your head to give him better access and he took full advantage, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear before nipping it gently. One of his hands slid higher under your shirt, cupping your breast and thumbing over your nipple until it pebbled under his touch. The other hand gripped your hip, guiding your movements as you rocked against his thigh.

The gym felt smaller suddenly, the air thicker. The scent of his sweat mixed with the faint smell of rubber mats and metal. In the mirror beside you, you caught glimpses of the two of you: his broad back flexing, your legs parted around his thigh, his dark hair messy from your fingers.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to tug your shirt up and off in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. You stood in just your panties now, the cool air kissing your skin. His eyes raked over you hungrily, pupils blown wide.

"God, you’re beautiful" he said, voice reverent even as his hands were anything but gentle. He palmed both breasts, squeezing and rolling your nipples between his fingers until you whimpered. "All mine."

You reached for his tank top, yanking it upward. He helped you, peeling it off and revealing the glistening expanse of his torso: defined pecs, ridged abs, the deep cuts of his obliques leading down to the waistband of his shorts. Sweat still clung to his skin, making every muscle shine under the lights. Even frustrated with his workout, he looked like a god.

Your hands explored him greedily, tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. When your fingers dipped lower, brushing over the bulge straining against his shorts, he hissed through his teeth.

"Careful" he warned, though his hips bucked forward into your touch. "I’m already on edge."

"Good" you whispered, squeezing him through the fabric. "Let it out. Use me to get rid of all that frustration."

Something snapped in his gaze. With a low growl, Mingyu lifted you effortlessly, those strong arms that had struggled with the barbell earlier now wrapping around your thighs as he carried you the few steps to the weight bench. He set you down on the padded surface, the leather cool against your heated skin. The bench was still slightly angled from his earlier incline presses, perfect for what he clearly had in mind.

He stood between your spread legs, looking down at you like you were his favorite meal. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned down to kiss you again: messy, wet, tongues tangling. Then he dropped to his knees on the rubber mat, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders.

"Mingyu-" you started, but the words died in a sharp moan when his mouth found your core through the thin panties. He licked a broad stripe up the fabric, tasting your arousal, before pulling the material aside with his teeth. The first direct touch of his tongue against your clit had your back arching off the bench.

He ate you out like a man starved: long, slow licks followed by quick flicks, sucking your clit into his mouth and humming in satisfaction at the way you cried out. Two thick fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling expertly against that spot that made stars burst in front of your eyes. His free hand pressed down on your lower stomach, holding you in place as you squirmed.

"Fuck, you’re so wet already" he groaned against your folds, the vibrations making you clench around his fingers. "All this just from comforting your frustrated boyfriend? So good for me."

You couldn’t form words, only broken moans and his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He worked you relentlessly, fingers pumping faster, tongue never letting up. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the gym, obscene and intoxicating. Your hands fisted in his hair, hips bucking up to meet every thrust of his tongue.

When the coil in your belly tightened unbearably, he sensed it, doubling his efforts until you shattered with a cry. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, thighs trembling around his head as he licked you through it, drawing out every last pulse.

You were still panting, boneless, when he rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His shorts tented obscenely, a dark wet spot forming at the front from his own leaking arousal. He shoved them down along with his boxers in one motion, his cock springing free: thick, long, flushed dark at the tip and already glistening.

Mingyu stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on yours. "Need you. Now."

You nodded eagerly, reaching for him. He climbed onto the bench with you, the frame creaking slightly under his weight but holding steady. The bench was narrow, forcing your bodies to press tightly together. He positioned himself between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your sensitive clit until you whined.

Then he pushed in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open. The fullness was overwhelming in the best way. When he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard.

"Shit… so tight. Always so perfect for me."

He gave you a moment to adjust before starting to move: deep, powerful thrusts that rocked the bench beneath you. Each snap of his hips drove him impossibly deeper, the angle of the inclined bench hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed off the mirrors, mixed with your moans and his low grunts.

Mingyu’s pace was relentless, frustration and need pouring out of him with every thrust. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, angling you exactly how he wanted. Sweat dripped from his hair onto your chest as he leaned over you, mouth latching onto one nipple and sucking hard while he pounded into you.

"Take it, baby" he growled against your skin. "Take all my frustration. Let me fuck it out on this pretty pussy."

You cried out, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his shoulders. The pleasure built again, fast and intense, your walls fluttering around his thick length. He shifted slightly, one foot planted on the floor for better leverage, driving into you even harder.

The bench creaked rhythmically beneath you. In the mirror across the room, you watched the reflection, his powerful body moving over yours, muscles flexing with every thrust, your legs wrapped high around his waist. The sight alone pushed you closer to the edge.

Mingyu reached between you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing circles. "Come on, cum for me again. Want to feel you squeezing my cock."

You shattered a second time, vision whiting out as your orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clenched rhythmically around him, pulling a deep moan from his chest.

"Fuck...yes, just like that..." He fucked you through it, pace faltering as his own release built. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, chasing his high. "Gonna fill you up. Gonna cum so deep..."

With a broken groan of your name, Mingyu buried himself to the hilt and came hard. You felt the hot pulses of his release inside you, his hips stuttering as he rode it out, grinding against you to prolong the pleasure.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the lights. Mingyu collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you with his full weight, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His cock was still twitching inside you, softening slowly.

You stroked his back gently, fingers tracing the sweat-slick muscles. "Feel better?" you asked softly, voice hoarse.

He let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your throat. "So much better. You’re magic, you know that?"

You smiled, turning your head to kiss his temple. "Anytime you need to work out frustration…the bench is right here."

Mingyu lifted his head, eyes sparkling with a mix of satisfaction and renewed mischief despite the exhaustion. "Careful. I might take you up on that every off day."

He kissed you slowly, tenderly this time, deep and lingering, full of love rather than raw need. When he finally pulled out, a trickle of his cum followed and he watched it with dark fascination before grabbing his discarded towel to gently clean you both.

The two of you stayed on the bench for a while longer, tangled together in the afterglow. He pulled you half on top of his chest, one arm wrapped securely around you while the other hand stroked your hair. The gym, which had started the afternoon filled with his frustration, now felt warm and intimate.

"Love you" he whispered against your hair.

"Love you more" you replied, pressing a kiss to his pec.

Eventually, the sweat started to cool on your skin and Mingyu chuckled. "Okay, now we can go upstairs. Shower together?"

You nodded, but neither of you moved right away. The bench had served its purpose today, not just for lifting weights, but for lifting the weight off his mind.