(Y/N) POV:

"Wear these today. They match." Tae murmurs, the press of lips against my nape, his hand brushing against my shoulder, drifting down to drag across the curves of my body, mapping me to his touch. Eyes dark and persuasive, always full of charm and snare.

It's never gotten easier to resist.

It never will get any easier to resist.

Dangling from his free hand are delicate golden earrings, the baby pink jewels glittering at the end of them sparkling and iridescent.

Even without putting them on, even without wearing them himself, the earrings look radiant against his touch.

Talented hands calloused and rough and deeply sun-kissed, a rich golden tan that offsets the delicate threading of the gold.

Makes them seem all the more priceless when cradled so easily, so carefully in his hands.

The brush of his hand against bare skin elicits goosebumps, despite the warmth of his touch, skimming to drag his fingers lightly over the bodice, lips curving at the reaction of my back arching, tilting back to peer at him, head resting against his torso.

"They're beautiful." Fingers reaching out to brush against the soft pink, watching as his gaze drifts from the mirror to where he'd been holding my gaze briefly to peer down at me instead. Hand drifting up to cup my jaw, angling my head back so my neck is arched, eyes stilling his. A growing smile on his face.

"Nothing in comparison to my little jewel." Voice low and quiet, head dipping lower as he curves overhead to press a lingering kiss to my lips, kiss curving into a deep smile at the upside down position, at his nose nudging against mine, curls unruly, brushing against his jaw. Not as long as it used to be, but no less enrapturing, fingers sinking into soft silky black, tugging him closer, a soft huff of laughter pressed into the kiss as he half crowds against me.

"Sweet-talking first thing?"

He leans away briefly, a small gap between our faces, eyes dark and appraising.

Glinting with mischief as he shakes his head.

Drawing up slowly.

"I let you get dressed."

"Barely... I haven't even gotten my corset on."

"Because you know it's my favourite part." He lilts, voice low and smooth. Rich baritone velvety against my skin, head lowering to press purposefully slow kisses against the curve of my shoulder, nose brushing against my jaw. Breath hot against my skin.

"Watching me get ready? Tugging me back into bed? Tugging my clothes back off again?"

Though there's little to no mornings in my memory where I will have resisted regardless. Where I won't have been lured readily back to bed, back to the warmth of his body, back to the inviting sight of my husband, sleep-rumpled and all messy curls and deep rasping timbre. It's so easy to be swayed to the sight of Tae, still drowsy and reaching out to tug me back against him once more, a lazy, indulgent doze. Indulgent to sink back against the slow presses of kisses lazily travelling across the expanse of my skin, woken often to his body curving closer to mine, to the wandering exploration of his hands, broad and large, to the slow lingering heat of his lips, teasing and playfully slow. Starting the day with unrushed touches, with the lazy thrill that we could spend forever starting our days like this and there's never a rush to ever hasten this.

This is our forever.

"I was being a gent and choosing your dress for you sweetheart."

I try tilt my head to peer past him, try to see what he's lain out for me, but his body pressing against mine from behind, form towering and broad behind me, posture looming because his torso presses against my seated form.

"What colour? Does it match the earrings then?" fingers brushing curiously against them.

His smile quirks, a lopsided smirk that's all playfulness, all flickering embers and taunting heat that scorches against my skin, brief and sudden.

"They match your garters and corset laces. They match your stockings."

My cheeks warm, curving upwards.

Eyes slowly trawling over him.

A spark of heat at his words.

Turning to face him and not through the mirror, turning on the dressing table's stool to peer at him, hands smoothening down his breeches, squeezing appreciatively at how tightly the fabric clings to muscled long limbs before letting them settle on his hips.

"You matched my earrings to my garters. Feels like a proud secret claim then to wear these no?"

His grin widens.

"Because every time I see them, I'll know exactly what they match, I'll know that underneath your dress I have several layers to unravel to get to my jewel. It's there for the world to see... but they won't know what I know."

"If you weren't such a possessive lover, my Lord Kim, I do believe you wouldn't mind giving a show." Head tilted as I appraise him, his lips full of mischief and heat, eyes flaring to a wild roaring intensity even as he sinks down to kneel in front of me, my hands slipping to brush against his bare torso. Mapping solid firm muscle and softness under my touch, fingers idly tracing patterns onto his skin, stilling at the first gentle brush of his fingers against one ear then the other, carefully putting the earrings on me, his body curved close, face looming near mine. Evading the kiss I try press to his curved mouth, lips pressing to his jaw instead. Teeth scraping against the sharp curve with slight petulance, his laugh warm and rich before he cups my cheeks.

Draws me closer, body half drawn off the stool, curving to him to kiss him back. Readily acquiescing to the slow burning heat of his tongue finding mine with ease, roving through my parted mouth with a low rumbled groan of appreciation.

Thumb sweeping up from the curve of my jaw to my ear, the pad of his thumb dragging slowly against the earring, the touch unrushed, the touch sparking heat when his words sink in deeper, hands cradling me closer, body gravitating nearer and nearer.

Slipping off the stool to straddle his legs instead, thighs settling on either side of him, silky drawers, also the exact same shade of pink as the jewels, against the dark fabric of his breeches, his hand angling my face to his, lips pressing bruising, burning kisses to the lax curve of my mouth, vacant hand dragging lower to let the heat of his palm and fingers seep through the thin chemise, the curl of nails briefly dragging, reminding just how easy it would be for his hand to tighten and yank. The fabric far too delicate to withstand the rough manhandling.

The promise of later lingers when his hand drifts lower, settling over my thigh, sprawled possessively over it, fingers fiddling with the hem of the drawers against my upper thigh, nails a teasing trail against bare skin.

"Still haven't learnt beautiful? I don't like sharing. And certainly not my most cherished treasure."

Words murmured against my lips, thumb brushing slow circles against my jaw, trailing down to crook his fingers under my jaw, the touch proprietary, eyes glinting and sharp.

The same sharp gleam of excitement he has in his eyes after the thrill of a loot, of habits that die hard, that lingers every time he returns with flushed cheeks ruddy face glowing. With sparkling eyes and even sparklier treasures in gloved hands, dangling from slender fingers, sometimes already glittering at his throat and ears, sometimes clinking in the deep pockets of his jackets.

Treasures that sparked the burning fire of his veins, that quenched them, satiated them. That kept them burning long afterwards too.

"I remember once—"

"You're remembering a time before I stole you sweetheart." Words drawled and low, hushed and radiating with a familiar soft intimacy and tease.

The fire's never dulled. It's only grown.

The sparks haven't stopped making my body sing for him and every moment hasn't lost its newness.

"Feels forever ago sometimes." I murmur, hand reaching to brush against his curls, soft and silky against my touch, nails briefly dragging against his scalp.

"Not to me. Feels like just yesterday. Feels like a dream. Feels like I'm finding you all over again. Feels like I've only just stolen you all for myself."

"Charming. Always know how to use that pretty mouth don't you?"

His laugh is warm and low, lips briefly slotting to mine once more.

The sweep of his tongue against my lips before he draws back, hands flitting about my body, mapping me to him, hand snaking around my waist to settle against the low of my back, eyes sweeping lazily over the thin fabric, lips curving into a wide, lazy smirk.

"I haven't put it to full use just yet. Can't let my darling wife go without my mouth showing her just how much I love her."

I tug at his curls, watching as he tilts his head into the touch, the curve of his lips inviting, already beginning to look kiss-swollen. Lean closer to let my teeth sink into his bottom lip, tugging the soft flesh between my teeth, tongue flicking briefly through his mouth.

"No? Even if I'm running late?"

His lips quirk. Gaze rakish and burning.

Wickedly delighted.

"Especially then. Let me make a mess of you baby."

A familiar heat sparks to life, pooling low in my gut at his words, at the promise simmering in darkening eyes, in the lilted curve of his mouth.

Watch as he draws away, hands skimming over my thighs before he curves his hands around the underside of them, squeezing tightly.

An easy shift of our bodies, drawing me up against him, resettling me against the stool before his hands snake around my front, dragging leisurely across silk to curve against the inside of my thighs, tugging them open to settle between them.

A tight pulse of heat and arousal at the sight of Tae kneeling between my thighs, indulgently drinking him in, the sight of the breeches still slung low on his hips, buttons undone. Trailing up past the expanse of his abdomen, to the taut breadth of his chest and shoulders, arms thick and corded with muscle.

Gaze drifting further up, past the strong column of his throat, the angled sharpness of his jaw, to wicked lips and glittering eyes.

His gaze is dark and mischievous, full of playfulness as he stares at me in contemplation. Thoughtful and slow, every movement unrushed and full of intent as he raises himself up, body settling between my parted legs, hands sprawled possessively over my bare thighs as he leans inwards.

Leans to crowd against me, body tilting close until my back presses against the vanity table. Wood against skin. Hard and unyielding.

"I like you like this. I like seeing you get ready baby."

"Why's that? Like ruining my efforts?"

He grins, nose nudging against mine.

"I'd be a liar if I said no. And I promised... vowed to always tell you just how much you undo me (Y/N). I also like you like this—half dressed, still sleepy, still showing pretty marks." Fingers trailing slowly over the curve of my arm, trailing down to brush against my clavicles.

"Still letting you see how last night ended?" I ask, lips quirking with amusement.

His head tilts.

"I believe it was early morning when you finally let me sleep."

I laugh, leaning forward to tilt towards him.

"Liar! Someone was too wired up to let either of us get some rest."

A pleasant soreness in my limbs, a deeply satiated satisfaction, the wicked lilt of his mouth reminding me just how many times I'd felt the grin press to my skin, had felt his amusement entangle with arousal and delighted thrill in coaxing sounds out from me, swallowing them whole, tongue greedy and claiming, sweeping through my mouth. His name muffled against the seam of his parted lips.

"You looked pretty." Words soft.

"You always say that charmer. Always sweet-talking me into your bed, under you... over you when that's the sight you like."

"I guess it's something we both like to do." He relents, lips quirking as his hands brush upwards, past my thighs and to my hips, fingers curling in with a possessiveness, a grip tat promises to not let go. Lips trailing past my collarbones, over the thin chemise, open-mouthed kisses that send heat burning through my veins and a slick heat where his mouth lowers to my breast. Tongue flicking against a bud, the slow drag of teeth, a soft exhale of breath before my hand sinks into his hair.

"My bandit, my husband... my handsome thief and I won't say? How utterly criminal."

His laugh is low

His laugh is low, dark, reverberating against skin, seeping past fabric and flesh and bones to fuse with the heat in my blood.

"How utterly criminal of you. My wicked treasure."

But the words are praise against my body, hands curling tighter, the sharp pleasure-pain sting of teeth tugging at stiffened buds, tongue and lips smoothening over the sting.

Hands squeezing at my hips, sprawling heavier against the inside of my thighs, tugging them open as he lets his lips map their downward trail. The chemise is a futile barrier that does nothing to bar the slow unrushed drag of his mouth, the curve of his smirk against the lines and curves of my body, lingering at the silk at my hips, clinging to them.

Fingers toying with the waistband but he doesn't draw them off immediately, the scrape of nails against soft flesh, hips tilting up, granting him access.

"Guess they match your drawers too... wondered how that happened." Voice musing and drawling out the observation.

Excitement curls in my gut, thrumming anticipation, fingers entangling in curls and tugging, his head tilting back into the touch, curls soft against my palm, ticklish against my wrist.

"I wonder my sneaky bandit... did you match the jewels down to every last shred?"

There's unspoken secrets that fill the dark depths of his gaze with a scorching intensity. A burning heat that licks at my skin, melds with flesh and bones, that sinks into me and draws me in to him in turn.

That drags me closer and keeps me encased in them.

I find myself rooted to them.

Content and happy with the image of me I find reflected in his gaze.

Happy.

Happy more than feelings can express.

More in love than I can ever express.

"I'm a man of the fine details and the fine pleasures in life."

Words velvety and low, carrying a faint rasp of sleep still in them. Voice slightly rough.

Hands careful and practiced, drawing the drawers down my legs, letting them sink against the carpet, lets them fall before his touch immediately returns.

Palms smoothening over the curves of my thighs, tugging them open, hands trailing to my calves to hook my legs over his shoulders, my hand settling behind me for purchase, the other tightening in his hair, nails dragging against his scalp, lips pressing lingering kisses against soft giving flesh.

Fingers squeezing tight, melding my thighs to his touch, a sharp tug where his hands hook under my legs to draw me closer to him, his head between my thighs, keeping me anchored open, body forced into an arch, his hands keeping my legs sprawled open over his shoulders, curving closer, lips brushing slow teasing kisses against skin.

The sight of dark curls and darker eyes, of honey-warm skin and reddened lips between my thighs makes them tense, makes my muscles and limbs coil up with a thrumming anticipation, hand guiding his head closer to the apex of my thighs, the slow drag of lips and tongue against my skin. Briefly flicking against the small fleeting nibbles, the unrushed scrape of teeth that make me jolt.

"What's fine pleasure?"

"Getting a taste of course." Lips curving up in a slowly spreading smirk, the lazy glittering heat in his eyes and the indulgently slow pressure of his tongue and lips at my core.

Fingers curling tight into my thighs, the touch just as much possessive as it is to keep my legs pinned open, body curved into an arch, hand curled against the wood and the other in his curls. Needing to hold onto something to anchor me, both him and the dresser I'm half-pressed against.

"A man of simplicity huh?" voice breathless, tinged with amusement and mirth, with laughter threatening to bubble in the back of my throat, thighs clenching tight, body coiling tight at the sharp suck, tongue flicking against me, burying his head closer, mouthing at me. The mirth plummeting into the beginnings of arousal, pinpricks that make my skin tingle, the heat suffused in my veins flaring to life.

"A man who only needs you."

---------------

His smile is slick as he draws back, pupils blown wide and dark, hands smoothening over the tremble in my thighs, grin rakish and proud. Smug.

"You're my finest pleasure sweetheart." Voice a rasping croon, my mind feeling in complete disarray, slowly, thoroughly taken apart, my body jolting with the aftershocks of pleasure, core clenching and unclenching, his hands slowly drawing my legs off his shoulders.

And when he draws back my eyes are drawn to broad muscled shoulders, down his torso, lingering at the straining arousal in his breeches, his hand drifting down to ground his palm against himself.

My legs tremble, hands leaning back to clutch at the edge of the dresser, thighs still sprawled open as I lean back, trying to catch my breath. Lungs feeling overwhelmingly full and empty all at once, deep shuddering breaths that don't filter through the constricted tightness in my chest. Heart thrumming wild against my ribs.

"Needs met? Satisfied?" I ask, voice breathless.

He sinks back on his knees, posture taut and highly strung despite the loose sprawl of his limbs. His hand brushing over skin, past the open buttons of his breeches, a sharp hiss of breath as he continues to palm at himself.

"Very satisfied."

"But..." hands drawing myself up, steadying myself against the dresser, his eyes intense as they trail over me, mapping bare legs and the chemise that clings slightly to heated skin.

Hand drifting away from his breeches, his tongue flicking against his lips, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. A soft groan as he stands. Slowly advancing to step closer and closer to me until he's leaning into my space, crowding it. Feel his arousal pressing against my front, my hands brushing over the curve of his biceps, dragging down over his forearms, reaching to entangle his hands with mine. My hands squeeze his, the reciprocating gentle squeeze much lighter than the near-bruising grip he'd kept my thighs pinned open with.

"I can help. I'd love to return the favour."

"Won't you be even more late?"

"Work can wait... I don't think Minnie will mind. We take certain privileges working for ourselves. That includes being understanding...of personal situations."

"This a situation?"

"One I simply can't bear to leave home without tending to." Hands drifting from his, brushing over his breeches to slowly let my fingers trail past the open buttons.

Hand slipping past fabric, the drag of my palm against his stiff length tugging a shaky groan past his lips. No complaint, nothing but raw need as he grounds his hips against my touch.

Chasing the gratifying relief of my hand beginning to slowly encircle him.

"Then please do Mrs. Kim."

My lips brush against his collarbone.

Nosing along the sharp jut of bone, teeth slowly dragging, taking my time to both trail my mouth closer to the hollow of his throat, teeth sinking in sharper, and to let my hand draw his length into my palm, his own hands pushing impatiently at the restraint of the breeches.

Mouthing at the blooming mark that bears the faintest mark of indents, the reddening mark against honeyed skin stark. One to add to the collection our bodies amass from one another's touch.

"Going to leave your throat bare for my pretty mark?" I murmur, fingers curving tighter, feeling the drag of his body against mine, somehow crowding him despite his body being the one that pins me to the dresser, his hands impatient as he tugs himself closer. The curve of his body lets him surrender to my touch, lets him lean closer, a pinning sprawl of his thighs bracketing mine, fingers curling at my waist, tugging at the thin chemise, baring more and more of me to him.

The direct drag of his hands against my skin, slightly rough, impatient.

"Depends. Make it a mark worth showing off and I will. Might have to add another." Words coy with suggestion, a teasing fire that the two of us will willingly surrender to, willingly be engulfed by.

My lips linger.

"A challenge my Lord Kim?"

Fingers drag over the curve of my back, hand settling over the dresser. Crowded against me entirely.

"No. A demand. Mark me up little jewel. Let everyone know who this bandit belongs to."

"Me. Mine. My bandit."

"Then mark me."

My lips are soft and slow, trailing upwards, against the column of his throat, nosing at skin, curling closer, his body leaning impossibly nearer, further into mine.

The next sharper bite of my teeth sinking into flesh, clamping down against his pulse, against the strong curve of his throat is possessive, lips quirking up at the sharp sinful rippled groan. His length hard and throbbing under my touch.

Rutting against my palm, hand drifting to encircle my wrist, fingers forming a bracelet around my wrist, a tight pressure that refuses to unwind, drawing my touch closer. Guiding the movements as if it's all new still, as if I haven't learnt exactly what makes him fall apart, as if I haven't spent countless days and nights, haven't spent years lost in the thrall of his body, learnt how to make him fall apart. And then piece it together just as thoroughly.

But today... today he isn't chasing a slow unrushed peak, there's an urgency in the grinding circles of his length rutting into my palm, breeches shoved down, thighs splayed wide and pinning my own, his weight settling against mine so that I can't move. I can't sink down onto my knees in front of him to reciprocate the favour. Not with my mouth anyways.

"Want my hand. Want to stain my fingers with your release?"

A throaty affirmation, lips against my temple, breath trembling.

Hands clasping at my hips, tugging me forward, trying to alleviate the tight ache that makes his length slick against my palm and fingers, thumbing over his tip, smearing arousal over it.

Grip turning tighter, quicker, sharp thrusts that has his body curving forward, arms taut as he leans against me, hands settling on the wood of the dresser instead.

"I think making a mess is inevitable. It was the moment you decided to sit all pretty and undressed."

"You say this nearly every morning." I murmur, lips quirking against his throat, pressing lingering kisses to the mark left behind, tongue flicking over it, lathing over the harsher red that blooms on his warm skin. Feel his pulse against my mouth. Tasting the heartbeat of his desire thud against my lips.

"Guess you're making it a routine then." he rebuts easily, a breathless grin in his words. I can hear the amusement before I tilt my head to look at him, dark eyes already focused on me. Rooted at the sight of my hand at his length, his own encircling mine.

"I wouldn't have you any other way. Then putty in my hands." voice hushed and low, his hand drifting to guide mine, falling into a familiar pattern, fast thrusts and drags that he continues to rock his hips forward to. A quick rhythm that makes pleasure spiral. Heady and intoxicating to hear the soft groans rumble against my skin, to press against my hair, his hands brushing from my waist upwards to palm roughly at my breasts. Teeth at the shell of my ear."

"Not putty at the moment am I?" he grits, length hard against my touch, a rougher, messier grinding circle of his hips, pushing at my hand, his own grip tightening around me to make me feel just how much he's anything but soft.

"No..." word soft, a lilted hushed amusement, lips pressing open mouthed kisses against his jaw, his head turning to tilt to mine, kiss messy and obscene with how quickly everything crumbles away, faint dredges of resistance falling away, hands drifting to circle against stiff buds, the scrape of his nail sparking a sharp pleasured heat that melds with the pleasure my body already thrums with, already recognises, thighs clenching slightly.

"I'd finish over you if I hadn't done that in the bath."

My lips curve up.

"Who knew you'd be raring to go already?"

"You think being buried between your thighs to taste you would have any other effect?"

Words stirring pleasurable jolts, thighs clenching and trembling slightly, core still throbbing with my peak.

I don't answer in lieu of letting my hand tighten, tightening the encircled fist he thrusts into, a sharp rough sound bubbling past his lips, his mouth surging forward to mine, muffling sin against the parted seam of my mouth, tongue slick against mine. Surrendering with shuddered breaths as he clutches at me tightly, hand at my breast, the other dragging over my waist and hips. A tight grip as he anchors himself to me.

Desperate for more.

The heat in my veins climb to a hotter, fiercer flame, his body near-scorching from where it presses to mine.

"Close?"

He groans an assent, teeth sinking in sharply to my bottom lip, tongue flicking over the sting with a softer brush, sweeping against swollen lips, drawing back slightly, forehead resting against mine, freshly-damp curls clinging to his skin, drying there, a flushed heat on his cheeks and eyes glittering.

And his gaze lowers. Drops to where our hands work over him. A brisk sharpness that brings pleasure with two hands guiding the motion, his compelling and controlling the pace of my own, thumb pressing tighter at the tip, a sharp jerk of his hips, my own body jolted back against the dresser. Hard, ungiving wood against my back, pressing in near uncomfortably.

And it's as the thrusts turn erratic, sharp and uncoordinated... that his hand falls away and his pleasure spills over, over my curved fingers, over my hand. The hot sear of release staining my hand with Tae coming undone.

Working him through the peak of it all, his length coaxed to an almost sensitivity, eyes blown wide as he looks at my hand.

"Look at you." voice raw and rasping.

"Made a mess of me anyways Tae." Echoing his words.

And a lazy satiated grin curves at wicked lips.

"Always."

Blown wide pupils shuttering, dark lashes fluttering as he peers at me through a hooded gaze as I draw my fingers to my mouth, drawing them in. Tongue flicking against my fingers, his pleasure a heady taste on my tongue. His eyes watch. Leaning forward to crowd against me, breaths sharp and staccato, watching as I draw his fingers away.

"Shame... wouldn't have been a waste if you'd used my mouth instead."

"Next time." Dark glinting eyes unrepentant. Voice thick with promise.

Raw and unbridled promise.

----------------

"You're late honey."

My hands unconsciously smoothen over my bodice and skirts, head tilting to peer at the figure crowding against our doorway, his eyes bright with laughter and satisfaction. Head cocked as he appraises me, eyes lingering longer and longer the further they drift down, heat caressing my spine even from a distance.

He doesn't move away even as I make a shooing gesture at him to go, body turning to face the direction of the approaching voice. The near quiet clack of heeled boots signalling Minnie's entrance as he peers past the open arch of the hallway, eyes lighting up before his pace hastens.

Making a beeline for me as if he hadn't heard my voice call out when I'd stepped through, nor the nearly-obnoxiously loud tinkling of the chimes when the front door was pushed open.

"Didn't keep you waiting too long did I? Was it a busy start?"

Hands reaching for me immediately, drawing me into a tight hug, squeezing and affectionate, lips pressing a kiss to my temple, curving up in a fond grin.

"You know as well as I do that the open sign doesn't go up until we're both here. And besides... can't blame Tae for not being able to keep his hands off you." gaze appreciative and playfully flirty, flashing with heat and a coy smile as he draws back. Pearly smile distracting and radiant.

It's only then do I take in his state, the hurried smoothening over fabric and rumpled fabric, of trying to tug myself away, feeling my lips swollen and branded by his, hair tousled by wind and long slender fingers sinking in to anchor me to him... it's no doubt what Minnie's been doing to occupy the time. His shirt's still largely undone, buttons mismatched the few he's bothered to do up, the expanse of his chest and throat on display, the slither of his stomach where the breeches are still untied, fabric loose and shifting. Revealing the prominent sharpness of his v-line.

His eyes track my movement, crinkling with amusement and tease. A soft, soft sight for the filth that slips past his lips.

"Like what you see sweetheart? Looking to finish something with me?" head tilting back, peals of laughter ringing and vibrant at the disgruntled vocal dissent from the front door, the low drawling voice that's both exasperated, resigned and faintly challenging.

"Seems like you were busy doing something... a certain someone. Eyes already straying to a taken woman Jimin-ah?"

"You know me well Taehyungie. Scandals get my blood singing. And anyways—I wouldn't mind sharing. You know that Joon and I aren't in any way unattracted to the very beautiful Mrs. Kim." Hands drawing me close, wrapping around my waist with an easy familiarity, turning me in a small spinning motion so that both of us are facing Tae. His tall, broad frame crowding the doorway, eyes narrowing as he meets Jimin's gaze, his head settling on my shoulder. Voice low and thick.

"We are the scandal Jimin-ah." Tae refutes, stepping forward slightly, the chimes clinking and jingling against one another as the door swings shut.

Jiminie's hands tighten around me, drawing me back against him. The ever-familiar scent of something soft and sharp and intrinsically Jimin entangled with the scent of dried flowers; something that's immediately distinguishable as Joon's.

"I could make the gossip dirtier. Filthier." Words lilted as if sweetly luring bargain.

"As graciously lewd as your offer is Jimin-ah... I think we're okay." A sly grin directed at me, the playfully narrowing of eyes that makes my own lips quirk even as my head tilts back, turning to press a peck to Minnie's jaw.

"Underestimating my personal ability to spice things up?"

"You? Never... Tae... he could always do with help." laughter and tease clear in his voice, laugh tinkling and vibrant. Rich with amusement.

I pat the arms encircling me, smile growing wide at the pure joy Minnie is getting from teasing Tae, watching the half-glower twisting pretty boxy lips, eyes dark and narrowed.

"Many thanks for your kindness... always thinking of me, keeping my wife in mind. But I think we're good." lips curving into a resigned grin, tugging wider at the huff of laughter, softer and breathier. Minnie's head coming to gently tilt to mine.

"You love getting a rise out of my husband. Tormenting poor Tae..." I sigh, lips pecking the tip of his nose.

Hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing a line up and down over my cheekbone, touch gentle and cradling me close.

Gaze fond and tender when my head tilts to brush a peck across his wrist.

Drawing his hand to lace together with mine. Feeling his fingers gently brush over my ring. The only ring I wear.

"Got to keep life interesting sweetheart."

There's the slow, purposeful clack of heels against wood, Tae advancing forward, uncaring of the arms wound around me, a soft affection as he looks at the two of us, drawing my face to his, fingers propriety as he crooks them under my chin, tilting my lips to his.

It feels familiar and not, to be sandwiched between the two of them. Except Minnie cradles me close with a tender affection and Tae crowds against me with a burning, scorching love. Intense and strong, burning fiercer and wilder day by day.

Lips assured and soft against mine, still slightly swollen, quirking up in a smile against my lips, hand angling my face to kiss me deep and slow, tongues slick against one another. There's no jealousy, no clash of feelings from the two men caging me between them.

One holds me close, tucking me against him, with all the safety and love of cherishing and protecting me that our bodies meld together with a familiarity, hands securely wound around me, playfully teasing by not reaching for me but to reach for Tae's shirt. Fingers curling into soft silken fabric.

Tugging harsh enough that lips slip from mine, distracted, gaze tracking to the hand coaxing him closer, full lips curved into a pouted pucker.

"No kiss for me?"

"After all your offers to seduce my wife in front of me?"

"I had the feeling you might be the type who likes to watch." voice low and coy, leaning forward past my shoulder, eyes glittering.

"Didn't get kissed properly by Joon?"

"Oh Tae... I did more than just kiss my Kim. Put my lips on places other than his pretty lips."

A soft huff, a gentle shove.

"Told you we understand situations. That we let each other be late." I lilt, laughing as I draw back from both, stepping forward towards Tae to press a flutter of kisses to awaiting lips, winding my arms around him to hug him tight.

Lips against his ear.

"Have a good day Tae. I'll meet you later at the tavern."

Strong arms wind around me, reciprocating the hug, encasing me entirely to him, body bracketing mine, larger frame almost trying to meld me to his, safety in his hug. And his deep hum reverberates against me.

Large hand dragging down the curve of my spine, over my skirts to rest against my backside.

"I'll be waiting." he promises before drawing back.

A playful glare directed to Minnie.

"Hands off Park."

He shrugs, the movement a loose ripple of movement.

"No promises."

And the first thing Minnie does when the door chimes to signal Tae leaving a few minutes later is, lunging for me, his laughter entangling with my startled yelp, clutching at him as he twirls me around, skirts fanning out, his hands assured and steady, eyes sparkling with mischief and joy, clothes still dishevelled.

"Ready to work beautiful?"

I let my eyes drag slowly down his front, watching as his gaze follows mine, a crooked tilt to his grin.

"How about we get you finish getting you dressed first baby?"

"...I got bored waiting for you."

-------------------

"I think Joon's business is flourishing with you two." Minnie laughs, waving the large paper bag full of contraceptive tonics. Laughing as I try tug it closer, unable to help the smile that stretches wide across my face, shrugging at him. Watching him draw it back immediately from reach, keeping a secure hold on it.

"I know Joon's probably wrung dry with how insatiable you are Minnie."

A playful gleam in his eyes as he offers me his arm, drawing the door shut behind us, a piece of parchment folded and tucked into the hidden pocket of my skirt. Burning where its weightlessness settles against my thigh, hidden away, under swathes of fabric. A secret. Burning and thrilling.

"Touche."

"I'm not wrong, am I?" threading my hand through the crook of his arm, settling there as we step out, bodies naturally curled close, skirts brushing against the side of his leg.

"Did it ever occur to you... that Namjoon is the insatiable ones at times? That he's unable to resist me?"

My fingers squeeze at his arm, briefly flitting over muscle.

Lingering there.

Head tilting to appraise his arm again. A tighter squeeze, hand drifting upwards, brushing against his bicep.

"Have you gotten thicker muscles?"

Full lips curved into a grin.

"Noticed, have you?"

My hand squeezes again, a soft surprised sound slipping past my lips, his muscles tensing and purposely flexing under my touch. Hard muscle.

"Keeping up with Joon in bed, giving him what he wants... sometimes..." voice hushed and low.

Words dangling with the promising thrill of dirty secrets, of hushed divulged intimacy.

I lean in closer, despite myself, falling for the bait as his head tilts to mine, steps slowing.

"Sometimes he likes me being a bit rough, likes being put in place. And he struggles so prettily. He's so big after all—got to put my strength in, in making him take."

Words hushed and filthy.

Low with a rasping bite to his words, a thickness making the words rumble, sex dripping off his tongue in a husky timbre.

Even if I've spent my entire life with this man, have heard how sex sounds from his lips, have heard him in the throes of pleasure... my eyes still flash, searching the immediate vicinity near the two of us, for any passers-by, for any eavesdroppers. Fingers curling tighter at his arm.

"Minnie." voice hushed and slightly scandalised.

He laughs, the sound bright and pealing.

"You asked. You wanted to know. Besides...this isn't the worst conversation we've had walking. This isn't the worst conversation anyone's overheard either." hand settling over mine, his touch gentle for all that his eyes are wickedly sharp and amused, his smirk unrestrained and proud.

A faint, faint heat warms my cheeks.

"You've shared worse. And you know it." eyes daring me to contradict.

Lips opening, parting to automatically deny it. Falling shut. Silenced.

The hushed quiet my admission, my own lips twitching slightly.

"So, I'm the bad influence?"

"Most certainly my darling (Y/N)."

The bag, inconspicuous and damning all at once, as he gives it a small shake, hip nudging against mine, eyes asking me to divulge.

"So go on... share."

-------------------

Minnie's hand at the low of my back steers me forward past the familiar bustle of tables and chairs, of bodies clustered together, ears long since accustomed to the din of the tavern in growing bustle, full of voices and people. Loud and clamouring, laughter and jeers entangling with loud calls and voices overlapped in conversation.

Lips at my ear, hot.

"Vixen. And I'm the one who can't keep it in my pants." he laughs, my eyes catching to our table, all of them already seated, tankards already being made a dent in.

It's Kookie who spots the two of us first, eyes crinkling as a beaming smile curves across his face, hands wiping his dry on a towel, skin flushed and gleaming with exertion and heat, gesturing to the two of us.

"Finally. I'll get dinner sent over." head turning to call over his shoulder at another man working behind the bar, hands gathering more glasses, a bottle tucked securely against his chest as he rounds the serving counter to the front. Making his way to our usual table just as we're reaching.

I lean forward towards Jin, wrapping my arms around him, body curving to his to draw him into a tight hug, tilting my cheek for the kiss he presses there, hands drawing me close, nudging me towards the seat beside him. Eyes bright.

"Hey sweetheart."

"Hi Jinnie..."

Nudging my chair closer to his to turn my body to face his, Minnie's voice filtering through my ears alongside the others, even as my eyes turn to drift over Jin's broad frame.

Watching his lips curve.

"You look good. Freedom is your prettiest look (Y/N)." voice softer, sincere and gentle.

Warm in a way that trickles heat through my veins, cocoons me in the protective love of Jin. His eyes drift from me to Minnie, tilting his head briefly to him.

"You both do. And you both look happier and prettier day by day." words half-charming but entirely genuine and truth.

It's been a few years and yet he's never stopped caring and loving and having the same tightly woven bound the three of us have shared for years beyond and before freedom.

Before seeing each other, before this cluster of lives... before this. Our family wasn't cherished in stolen, fleeting moments.

Now all the people at the table fill my life with a rich vibrancy on a daily basis. They're constantly with me, our lives entangled and overlapped.

Merging with an ease that should've been startling. But never has been.

More... pieces sliding into place, a key in a lock, a jigsaw forming shape.

"Sweet-talking seems to run in the family." I muse, face propped up on my hand, head tilting as I peer at him, watch with amusement as he mirrors me, head cocked. Appraising and curious and eyes soft, lips curved with a laugh.

"Then it's no surprise seeing you're an expert at it."

A laugh bubbles out, short and sudden, heart-warming and clenching tightly at his words.

"Clearly Hobi possesses it well too. Runs a tavern and woos a masseuse? Someone whose work is to run his hands over people—Hobi must be particularly skilled in keeping you interested."

"Baby... I use my talent to keep him hooked." he laughs, plates clattering against the wood, a few of the other serving staff filtering in and out, the cluster of bodies becoming closer, chairs tucked against one another, legs pressed against each other as the table's filled.

"He's not lying." Hobi grins at me from across the table, somehow having picked up on the conversation despite the din. Well averse in it because this tavern is his and Kookie's. Because if there's one thing the two of them can do, it's hear it all. Far too many conversations, hushed and secretive, mortifying or quiet... all of them heard.

His eyes gleam playfully and Minnie's seat beside him, sandwiched next to Joon, makes me wonder how much Minnie's already spilled. Without drinking yet.

"Tae's not here yet."

My eyes scan the table regardless, reaching for the glass Joon holds out to me, smile dimpled and sweet, placating.

"He'll be here...probably got into painting."

Or had a bout of sticky fingers.

"I know... was wondering how much I could drink before he did." I remark lightly, words rousing laughs and competitive smiles.

Minnie and Yoongi, the first to hold up their glasses in competition, the sharp feline gaze tracking me as he fills first his, then Minnie's, then my glass... topping them all up generously.

If there's anything I've learnt about Yoongi in the past few years is that he could drink the majority of us under the table. Could outdrink us if he'd ever truly wanted to, always steering the drinks away and replacing them... always a sharp glint of lucidness even if he's downing just as much as us.

"Best get an early start."

And the first knuckle-length shot of whiskey burns on its way down. Strong and heavy. Coughing as it burns its way down my throat, a fiery line scorching as it sinks through my body, warms me from the inside out. A strong slam of alcohol to the system and a gummy grin directed at me from across the table.

"Starting strong." Minnie splutters, setting down the glass with a clunk, eyes gleaming with an anticipation, an excitement for how the night will pan out.

"Got to have Tae's hands full." I raise my empty glass in toast. And it's my hand that reaches out for the wine bottle, reaching to fill everyone's glasses.

Kook's grin is disarming and bright.

"A toast. To the wildest woman in our lives."

I echo him with gusto, meeting Minnie's eyes across the table, his foot nudging mine furtively, the discussion on the way to the tavern still hovering over us. A wink that holds far more knowledge and meaning than the others know.

"To my men." I reply, heart feeling overwhelmingly full for the people at the table.

For my family.

------------------

"You are so drunk." Tae laughs, hands steadying me as I stumble, the walk home long and unending... I like it.

Like that the winding roads and paths don't seem to end, like that his arms remain around me, body close enough I can feel the heat seeping off his body, the warmth of his skin against mine, chasing the slight chill of the night air.

"I tripped!" I protest, but make no move to draw myself away from him in the slightest, leaning further against him, head resting against his chest, fingers curled into his shirt.

"Mhm... I'm sure. So, you can walk alone?" he asks, hand smoothening over my hair, brushing it away from my face, hand cupping my cheek gently. Touch soft where his fingers skim over heated skin, over the curve of my jaw, head tilting back sharply to peer at him, his features half-shadowed, half aglow.

"I could... but I don't want to." words mumbled against his front, burying my face against his shirt, a soft exhale as his hand cradles the back of my head, tilting closer to the warmth of his chest, arms winding around him. Tugging at his shirt, trying to steady myself, legs wobbly, his own arms stabilising me, laughing softly, words a low murmur.

"Easy baby...I've got you." words softer, clearer than the haze my mind's in, clutching at him for purchase, finding myself more fascinated and enthralled by the way his shirt clings to his torso, fingers trailing over the cut-out shape, the slither of skin that's bared to my touch, lips pressing to his chest, where a vivid mark sits. Matches the imprint of my tongue and teeth, the brand of my lips from this morning.

Trying to coax me away, even if his throat arches, inviting my touch closer.

A pleasant buzzing haze clouding my senses further, encasing them with the single-minded focus on Tae.

"Don't want to? Want to walk with me?" he offers once my balance has stopped teetering, hands clasping at his shirt, head tilting up, pressing kisses against his jaw, lips dragging lower against his throat, teeth nipping at him.

Tae's groan is soft and low, hands clasping at my waist and curved to rest against the low of my back.

"I like where I am." I mumble, head tilting back to peer at him, watching his eyes follow the movement. Even though the streets are shadowed, I can see his eyes darken.

"So do I but I'd rather be in the same position at home. Come on baby... let's go home."

I slowly bring my arms to unfurl slightly, letting them drift lower to wind around his waist instead, body curving to his and taking slow slightly staggered steps forward, feeling his arm wound around me. Steadying and grounding.

"I get late by half an hour and Hobi's already drunk and you've gotten through god knows how much drink—do you like playing with me sweetheart? Do you and Jimin thrive off it?" he asks with a fond huff, lips quirked up. Boxy and affectionate.

"Mhm... you look really attractive when your jaw goes tight..." hand reaching up to trace the sharp angle, fingers trailing over the curve.

His fingers in turn curl around my wrist.

"Again... I would love nothing more than to continue this conversation somewhere else (Y/N)... and then we can talk about how attractive I find my wife all tipsy drunk and flushed. Not that I didn't appreciate the dance you tried to give me."

"Want to finish it when we get home—" hand clasping at him, a sudden jolt of movement as I move quicker, laughter and a curse entangled together as he hastens his pace to match mine.

Every breath light and fluttering, pulse quick and thrumming at the back of my throat, our arms wound around one another.

I don't hear the other voices filter through, I don't register the people walking past, late-night stragglers, their movements and voices loud and harsh against my senses, pressing closer to try stifle the sound by burrowing against Tae. Trying to bury myself in the strong broad lines of his body, chasing the familiar scent of a perfume that both of us wear. A scent that seems somewhat lost in the heady tang of something that's pure Tae. His natural own scent sharpened with the faint salt of sweat, the flushed heat in his cheeks cooling with the walk.

I don't focus on anyone save for Tae, senses all narrowing down to him. To how his body feels half curved behind mine, his hand steadying on my waist, his words low and rumbling, a stream of light conversation that I can follow along with. Gaze flitting over and over his side profile to how he tries to measure his steps in time to mine, keeping them even, steering me closer to him.

I don't know how long we walk until suddenly we're not, steps slow and lazy, treads in time with one another, when the cottage comes into view, my hand tightening at his waist.

Tugging him impatiently.

"Home~" I lilt.

"Home sweet home Mrs. Kim." Arm slipping away from my waist, encircling me from behind to hug me close, heat against my spine, hands settling over my front, entangling together as we begin the slow, waddled walk to the front door.

"You're feeling okay aren't you?"

Voice soft and gentler.

Hushed as he fishes for the keys from my skirt pocket, fingers brushing against the folded piece of parchment, crinkling against his palm. Attention drifting from my nod to peering downwards.

Head tilting briefly, curious as he plucks the paper, startled when my hand jerks, grabbing his wrist, eyes peering at him.

"That's a secret my pretty husband."

Glinting eyes narrow as he focuses his gaze.

Fingers holding the paper between them.

"Makes me want it even more? What's on it?"

"A secret!" hand tugging at his wrist, trying to tug away, trying to get his hand free from my pocket. Trying to keep the parchment from being crumpled or accidentally torn, the weight of his hand sprawling heavy in my pocket, the heat seeping through the layers of fabric to almost brand its print over silk drawers.

"I like secrets. But not when I don't get to know them." Voice low and lilting.

"You can't know this one!" I protest, freeing his hand, my own clamping over where the skirt pocket is, the heat of his fingers and palm still lingering, feeling their weight as if his hand was sprawled over bare flesh.

Feel my lungs tighten, breath hitching when he brackets me against the door, keys briefly jingling in front of my eyes before he leans in close, head curved to mine, body angled to keep mine caged against the door. Body towering and looming.

Imposing.

"No?" he questions.

The faint flushed buzz of alcohol has at some point worn away, faded and receded with the walk home, but there's still a part of me that feels entirely unsteady, ground uneven under me as he looks at me.

"No! It's my secret!" I laugh, protest quietening as he tilts his head closer, shadowed outline crowding mine against our front door.

Thigh slotting between my own, pressing between skirts, forcing me to slightly shift my legs to accommodate his between them.

"Even if I try bargain you for it?"

My head tilts in lazy appraisal.

"What makes you think you can pay a price for something I intend to keep hidden from you?"

"Not for any price honey? Not for anything?" curious and voice dropping lower, heavier.

There's a flush on his cheeks that I begin to wonder have remained there, with the same buzz of alcohol simmering in his veins too.

But he looks anything but inebriated.

Far from it.

The intensity of his stare penetrating and pinning all at once.

Rooting me there.

Unable to slip away from the cage of arms bracketing me in and his thigh settled between my legs, head looming closer, lips briefly ghosting across mine.

The taste of strawberries and cream still lingering there, a faint brush of it across my mouth, that even when he draws back the slightest fraction of a distance... I can taste and smell it regardless. Tongue whetting my lips.

"You sound desperate bandit. Why don't you realise that this time you might not get what you want. Maybe you'll have to be good for me and wait."

His lips thin, pressing tight before they part.

Surging forward for a hard, bruising kiss, hand slipping to curl against my nape, lips curved in a breathless grin, the soft exhale muffled by the parting laxness of my own mouth, hands slipping up his front to fist into the slippery silk and tugging him closer, the fabric fluid and fragile under my touch.

Tugging him against me, eagerly surrendering to the distraction, knuckles aching with how tightly I clutch at him.

The buzz in my veins grows because of Tae.

Because he's the intoxication.

And I could spend hours lost in the lazy slowness of his tongue sweeping against mine, of the bruising heat of his lips determined to leave their imprint seared across mine.

"What's it worth for me to wait? To be good?" he asks.

"What does my husband want?"

"...You never finished your dance. Why don't you show me how you planned to let it play out?" voice breathless and rough.

Just as affected by the closeness of each other, the proximity of our bodies already half-entangled against one another.

"Sure you won't have a problem? Tipsy and unable to... perform?" lips quirking up, tugging him forward to let my lips meld to his, slotting together with an ease, his body pressing closer and closer to mine.

Hips grounding forward, moving so that I can feel that he's already half-hard.

"That's a promise... you're my biggest turn-on. What else do I need?"

I tilt my head back, rewarded with the slow, intentionally so, drag of lips, tongue and teeth against my jaw, nosing along skin.

"Nothing else?"

"I can think of a few things...but right now inside." Voice low and rumbling with impatience, parchment forgotten as he fumbles with the door, eyes dragging over me, still curved against me, body pressed to mine, lines to curves, key sliding into the lock; gratingly loud in my ears, but still somehow lost, senses attuned rather to the low quiet waver of his breaths.

"I don't mind getting started here." I murmur, head angled so I can watch him, eyes settling on the mark proudly on display. The cut-out of his fitted shirt highlighting the mark my lips left behind. Remember him drawing it on, fingers deft as he buttoned up the shirt, preening as he showed me just how clearly he intended to flaunt my claim.

"I know that. You were ready to start at the tavern... I'm never letting Yoongi start the drinking."

"He's really great with whiskey. And really good for Koo."

A smile curves at his lips. Softer.

"He is. He's a horrible influence on my (Y/N). Who's already a force to reckon with alone."

"I am. And you have no idea...." The door's hastily shoved open, a hand steadying me immediately with a rakish grin when my body tilts back, stumbling with the sudden lack of support against my leaning frame.

His body immediately crowds mine, steps forward compelling my own steps back, a small fumble of movement as he nudges the door shut behind him. Hasty and impatient.

"Don't I?" hands dragging down my side, tugging me closer, hips flush with mine.

His curls are dark and messy, brushing against his nape and jaw, curling against his temples, falling forward as he kisses me. Sharp and hungry and unrelenting. Lips bruising, melding to mine with an ache I can feel settle low in my gut.

I don't get to form an answer, lips chasing his, frantic kisses that share the strawberry and cream taste that lingers on his lips and tongue, the faint sweetened bite of liquor that tastes headier when it's accompanied the sweep of his tongue against mine. Letting me take control of the kiss, drunk on the soft, low sounds he makes against me, hands tugging me closer, impatiently dragging against the curve of my backside, body tilting to mine.

Hands steering me towards the closest surface, booted heels clacking loud and uncoordinated, steps fumbling before I turn, leaning against him, hands settling on either side of him, head tilting to peer at him.

One hand reaches for the few pins keeping my hair pinned back, letting them scatter onto the ground, fingers snaking into my hair, briefly cradling the back of my head before settling against my nape. A grounding weight that doesn't let me ignore how close the propriety touch makes me lean forward.

"Bed?" I ask.

His eyes gleam, wicked and blackened with lust.

"Reckon we'll even make it there?" hands drifting lower to tug at my skirts, hands yanking at me, a sharp jerk of movement before he's pressing his body tighter, harsher against mine, eyes glittering with lust and dark, dark burning clarity.

He's not drunk at all... and at some point, at some point the tipsy haze has worn off me too. Senses far too consumed with him, the pleasant floatiness dissipating at some point on the winding, slow walk home.

He knows.

I know it.

Even as every sense, every sensation swims pleasantly, a familiar fluttering anticipation and slowly coiling heat... my senses narrowing down to the feel of his body hard and tightly wound up, stiff with impatience, hips grounding forward in rushed sharp circling movement.

My hands work at his breeches, tugging at the buttons with a hungering need that belies the soft laziness of the morning, thoughts singling down to one.

To Tae.

There's hands dragging at my thighs, nails sharp scalding lines of heat searing through stockings, pushing my skirts up impatiently before he curls his fingers into the waistband to tug, drawing silk down my thighs, entangled and fumbling to step out of them, the fabric pooling around my ankles.

A fumble for clothes hastily pushed aside, fingers slipping over his shirt to tug at the buttons, yanking impatiently at them, lips curving into a grin at the low rippled rumble of my name.

"(Y/N)... I like this shirt." A whine rasped far too low. Sending shivers through my body, heat skimming across my skin.

"I'll fix it later." I laugh against his jaw, teeth nipping at skin, mouthing at his throat, fingers curling around him to draw him closer. Hands dragging against his back, desperate to feel the heat of his body under my touch.

A sprawling hand hitches my thigh up, hips rocking forward against mine, arousal near-blistering with how harried every breath becomes, a low shaky moan spilling past my lips, muffled against his shoulder, teeth sinking in sharply when he stills, buried inside me, leg kept hitched up, splayed open for him, sheathed entirely.

Breaths wavering against my temple, pressing a smatter of kisses, slower and unrushed, gentler and tender amidst the scorching heat that claws at me.

The tenderness is almost overwhelming, dizzying sweet affection, fingers curling tight against his shoulder and bicep, lips tilting in askance to him.

Mouths slotting together, shared breaths in the hushed hazed quiet, shattered by the low groan that shudders against my lips when he draws back, rocking forward once more, a slow, deep thrust that has my stomach clenching, arousal slamming in hard and thick.

But tenderness and gentleness only lasts so long, touches turning frantic and the burning want flaring to life once more, kisses turning messier, sharper, desperate to chase every inch of closeness, trying to rock my hips down to meet each thrust for thrust, his body pressing closer and closer, until there's nothing but his body pinning mine to the wall, hand reaching down to hook under my other thigh. Hoisting me up further against the wall, legs locking around him.

Skirts pushed up high above my hips, his hands clasping at skin, grip bruising and unwavering, keeping me pinned to the wall, his weight driving each thrust deeper, rocking forward, breath sharp and words guttural against my skin.

"All night... since I walked into the tavern..." words a drawled rasp against the crook of my neck, lips pressing slow kisses against skin, tongue flicking against the small scatter of marks blooming vivid and rich against my skin, legs tightening around him, arms wound around to tug him closer, hands dragging at his back, clutching at him tightly... tighter.

"All night..." I prompt, lips quirked against his collarbone, his answer non-verbal at first, a sharper, tightening grip at my thighs, almost in warning, before the next roll of his hips drives him deeper, stilling, curls brushing against skin, mouth slipping lower.

"Since I saw those earrings and everything you're wearing underneath... since you decided you were too hot and that undoing some stays would be better... since you decided to relocate. Right onto my lap."

"So... since..." keening at the rough drag of heated skin against skin, the brush of fabric where it still clings to my torso tugging a rough growled dissent from his lips, brushing over the curve of my cleavage, over the access to skin he can still get.

The next buck of his hips is sharper, rougher, the snap of his hips setting a quick, deep pace that has words slipping away, thoughts splintering as I clutch at him, breaths heavy and shaking, tugging him closer, guiding his lips back to mine, the feverish scorch of his mouth melding to mine, near-bruising.

"Hours. Hours of wishing we were already alone." He rasps against my skin.

My hands drag against his front, fingers moving hastily to tug at buttons, undoing the rest of them, pushing the fabric away from his front, half-falling down from his shoulders, hands impatiently roving over the bared expanse of his torso and taut biceps. Tightly coiled muscles that remain wound up, coiled with sharp arousal as he continues to drive himself deeper and deeper, body pinning pine to the wall, one hand drifting to drag slowly upwards, tugging impatiently at slightly undone laces.

"Off. Take it off." Words growled with frustration, eyes flashing with hunger.

Hands hitching me higher, clasping at my thighs with a relentless grip, watching with a burning, narrowed gaze as my fingers fumble for the stays, tugging at the lacings to draw the bodice open. Appreciation making his eyes glint. Gaze fixated at the sight, something in his pace, in his posture, in him striking as sharply and ferally different. Eyes glazed with lust as his eyes drag to the corset stays, the same shade to the jewels brushing against my jaw.

Fingers fumbling uncoordinated for the laces, his eyes dragging down bared skin, to the way the dress slips off, baring the curve of my breasts to him, his lips dragging lower to let his teeth sink in sharply to curves.

Rough pleasure making every movement, every gesture sharp and impatient, hands tugging him closer, his skin gleaming with exertion, flushed with heat, sweat beading at his temples, the same scorching heat making my skin pulse with arousal, prickling with where skin presses to skin, where clothes bar us from direct, entire contact of bodies entangled with one another.

"Thought you wanted me on your lap first." I manage to murmur, words lingering in the air, weighted and heavy.

Eyes dragging upwards, lips slick and gaze warning and dark and hazed with pleasure.

Lips curving with indulgence.

"We have all night. Don't worry—I'll have you over my lap soon enough." Words low and rumbling with promise.

"Man of your word?"

His hands clasp at my thighs tighter.

Hard enough to ache, hard enough to bruise, feeling both thoroughly pinned and taken. The wall hard an unyielding, body pressing mine firm against the surface.

"I'm more than willing to just show you instead. Why waste words?"

And the next rock of his hips, buries himself deep, stilling as my legs tighten around him, a hissed curse as he feels me clench my thighs, his eyes lingering over where his hands can't.

Impatient and hungering.

Skin gleaming.

"Tae..." his name is a keening cry torn past my lips.

And his smile, trembles, against the crook of my neck.

"That's words enough."

And when I finally get the ribbon free from his hair, curls finally tumbling messy and wild around his face, no longer held back as much, when my fingers thread into his hair to tug him closer, it's with the new burning realisation that the ribbon keeping his curls back... is the same shade of pink too.

TAE POV:

It's always a sight to wake upto (Y/N). Always a sight that sparks an immediate burst of emotion to filter through drowsiness.

It's always different, the feelings and thoughts that seep into slowly-dawning consciousness.

It's a flicker of carnal heat to wake, stretching out languidly across the bed, blanket entangled around the two of us and to see the bare slope of her shoulder where her hair isn't covering it, to let my eyes track down the expanse of her back, body bare under the blanket, half-asleep as she stirs. Slowly pushing herself upright, my hand winding around her forearm to tug her back the instant she's somewhat upright, lips curving at the startled sound before she sinks back, sprawling back against me. Twisting to peer at me.

"Where do you think you're going? Abandoning me... to wake to cold empty sheets."

Her lips curve, a generous smile, indulgent and fond.

Hand reaching to brush against my jaw, fingers briefly skimming across skin, brushing through my hair. Tugging lightly at a curl.

"Nowhere. Going nowhere." She decides, twisting to face me, arm slung over my front as she sinks back down, head resting against my chest. Tucking herself close.

My body curves to her, gravitating to the warmth of her skin, fingers trailing down to outline her silhouette, hand slow and unrushed as it skims over the slope of her shoulder, down the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips and thighs, firm supple flesh under my touch, her body responding by curling closer, head tilting to brush her lips against my chest.

"How's your head?" lips curving up at the small disgruntled sound, muffled against me as she tugs at the blankets.

Eyes slipping away with a guilty telling gleam.

"I was going to get a tonic."

My lips twist with sympathy, fingers reaching to card through her hair, gently letting them work slow circles against her temple, the soft shaky sigh warm and grateful.

"You seemed just past tipsy last night... you were coherent for most of it." Unable to help the quirk of my lips when she tilts her head back to peer at me, a small grin playing at the full curve of her mouth. Inviting and flickering with playfulness.

"Oh don't worry Tae... I remember every instant of last night."

"Even when you lost words?" voice teasing and coy.

Her fingers curl tighter at my waist.

"Especially then."

My lips stretch into a smile, a pleasant flicker of heat briefly pulsing through me, though my attention drifts back to the pinch between (Y/N)'s brows, the small furrow that gives away that her head's hurting, in slight discomfort.

A quiet silence broken only by the rustle of sheets and our bodies shifting, adjusting to become comfortable, my lips lingering at her forehead, tucking her against me.

"Do you want me to get the tonic and bring breakfast up? Or do you feel like coming downstairs?"

Her arm briefly tightens around me at the suggestion.

Lips against the hollow of my throat.

"Want to stay with you."

"Downstairs then darling?"

She nods, making no move to slip away, instead curling closer, leg draped over mine, trying to be as entirely flush to me as she can be, her body warm curves and softness pressing to me, melding with my own limbs. Entangled and intertwined together.

A small protest that morphs into a bright bubble of laughter, giddy and surprised as I sit up, drawing her into my arms, blankets and all, and setting her on my lap.

"You will need to wear something... the last thing I want is to be so distracted by my wife that I either ruin the breakfast I want to make you... or decide that I didn't have enough of you yet."

"If my head wasn't working... I might've woken you otherwise." Voice soft and quiet and tinged with amusement, watching as I settle her on the bed first to slip off in search for a shirt to draw over her, eyes lingering distractedly across the small slithers of skin, the scatter of marks down her throat, across her shoulder dragging my eyes over and over to her.

"Tae! Shirt!" (Y/N)'s laugh is warm, eyes half-reproachful as she tilts her head towards the dresser, fingers curled into the blanket, shielding the sight of her bare body from view.

"Spoilsport." I grumble, tugging open the drawer to reach for the first soft-worn shirt, knowing the material will be gentle against her skin.

She doesn't reach for the shirt first.

Instead her hands draw the blanket off her, letting it fall, pooling around her waist, torso bare.

She knows the effect it has. Rooting my feet where I stand, steps halting and unable to even contemplate the thought of turning away.

She knows exactly what it does to take in the scattered marks that lie as proof of last night but with the stark clarity that light and morning and a clear mind brings.

It burns through me with a visceral, intense realisation as I look at the vivid marks blooming rich across the lines and curves of her skin.

It makes me realise that in that carnal, intoxicated haze of being utterly lost and drowning in her, that the morning colours the night before with a sharp starkness that makes my throat tighten.

Hands slow as she draws the shirt over her head, threading her arms through, tugging her hair free from the neckline. The fabric dipping and gaping, sagging where the fabric settles over her smaller frame, clings otherwise to generous curves. Blankets pushed away as she stands, the sight of bruised thighs, in that instant mind overwhelmed with the memory of how they felt wrapped around my waist. How they felt trembling and clenching, pressing her body tighter to the wall, of hands gripping tightly, tugging every roll and buck of her hips down to meet each thrust deeply. Fully. Remember how they looked angled open as she straddled me. Lips wicked and soft and hot against my own, against my skin.

Standing up, the shirt falls, covering the apex of her thighs, skimming lightly across her legs as she takes slow purposeful steps forward, coming to still in front of me. Our breaths quiet, gazes contemplative.

"Going to whisk me off my feet?"

"If you want to be held, you only ever need say... and even if you don't... I'd do it anyways."

There's a slither of distance between us and when I lunge forward suddenly, immediately she tries to jerk back, laughter shining in her eyes, hands winding around my neck as I scoop her up, a whirl of movement that ends with her hitched against me, secured in my arms, legs winding around my waist to cinch tight. The position intimately familiar.

A flicker of memory that melds with the present, the same position but bodies pressed close with impatience and hunger, with harried breaths and stolen, burning kisses that sent heat blazing in my lungs. That heat doesn't burn in this instant, a quiet contentment, a rightness at having her in my arms, hitching her up with a jolt, lips curved into a smile against her collarbone, pressing a kiss to the slither of skin where the neckline slips.

"Ever my charming gent aren't you Lord Kim?"

"The most chivalrous rogue you'll find."

Her lips press to my curls.

In my line of sight, the earring still glint at her lobe, a sharp flicker of arousal that I can't quite stifle, hands curling reflexively tighter.

"And he's all mine."

A hint of possessiveness lacing her words, her eyes holding my gaze.

Silently I tilt my lips to hers, rewarded with the gentle, slow brush of her lips against mine, slotting together briefly for a quick kiss.

"All yours." I affirm.

"Is that why you were so handsy last night?" I ask curiously, taking slow careful steps down, hands unconsciously cradling her tighter, more securely against me, peering as we descend, lips brushing against her hair, her head coming to settle against my shoulder.

A small pause of silence.

A lingering almost tense anticipation.

And then...

"You're too pretty. People always stare at you. Kept sending drinks over."

I laugh, turning my head to briefly nuzzle against her, lips and nose burrowing into her hair, breathing in her scent, pressing a smatter of kisses to sleep-rumpled hair.

"So you kept drinking them?"

She hums in answer.

"Can't let someone try woo and seduce a taken man... my husband in front of my eyes." Voice sharp and claiming and possessive in a way that makes my heart clench tightly with fondness and affection.

Even if I know that roaring, clawing feeling all too well.

"Defending my honour?"

"Only because it's mine to claim."

"Oh sweetheart you have no idea... you must've already been past tipsy. But there were far more drinks sent for you." I shake my head, remembering with a scorch of wild twisting jealousy. Remembering the lingering eyes settling on her. Remembering how much it'd made something in me yank, hands tugging her closer, drawing her on my lap.

Arms and lapful of (Y/N), tipsy and curling into my hold.

There's a soft laugh muffled against my shoulder, lips slotting over skin. The faint drag of teeth that's intentionally provoking, pressing more flush against me when my grip tightens in warning.

"Guess we're a perfect match then. We don't share what's solely ours."

I nose against her temple.

Words low and quiet.

"Hoarding me little jewel?"

"Absolutely."

---------------------

"I've got a new client... might be a bit late. Might be a bit early." I murmur between kisses, hands cupping (Y/N)'s cheeks, tugging her closer, lips curving upwards when she smiles against the seam of my mouth. Letting herself be drawn closer and closer, her hands clasping at my waist, clutching at my shirt.

"How late is late?"

"Won't make it to the store to pick you up. Not late enough that I won't be here tonight. Or before you sleep." Lips lingering longer and longer, a low groan rumbling in my throat at the brush of her tongue against my lips, chasing entrance, hand slipping to cup my jaw, the touch tender as she tilts my face to hers, the soft swathe of her nightgown invitingly coaxing. Tempting.

Trying to lure me back to bed, hands dragging down her spine, over the curve of her backside, tugging her closer, chasing the slow lazy indulgence for just a moment longer.

Unwillingly drawing away when she presses a final peck to my lips, her own slightly swollen, still sleep rumpled as she leans away. Eyes warm.

"Go knock 'em dead tiger." She cheers, laughing as I try chase her lips, drawing my hands away and off her, holding me at arm's length as she tilts her head with mock disapproval.

"But..."

"Who knows~ work hard and be quick and I may just be exactly where you're leaving me?"

"In bed looking like my fantasy?"

She grins.

The smile full of fire as she draws back, slow unrushed steps back, letting herself sink back down on the bed.

Legs bending as she draws herself back, away from me... moving further along the bed, ready to tuck herself back under the blankets once more, smile unrepentant- making a show of getting comfortable, drawing the pillows around her to blanket herself in more securely, more thoroughly encased with warmth.

It doesn't miss my notice how her way of tucking herself in, of curling her hands around a pillow to substitute for me, is the same way I've always fallen asleep. It's the same way I've been for a long time before (Y/N). And the same way I am on the rare occasions I wake to (Y/N) not in bed. Or when I've woken with a pillow in my arms to satiate that need, that comfort of holding something encased between my arms as I sleep.

Whether or not she's realised... the habit she's adopted is my own.

Her mannerisms melding with mine.

Unconsciously brushing off on one another, more deeply than we perhaps realise.

"If I remember right then most of your fantasies aren't of me in bed. But... come home, and see what one awaits anyways." She teases, words sinful and heavy, so entirely at odds with the domesticity and pure comfort of how she is in this instant.

To wake to this, to leave to this, to come back to this.

Forever isn't enough.

And her words spark both an impatience to rush home and to forego leaving in the first place.

My eyes narrow at her as I take one step back. Then the other.

Willing my mind to turn, willing to leave even if only to return to the same sight.

Her features bright with promise and tease.

Aglow with it.

"...not going into store today? I can wait." I offer.

Her smile widens.

Wriggling more comfortably under the blankets.

"Does it look like it baby? Off you go... have fun." Voice turning softer. Earnest.

Nodding her head towards the door.

It's almost reluctance in each step as I move towards the doorway. Hand stilling around the handle, tilting my head to peer back at her.

The sight branded into memory, to paint later.

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too."

And that same sight of her curled and tucked under the blankets, swathed in them, lingers even as I leave, a warmth seeping into my veins at the thought of committing the same image to canvas and paint. To add to the slowly filling walls of our home.

Another memory cherished and preserved.

And there for her to see... just how I see her.

The very heartbeat of our home.

­------------------

"It's a pleasure to meet you Lord Kim." Voice welcoming and eager, hand reaching for mine in a firm handshake before gesturing inwards, down the hallway past the front door. Gesturing inwards towards the drawing room.

"Likewise sir." Head dipping as I enter, bag slung over my shoulder, weighted and full of materials for sketches. Following his beckoning frame past the open doorway to the room, eyes falling onto the cluster of people dotted around the chaises and couches.

"This is my beautiful family. I want to commission you for a family portrait."

"Already talking business before I've taken a seat?" I ask with an easy grin, watching with no little amusement at the reproach his wife shoots him, gesturing to the adjacent couch.

"Pardon my husband Lord Kim. Please sit. Have tea. He's a bit eager since he heard you're free for commissions at the moment."

There's a weighted excitement and curiosity in their eyes, in the couple as they sit opposite me, in the familial similarities in their parents. An elderly man and woman, distinguishably Mr. Han's parents, they're older, features prominent and marked with age and sun.

"I don't blame him... there's talks of you." the elderly states, his recline confident and assured. Belonging. Mr. Han's father baring a striking familiarity to his younger version.

For a brief moment, a flicker of defensiveness strikes at me. Hot and sudden and angry.

For a moment it makes my gut feel heavy before it lightens with a relief. A relief that I don't look like my father. That when I age I won't resemble the very figure who shunned and rejected me to the end.

But this man... this man has a smile that makes the laugh lines around his eyes crinkle and his mouth curves into a wide, almost boastful grin.

It's disorienting and startling how friendly the elderly father's face is.

"Lord Kim chooses who he wishes to paint. He doesn't always say yes to every client." Eyes sharp and contemplative, smile disarming as he nods his head to me.

In almost what feels like approval and admiration both.

His words aren't of my lineage, of my bloodline.

It's of my work, my repute.

A wry smile tugs at my lips.

For all that the town is small... no-one truly knows the man behind the mask. The bandit. The bastard Kim. Or maybe... not many care.

There's only so long a story, a whisper of gossip, the possibility of a scandal can tempt... but when it bears no fruit, it falls apart. Fails to garner interest.

Maybe that's what's happened.

My hand reaches out to accept the teacup proffered to me, watch as the lady's husband moves to assist unconsciously, hand at her elbow, words low and brusque for his siblings and in-laws, an easy-going manner that doesn't go amiss. A seamless fluidness in interacting with one another.

And when tea is served... it seems to distract from the focus, from the reason why I'm even sitting in their drawing room, quietly observing, taking in their dynamic.

A well-oiled machine that's had time to learn one another, to slot together, to work. Time for a family to grow.

"You're a young artist Lord Kim." The lady of the house, Mrs. Han, the name comes to mind a few beats of silence later.

My lips curve as I nod, fingers curled against the delicate stem of the teacup.

Eyes drifting over the soft patterning.

"Best to start young no?"

She nods, her body unconsciously curved towards her husband's. The two of them naturally gravitated close.

"Did you learn from a master? Trained? Your repute precedes you."

I lift my teacup in a mock of a toast.

Shaking my head before taking a small sip. It's strong and sweet and hot. A brief heat slipping down my throat.

"Art cannot and should not be taught or learned... it's quite restricting to try guide a certain style. But I am fond of the classical styles myself."

A soft pinked flush.

Mr. Han's pretty rose.

Eyes averting even if a smile curves as she nods.

"Something beautiful about them. Raw and natural."

"It's a taste after all. And Mr. Han wishes for a family portrait. I assume of you all together?"

Interest sparks, conversations fading away for favour of focusing on the true matter at hand.

Painting them.

A family painting.

To capture the well-versed ease in canvas.

To preserve them at the peak of their youth, full of love and life.

"Our siblings... our parents have passed. We don't wish to leave a portrait until another leaves." But saying it doesn't bring sobriety. Just acceptance. A calm knowledge of the eventual inevitable.

And they want to preserve the remaining of their family.

Want a painting to commemorate and celebrate them.

They've already been immediately different than other families in the town.

"It depends on whether you'll choose us now. As worthy for your talent."

There's a small nudge of a hand steering the china three-tier stand forward, delicately small finger-sized sandwiches and cakes. A mixed assortment all prettily set forward.

My fingers reach forward for a strawberry tart, lingering on the words before saying them. Savouring the sweetness on my tongue.

"Will it be all of you?"

Mrs. Han gives a quick shake of her head.

"One more addition. Our child." The words said with such warmth and adoration, her gaze itself softening and proud.

But she's not with child and yet the mention softens all their gazes.

"He's asleep upstairs. But when he's awake you'll know—he really brings our world to life that much more." Mr. Han enthuses, eyes glowing with the knowledge, posture easy, hand curved around his wife.

They're settled and proud of the world they've made for each other, within each other. And how that world has grown to add a product of them.

"I'd... I'd like to paint your family portrait." I finally conclude, when the conversation leads back to business.

To painting.

The grandmother smiles at me, deep-set wrinkles not hardening the warmth in her expression. Something matronly and kind in soft light eyes.

"Do you have a family of your own?"

(Y/N) and Jin are the first to come to mind.

The others next. Kookie, Jimin, Namjoon, Hobi and Yoongi.

A family isn't cleaved from blood always. It's formed on trust and love and protection that lies beyond the bloodline that damned me.

A family... my family is chosen. And even though the family before me is loving and tight-knit, a surge of pride pulses through me.

Because my family... our portrait would be better. Would be pride of place at the very heart of our home.

Because my family is my own. And every one of them would choose me too just how I've chosen them.

"I do have a family. And I think a portrait will make this house even more alive."

Confirmation in my words. The sight of a family happy and thriving doesn't stir any feeling of anger or jealousy. A brief flicker of acceptance that we were all born to different families, different lifestyles and this family... are a far cry from the people who turned from me.

"I'll do the commissioned portrait."

Because they want to truly celebrate their family.

And because I've learnt day by day, week by week, year by year... that I'd give anything and everything from my family.

That starts and ends with (Y/N) and encases the people I love.

In a world of our own.

-----------------

"(Y/N)?" there's no sound when I enter the cottage, door closing with a quiet, near noiselessness behind me.

Hands careful as I let the door shut, eyes automatically falling to the open arch of the entry at the opposite end of the wide hall. There's no voice answering, calling out to confirm that she's here.

But she wasn't at the store. She wasn't there when I'd stopped by.

And neither had Jiminie.

Simply the closed sign marking that the shop was closed for business and the back entrance hadn't been open either.

Neither of them were at the store.

Which should've meant that maybe... maybe (Y/N) hadn't left. Maybe she was still at home.

And as the door clicks shut a thrilling finality slowly sinks in, flares to life the roar of arousal and desire and want so visceral my body tightly coils with it, heartbeat loud in my own ears.

"Honey are you home?" I call again, ears straining for the slightest sound, unable to tell whether she's upstairs or not.

Regardless...regardless there's a quick impatience trying to stir my steps up in a frantic dash for our bedchamber. To see if she is still in bed. Tugging quickly at the boots, heeled leather clacking against the flooring, abandoned on the hallway upstairs, treads turning quiet and secretive. A bated anticipation makes my heart clench tight, almost trying to subconsciously stifle the thrum of my heartbeat, half-fearing that if I can hear it echo in my ears then maybe...maybe (Y/N) can too.

The door's ajar, a slither of space that swings open quietly with a nudge and the sight that greets me makes my gut swoop. Breath seizing violently in my throat, a low throaty groan rippling past my lips, her name a prayer, a plea and wild disbelief on my lips.

"(Y/N)..."

There's not the same swaddled sight that greets me. Nor is she in the slightest sleepy, eyes bright and alert, head tilting to face me. She's not in the nightgown anymore.

But nor is she dressed. Rather the little she is wearing doesn't qualify for clothes.

The sight of her in a silky cream button up, kneeling on the sheets makes arousal slam into me sharp and sudden. The sight of her is enough to halt my steps and make every last thought crumble, slipping through an already faltering grasp.

"Home already my love?" voice questioning, lilting.

Her gaze trailing over me slowly.

From what I can see she's only wearing the shirt... my shirt and from the way it brushes over her curves I can already see the way her buds are peaked. Stiff.

"I had extra motivation to work hard."

"So you can play harder?" she completes, the curve of her mouth soft and wicked. Inviting with how she tilts slightly to watch me enter, tilting her head to my clothes.

"What I intended for you to come home to was your fantasy..." she murmurs, voice featherlight and soft, yet each syllable drags heavily against my body, a weighted caress that appears in the form of the phantom touch of her hands skimming across my body.

"Do enlighten me... which one is this?" approaching the bed, moving towards her, transfixed by the sight of her.

And as I move closer, I realise that the stretch of distance between us didn't do her justice, didn't let me see that lying in front of her are silk scarves, vibrant and richly patterned, her fingers absently working over the fabric, twisting the fluid material between her hands. It's closeness as I come to gravitate and still at the foot of the bed that I realise she's not wearing a single scrap of clothing underneath.

Her throat glittering with delicate gold jewellery, layered chains and gems that gleam against her skin, settle over her collarbones, her clavicles, rest over her cleavage, jewels against glowing skin. It's here I can see that every single piece of jewellery is my own... are ones she's always admired but never frequently worn.

And the moment I take her in fully. Take her in entirely... without asking I know exactly what fantasy she is.

What fantasy come to life she is, actualised and there on our bed.

But I want to hear her say it. Another pulse of desire, electric and heady.

"I prettied myself up. All for you. All yours. Every inch, every jewel, every fibre... yours."

I let one knee sink down onto the bed, then the other, body still standing taller than hers, her hands drawing one of the brightly rich silk scarves into her grasp.

"All mine?"

"All yours. Every bit of me. Isn't that what you want? What isn't a fantasy alone? For one look to be enough for anyone to know I'm yours. Isn't this what you want... for your claim to be on every single inch of my body before you even get to put a single finger on me?" words low, dulcet and dripping honeyed lust.

Her words are kindling to an already scorching blaze. And with her words, my very breaths become alight, burning on their way down, leaving a stinging trail to mark their course down my lungs, every exhale sharp and wavering.

Turned hungering and desperate.

"It is."

Her fingers drift up to hold out the scarf, a proffered offering, the light fabric held out to me with weighted intent.

Watching as I gently tug the fabric free from her lax grip, thumbing at the explosively colourful print, the material soft and giving under my touch.

I watch as (Y/N) holds her hands up, crossed delicately at her wrists, eyes glinting with knowledge.

"Want me to tie you up?" voice carrying a hoarse bite to it.

"Well, if your very fantasy is claiming me in every single way then surely... surely that means that everything you do... surely that means I'm yours bandit. Yours to have your wicked way with me."

My hand curls reflexively into the scarf, fisting around it. Grip tight, knuckles whitened with pressure.

"And you're going to take it? Be my pretty pillow princess? All tied up and ready to take me?"

Her eyes glitter.

"Whatever you want my Lord Kim." words breathy and soft with sensual.

A dangerous sweetness to her words that fuels the molten want that the two of us are lost in, her gaze beckoning, watching me close the distance, her hands held out for me, my vacant hand clasping over hers, thumb brushing over the delicate skin.

Hand curling around her wrist to tug her forward, nose brushing against hers, lips a hairsbreadth apart. Heat suffused with my veins, pulsing heat and desire through my body, already tightly coiling. Gut tight.

Hand curling possessively around her wrist, already envisioning the silk binding them together, of my hand pinning silk-bound wrists back, already desperate to unbutton the shirt to see the jewellery glitter against her skin, see her body without it entirely buttoned up and hidden away.

"So, let's start with you unbuttoning that shirt sweetheart."

------------------

"Stop squirming baby." I laugh, lips continuing their downwards descent, fingers slipping open one button after the other, baring more and more of her to me until the shirt falls open entirely. Lips brushing down her navel, past where the jewellery rests against dewy skin. Teeth lightly nipping at soft flesh, her hips wriggling as she bucks under me, twisting on the sheets. The movement makes the gold at her throat and settled against her sternum, hips bucking futilely, featherlight kisses fleetingly brushing over her skin, curls brushing against her skin, fingers curling against her hips. A brief, tight squeeze.

"But Tae—"

"You said... to have my wicked way with you." I repeat, murmuring the words low against her skin, fingers clasping her bound wrists, smoothening my hand over the silk, bound secure enough that she can't twist her folded wrists free. Her fingers briefly curl, trying to clutch at my own, a tight squeeze as she tries to will me closer.

"I know..."

"So be good for me little jewel." I lilt, the slight drag of lips, tongue and teeth, mouthing at skin, head briefly rising to admire the smatter of colour marking the trail of my touch from her lips downwards, blooming just as bright and vivid as the splotches of colour on the scarf.

My body lifts up from its sprawl across the bed, settled between her thighs, silken restraints keeping them splayed and angled open, frustration bleeding into her movements, eyes dark and hot as she holds my gaze, drawing her hands up.

"Hands above your head sweetheart." I croon, lips pressing to the crease of her hip and thigh, feeling the way her muscles coil under me, tightly clenching with anticipation. Watch as she complies, drawing them upwards, bound hands stretched out over her hair, settled somewhere amongst the pillows. The movement makes her body arch, back curving off the sheets, a splayed present of her body, throat bared.

A feral hungering part of me longs for her on such a visceral, deep level that as my head lowers between her thighs there's nothing I want than to sink my teeth deep into her.

Her legs jolting, body making the decision before my brain truly gets to catch up, mouth brushing lower and lower, teeth sinking in harsh against the soft, sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Hard enough to bruise, hard enough to leave the indent of my teeth behind, hard enough to purple her skin.

"Fuck—Taehyung." Words rippled past her lips, shuddered out in a breathless keen.

"We'll get to that beautiful. I want to take my time with you. I've got forever to watch you fall apart."

"Abandoning your roguish bandit ways?" voice breathless.

"Every time it comes to you I will always be your rogue. I will always steal every precious sound, every release, every moment of your pleasure. Always your bandit." I murmur, tongue flicking against the bright mark, lips closing around it, sucking harsh, needing nothing more than for the mark to last days. For her to see it, feel it every single time she's getting ready, every time her eyes chance upon a mirror.

There's a slight tremor in her legs, hands smoothening over her thighs, eyes dragging to the apex of her thighs, the taste of her arousal already thick on my tongue. Core slick.

"I haven't even touched you and you're this wound up little jewel?" words low against her skin, fingers tracing idle circles and patterns, inching closer and closer to the apex of her thighs.

"What'll happen if I focus all my attention here now? Not like you're going anywhere. And you've had all day to decide how you were going to be my torment. I've had all day of waiting."

The silken ties keep her legs from closing but reflexively her thighs try to clench anyways, hips bucking restlessly, body arching off the bed.

"Going to make me yours until it's all I can say?"

"Exactly."

------------------

The first series of sketches go...disastrously.

Because there's one small constantly moving figure darting up, wriggling, unable to sit still long enough for me to capture the angle of Mrs. Han's arm curved around her toddler, the tilt of her body towards her husband. It's small wriggles and shuffles at first, small disturbances quietened by a hushed murmur or soft coo, or something small momentarily placed in his hands to fiddle with.

But then the soft toy falls.

And he scrabbles off carefully draped skirts to get to the toy, stumbling and foot landing on his mother's skirts as she stands, the sound of tearing fabric almost lost in the sounds of her child's delight, the stumble that has the entire pose shattering and crumbling in front of my eyes.

The first sketch is lines and shadows that form no decipherable shape or silhouette.

The second is worse somehow. The toddler's constant restlessness momentarily being hushed long enough to just about begin forming a rough outline when the grandparents stand with fatigue, exhausted from holding the posture. A bustling retreating figure muttering about tea and the other for stretching his legs.

A brief flicker of impatience has my grip tightening around the stick of charcoal, clenching at it tightly before I let it fall against the large sketch journal.

Resigned as I slump back, body arching and twisting and hands tugging at my curls with the beginnings of the slightest frustration.

Deep quiet breaths draw in.

It could be worse... it could be worse.

"I apologise Lord Kim, our little one isn't used to sitting around doing nothing." His father apologises, tone warm and affectionate, eyes tracking the young, small boy rush about the drawing room, the perfect press of his clothes becoming rumpled, eyes bright with delight as he tries to wriggle into a corner space of where a couch is next to shelves. Trying to somehow fit into an impossibly small space.

A wry grin tugs at my lips.

"If a fussing child is the largest of my woes than it's safe to say I've lived well for this to be my grievance."

The man smiles before slipping away, gravitating close to his toddler, kneeling on the ground beside him, uncaring of the especially fine clothes he's worn for their portrait, unbothered to the fact that it could somehow distinguish his image.

It's startling and refreshing how much this family seems different. And that rather than scolding, his wife bears a bright smile, the tear in her skirts wide and gaping. Blatantly noticeable. But what she chooses is to card her fingers through both their hair before she drifts. A flitting spirit, restless and attuned to all the energies in her house. Quiet and comforting and warm towards her in-laws and equally as loud to match her child's energy.

The second day isn't entirely a waste. Because I return home, fingertips stained with charcoal and half-formed fleeting sketches of figures curved together, a couple with their heart set between them, hands intertwined around to protect and cherish... sketches of people old and in love, lined features marking age and affection both. Marking how vibrantly they've lived because laughter crinkles their eyes and not scowls twisting their lips.

It's nothing like I've ever known.

And the second day ends with a wistful ache sitting heavily in my heart.

Wondering whether this is what it would've been like to grow up with two present parents who loved me. Whether it'd have been like this to receive the acceptance and loving nurturing shadows of my own grandparents.

And when that ache dissipates, a hollowness sets.

And it's chased away only by (Y/N) curled up long hours in my arms, silently chasing away the ache that I don't even know has made itself present to her. To be tended to and brushed away.

Cobwebs that disintegrate with fierce swipes and an even fiercer squeezing hug that encases the two of us together.

Lips pressing to skin.

Home in her arms.

At home with her.

[.....]

My arms wind around (Y/N) to press against her back, hand brushing her hair away from her neck, lips lowering to press against the curve of her throat, trailing down to mouth and nuzzle against the crook of her neck.

"Thank you." I mumble.

"For what?" head tilting back to grant me access, hands continuing to slice fruit, pausing briefly to press a kiss against my cheek, smiling against my lips when I tilt her face to mine. A gentle soft kiss.

Trying to convey everything unspoken I want to say yet she doesn't need me to, nose nudging against mine, head tilting closer as she looks at me.

Eyes softening as she nods slightly.

Nothing needs to be said.

But the thanks is pressed to her lips in slow soft kisses again and again, the quiet thud of the knife against the chopping board.

Body turning to lean to me, arms winding around me, hands folded, steered away from my hair, trying to tug me closer regardless.

My hand brushes down her spine, settling against the low of her back to draw her to me.

"For knowing me. For being there for me."

"Always. For better for worse remember?" echoing our vows that've been spoken years ago but still make an unconscious shiver to wrack my body. The words soft and quiet but there's no way I could miss them.

"How can I ever forget?" voice low.

She smiles, head tilting to peer up at me, posture soft and curved towards mine. Gravitating closer.

There's no resisting that unconscious tug that reels the two of us in closer and closer. There's no moment in my life that I would ever want to resist.

"So when you feel sad some days... I'll hold you."

"I hope you never have sad days." I mumble, rather than echoing her words, head tilting to rest my forehead against hers, feel her arms tighten slightly.

"Should I be honest?" I nod.

"Even if I ever do... they won't truly be sad. Because you'll see them through with me."

I nod again. Lips slotting to hers to vow and promise all over again. A spark of desperation entangling with gratitude, mouth almost turning feverish and aching against her. Melding harsher, sharper against the welcoming softness of her lips.

"Forever." I whisper.

She nods, letting the embrace linger before her arms slowly unwind, half-turning back towards the fruit.

"I was going to make you breakfast before you woke."

"Well now I can be your pretty assistant." Trailing after her, peering past her shoulder. Watching as she places all the cut fruit into a glass bowl, head gesturing to the paper parcels on the counter.

"Can you get the bread then? I've got the tea already brewing." skirts swishing around her as she walks to the dining table, already half-set with teacups and plates. There's no order or specificity to our home, everything is where we simply want it to be, or where it's left.

It always feels lived in and that alone brings comfort and normalcy and safety greater than maybe (Y/N) will ever know.

Settling into a chair as she reaches for a cup, carefully pouring out two cups, moving with an unconscious pattern, always the sugar before the milk, the same repetitive clink of the teaspoon against china as she stirs. The habitual sight of her taking her tea before anything else, eyes tracking me as I reach the table, tugging my seat towards her. The sound of the chair being dragged and screeching and tugging a pleased, amused smile from behind the rim of the cup.

There's habit in knowing her reactions before she even gives them. There's habit in knowing that every morning one of us will tug a chair closer, preferring knees touching, bodies angled to one another, the rest of the wooden table stretching out, the two of us curled together.

It's as though no matter how much I have of her, it'll never be truly and wholly satisfied with much more I still ache of her. How much I still want her despite being close.

"Third time lucky?" she asks, enthusiasm interjected with optimism, smiling encouragingly as she reaches for the fruits, nudging the bowl forward, fork in hand as she pierces a bright red berry. Nudging it to my lips until they part, nearly instantly, teeth sinking into the soft fruit. Sweet and tart all at once. Drawing the berry off the fork, lips parting as she reaches to pierce a different fruit this time, waiting for me to finish chewing.

The sweetness lingers on my tongue and lips as I curl my hand around her wrist, steering it to her mouth instead.

Briefly distracted.

"Third time lucky. If I could somehow get the little boy to still long enough for me to get his outline figured out first." I laugh, shaking my head at the thought, already knowing that his energetic nature won't allow for him to sit still. To sit without fuss or complaint.

"Sometimes they just need a distraction. Sometimes they need incentive. Although that trick works on just about anyone."

"Works well enough for you." I retort with an easy grin.

Her eyes sparkle with amusement, the curve of her lips warm and happy.

"And you. And Mimi, and everyone. It's a tried and tested method. Give the child something to do or try expel his energy before he sits for the sketch. Get it out his system."

I nod along, trying to wonder... trying to figure out something.

Third time lucky... third time lucky.

"I have a feeling once you figure that out—this is going to be one of your best pieces yet."

I shake my head, hand brushing curls away from my face, leaning into my palm and closer to her. Examining her. Eyes drifting over her face, over each feature so familiar and more known to me than my own.

"Any painting that has you is my best work."

"Aren't you a sweet talker?" she lilts.

"Only for my wife."

[......]

"We'll be ready whenever you are Lord Kim."

Today's attempt is a different location. In the adjacent, connecting room that leads out to their garden, the natural lighting casting both glows and shadows on the couch. The backdrop of overgrown shrubbery and blackberry bushes, of green leafy branches crowding against the windowpanes.

"Where's your son?" I ask curiously, head tilting to peer around the room, searching for the bundle of energy.

"In the back garden."

And it's only then that I notice the slightly ajar backdoor, the curtains fluttering with the barest breeze, only just making the fabric shift.

"Got green fingers?" moving towards the door, a smile curling at my lips when I brush the curtain aside slightly to look outside.

Carefully and quietly slipping out, treads light. He doesn't notice me approaching, doesn't notice me silently approaching him, crouched down and hunched over a flowerbed. He's speaking but I can't hear what, can't make out the stream of words and sounds. But he sounds animated.

And curiosity draws me closer despite myself, gravitating nearer and nearer until I'm hovering behind him, watching as fingers gently pet at the petals of fully-bloomed flowers, mumbling quietly to them.

"....grow well..." fingers gently rubbing at soft petals between his hand, somehow consciously aware of their delicacy, of how easily they could crumble and fall apart under his own touch.

I crouch down beside him, watching as he startles, only realising someone's beside him when he crouch-waddles to the next flower only to realise I'm there.

Eyes growing wide, lips parted in a small o of surprise.

Eyes blinking owlishly at me, confused before faint recognition filters somewhere in his gaze.

Half-shrinking back, hand drawing away from the flowers he was petting even if it's apparent he wants to continue talking to them, sight straying with longing.

"Do you like flowers..." I trail off, only processing now that I don't his name.

The Hans. And their son.

But what was his name?

A small nod.

Silence.

"What's your favourite one?" shifting slightly on my feet, still crouched beside him, but even so... his frame is dwarfed by me, looking impossibly small.

Children are tiny.

Silently he points to a brightly coloured flower.

"Bluebells?"

A contemplative tilt.

"Blue—bells!" he repeats, eyes darting to mine for confirmation.

His enthusiasm at my nod makes some tiny part of me flicker with amusement, lips twitching.

"Bluebells!" he repeats for himself, pointing to them, overcoming his brief shyness to crouch over them, small fingers ghosting along the drooped bell shape.

So careful with them.

An idea flits across my mind.

"What's your name?"

His gaze drifts.

Again unwillingly.

It's startling how careful and gentle and still he is when he's crowding over the flowers.

And just how restless he seems to be indoors.

But there's no outdoor seating to accommodate the family, not in the way that would let them sit comfortably for a long stretch of time...

But still.

"Ji Woo."

"Ji Woo I have an idea... how about you take some flowers in for your mama?" he tilts his head.

"But! You have to hold them carefully because they're so small right?"

Eager nods.

I carefully lean to pluck some flowers, carefully building a small baby bouquet for him to carefully cradle, his eyes shining, chubby hands curling gently around the stems.

"And when we're done you can give them to her. A gift."

"Mama's gift!"

I nod.

Hand reaching out to absently brush over the flowers when I unconsciously still.

Letting my hand fall away just as quick before standing up.

"Should we try keep the flowers as pretty as possible?"

He nods.

"For mama."

My heart pulses with a warmth that slowly, slowly seeps into my veins. A faint curling of something purely touched by the giddiness of his eyes, slowing his usual frantic rushing as he enters.

There's affection and tenderness in his parents' gaze as he approaches.

"Dada up!" hands scoop him up carefully, but even so he gets a reproach, a careful curving of Ji Woo's hands clutching his bouquet closer, away from any damage.

"Careful."

My smile tugs wider, watching them all sit down, Ji Woo settled on his dad's lap this time.

Though his natural demeanour is restless, always fidgety and eager to move. Eager to draw the orbit of his world to him again, family clustered close... this time it actually works.

And his fidgets are contained, far too aware of the flowers he holds in his gentle grip. Sometimes the bouquet slips from his fingers, body jerking with alarm, eyes flaring wide with panic.

But I don't even need to still, fingers curling a fraction tighter around the stick of charcoal, stilling from my silhouetted outline, pausing in the shading of the way the sunlight casts shadows where Mrs. Han's elaborately curled hair rests against full cheeks.

Pausing but not realising why I had. Fingers continuing to move, smudging charcoal against the line of her face, sketching journal set against my easel, eyes constantly drifting backwards to the sight.

I don't realise I'm smiling until Ji Woo catches my eyes, gaze meeting mine, nodding his head proudly towards the small bouquet he holds, calm and content, body half-drooped against his father's, sleepy eyes blinking wider.

"Ji Woo just a few more minutes."

I don't know why I address the toddler. Why it makes my smile unconsciously widen at his beam, only noticing now that he's missing a tooth, smile lopsided.

It's...oddly endearing.

And it only takes a few lingering beats of quietness for me to realise that Ji Woo, the sight of the child doesn't spark the same frustration the past two days have bubbled towards.

That his calmness, the fact that the idea worked and he's more focused on peering at the flowers, occasionally dipping his head to chase their floral perfumed scent... that I realise... realise that Ji Woo isn't... grating on my senses in the way I had believed.

That maybe it was impulse to feel disheartened at the sight.

And that getting through to him... in this small way.

Somehow has let me get through to myself too.

Not all kids are bad.

Not all kids grow up bad.

And this one... seeing a child be loved. Makes it a tiny bit easier to forget the way I grew up.

Makes that softening hurt soften a tiny bit more.

And if I smile a tad bit wider whenever Ji Woo chases my gaze... then that's for me alone to know.

[......]

"It went well." (Y/N) watches me enter the drawing room, body half-curving from where she's curled in the large couch, facing the hearth.

"How can you tell?"

"I can."

"How?" I press, padding forward quietly, watching as she draws the blanket away from around her, slightly opening up her swaddled form to offer me space, wriggling to press further against the back of the couch.

"I just can. Your smile's extra pretty today." Drawing the blanket up before clambering in carefully beside her, slipping in beside her, body immediately pressing closer to her, arm winding around her, half-propped up against the mound of cushions, fingers reaching to brush my knuckles against her cheek.

Lips pressing to her hair, her forehead, the tip of her nose and one rosy cheek then the other.

"Is that your way of asking for a kiss?"

Her hand brushes upwards, skimming over my shirt and resting against my sternum.

Fingers looping around the laces, a tug as she draws me closer to her, body half-curving to hover over her, twisting slightly.

"I don't need to ask for what's mine to take Taehyungie." Voice quiet, reeling me in.

Kiss slow and unrushed. Unable to help the smile that curves against the welcoming lilt of her mouth. My smile coaxing her own.

"You don't..." I murmur, content to lose myself to her gaze rooting me above her, her hands warm against my skin, curling around my nape and tugging me closer, fingers against my hair, the other in my shirt.

"So? Did it work? Distracting the child?"

"It did... it turns out. He has green fingers like Joon."

A curious head tilt.

"The boy reminded you of Joon?"

"His way with plants did."

The corners of her lips curve deep.

Eyes crinkling slightly.

"Bet you handed him a plant."

My nose nudges against hers, curls brushing against skin, curving closer and closer to the heat of her body, chasing the comfort of the cosiness she's entirely swathed with.

"Know me so well?"

"I know that's how Mimi handles Joon." Words assured and confident.

Hushed and affectionate.

"So if you had to distract me?"

"Easy. Jewel myself up for you."

But right now she doesn't need to distract me with pretty trinkets, shiny jewels and all of them adorning her.

Her blanketed form, curled up on the couch in front of the blazing hearth is enough.

But nothing's said, smiles pressed against one another and her arms winding around me to draw me further against her, drawing me closer, tugging the blanket against me. Tucking me against her.

Heads resting against the cushions.

It's silent as the flames at the fireplace crackle, the sound of wood burning and embers sparking. The smell and sight of a hearth's gently burning fire is comforting and lulling.

Lets me sink further against her, arms winding around her, and hers around me, to tuck against one another, nuzzling against her hair.

"Can I see the sketches later?"

"...after a nap. And dinner. And sleep." I bargain.

"So... tomorrow?" she laughs, the sound vibrant and rich, muffled against my chest.

"Tomorrow."

[......]

"You've not even started painting yet and look at your hands." (Y/N) marvels, her voice breaking me out of my reverie, body startling as I straighten.

Hissing reflexively at the tightness in my limbs, hunched over the pots of paint I've been working steadfastly over.

Eyes drifting to see what she means, smile tugging at my lips at the stained rich pigments splattered over my hands.

My hands have a dull ache in them that I only become aware of as I sink back, tired of the constant grinding of the materials in the pestle and mortar, trying to get the strongest shades of colour.

"I didn't hear you come in." I answer in lieu of response.

She brings a finger to her lips, her expression slightly tired and rumpled. But her smile curves behind her forefinger.

"I can be sneaky if I want. I am married to a bandit."

My lips tug into a grin.

"Am I rubbing off on you?"

She gives a small nod before tilting her head to me.

"Keeping your shirt clean?" gesturing to the apron tied around me. It's one of my favourites to wear for painting, for making the paints. It's got countless smears of colour across it.

And for all that I've tried to keep the paint from ruining my shirt, it's still managed to slightly splatter against rolled up sleeves. Staining my skin and the edge of the cuffs.

"Trying to."

"I like your shirts with the paint splatters... it adds to them." She murmurs, stepping forward to move out towards the veranda, shoes already slipped off.

Fingers reaching for the pins tying her hair up and away from her face.

She looks exhausted and as her fingers slip into her hair, it's to massage at her temples and scalp, a rueful look on her face, setting the pins down onto the table, fingers brushing over the flowers.

Oddly.

Oddly... it brings to mind the same gentleness Ji Woo had touched the flowers with. But the connection, that flash of memory fades and melts just as quick and sudden as it had appeared.

Quietly padding over to crouch down behind me, arms winding around my torso, head resting on my shoulder, tilting to mine.

"Are you just saying that because we can't ever wash the stains out?"

"Nope. I think they add character. Now who's got green fingers?" she teases, leaning against me. Hugging me from behind, hair tickling my cheek, smiling as I curve into her.

"I think I'll smell of paint for quite a while now." Musing at the stains, holding my hands outwards.

Watching as one of her hands, smaller and slighter, unfurls from around my chest to grasp at my fingers, brushing over paint-stained fingers, over where one in particular.

"Where's your wedding ring baby?"

"I don't want to get it dirty. Or ruined by any of the oils and... things that go into this." Peering down at the rich vibrancy of green.

Trying to match it to the exact hue of green the shrubbery in the Hans' garden had been.

Wondering if it's enough for the large canvas.

"More is better. I mean you like painting—might save you time for your next project." She murmurs, picking the thoughts out of my head, from the contemplative silence.

"I want to do season paintings of you at some point." I admit, head turning to face her. Hand reaching to carefully brush hair away, fingers hesitant to get the green on her hair, against her cheek, her hand reaching out to draw mine to her, hand cupping her cheek, thumb rubbing over her cheekbone.

Leaving a smear of vibrant evergreen across her skin.

Body twisting to curve to hers, lips pressing a kiss to her forehead, letting my lips ghost along her lips, slow and unhurried.

Tilting closer to let the kiss linger, the deep-set stiffness slowly quietening, fading to the back of my mind as I curve closer to her, lean into the cradle of her hands drawing me closer. Soft pecks against my lips, forehead resting against mine.

"But I want a painting with you." words soft.

My hand reaches to draw her closer, leaving a smear of green to streak across her skin and hair.

"Then I'll find the best painter to do that for us. But until then... I want to paint you. I want to paint you in every season, I want to paint you until the reminder of how lucky I am is on every wall of this house."

"Can't really fuck me against the walls then can you?" words coy and molten.

A quiet rippled growl slips past my lips before I lunge for her, lips bruising against hers. The kiss turning sharper, fiercer against the soft lure of her wicked mouth, her tongue sweeping against the seam of my lips. Hot and slick against my own, brushing through the laxness of my mouth, granting her entry, groan muffled against her.

Fingers aching to curl tighter, refraining... just about.

"Don't worry—that won't be a problem." I promise, voice ragged when I draw back the slightest, teeth sinking in harshly against her bottom lips, kisses fleeting scorching flames that brand each other with the imprint of our own mouth. Leaving behind a scatter of claims.

"Besides... you like making a mess." I laugh breathlessly, the words low and wrenched out of me, eyes dragging over her the pleased glimmer in her eyes, the enticing curve of her body as she draws back, propping herself up on her arms, skirts shifting as her legs move.

Eyes drifting to the paint then to me.

"Bath?"

I'm already reaching for her, scrabbling to my feet to lunge for her, her laugh ringing loud as she ducks away, fingers hastily tugging at the stays and lacings of her dress to let fabric flutter to the ground, discarding clothes bit by bit. A scattered trail that marks her retreat, rushing upwards, steps quick and light despite the tiredness that'd clung to her.

I already know how the rest of the day will pan out and that for all that it's rushed and eager now, body hurrying after her, pace quickening as I lunge for her, letting her duck and slip away... that it'll be slow...slow...slower once we get to the bathing chamber.

Unrushed now that we have each other. Unrushed because to bring the exhaustion of her day to an end, to ease away the aches and slight stiffness, there's a contentedness in holding each other, bodies slick with water. That the slow unrushed intimacy of lips and hands slowly exploring, slowly taking each other apart, brings with it a greater overwhelming peak and boneless satiation that makes me want nothing more than to sink into her and find my home there.

And with the day apart, lost in our jobs, I want nothing more than to slowly savour every moment since she'd stepped into my eyeline.

A giddy unevenness to her breathing once the door closes behind me, her body bare as she stands in front of me. Every line and curve and dip of her beautiful, riveting. Rooting me to where I stand, mouth drying as I take her in. Watch her gaze drift to the tub, hands twisting the tap, water rushing to fill the deep wide space.

The roar of the water rushing entangles with the loud pulse of my heartbeat echoing in my ears.

Suddenly all the time in the world exists now that I'm looking at her.

My own hands are unrushed. Drawing the apron ties open, tugging it up and over my head. Feeling her gaze follow each movement. But she makes a soft sound of complaint, hand stretched out for me to walk towards her.

"Long day at work?" I ask, voice quieter, approaching her, watching as her hand absently card through her hair once more, fingers brushing against her scalp.

Coming to still in front of her.

"A bit. We were working on a dress... it's so fiddly. Hurts my hands. And my eyes." She admits with a soft sigh, hands reaching for my shirt, slowly drawing it off me, movements careful and slow, hands dragging against skin, warm pressing to warmth, chasing out the feel of my pulse against her palm.

"Do you need something for it? We have herbal pills. I can give you a massage." I offer, watching her hands flit down to my breeches, the drag of nails teasingly slow down my abdomen, delighting in the unconscious clench, fingers curling at my sides. Letting her toy with the buttons, slow as she undoes them, a torturously drawn out pace.

"Massage sounds nice... does the talent run in the family?" lips quirked teasingly as she sinks down, drawing the fabric down my legs, the fit of them already loose. Slipping down without trouble, her lips pressing slow kisses across my hipbone.

Frustratingly slow and teasing.

Menace.

"I can be better than Jin." The claim low and quiet. Her hands dragging against skin, mouth ghosting painfully close to my length, her fingers encircling it loosely. A fleeting sensation of a slowly drawn out drag of skin against skin. A flicker of pleasure before she draws back, hands curling around my hips to draw upwards, body pressing flush to mine.

"He's got some talent. He's had years—"

My lips slot to hers.

Firm and unyielding.

"But I have forever. And I didn't need years to figure out how to make every inch of you melt." Confident and assured.

Cocky.

(Y/N)'s smile is delighted.

Sharp.

Something hungry that flickers across her features.

"That's true. I married the best Kim."

"No doubt about it."

Hands leaving smears of green against the curve of her hips as I tug her closer.

"Mrs. Kim bath first? And then I'll show you how skilful my hands can be."

"Yes please. My ever so talented Lord Kim."

And her legs immediately lock around me as I hoist her up in my arms, her hands dragging against my biceps.

Curving closer to me with a smile on her face.

"Always one to whisk me off my feet aren't you?"

"Actions speak louder than words." I lilt, moving towards the filling tub, water sloshing, the heat of it immediately chasing to leech the stiffness and fatigue of the day off the two of us. Her legs tighten around me, lips brushing against my jaw.

"Oh but I also love it when you speak pretty filth to me too. Your words alone do things to me."

I tilt my head to nose along her cheek, pressing lingering kiss after kiss, trailing closer to the sensual curve of her mouth, sinking down with her drawn against me, hands dragging down her back to tug her that much more closer.

Head tilting back to peer at her, thumbing at her bottom lip.

"But your mouth will be my ruin."

"It's what I vowed to do. To be your ruin and salvation both." She lilts, words hushed and reverent for the wicked promises she echoes to me now.

"Living upto your vows?"

"Always."

--------------------

I don't notice the near quiet treads until they come to still right beside me and a small hand tugs at my arm, trying to draw my attention away from painstakingly painting the fine detail of the pattern that matches the Hans' waistcoat and bodice. Fingers immediately stilling, drawing away the paintbrush from the canvas as my gaze drifts down.

Large soft brown eyes peering up at me.

Another tug.

"Hi Ji Woo."

A small smile but he doesn't speak.

Just tugs at my arm again, small insistent tugs until I let my hand fall away from the canvas, carefully holding the paintbrush away from the beginning of the artwork taking form. It's more sketch still than paint, more blank space than colour but it seems that once I've let my hands fall away. Once my arm's stopped obstructing his view, he peers at the canvas with shining curiosity.

He doesn't speak, silently reaches a hand out for the canvas, my body flaring with a brief pulse of panic, carefully catching his hand, watching as he stills entirely.

"Where did you even get your hands dirty? You've been sleeping most of the time." I ask with a laugh, gently drawing him back the slightest, reaching for a damp washcloth, soaking it in water and wringing it of excess, the fabric already stained with pinks and reds, carefully taking one small hand in my own.

Watching as he lets his hand still on mine, struck with a mix of awe and bewilderment with how small his hand is. Dwarfed hugely by my own, gently rubbing the smear of dirt from his hands, touch turning gentler—not entirely sure how tender or careful to be. Not entirely sure whether my touch already is too harsh against his small hand.

This moment of close proximity is already more than I've ever had to a child. To someone small and defenceless. And I don't know... exactly how to react. And that even though I've been near Ji Woo, remembering the time in the garden, the memory flitting easily to mind, there's something different about how trustingly he peers at me, watching my hand attentively.

And when I relinquish my loose featherlight hold on his hands, once they're no longer dirty, his focus has already long since drifted back to the canvas, lingering for a few minutes longer. Silently just looking.

And then he slips away as quietly as he'd came.

Silently padding back, tugging at his mother's skirt with more vocal eagerness.

"Mama up!"

My eyes linger at the way his face lights up but his parents and grandparents even more so. For the four of them, this small child is the centre of their world and orbit. They all gravitate to and around Ji Woo.

I don't know how that feels.

But the sight is familiar.

I grew up to that sight, but looking in on it from the outskirts. I know what I'm painting because I saw the same portraits, though rigid and stiff, in the house I grew up in. I was surrounded by the proof of how much I didn't belong.

So to have Ji Woo at the heart of the portrait, as the very core and centre is something I've never known. But it's where I always saw Jin.

But the memories don't bring the same stirring pain. And the jealousy has long since quietened. It's been nearly as far back as I can remember, that stretch of fumbling into being a man, an adult... that Jin had already been there.

That even if our father hadn't loved me, Jin always had.

And now... seeing this portrait, getting to paint this family... I wonder what the painter who did the Kim family portrait saw. Wonder if looking back at those same paintings I'd see stiff coldness rather than the warmth of a hearth- familial and welcoming, that I feel painting the Hans.

But for some reason... it doesn't bother me anymore.

It hasn't bothered me for a while.

But I don't know when it stopped chipping at me, gnawing at me.

Don't know when I'd made peace with a part of myself, not able to pin it to a specific time or moment in my life. Except... at this moment in my life, it is at it's most beautiful. And the happiest I've ever been.

And when my eyes drift from the canvas to the family... it sparks something warm in my chest at the sight.

[......]

"You're home!" quick steps greet me, the bright exuberance in her voice loud and surprised. Quick treads that approach me from behind, arms winding around me, my hands immediately drifting to squeeze her entangled hands when my brain seems to pause. Hands stilling.

Twisting to peer at her.

A startled low sound rippling past my lips.

"Do you always wander around with nothing but pretty scraps on when I'm not home?"

A coy head tilt.

"Who knows what I get upto when you're not home sweetheart?" she lilts, trying to draw back when my hands snap into motion, tugging at her arms to draw her back against me, moving away from the stove before I turn. Leaning against the counter.

Turning to face her so I can truly take her in.

Admiration and attraction is always such a deadly combo.

And right now I know I fare no better, hands curling against the counters, eyes dragging over the loose silken slip, straps already slipping off her shoulders, body bare under it. I know it is, eyes lingering at pebbled, hard buds straining against the fabric, silk slipping over curves and clinging to her hips before it rests along her thighs.

"Besides... you've seen me in nightgowns before!" she laughs, fingers drawing one stray strap up, the scrap of fabric next to nothing, both at her shoulder and the nightgown she labels the scrap of cream silk.

"Not this one."

The wetness of her hair leaves beading droplets of water to trickle down bare skin, dripping into the silk, leaving dark splotches behind.

"I made it. Do you like it~"

"Yes. I do. I really do." I murmur, voice hoarse.

Swallowing heavily at the sight of cleavage, at the way the evidence of her bath, dripping hair and flushed dewy skin. At bare thighs and arms, her movements seamless and unrestrained.

It's not the first time I'm physically floored at the sight of her. It isn't the first time that I feel as if I can't physically draw in air immediately, but I need to.

But seeing her... seeing her strikes a deep visceral arousal in me.

And I wonder how I hadn't thought to even check in the bathing chamber. How I hadn't thought to consider she might've been home. It's still early afternoon yet.

And the surprise of making her a picnic goes forgotten for the time being.

"When... when did you get home?"

Her entire body is bare of adornment, of jewellery, of cosmetic. Of anything but the slip of silk. And yet it's one of the most striking moments where I've seen her and fallen headfirst all over again, barrelling towards the feeling of being entirely riveted by her. Snared all over again as if it's the first time.

"I didn't leave."

"Jiminie came by to pick you up for work...?" I trail off hesitantly.

Her smile grows, face lighting up with mischief and fondness for her wicked other half.

Both carved from the same wicked, teasing mettle. Both cut from the same cloth.

Both unstoppable when they were put together.

Alarm and apprehension seeps into my skin.

"We had brunch. And then did some dress-up."

I can feel the slight taunt in her eyes, daring, goading, wanting me to ask more.

Not sure whether I would be able to process it. Process what she has to say next.

What she oh so wants to say.

"Who dressed up?"

"Both. What better way to advertise our very styles by modelling them? We were trying on a few new pieces."

A heated rush of thrill and excitement. Gut clenching, heat burning its path through my veins.

"Any pieces I'll get to see? I would've loved to seen you model them for me. I wouldn't have minded taking a day off too."

Distracted... riveted by the sight of her hand drawing her hair over one shoulder, fingers smoothening the silk down, the slope of one shoulder bared as she takes a slow step back.

"If only I'd have known... but don't worry Tae baby, I'll model them privately...the ones that aren't fit for the scandal of public indecency." Words coy and stirring curiosity.

"And I wasn't the first to see? I wasn't there to enjoy?"

"Trust me my pretty Tae~ you'll be knocked back all the same..."

I raise my brows in silent challenge. In question.

Pushing away from the counter to take the advanced steps forward.

This time she doesn't move away.

This time she doesn't teasingly dart out of reach, letting my hands encircle her forearms, hands against skin still warm from her bath.

"I don't know... I'm feeling cheated at the moment."

"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet Taehyungie."

"Quoting philosophers to me?"

"It's a philosophical moment. For you to learn. That your wait will be rewarded very sweetly. It'll be sweeter than sweet." She guarantees, words promising.

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"Please do my love. Be patient so that when you do see some of the pieces—you'll know that every moment in anticipation was worth it."

There's always this fiery playful heat that burns between the two of us, seeps into every word, near every interaction. There's always this teetering edge of something becoming more, of dancing a very line that often blurs, between control and falling apart. Of restraint and being lost.

And this time that moment lingers. Tension crackling, charged and heavy, teetering over that fine balance before she peers past me. Trying to see what I was doing before I'd heard her voice.

Tension dissipating. Melting to fade to soft affection, voice quiet, leaning against me to rest her head against my arm.

"You were cooking?"

"Hardly. I was making soup."

"And sandwiches. And you got something from that bakery." Peering curiously at the boxed package still sitting on the counter, slipping away to move towards the counters.

"I wanted to drop by and take you for a picnic."

"Oh baby..." voice soft and hushed.

Endeared.

It makes my heart bloom with fondness and happiness.

"We'll still have the picnic. Garden? I'd hate to make you dress. I'd hate to see you take that slip off until I get that honour."

"My honour's all yours bandit. So tarnish it as you will." Lips curving into a wide enticing grin, both playful and unrestrained, and giddy. Trusting.

"Then please... let me wine and dine you before we do any sort of tarnishing."

"As long as it's a promise."

"I vow to always ravish and ruin. To be the rogue you love and married."

"Perfect."

[......]

"Want to head inside?"

"I like being out here with you." voice a soft murmur, hushed with the almost fear that speaking too loudly will shatter the bubble of contentment and deep satisfaction, hands continuing to card through her hair. The lunch had turned to an early dinner and her hair only the slightest bit damp before I'd considered going outside with her.

Getting a head-cold because we'd been too impatient to stay within the warmth of our own home would've been foolish.

Getting to spend that time unrushed in steering her back towards the drawing room, getting the fire started, so that when we did head back inside after the picnic... it'd already be roaring and warm.

"You're cold." I point out, eyes dragging over goosebumps, hand rubbing briskly at her slightly chilled skin, trying to instil heat into it, and quickly.

Pebbled nipples taut against the silk, her lower half covered by one of the quilted blankets we've bought out, the heat of her body seeping against mine, chasing mine as she curls closer, head resting against my lap.

"But I'm comfortable. I could fall asleep like this." (Y/N) admits.

"That's not happening—it's far too cold." I retort, fingers continuing to move through her hair, gently rubbing at her nape, slow circles that has her body curving inwards with content, a blissed smile on her face, tilting her head to press a kiss to my leg, gently nuzzling at me.

"Not going to warm these sheets for me?" words heavy, slightly tired. But there's no mistaking the warm tease in her voice either.

"I have other ways to keep your bed warm sweetheart. But the last thing I want is for you to get ill." I murmur, body tilting forward, curving over, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. Leaning closer and closer when her hand reaches out, warm against my own slightly chilled skin, fingers gently rubbing against my cheek, my face tilting to the touch.

To the featherlight skimming affection that her touch brings, drawing me closer to brush her lips to mine, tilting her face up.

"But I thought you liked me being a pillow princess."

"Never, ever will I be happy that it's because of necessity and not want. So, let's get inside. My lap's all yours either way." I laugh quietly, lips against hers.

"Just... a few more minutes." She concedes finally, peering up at me with softly imploring eyes.

But I don't have the heart to ever deny her, don't have any restraint, nor do I want restraint when it comes to her, leaning closer with a nod, lips slotting to hers. Hand slipping to curve against her nape, cradling her head to me. For all that the night's grown cold, for all that our bodies press tightly closer chasing the heat off each other, her lips are hot. Branding to mine, fingers curling into my hair to "draw me closer. There's a small shift of movement as she pushes herself upright, my body drawing back immediately to accommodate the way (Y/N) sits up, twisting so she's facing me. Blanket falling away from her lap, thighs bare and the slip of her nightgown rides up, baring more and more of her legs, one hand immediately falling to sprawl across her leg.

Fingers entangled in her hair, tugging her closer, lips trying to leave their own brand behind stronger and fiercer than each other's, the soft heat of her mouth surging closer, tongue brushing across the seam of my lips. There's that same laziness, that same unrushed haze of being encased in our own bubble, our own world, body shifting as she rocks closer to me. Thighs splayed and settled over my lap, hand against her thigh curling a fraction bit tighter.

Soft flesh giving under my palm, parting my lips for her, indulging in the thorough, slow sweep of her tongue exploring the willing laxness of my mouth, swallowing her soft moan, tongue flicking against hers.

Her arms move to wind around me, chest flush against mine and the slippery press of the silk as she curves closer tugs a broken groan from her throat where the fluid ripple of fabric brushes against pert buds.

Against the coarser material of my own shirt.

"Let's get to bed baby." I murmur, lips slick against hers, words morphing into a sharp, low hiss, when her teeth nip at my lips, sinking in harsher. Tongue smoothening over the sting, over the heat of the pain-pleasure mix that fuels the heat in my veins.

"Trying to get me comfortable first?"

"No. Time for bed, you've had a long day." I whisper, words hushed, hands brushing over bared skin and hair, dragging slowly against her back.

"Okay." The single-worded acceptance warm against my lips, head tilting to mine as she gently nudges her nose against mine.

Hair tickling against my skin, cheek resting against my forehead, lips slightly swollen, reddened from pressure.

And she remains curled up, leaving the picnic abandoned in our garden as I draw her into my arms, cradling her to my chest.

But her hands refuse to unfurl from around.

Refusing to let go once I've gotten her in bed, coaxing me closer with my name a soft plea on her lips.

"Where are you going?" eyes holding that faint haze of teetering between sleep and awake. Alert enough but also drowsy enough that she'll fall asleep soon.

"I'm just going to sort out the stuff in the garden, I'll be right back."

Her arms tighten. Refusing to let go.

Tugging me closer.

"But I want to be held."

My head dips lower to press a kiss against her slightly pouting lips.

"Five minutes." I bargain.

"...I can't fault you for being such a good husband." She mumbles, lips jutting out further in askance.

Lips pressing to hers again. Half a dozen kisses pressed to her pouting lips.

"Five minutes and then I'll be right back baby. Go to sleep."

"Five minutes... I'll wait. Or you owe me... five kisses."

I press half a dozen more to her lips, hand cupping her cheek.

"I'll give you all the kisses, when I'm back in four." I amend, hands drawing away when she nods, body curling inwards as she turns, rushing out of our bed chamber to rush back down. Almost slipping in haste, fumbling to quickly bring everything inside and rush back to her.

The house is still lit with a dim glow in every room, lanterns set to burn whilst we were outside, and it's that foresight that (Y/N) had had that lets me navigate to the garden with ease.

Blankets slung over my arms and dishes gathered, crockery set into the sink, wincing at the clattering sound; loud and abrasive to my own ears, blankets tossed haphazardly over one of the couches.

Hands quick to draw the garden's doors shut before rushing back inside. Movements rushed, a sharp bitten back loud curse when my knee strikes against a piece of furniture in the hallway, steps seeming to thunder in my ears as I rush back, breaths quick and uneven.

Because I've promised four minutes and yet I have no awareness of how long I might've taken, no clue until I reach the threshold of our room once more, eyes falling to the clock.

A lazy breathless smile curving my lips.

Just under four minutes.

Quick enough that as I move to change, shucking off the shirt, I can feel a lazily slow gaze tracking my movements, head turning to peer at the bed. Watching a sleepy smile curved across (Y/N)'s face.

Patting the space beside her.

"You're quick."

"I promised didn't I?" hands reaching to loosen the buttons and tie of the breeches, padding over to sink down on the edge of bed, drawing myself up to settle beside her. Drawing the blankets up to drape over her first and then over me, hands reaching to draw her close. Though she's already moving forward, head coming to rest against my collarbone, lips mouthing slowly against skin. The slick heat of her tongue and lips warm and slow against me.

"Always so good for me." Words a mumble against me.

My head tilts to press a kiss against the soft curve of her cheek. A kiss against her hair.

"I love you."

"I love you too Tae."

[......]

It's a slip of the tongue.

And it makes (Y/N)'s expression startle for a brief moment before melting into a wide smile.

I didn't plan on saying it, but the words slip out regardless.

"Oh! Ji Woo likes visiting this florist. I think his mother might bring him with her when she's shopping." Eyes dragging over the rich clusters of flowers, large bouquets that almost spill from their buckets, vibrant and rich.

"Ji Woo... the little boy right?"

I nod, the gesture slightly hesitant and shy. Somehow not sure whether I should elaborate, why he came to mind and why his name slipped past my lips.

"Green-fingers." She recalls with a smile curving her lips, the warm action tugging a wider beam from me, nodding a bit more eagerly now.

Unconsciously gravitating towards the florist's shop, hand settling over where hers is tucked against the crook of my arm. Squeezing tightly.

Leaning towards the first immediately recognisable flowers that Ji Woo had been tending to in the garden.

"When you told me to distract him, I found him in the garden you know?" seamlessly crouching down, not realising that (Y/N) follows the movement to sink down beside me.

Head leaning against mine, fingers reaching to card gently over the flowers, blooming sunflowers that (Y/N) grazes with the pads of her fingertips.

"Sounds like a mini Joonie."

"He was talking to them too." I confirm, turning to peer at her, watching fondness brighten her features, shaking her head with affection as she reaches for a bouquet of sunflowers, bright vibrant yellow.

"Could you wrap these up for me?" she gestures to the assistant, head dipping with a gracious smile. I don't miss the way it makes the assistant's cheeks pinken.

But my hand unconsciously tightens over hers, drawing it up towards my lips to press a kiss to her knuckles, thumbing over her wedding band.

Smile curving against her hand when the assistant retreats with haste, pressing a smatter of slower kisses across her knuckles, lips lingering.

"Staking your claim?" voice low and hushed.

Teasing.

"I don't appreciate the staring." I grumble.

Turning her hand palm up to press a kiss there.

"People can't help looking at you." she shrugs, her words lilting, purposely trying to turn it on me.

"Not me, you. People can't look away. Don't blame them... you are art."

"Save the sweet-talking pretty boy. How much more will you woo a smitten wife?"

"To my last breath and beyond that." I vow.

She nudges me from the side.

Eyes bright with laughter.

Corralled lips parting with pealing laughs.

"Charming... but tell me more about Ji Woo?" voice turning questioning.

Curious but not prying.

I let our hands entangle.

"Well he sits more still when he's holding flowers rather than a toy. Gets dirt everywhere though."

"I can bet he has his family running after him all the time." Tone warm.

And when I nod, her body tilts to mine, voice softer as her head briefly leans against my shoulder.

"That's really sweet."

Words a faint murmur that I could've almost missed. Could've. But don't.

"It is. Sometimes... I do wonder you know. What it would've been like. To grow up like that." Her fingers squeeze mine, tight with understand. A firm grounding pressure.

"I believe... you deserve the world. You have always deserved the world. I believe that if you grew up loved and cherished, that our paths would've still crossed. And maybe we'd find each other in such a life too. But... I also know that the man you are today, the man I fell in love with—he managed to grow up well alone too."

And it doesn't matter that we're in the middle of the town square, it doesn't matter that the two of us are crouched down, half-curved towards one another, it doesn't matter that the smell of dirt and clogged rain seeps into the air, entangling with the sweeter, enticing scents of the perfume of the flowers clustered together and spilling out, almost in reach.

All it matters is that her words ring in my ears, loud and unyielding, firm and radiantly proud, hovering in my consciousness before it sinks in.

A deep warmth that entirely encases me whole with the love in her voice, in her eyes, in her tone.

I blink back the stinging in my eyes, try not to let the seized breaths choke the words in my throat, suddenly tight and constricted.

And when I see the same understanding and empathy in her eyes, bright and shining, suddenly the air rushes back into my lungs and all of a sudden, it strikes me just how much easier it is to live and breathe since (Y/N)'s come back into my life.

And my lips surge to hers, frantic and breathless kisses. Bruising and claiming, cherishing her for my own.

Hear the startled laughter hitch, soft breaths swallowed whole, stolen with a frantic burning need to tell her. Balance teetering, knocked back, hands clasping her closer, her weight sinking against mine, settled between my legs. Uncaring of it.

That with her words, with her heart I've fallen in love more and more.

A low frustrated angry sound rumbling past my lips when a voice interjects. Hesitant and wary.

"...Miss... um, your flowers."

---------------------

I seek Ji Woo out, not immediately seeing him as I'm setting down my materials, eyes habitually scanning the drawing room for the familiar sight of the toddler utterly immersed in one thing or another.

Silently slipping away to try find him, so used to his immediate enthusiasm and jostling that the absence for it makes me curious, makes me briefly miss the usual interaction.

I find him, enraptured, over a small ladybug slowly inching along the leaf, drawn to its black and red spotting, finger hovering with the bubbling curiosity to poke and see but aware of its delicate smallness. Of how considerably larger he is to the insect.

He doesn't notice as I approach from behind, slinking up on him, steps noiseless and fluid. So used to the sneaking around, to pilfering and being both quick and quiet in my treads that he has no idea I'm approaching him. Lost in his own world, riveted by the tiny insect fluttering its wings that when my arms seize him from behind he shrieks, loud and startled. Squirming with pealing laughter that grows infectious and louder when he twists his head, peering at me. Eyes brightening with delight.

"Arty!" the title makes my cheeks ache with the force of smiling so wide.

"Ji Woo!" I echo with the same enthusiasm, laughing as he squirms delightedly in my hold, trying to twist to peer at me, full bodily wriggles, arms flapping as I whirl with him, imitating flying as I spin, ducking lower with him, swooping before straightening up.

"Painty time?"

I nod.

There's no need for the Hans to sit still for their portrait anymore, the lighting and shading largely reflected in the casting glow of the way the shrubbery and afternoon light filters into view past their large windows.

What's left is to truly hone in on them.

Individual sittings in the same position, trying to encapsulate their features, the certain distinctions that work so well independently and blur seamlessly when they're pressed together. The grandparents, the barriers and shields of the family painted meticulously, the heart and core of the painting left. The Hans and Ji Woo.

"Grandma and grandpa didn't visit today?" I ask conversationally, hands drawing him in a steady cradle, fingers carding through his hair, his face looming close to mine as he peers at me.

Hand patting my cheek as he shakes his head.

"Park!"

I let my lips fall with faux-shock.

"Without you?"

His lips jut out. Nodding quickly.

"But mama take me!" he enthuses, words giddy, wriggling excitedly in my embrace, already impatient to be let down the moment he spots my easel.

Small frame dashing close, rushing towards the easel, heeding the warning alarmed call of his father, already rising to try still his son.

Sinking back when I wave my hand at him.

"Ji Woo's really sensitive about these things. He hasn't touched my easel or painting at all."

It feels instinctive, second-nature to justify Ji Woo, some part of me intensely proud and satisfied that I know Ji Woo well on some aspects than his parents. That my word on his behaviour, on his demeanour is only from a short while but it's steeped with affection and fondness for the toddler who's settling and making his place in heart and thought.

An instinctive easy affection for him. That grows without effort, without trying.

"Are you sure Taehyung? He's also a menace whenever the mood strikes." Words laughing even if he lets his wife tug him back, curled happily against him, her own eyes tracking her son as his pacing slows. Pads closer with curiosity in his gaze, hovering but never approaching too closely. Eyeing the glass pots of paint with awe.

I don't know when paints first did the same for me. But I know the same awe and rush of excitement filters through my gaze whenever I get to paint. Whenever I get to do my craft that matters to me.

Slipping closer to him.

"Do you want to try painting?" I ask, sinking down into a crouch next to him.

The whirl of movement as his head spins to peer at me.

"Can I? Yes!" he answers himself.

And I don't think I've seen his energy and enthusiasm so channelled, so focused as I kneel down to set him up with the emptying paint bottles and an old brush. Ripping out a piece of parchment from my sketch journal for him.

He looks up expectantly up at me, waiting as he clutches the paint brush between his fist.

"The best thing about painting Ji Woo..." leaning in closer to murmur the words, hushed and low.

Leeeeean.

"You paint whatever makes you happy."

Slowly drawing away to sit back on the stool in front of my easel, canvas set down carefully, fingers reaching for a smoother, flatter brush, drawing out a small pot of paint that I'd finally managed to perfect to be the exact shade of the Hans' matching waistcoat and bodice pattern.

It's easy to always lose focus in painting. But some tiny part of me is so attuned and aware of the presence besides me that I can't help but let my gaze flicker between painting. Can't help but peer at him, body hunched with focus and determination, so still save for the bold strokes of his paintbrush smearing vivid colours on his page.

But Ji Woo's focus doesn't waver, fingers sticky with paint, leaving little fingerprints behind, eagerly dragging his brush across, pausing as he hesitates, holding the green-tipped brush over the other colours.

"Ji Woo, let me clean that for you." I offer, carefully setting my own brush down, moving to crouch when he clambers up, hands steadying himself for balance on the spare apron I'd set down under him, leaving blotches of green behind, toddling over the small distance to me.

Beyond the canvas, beyond the easel, the Hans remain curled together. I don't need to look at them to feel the contentment and happiness that seeps off them, the love that flows easy and naturally between the two.

And right now that gaze, that entirety of their love is directed towards their son.

Rather than immediately relinquish his grip, he shakes his head.

"Can I see?" pointing towards the canvas.

I push my stool backwards, a split-second decision made as I make distance between the canvas to allow for him to see directly, hands scooping him up to settle him on my lap, legs swinging happily, clutching at my apron as he wriggles to tuck himself securely against me.

There's probably paint staining his clothes, ruining them beyond repair, the particular blend so fiddly to wash the colours free from the fabric.

But there's nothing more elating than the sight of Ji Woo's face bright and shining. Starry gaze and paint stained hands clapping together in delight, the paintbrush clattering against the floor, a rueful smile towards his parents at the faint smear of green it leaves behind.

"Don't worry—it adds character."

Ji Woo adds to the home.

And I can't disagree.

------------------

The door jingles, loud chimes, greeting me and alerting the others of me stepping through to the shop. Eyes dragging over the countless mannequins adorned with the latest fashion. Bold cuts and daring sweeping hems and necklines, the traditional fit and style of clothes ranging from dresses to blouses to waistcoats given just that edge of something distinctly different.

And the choice of the styles, the colours, the bold patterns are daring and confident in a way that only (Y/N) and Jimin are. I've only ever needed to take a step in, and be immediately encased with their personalities utterly and wholly.

"Welcome, I'll be with you in just a moment!" Jimin's voice rings out, loud and welcoming. In the silence that follows, I trail through the store, drifting towards the dresses first. Drawn to the rich jewel tones, re-examining my hands for any paints that I might not have managed to scrub away.

Careful as I let my hand graze across the bodice of a dress, the fabric liquid silk under my touch, a rich wine-red that pools under my touch as my hand drifts over it carefully, eyeing the loose flow of material, the inviting daring plunge of the neckline.

It's so (Y/N).

"Sorry for– Tae!" Voice warm and delighted and exuberantly loud.

"Minnie." My lips curve up immediately, watching as he quickly weaves past the mannequins and shop floor to reach me, arms already outstretched to draw me into a tight greeting embrace. Lips pressing a soft quick kiss to my hair.

Drawing back to peer at me. And in turn invites me to look at him. Briefly disarmed and overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of glitter and sparkle.

Ears glinting with a row of countless jewels sparkling and colourful, the ones dangling by his lobes, delicate pearls and silver, matching the necklace he wears. Grin deepening, a crinkle of eyes, half crescent eye-smile and bunched cheeks. Voice lilted with knowledge.

"Does the sight of me give you...sticky fingers?"

"Not in the way you wish it did." I retort, lips twisting with feigned horror. Hand reaching out to briefly pluck at his necklace, eyeing the combination of pearls and what seems to be tiny diamonds.

"Flaunting your entire wealth at your throat? That's an impressive necklace."

He shakes his head, hand flitting to his throat, to the tighter, snug fit of it, encircling the column of his throat.

"I think this isn't a necklace, this is a choker."

I tilt my head curiously.

" that? Because it fits tightly?"

Watching as he slips his fingers underneath the choker of pearls and diamonds, showing that it's very much breathable.

"Nope. It's because the sight of it makes people choke." he grins, smile pearly and radiant, rouged lips parted, eyes crinkling with amusement.

The sight of his smile is always disarming, always throws me off with how sweet his features are and the sin and wicked delight that hides under it, disguised under gentleness.

And right now the same disarming sweetness greets me with a coy smile before he lets his gaze drift towards the dress, smile growing. Turning to brush a proud hand down the dress.

"Do you like it?"

I nod.

"The colour would look stunning on (Y/N)... it works well on both of us."

I laugh.

"Are you making business out of my appreciation for (Y/N) and pretty things? Or... are you telling me that it's a favourite colour choice for both of you?"

"Bit of both... but that being said. Business aside... I know she'd look stunning in it. Want to know what's great about it?"

I let my fingers catch along the loose sleeves.

"What?"

But instead of saying, he demonstrates, hands carefully drawing the pleated skirts apart to show how much space the skirts allow for, giving ease of movement.

But then his hand reaches to where the bodice and skirt meets, in-built stays in the lining of the dress.

"You can adjust it to be tighter or looser... if you just want to feel comfortable, particularly when you feel sore and achy at that time of month. It allows space so you don't need the dress tailored if you grow."

"I'm sure (Y/N) has grown to her full curves as a woman."

He gives a shrug, letting the fabric flutter.

"We thought it'd be a hit with–"

"Can I buy it? Rather can I get one made for (Y/N)'s size?"

He grins, smile proud and preening.

Hand curving around the mannequin with the same looped ease of his arm settling around (Y/N). Head turning to face the approaching, quieter but purposeful quick stride of clacking heels, boots against the wood.

Hand easily reaching out to snag at (Y/N)'s wrist before I can even say a word, before either of us can register it. Hand curving around her waist, resting against the dip of her body. Tugging her closer habitually.

"Tae!"

"Not so quickly sweetheart. I was just about to explain why I don't ever need your measurements." hands tugging her closer, dragging with a familiarity over the lines and curves of her front, entangling together around her as he props his head against her shoulder.

"She is our modelled size. Every single piece of clothing designed for females only gets modelled and put on display after we've tried them out on (Y/N). My beautiful curvy love."

There's confusion on her features even as she sinks back into the embrace, shooting him a rueful smile.

Lips pressing to his cheek.

"And why would Tae need to know that?"

"Because. It's useful information. To know that if I ever want Jiminie to make something secretly for you– then it's already in good hands."

"Very experienced hands." he interjects, words teasing and confident. Assured.

And (Y/N)'s gaze drifts to the wine-red dress that I'd been admiring, lips curving deeper, an expression of pride and happiness, fingers fleetingly skimming over the rippling silk.

"One of my favourite designs."

And if it wasn't cemented so wholly, so entirely before, there's no way that I'll let the dress remain. And over her shoulder, Minnie's eyes sparkle with knowledge and confidence, a secretive wink as he nudges (Y/N) forward, a fleeting kiss before he dips his head in slight incline to me.

"Enjoy your day lovebirds."

"You won't?"

He grins.

"Of course I will. I've never been a believer that fun and pleasure are limited to day and night. I make sure of that."

Waving us off with a smile and when I let my head turn as we leave, I can see that Jimin's already meticulously beginning to slowly draw the dress off the mannequin, fingers deft and careful.

And as if sensing my gaze his eyes drift up, pausing in his movements.

A pearly bright smile that makes his eyes crinkle into half-crescents and cheeks bunch. Soft.

But it almost feels like something meaningful was left unspoken... something he intended to say but didn't.

(Y/N)'s hand squeezing mine draws my gaze back.

"So my Lord Kim, what adventure did you have in mind?"

"Well Lady Kim... if you would do me the honour... I wanted to take you dancing."

Her head tilts in curiosity.

"So the tavern?"

I laugh, ducking my head to press a kiss to her hair.

Drawing her hand up to my lips, brushing kisses to her knuckles.

"Not the type of dancing that leads us pressing each other to a wall." I remind her, voice dropping lower, her smile proud and unabashedly smug.

"Slow dancing. Just the two of us."

Her smile softens.

"Lead the way Tae...though there's no promise slow dancing won't do the same." Words full of laugh, watching me press a final kiss to her knuckles before drawing our intertwined hands together, slipping into the space between us.

------------------

Fingers loop into the chain at my throat, tugging me closer, the slight tug of pressure against my nape.

Fingers rubbing at the wedding band looped through the delicate chain, her eyes glinting as she watches me stumble a step forward to her, then every step following an eager lean, an eager gravitation as she physically draws me into her orbit, into her space, crowding against her, moving closer and closer to the bed.

"I haven't washed the paint off sweetheart." I murmur, lips chasing hers, the curl of her fingers at the chain tugging me closer regardless, lips curving into a teasing smile against mine, soft kisses slick with quiet breaths and my name murmured quietly.

"I know."

"Still want my hands on you?"

"Yes." Voice breathy and hushed, lips surging forward to kiss me, fingers still entangled with the chain, the biting pressure at my nape, the fumble for my hands across her dress, dragging down her bodice to tug at the stays.

"Want me to leave proof behind of where exactly it started, and where exactly it ended?"

"Yes." Voice soft, lilting, drawing me closer, hands moving to undo her bodice, her grip on the necklace never falling away, a light grounding pressure that reminds me that right now I'm in her hands.

Her steps backtrack, leading me further and further towards the bed, the back of her legs hitting the edge of the mattress first, fingers briefly unfurling from the chain to help me, smile wicked and sharp, sparking electric heat to pulse in my veins as her hands, equally deft and quick as my own, waste no time in letting the dress pool around her ankles, stepping out of the dress. The heeled boots still give her that slight boost to her height, nose nudging against mine, head tilting back, not needing to stretch her body to mine, to wind her arms around me.

Ducking to try tug the boots off that mould to her calves, clinging to the curve of them, stumbling a half-step, my hand steadying her. Waiting until she straightens before I let my hands tug at her corset and chemise, layer after layer falling away, head ducking to immediately press kisses to her skin. Hungrier, sharper kisses that have the drag of teeth against her curves, the flick of tongue as I duck my head to take on bud between my teeth, the stinging mix of teeth and lips coaxing it to pert stiffness. Hand working at the other.

Relishing in the soft, quieter groan as her hand snares into my curls, tugs me towards her, stance widening to let me settle and crowd against her, lips trailing lower and lower, tugging out pleasured noises from her throat.

Fingers hooking into her drawers, drawing them down and off, her hand steadying her balance, fingers curling against my shoulder.

Drawing one boot off then the other, eyes dragging over the garter and stockings that remain, secured and wound around her thighs and hips. The material highlighting the curve of her legs and hips, the dip of where her waist, lips pressing fleeting, sharp kisses, the faint drag of teeth against soft, giving flesh. Hands curving around the back of her thighs, remaining kneeling between her legs as she sinks down on the edge of the bed, hands grasping at my hair and shoulder, nails dragging against skin. Leaving a faint heat burning behind. But that same heat melds with the fire in my veins that (Y/N) touch sets alight.

It gives (Y/N) greater pleasure, moan keening, thighs clenching when my hands leave the faint smear of paint behind, grip tightening at the sound that ripples past her lips, nudging her thighs apart. Lips continuing their upwards trail, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, every nip soothed over with the lingering press of my lips, open-mouthed kisses, tongue flicking to chase the sting away, body feeling as if it's heated, scorching in my own skin.

"Don't you look a pretty sight? Want to be painted like this—writhing with pleasure?" I murmur, voice a low rasp against her skin, lips curving into a breathless grin when her thighs tighten in response, fingers curling tight as she grips me.

"Maybe... but I'd want you in those paintings too. So there's no denying, no missing just who makes me that way."

"Then it's a promise. I'll paint you with me." I vow, lips lingering against her thigh, curls brushing against skin, her fingers raking through my hair, tugging me closer with a breathless murmur of my nape, shifting back, angling her thighs open wider.

Lips trailing to the apex of her thighs, slow and unrushed, a low curse slipping past her lips when my tongue flicks against her nub, fingers drifting to slowly work circles at her core, inching closer and closer but not immediately giving that gratification, the pleasure tauntingly proffered but not given. Her hand tightens in my hair in complaint, hips rocking up.

"Tae." frustrated and restless.

"Yes beautiful?"

"Stop teasing."

My lips ghost along her nub, the barest flick of my tongue. Hands tightening at her thighs at the unconscious small jolt of her body.

"I thought you wanted me to touch you?" I lilt. Words slow and unrushed, breath ghosting along her core, eliciting a small squirm. Sensitive.

"I do... but not like this. How else do you think I intend to make you unravel little jewel?"

Fingers giving featherlight fleeting touches, rubbing slow circles against her bud. Head tilting up to drink in the sight of her eyes fluttering, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, body unconsciously curving forward, hunching over me, hands at my shoulder and hair, grip tightening despite the light touches.

"You could do it quicker."

My curls brush against her thighs, leaning forward to let my teeth drag slow against her nub, a sharper keening moan, thighs clenching tight when I suddenly seal my lips to suck hard.

"Reckon you could go all night if I go quick and hard? Could you keep up darling?"

"It's not night yet..." words trailing off, a soft hitch of breath, the drag of nails against my scalp, fingers pressing tighter to the muscles of my shoulder, grip unrelenting. Grounding her.

"So? I've only just begun with you sweetheart. The day is young after all." words lilted, drawing myself closer at the tight beckon of her fingers tugging at my curls, lips curving into a grin, fingers moving slowly, circling closer and closer, inching towards her core.

"I'm not."

My fingers hover, drawing my head back to peer at her, the fire in her eyes clashing and burning with the slowly burning heat that settles slowly, slowly into my skin.

"That's the worst lie." I retort, hand palming at her thigh, sprawling tight and possessive over the soft flesh.

Slowly letting one finger sink in, letting her adjust, lips brushing a kiss to her core, feeling her body adjust, clench.

Thumb rubbing circles, mouth lowering to ghost along her skin, pressing kisses to the crease of her hip and thigh and as my mouth slowly works its way to her core, I work another finger into her, curling and slowly thrusting, the drag unrushed, the constant stimulation to her nub, thumb pressing harder, fingers still working a slow, slow frustrating pace that tugs out a thrashing keen. Hips bucking to draw my fingers deeper, hand drifting from my shoulder to clasp at my wrist, trying to guide my fingers further, trying to rock forward to quicken the pace. To make the slowly simmering intensity flare into full flames of heat that lick at my skin.

"Besides... patience honey." I lilt, tongue flicking against her, the combined stimulation of fingers working themselves in in slow curling deep thrusts and tongue and lips against her nub, curved forward, her legs angled wide, hand settled against the trembling softness of her leg. The heat in my gut flaring to life when she cries out, hand sinking against the bedspread, curling tight to try steady herself, body leaning back. My eyes dragging over the way her back arches off the sheets.

A restlessness bleeding into her movements, my name shuddered past her lips.

"I don't have time for patience Kim. Just fuck me."

"I will. But you'll wait until I think you're ready."

There's a flash of fire burning her irises, hands moving to prop herself half-up, gaze lidded as she peers at me, watching as her expression melts with pleasure, watching as whatever words she was going to say are swallowed whole, my groan low and appreciative, third finger easing into her.

"I am ready."

My tongue chases the taste of her arousal, chases the way she begins to thrash, the way her protest turns breathless, fingers falling free from my hair as she sinks back.

Her sprawling, splayed form an invite, a beckoning.

A call I can't ever resist.

Body leaning closer, kneeling at the edge of the bed, hand dragging against her leg, settled in the sprawled invite of her parted thighs.

"I mean when you're ruined beyond repair." I croon, a long stretch of time later, when she's boneless against the sheets, finally drawn to her first peak of the night. Breaths sharp and laboured and a disbelieving smile curving slow and lazy and satiated against her lips, chest rising and falling with erratic breaths.

"You're impossible."

"I'm yours."

A brief flicker of silence as her eyes soften.

"That you are."

[......]

My hands snag onto my sketchpad before I clamber back into bed, drawing the blankets over myself once more, no longer lying down and pressed flush with (Y/N), leaning against the headboards, propped up against a mound of pillows when I reach for the stick of charcoal.

Eyes drifting to her, fingers beginning to outline her silhouette onto the page, movements fluid and practiced as if without guidance, without prompt or encouragement my body, my heart and soul knows and recognise their muse. Without struggle, without hesitance, my fingers trace and outline her sleeping form, commit it to the lines and curves and shadows and blurs of charcoal on parchment.

There's a faint shadowing under her eyes, proof of the tiring long hours she's been working, curled up in the dead of night, steadily stitching, working at the excessively long drape of fabric sprawled over her legs.

And silently I watch as she remains deeply asleep, eyes lingering on her, marvelling at the way her face smoothens out with rest, cheek squished against the pillows, body curved close, unconsciously still gravitated towards where I was sleeping, hand outstretched, settled over the sheets.

Fingers pausing, flow come to a stop. Rooted to the sight of her, lips unconsciously curving up at how blissful she looks, fingers slightly smudging the blankets as I draw them further upwards, a tell-tale smudge of charcoal, a grey-blackish smear left across the curve of her shoulder.

Sinking back against the headboard once more, focus on trying to capture the way her hair hides her face partially, how the blankets keep her swaddled and tucked warm, bundled away. A sketch that captures the soft intimacy of waking to her, without the teasing fire or the overwhelming love that drowns her gaze with either softness or sharpness.

She's asleep, but somehow...even so there's still a gentleness, an unguarded welcoming softness that I'd slowly started to see when we first met. That at that time... I wondered if she'd ever slept deeply and undisturbed through the night. Or had she always been shielding herself; mind still awake even if she was too tired to keep her eyes open.

I don't take it for granted, nor do I stop being grateful for the trust she gave me that first time, the chance at redemption, at forgiveness. I don't forget or stop realising just how lucky I am to have her.

One sketch turns to two. Two turns to three. Fleeting half-sketches that focus on the curve of her cheek, the curve of her body as she burrows further into the blankets, the delicate curl of her fingers outstretched towards where I sit, the same hand, smudged with charcoal where I've taken her hand and held it.

But then I turn to another page.

Careful and delicate lines as I draw her, from memory and from sight, imagine her eyes peering at me with a dazed sleepiness, not quite awake or alert, slowly stirring from sleep but far too content to move or emerge from the swaddled state of blankets tucked around her.

I draw her as I see her every morning, body curled against mine, some part of us always seeming to touch one another, entangled and intertwined, bodies gravitating close to warmth and familiarity. To the safety and cradle of one another's arms. I draw her this time with eyes as sleepy slits and lips curved into a generous slow smile, tugging at the corners of her mouth. I draw her with affection and love in her eyes, with the slip of her strap falling down across the soft slope of her shoulder. Draw the soft shadows late morning brings, faint light casting a glow to her face. Fingers smudging the charcoal to try capture the way she twists to move away from the sunlight seeping in, eyes focusing beyond the page, eyes focusing on me.

I draw my hand in the sketch, entangled with hers, the ring glinting at my finger, hand bereft of the jewellery I like to adorn. And our hands entangled rest over the blankets, fingers moving fluidly, unguided, unrestrained, drawing the way blankets fall around her hips, the slippery, rippled material of her nightgown and the way it outlines her body, the way blankets have been pushed away like she does when she has half a mind to get up but then decides otherwise.

Smile growing, happy and content, heart warm as I draw her, eyes drifting to her, seeing how she doesn't stir, settling contentedly to continue sketching her, leaning more comfortably back against the pillows. Fingers smudged with charcoal but still painstakingly careful to not ruin the sketch.

Turning to set the charcoal back in its case with the others, appraising the sketch with fresher eyes now that it's complete.

Eyes dragging over the completed sketch.

Smile freezing.

Stilling.

Gaze rooted to the sight of how I've ended up drawing her,

Zoning in on her torso, to the softer, rounded curve I've drawn her with. To the ghost of a bump, under her nightgown, half-hidden from the blankets. To our hands drawn towards it, resting against the small, tiny bump.

Mouth drying, unable to tear my eyes away.

Somehow tasting my pulse on my tongue with how heavy and strong it grows, a wild erratic heartbeat that makes me feel almost caged in my own skin.

Not sure whether I'm exulted or suddenly nervous. Not sure how to begin to filter through the amalgamation of emotions that well up, making my lungs seize and my breath catch in my throat. Swallowing hard, trying to force air back into my lungs, a tight constriction, a prickle at the corner of my eyes.

Because the sight of it... the sight of it doesn't plunge me into despair and anger and grief.

For all that I can't figure out my emotions I know for sure that it's not the same nauseating mix of emotions that used to cripple me at the thought of a child. It's not the same rooted fear that makes me thrash with horror and panic at the thought of having a child when I had no childhood.

But... why had I drawn it?

And, red-hot, caught I snatch my hand away from the journal, fingers fumbling to draw it shut and set it aside when there's movement beside me.

A large shuffle of movement, hand almost knocking the case of charcoal away, turning, feeling my skin burning, as her hand brushes against my arm, curling against skin.

"...Tae baby..."

Sleepy blinks and voice quiet.

"Awake darling?"

She nods, stifling a yawn, turning to burrow against the pillow, the lines of her body drooped and relaxed with sleep.

"Why are you... oh... drawing?" she mumbles, hand reaching to clasp mine, thumbing absently at a smudge of charcoal on my free hand, the damning hand that'd been sketching briefly curling and unfurling.

Lips pressing to my palm. Soft and tender.

Affection blooms strong and unrestrained, a wild, untamed plant that extends outwards to intertwine its roots and stems further. Entangled in it.

"Sketching. You look pretty when you sleep."

"You look prettier—wish I could sketch and show you how I see you." she refutes, words gentle and warm. Full of love.

"Then I'd be a gone man. You're already too talented."

"Does the charm ever turn off?" she asks conversationally, words slow and unrushed. Contemplative. Slow blinks as she peers up at me.

"Truth isn't charm. It's fact." hand reaching to brush over her hair, smoothening it down, fingers moving tendrils of hair away from her face. Leaning closer to brush a kiss across the curve of her cheek, a playful nip at the softness.

Her hand moves to brush against my jaw, trailing down, fleetingly, down my torso to rest against my sternum, fingers settled against fabric and over my heartbeat.

"You don't usually wear a shirt to bed." she observes.

"I got cold when I got up. I did make tea but I think that'll have gone cold too. Why... don't like shirts?"

She hums.

"I like your shirts. But... I love how little you wear to bed." and even though the shirt bars me from feeling her lips press to skin, I can still feel the smile against my chest where she curves closer, hand curving at my waist, tucking herself to me.

This is how our mornings start. This is what the sketches capture. Remember.

"I'm feeling as if I'm just your bedwarmer now. Is that how you like me? Bare and waiting? Keeping the sheets warm in whatever way you like."

(Y/N) shifts, moving to prop herself up, hovering over me, hair against my fingers, letting them drift through the tendrils.

"My handsome husband I am a firm believer of equalness. Don't for a second think it isn't one of the greatest pleasures of my life. To lie in bed waiting for you, to keep it warm. Scorching if you'd like."

"I think... I'm warm for now." I tease, drawing her closer, leaning back as she moves to straddle my lap instead, legs sprawling wider, hands settling at her waist, tugging her to me.

There's a moment when time just stills, when our eyes meet. When she stops moving, gazes rooted by one another and everything else falls away.

Then her gaze softens, leaning closer to gently nudge her nose to mine, cradling my cheeks to press a lingering kiss to my forehead, nuzzling against me sweetly.

"Good morning my love." she greets.

"Morning baby."

"What did you draw?"

The words linger at the tip of my tongue, voice slightly hoarse. Trembling.

"I think... I think it may be a dream. A wonderful dream I don't think I should dare to dream. But I dreamt anyways."

Maybe... maybe it's something... I'm not afraid of anymore.

But wording it, saying it aloud still makes my lungs constrict. Refraining from sharing.

Her expression softens further.

Welcoming and gentle and always there as my confidante, the darkest, most bruised parts of ourselves shared to one another, sheltered by one another.

And yet... I can't.

I can't say it in this moment.

And neither does she press for it.

"Don't ever try limit your dreams. Dream all you dare. Dream to your heart's content Tae."

[......]

"I thought it was sex and me that made you glow so much. You're positively irresistible Tae." eyes sparked with delight, hands encasing my cheeks, drawing me closer to press fleeting butterfly kisses to my lips. Laughing softly when I jut my lips out, obliging to press sweeter, slower kisses, pout melting as my mouth slots to hers, teeth nipping at her bottom lip. Hand at the low of her back.

"Sex with you." I correct.

She grins, smile beaming and proud.

"That's when you're radiant Taehyung. Better than a newly wed."

"Impossible. Because I still feel like it's all new even if I know you like the back of my hands."

"I like your hands."

In response her fingers entangle with mine, drawing my hand up to her lips, pressing a lingering kiss to my ringed finger, to my wedding band. Fingers idly tracing the veins at the back of my hand, trailing down to try encircle my wrist in the same way bracelets do now.

"I've heard that about my fingers." I tease, words purposely dropping lower, a deeper octave.

Her fingers squeeze at my arm in warning, eyes slowly dragging around our surroundings.

"Talking dirty to me in such a public space?"

"Wooing me in public is far more the dangerous thing."

"It is not." she laughs.

"What if I swoon? Will you be able to whisk me off my feet? Catch me?"

"I do the swooning my love. All the more reasons to be in your arms."

Hand squeezing a bit tighter, gaze appreciative. Lingering.

Purposely tensing my arm under her touch, muscles stiffening. Feeling the soft hitch of breath against my skin, the two of us hidden in a side street, but even over the distant bustle I can hear that quiet sound.

"Tae..." my name a warning, a plea, a low lilted sound.

"Yes (Y/N)?"

"I was trying to ask about your day, not get seduced in an alleyway."

I laugh, stealing a quick peck before I draw back.

"Later?"

"Yes later... but tell me where you've been?" (Y/N) prompts, eyes dragging over me, tugging me alongside her, body leaning into mine.

Impatient as she draws me alongside her, falling into step with me. Arm winding around her, tugging her closer.

"Painting?" voice curious.

"Park. With Ji Woo."

"Without me? A special date?"

"It wasn't a date... I wanted to capture how he looks with nature. I wanted that... that expression."

"So, it's a happy, happy glow." she surmises.

"He's a literal bundle of joy (Y/N)... you'd love him. He's somehow the sweetest thing but also a handful." I beam. There's an automatic, immediate response of joy and giddiness that wells up inside at the mention of him. An unconscious warmth that pools in my veins whenever I mention him or think of him, whenever I spend time with him.

It's the happiest I've ever been during a commission.

It's the only time it's felt more than just a commission, just work.

It is more.

It's more because of Ji Woo.

"I would've loved to have seen you when you were little. I have no doubt a little you would've been very cute. A heartbreaker no doubt."

I shake my head, lips curving deeper at the way she's redirected the conversation back to me, at the soft affection in her eyes, shining and wishing.

"I would've been smitten. And a fumbling mess if I ever met you as a child." I retort.

"Oh? Not a charmer from the very beginning?"

I shake my head ruefully. Even if I had been I don't doubt that the same way (Y/N) reeled me in, the same way I found my life gravitating to hers... until I realised how wholly we were in orbit of each other. I don't doubt that if we'd met as children, our fates would've panned out to intertwine and I'd have been a flustering mess.

"I would have loved to have seen you as a child too. All sweet and little. I would've done anything to keep you from harm."

"Teeny Tae? Coming to my rescue?"

My hand squeezes hers tight. An unwavering grip, our fingers entangled together.

Because if I could go back in time, if I could somehow go back as the man I am now to rescue the child she was then, from that life, I'd save her.

"Of course! But...also if I could've stolen you away from that time. If I could go back..."

Her head gently leans against my arm, touch conveying what words don't need to, leaning against me.

That even if we didn't find each other then, even if we cannot unravel the web of time... we found each other. And even if life had been different, there's unwavering belief that we'd have found each other anyways.

"I know. Me too."

And even though the conversation strays, changes flow, what lingers fresh and stark in my mind, is the image of (Y/N) as a child.

Envisioned in mind, easily conjured there.

Except she stays there.

Round soft rosy cheeks and eyes bigger, wider. The same features but in miniature, the same smile sweet and gentle. Small hands fiddling with her dress in the same manner she still tends to do now.

The image of (Y/N) as a child lingers in my mind. But she makes her place in my heart.

A wistfulness ache at the thought that I'd give anything to hold a mini-(Y/N). To cherish and love her.

And as my eyes drift to (Y/N), it's to find her gaze already fixed on me, the corners of her mouth curving up into a sweetly tender smile, hand squeezing my arm, threading through the crook of my elbow and settling there.

"What's got you lost in thought Tae?"

"You."

And everything I want with you. Everything I think I want... what I've begun to want.

And though her words linger in my mind, voice stark and unmistaken and firm.

"Dream to your heart's content Tae."

But do I dare say it too?

--------------------

"Fuck– you'd look stunning, round with child. Can you imagine?" voice low and throaty, groaning against her, body slumping down, hand dragging down her front to rest against her stomach briefly.

Briefly... briefly for a while entertaining the thought, addled with lust and raw want, feeling the tremble of her body under mine, her breaths uneven and sharp. Body pinning hers to the sheets, breath sharp, lips trembling as I press kiss after kiss to the crook of her neck, down her clavicle. Curls brushing against skin, her legs slowly unwinding from around my waist, her hands slowly loosening from where they were intertwined around me, palms smoothening down my back, over the stinging lines of heat where her nails dragged, clawing in feverish pleasure for some sort of purchase.

"So gorgeous..." I rasp, teeth dragging against her skin, skimming over her breasts, pressing softer kissers to the darker marks that my mouth has already left behind.

Hand drifting past her abdomen, sprawling against the loose splay of her thigh, curving and gripping tightly, settling between her legs, drawing myself lower and lower, slowly drawing back. Intent on leaving kisses across every inch of skin, drawing her hands in mine, guiding them to my hair, feeling the slower drag of nails against my scalp, peering up from between her thighs to see the way she slumps back. Body flushed and dewy, overwrought with pleasured release, sinking bonelessly against the bed.

Lazy smile curving against her lips when she senses my gaze, propping herself up on one arm to peer at me, body splayed against rumpled silk sheets.

Breath hitching as I sink back down, sprawled on my front, head ducking between her thighs, clasping them tightly, watching as she squirms with sensitivity as I press kisses down the crease of her hip and thigh. Mouth hovering over her slick core.

A slow drag of my lips as I lower myself between her legs. Fingers brushing against her centre.

"If... imagine if it took." words heavy and addled with lust. With raw need.

In response a low quiet exhale, shuddery and uneven, filters through the quiet that lingers afterwards.

The slightly rough quality to her voice, words trembling, a breathless mischief in them.

"Yeah? Want me round with your child?"

"It'd be ours."

Lost in the haze of pleasure and ecstasy, in the giddy breathlessness of being so utterly lost in her, that I don't realise the words that have slipped out, her own words lingering in my head for hours beyond that moment... invading the weighted blanket of sleep when I finally succumb to it.

And in dreams the words are murmured with a nervous, excited anticipation, murmured against my skin, hands looped around my neck to keep herself tucked close.

In dreams I dream.

In dreams I hope.

And when I wake to her pressed against me, still burrowed against me, chasing the warmth of my body with hands that remain tucked against her, drawn over me, burrowing further under the blankets, sleepy wriggles that still with a hand smoothening down her hair and back.

And the words still stark in my mind, cold nervousness prickling where unfiltered need had encased me in its snaring blaze.

But the sentiment hasn't changed... mind coherent and awake, just as much as it had been last night. And I know... know that the thought of a child, of trying to have a baby isn't a sex-addled mindless blur of words.

It's fact. It's rooted in pure fact and want.

I want a child. I want a child with (Y/N).

I want.

And the corner of my eyes prickle. Sting fiercely. And a tightness in my throat threatens to take root.

But my breaths aren't sharp.

And as my mind comes to deal with the unwavering truth that I've tried to deny, tried to stifle, has spilt past my lips and yet... yet I don't think its words that'll linger, be held onto.

--------------------

"Is there something going on between you and (Y/N)?"

I startle. Gaze turning from the patterned stockings. Stilling from my slow circling, round and round the shop, feeling caught. Startled. My round wandering coming to a still. A restlessness that's been building for the past few days wrenched to a screeching halt by his quiet perception.

"What does that mean?" words prickly and defensive, the implication that his words and the unnatural seriousness of his tone and expression brings.

"It means that. I only asked." Words careful, gaze sharp and attentive.

"What made you ask?"

He tilts his head to me, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his breeches.

"Gut. Besides I have a good eye. A good sense when it comes to anything to do with (Y/N)."

There's a quiet silence, contemplative and lingering before he tilts his head to the backroom.

"I also have learnt to have a good eye for you Taehyungie. We can talk you know." He offers, voice gentler.

Even though I don't know what to talk about, what he wants to hear, there's something so compelling about his eyes that implore me to just say. Following him silently towards the backrooms of their small shop, settling carefully onto a stool, watching as he chooses to remain standing, gaze gentle and yet searching.

Hunting for something.

"So. Are you okay Tae?"

"I'm fine." Words easy.

Because I am.

"Is there something bothering you? Or (Y/N)? You're both so spacey sometimes. Is it something you want to talk about?"

I tilt my head to him.

Voice slightly hoarse.

"Is (Y/N) okay?" a wild spike in my heartbeat, pulse thrumming in my throat, on the tip of my tongue, tasting the panic his words bring, a nervous churning to my stomach. The tight constriction of my lungs as his words sink in.

Quiet steps, slow and unrushed before he comes to still in front of me.

"She's fine Taehyungie. Just like how you're fine."

But I'm not fine Jimin-ah... I want-- My lips part to say the words, halting before they can even form.

His eyes glint with knowledge, as if he's sensed the unspoken words I've swallowed down, a lump in my throat where the words stick, trying not to be forced down.

But he doesn't push.

If I'm fine in the way that I know and have made myself to be, then how's (Y/N) feeling? Why is she feeling the same? The thought of her being conflicted or silently stifling thoughts makes a sad weight plummet in my chest.

"Do you have a sex problem? Going through a dry spell?" brows raised at me, lips trying to be impassively still.

Failing.

"What? No!"

He hums, the sound soft and lilted

"Are you having bedroom troubles? Fantasy gone wrong?"

Wanting a child, wanting her round with child isn't just a sex-fantasy, and yet... yet she might've taken it like that. Maybe that's why she hasn't said, maybe that's why she's forgotten.

A hesitation a moment too long.

And he pounces on it, eyes wicked.

"Oh? Pray tell dear Kim what fantasy backfired? Because as far as I know there's not a lot of hard limits and no-go's for (Y/N)... so it must've been quite spectacular—"

"Do I really need to know just how invested you are in my wife and I's sex life?"

His eyes glitter. Dangerous and predatory.

Pearly teeth glinting as his lips part.

"Oh honey... I'm here for the long ride." Lips curving with mischief, advancing closer.

"Is that it? (Y/N)'s spacey because you've had a fantasy go wrong? Tae that happens! I used to have this client—disgusting fetishes... but, but I'm sure yours wasn't a dirty fetish." He backtracks when my jaw slackens.

Mouth parting in disbelief.

At the humour and mischief in his words, in the coy croon of his words.

"We don't have a sex problem!"

"Well until you convince me otherwise I'll believe it. I wonder if (Y/N) will say~"

"We didn't!" the words slip past my lips in a harsher snapping tone than I intended, frustration and misery bleeding into my voice, the humour that'd been hovering over Jimin, descending as a guilty, burning shame settles instead.

"Jimin... I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap." Voice morose and heavy, almost immediately afterwards.

Cheeks burning with a prickling, uncomfortable heat.

"...guess it's not a sex problem then." A lightness that tries to help diffuse a fraction of the contriteness I feel, his eyes gentle, reassuring that he hasn't been offended at all.

The corners of his lips quirked gently.

"It's... it's not a sex thing... I said something. And I..."

"Well I know you didn't fight—you're never getting over the permanent newly in-love phase. So what you said might've not meant anything. Sex loosens the tongue." He says with a growing smile. Words just as much teasing as they are happy.

"But you said something's up with (Y/N)." I murmur, hands rubbing over my thighs, fingers curling inwards to hide the tremor I can feel.

"She's lost slightly. She has that same look in her eyes that you did a while ago Tae. As if something is waiting to click but it hasn't yet. As if something's there but she doesn't know what. Or what to do... that doesn't mean it's what you said was bad."

I don't know whether I'd been coming off strongly but in that moment, in that instant it feels like my heart sinks.

Wondering whether even hinting... circling around it vaguely and here and there was too much.

It makes me feel sick to think that it's been weighing down on her.

I'll stop. I'll stifle it.

I won't ever force even the idea of something that's just as weighted and rooted with pain for her as it was for me.

I won't do that to her.

And worse even... I have no idea if I should even tell (Y/N), if I should ever say it again. Dare mention it.

Because what I now want might be something she never wants.

And that's something I can't be selfish with.

Won't be selfish with.

With a ringing sharp clarity something she said years ago comes to mind.

Fingers curling tight, knuckles aching with the force, an inhumane broken sound wrenched from the depths of my chest as I shrink.

"Tae if you don't want babies, if you're not ready for a child, if we have the rest of our lives for each other and for us then that's more than enough for me. You're not the only one sweetheart... I don't think I'll be ready for a long time... maybe not ever for a baby. I don't think—I don't think there's anything wrong with that. I can and will spend the rest of my life being yours baby."

"I don't think I'll be ready for a long time... maybe not ever for a baby..."

Not ever...not ever...maybe not ever...ever...

"...Taehyungie... Tae!"

The words that snap me out of my reverie are accompanied with hands at my cheek, at my shoulder, dark warm eyes peering at me, concern and fretting settling over his expression. Eyes crinkling when I meet his gaze, smiling at me.

"Don't drift... I shouldn't have—I just want to make sure you're both okay. But clearly something's bothering you Tae... bothering you more. And I think... gut tells me it's the same thing for both of you. So why don't you talk it out? I don't like seeing either of you like this."

Voice soft, the press of his lips gentle against my cheek, curving towards me to wrap me in a hug, tight and fierce and grounding.

Promising.

As if he knows something I don't.

"I don't think I can talk to (Y/N)... not about this. I don't think I can say those words again." Words hushed and choked, muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt.

His arms wind tighter.

Fiercer.

"You can talk to (Y/N) about anything. She's not as fragile as you fear."

"She's not the fragile one... I don't think I can bear to say, I don't think I could be so wicked to her."

Minnie's hand cradles the back of my head briefly before his fingers card through my hair, the touch is soothing, cradling me to him, an ache in his voice.

"Oh Tae... trust me but trust (Y/N) more. Trust what you both have. Trust your love."

"Even if it's terrifying?"

There's comfort and love in Minnie's embrace, promise and safety even though it terrifies me to even consider what he's saying even if every single word rings true.

Even if I know I have to, that secrets will swallow me whole, that unspoken need and newly blooming wish will wind its new tendrils around me and suffocate me whole.

"Especially then."

"Trust me Tae." He whispers into my hair, curving to cradle me towards him.

Unwavering and unmoving, clutching tighter at me when I feel the stinging in my eyes grow, breaths shaking as I hold him, desperate for the comfort, desperate for the shelter for just a little bit longer.

"And a wish isn't wicked. We don't control what the heart wants, we don't realise we want it sometimes until it's spoken aloud. You're not wicked Tae."

And somewhere in the solace of his arms, in the fiercely unwavering embrace that protects and cocoons me in them I find a scrap of comfort. And I hold onto it for dear life.

---------------------

Tiptoeing becomes tiring. Because it feels as if we both veer close to a point, a teetering point of finality and that moment of what-if but for one of us to retreat again. And with it draws the two of us back onto familiar ground.

With years of intimacy and love and trust and of crafting our new normal and familiar it feels daunting to challenge it, to become and voice the very threat to our sanctuary that'll make the brickwork and years and love strain. That'll make the cottage that's been our home, our safety to be blown away with a gust of wind. Of words spilled past lips that should've clamped them shut instead and forced the sentiment down.

It feels like (Y/N) wants to say something but doesn't, it feels like the words she want to say are tucked away and she turns to me instead, directing her focus to the painting, hands always taking paint-stained fingertips between hers to entangle together. Squeezing tightly and pressing close to hear about my day.

"How was Ji Woo? Did he like the strawberry tarts? Did you share them Tae because I know how you get with strawberry tarts—"

"I shared them! The dishonour to suggest I wouldn't share them when I remember very clearly that Ji Woo was to share them with me and not the other way around."

A tinkling laugh, pealing and amused. Fingers poking me in the side.

"Good boy."

"Me or Ji Woo?"

"Both I guess. Because he must've shared. You taste sweet." Lips quickly pecking mine. Far too quickly drawing away, but there's no complaint, no protest as I tug her closer once more, tilting my face to hers, eyes dragging over her features. Indulgently drinking her in.

"But I'm still no.1?" I ask, voice low and teasing.

Hushed.

There's no hesitation, no waver to her voice, eyes bright and overwhelmingly full.

"Whatever happens always. You're always first in my life Tae."

"Even if I make a mistake?"

Her eyes hold mine, searching for something that betrays me the way my words do now, expression softening impossibly further.

"There's nothing that'll ever change that you will always be my first priority, my forever love...what's wrong?"

I shake my head, nose nudging against hers, breath wavering.

"Nothing... I just really needed to hear that."

Lips slot to mine gentler. A quick firm kiss.

"Always no. 1 Tae. And you will never ever have to be scared of that changing."

Even if I tell you that maybe...maybe I want a baby? I want to have a baby with you.

Voice turning gentler, warmer. A faint purposeful tone of tease.

"Although I think Ji Woo's replaced me... maybe it makes me wonder what a small curly-haired you would've looked like running around causing the same level of chaos and laugh." Words hushed and quiet, hands coaxing me closer again.

And I want to say everything I somehow can't bring myself to, I want to entrust those words to the years of love and life the two of us have shared and devoted to one another. But that fear stems from me, it isn't (Y/N) because she's the sanctuary I can confide to about anything.

But instead my lips chase hers with the faint urgency that stirs at me from the inside, gnawing at me until I'm crowding closer to her, hand at the arm of the seat, nudging it aside to settle in front of the desk. Body curved to hers.

Soft breaths shuddered against my mouth, an even softer quiet noise she makes, gentle and fragile and entrusting, lips chasing mine, tongue sweeping against my bottom lip, our breaths slick and shuddering against one another.

And it feels as if everything I want is poured into the kisses, into the cradling hold of my hands against her cheek, the other against her nape, angling her mouth to mine.

An almost fervent press of my lips to hers, mouth parting with a quiet murmur of her name, wrecked and hoarse and hushed, pleas and desperation lacing every drag of my tongue against hers, sweeping against the crevices of her mouth, drawing her closer, a tightly curl of her hands fisted into my jacket, tugging me closer.

"Always so sweet to me." I murmur, nose nudging against hers, a tremble to my words I can't hide, the same tremors that wrack my body with a restless ache, an anxiousness that it won't be anyone but me to bring the life and home we've created to come crashing down. A house of cards that'll blow apart with the breath of my words, of my stifled want that I don't know if she shares. A secret that could break everything because I was wrong in wanting it in the first place.

A sting to my eyes, prickling and sharp and familiar.

"Tae... honey..." words aching and raw, eyes wide and imploring.

Sensing that something's wrong, a vulnerability in her eyes even as she presses slower kisses to calm the racing our heartbeats, flaring wild and unrestrained, thudding in the confines of flesh and bones.

I quietly shake my head, not ready to sacrifice this quiet content, this ache momentarily soothed because her words settle instead.

That nothing will change that love and foundation we've set together. Nothing will change what we are.

And a shred of courage takes root. Firming itself.

And maybe...maybe I can... maybe I should talk about it.

----------------------

I don't process everything all at once. Senses slowly sinking in, working at different paces. A featherlight brush of fingertips against my jaw, slow and unrushed, a repetitive movement that's drowsy and sluggish.

Mind syrupy and fogged. Clouded with sleep, barely holding onto the barest shreds of consciousness. Arm tightening slightly around her, eyes heavy, the effort to blink them open, head turning to peer at her, drowsiness making my eyes droop again.

The room is shadowed, dark, encased in a dim glow, her body a silhouette pressed to me, lips pressing kisses gently to skin, the repetitive motion soft and fluttering. Fleeting affection that sinks in further and further into my bones. Winding around me to encase me in the embrace of her touch even if she's tucked small against me.

Thoughts feel like treacle, sorting through them is impossible. Mind hazed with sleep, nothing to hold onto save for the soft press of curves against my side, hand rubbing up and down her spine, fingers absently toying with the tip of her hair, silky strands that wind against my hand.

Feel the soft curve of a smile pressed to skin, body curved to hers, head tilting to hers, mind slow—already feeling as if I'm asleep.

"...love you Tae..."

My breath exhales, quiet and soft.

Cheek pressed to her hair.

"Love you." I mumble in return, voice hoarse and scratchy. Rough with sleep, curving closer to her, body trying to impossibly press closer to hers, body turning, arm winding around her front, resting at the low of her back.

The silence falls once more, lulling me back to sleep, mind drifting, content in the embrace of my wife curved against me. Almost... almost asleep, teetering into its snare when her voice, soft and hushed draws me back, reels me in a tiny bit more.

"I know... I know you've been scared... I know I have been too... but I think we'd be okay..."

Eyes weighted and heavy, exhaustion trying to draw me to sink into the sheets, but the soft vulnerability of her voice somehow pierces through sleep, winds a tendril through it to reach me and entrusts her words, her admission to me.

Blinking my eyes open.

Eyes catching onto her hair, trailing lower, face shadowed but the expression not hidden, unguarded and raw, eyes sleepy, the curve of her lips trembling.

A glossiness to her eyes that reflects the dimness of the lantern's glow in them and leaves her expression fragile. Fingers trailing to cup my cheek, breath shaky in the quiet.

"You'd be a good dad Tae... such a good dad..." words trembling.

My breath stills.

And my heart in its slow steadiness flips a beat.

Stops.

Thumbing at my skin gently, eyes shiny with emotion, with the truth that she's taken the courage to speak about.

She's always been stronger than me.

"....always make me feel safe. Know you'd do the same if we had a baby..." her words slow, just as drowsy. But needing to get the words out.

A teetering point that frays, where the lines blur and there's no more restraint left to hold back what... what it seems like she wants too.

Eyes fluttering heavily, the brush of her lashes against her skin, the heavy lull before she shifts in bed, presses closer to me, words murmured hushed. Confided into my skin, heavy with sleep and laden with exhaustion.

"Oh (Y/N)..." her name has always been a prayer and plea both.

And now it sounds like the earths and heavens combined, the entirety of my universe contained within her name, within her.

"....can't imagine...anyone doing it better than you..."

My hand cradles her closer, sprawling against the low of her back, fingertips pressing squeezingly, desperate in this moment to meld the two of us so no beginning, nor middle no end exists between us. It's a continuity of us, an amalgamation that can't be separated.

"...not scared anymore...not scared Tae..."

And I realise, body still drowsy but mind awakening.

I realise with an aching heart that so much hurt, so much could've been spoken and said, that her voice trembles with the rawness of her words, with admitting what I'd been too afraid to say. But she entrusts her words to me, entrusts her most vulnerable to me.

And my hands draw her closer to cradle her.

To cherish and cradle her to me.

And I realise... that whatever I'd been worrying about was futile.

Because both of us are scared. Because both of us are scared but not about having... but not about a baby anymore.

"I think..." I confess.

"....I think... not been scared for some time....'m sorry if I made you feel you couldn't—say." Words slow, quiet. Truth murmured into her hair, head bent to hers, lips pressing kisses.

It feels as if the two of us exist in a scape beyond living and awake, somewhere beyond dreams too because I can't tell if this beautiful raw confession is something I've wished for so fervently, so feverishly that now its conjured to my mind. That I've yearned for it so deeply, so wholly that now I'm rewarded with it.

Hand drifting to cup the back of her nape, her head tilting to peer at me, a pained noise at the tears that trickle down her cheeks, spilling over to streak down her cheeks, lips trembling as I press them to her cheeks, tasting the sorrow of time lost but a greater overwhelming tenderness in her eyes that reflect me in them. Lips chasing away each tear that trickles down her cheeks, nose nudging against hers, drawing her to me.

Arms wound around her when she presses herself against me once more, the faint shudder of her breaths exhaled against my throat, lips pressing firmly to my skin. To my pulse that flares that bit.

"...I want... I want a baby with you." I whisper.

And it's not just a dream. It's a want so visceral my lungs ache as I speak and my heart catches in my chest, a lump in my throat when (Y/N) presses another shaky kiss to my skin, fingers curling against skin.

"I want nothing more..."

(AND SCENE! AND Midiiplier I KNOW YOU'LL BE HUNTING ME DOWN AFTER THIS SO I'M SOOOOOOORRYYYYYY THAT IT WAS SUCH A LONG CHAPTER—PERHAPS MY LONGEST FOR THIS FIC AND YET... YET IT DIDN'T REACH THE ENDPOINT I WANTED! BUT OH WELL! ANOTHER CHAPTER IT IS! I HOPE I GOT THE ACHY BUILD OF WANTING TO SAY AND NOT SAYING...THAT ACHINESS TO COME THROUGH IN THIS CHAPTER!! LET ME KNOW HOW YOU ALL FOUND IT! AND GAHHHH! I ALWAYS LOVE WRITING THEM—I LOVED WRITING THIS CHAPTER! UNI AND A BUSIER SCHEDULE DELAYED THIS CHAPTER BY A WEEK SO I AM SO VERY SORRY! BUT THAT BEING SAID—ENJOY 38K! CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER TOO!! TAKE CARE~)

Borahae! 💜💜💜

PurpleQueenie <3