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Hwang Hyunjin is the most beautiful girl in the entire world. It’s a damning, irrefutable fact of life, Jeongin is sure of it—the Earth is round, the sky is blue, and her girlfriend is the most gorgeous woman to exist.
And she knows it, too. She won’t say it outright, of course. Jeongin loves to compliment her, make her blush, watch as she hides behind her hair under the attention, shy and flustered—but it’s undeniable how it makes her smile, how her eyes shine and turn just a touch sly at the praise, how she sits straighter as Jeongin talks her up. The way she bites her lip and raises her eyebrows slightly, asking for more.
Jeongin indulges her. Of course she does. It makes her heart flutter and her ego burst and her cunt throb.
But only when she is the reason for it. Only when Hyunjin turns red because of her words, her touch, her praise. Hyunjin is the sole focus of her attention—shouldn’t it be fair that it goes both ways?
Minho says she’s a jealous brat. As much as she loves him, Jeongin thinks her brother is a fucking asshole: she’s seen the way he looks at Hyunjin when he thinks she’s not watching. The fact that the two of them are good friends is the worst thing to happen to Jeongin, actually—she only lets it be because she trusts Hyunjin more than she trusts her brother, and she knows, despite everything, that her brother still loves her enough not to try and fuck his sister’s girlfriend.
Maybe he also knows she’d kill him if he were to try.
All of this to say—Hyunjin is Jeongin’s, hers to please, hers to praise. Not everyone gets the memo, though.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Hyunjin sighs. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with a roll of her eyes, but it’s gentle. It doesn’t soothe the fire burning in the pit of Jeongin’s gut, though.
“He was all over you, unnie,” Jeongin hisses. She tightens her hand around Hyunjin’s hip, slides it just a bit so it sits a little to the front. Possessive.
Mine.
“He was being nice!” Hyunjin replies. She turns in Jeongin’s half-embrace to face her. She’s so fucking gorgeous—thick lips glossy and pink, eyes bright and adorable one second, sultry and dark the next. Her hair is black, long, tied up in a half-do with strands that frame her face beautifully. Jeongin would kiss her if she wasn’t so fucking angry. “You’re exaggerating. You’re gonna make every possible buyer stay away from me with your bad vibes, Innie.”
“Not all of them. Just the creepy ones.”
Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Honey. You won’t let anyone approach me.”
Sue Jeongin for being aware of how devastatingly beautiful Hyunjin is. “That’s not true. You’ve talked to plenty of people already,” she sniffs.
Plenty of people, yes. Older couples who appraise Hyunjin’s work with quiet delight, an impressionable elite who pretend to grasp the depth of the art before them. It’s not that Jeongin despises them, but she’s also not blind to the looks of contempt they keep getting throughout the night. It’s fine, though—those are the people who will still fold, still fall for Hyunjin’s charm and her work and who will buy it at the end of the night. Those are the people Jeongin smiles at, and she’ll step back and let Hyunjin work her magic, bright eyed and sweet.
Plenty of people have also been sending Hyunjin looks—the same she gets whenever she enters a room, whenever she walks past a crowd. Hungry, shameless, lingering on the curve of her ass or the swell of her chest. Jeongin catches them all. It stirs something ugly in her, sure, but it’s not her fault she sees it for what it is while Hyunjin merely thinks she’s meddling. She would never.
At least, for now, Hyunjin seems to drop it. She only sighs loudly, and leans into Jeongin’s embrace. “Whatever. We’ll be wrapping up pretty soon anyway. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes,” Jeongin rushes out quickly, not even ashamed of how it might sound. When she catches Hyunjin’s eye, she finds her smirking, something playful dancing in her gaze. “What is it?”
“Hm, nothing,” Hyunjin smiles. She bites her lip, then turns to survey the room. “You’re awfully territorial today, baby.”
“Don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on,” Jeongin huffs. She can feel the tip of her ears burn, but ignores it.
“Never said it didn’t,” Hyunjin murmurs, only loud enough for her to hear. “What are you going to—oh, wait, he’s coming back, let me go, Jeongin-ah!”
Jeongin does not let go.
This is the same man who had been glued to her side just minutes prior—early forties, salt and pepper hair, good build for his age, ravenous eyes roving over Hyunjin’s figure. He’s only gone to grab himself a drink… and a second one, it seems. It’s not hard to figure out who it is for, and it’s definitely not for Jeongin, no matter how much she grabs at Hyunjin.
She’ll just have to make it more obvious who Hyunjin belongs to.
“Miss Hwang,” he greets again, tone dripping thick honey. Jeongin wants to throw up in his fucking face. “I hope you don’t mind me coming back. I just cannot stop thinking about your piece, over here.”
He points to one of the widest canvases displayed in the gallery. Like most of Hyunjin’s work exhibited today, the brush strokes are harsh, the subjects often blurred through the paint. It’s not any less impressive, though—this one, in particular, has splashes of red and pink all across it over a deep tan, shadows prominent. The curve of a smirk and a collarbone, the hint of a breast, the fabric of a discarded shirt. A lover.
Jeongin wonders if this man can figure out that’s her in the painting.
Hyunjin only smiles at him, sweet but a little less open than she has been all night. She offers him an apologetic look. “Oh. Like I said, that one’s, um—that one is not for sale, I’m afraid.”
Jeongin’s hand slides further across the plane of Hyunjin’s waist, almost right under her belly button across the silk of her dress. She watches as the man in front of them pays little attention to the gesture. Her hand twitches.
The man—Park or Shin or whatever the fuck his name is, Jeongin doesn’t care—leans in slightly with a smile of his own. It’s probably meant to be intimate, disarming, something other women might swoon over. Jeongin hates him. “Please, miss Hwang. I’ve made it clear, I believe, that I’m a big fan of your art. I’m sure we can work something out, yes?”
Hyunjin’s smile tightens at the corners. “Not for this piece, Mr. Seong. I can point you to—”
“I’ll give you a good price for it, I promise.” His eyes slide to Jeongin before he says, “Perhaps we can work this out in private?”
Oh, fuck that.
Jeongin’s hand presses against Hyunjin’s navel, pulling them closer together. She feels Hyunjin shiver against her, and smiles into her neck, keeping her eyes on the man. If she was any more shameless, she’d grind into her ass, have Hyunjin fall apart before him under her hands, showing him exactly who is allowed to touch her—but for now, only this will do.
She drinks in his reaction—a twitch of his eyebrow, a downward pull to his carefully constructed smile. Bingo.
Between them, Hyunjin clears her throat. Jeongin can feel how she’s locking her muscles, trying not to melt into Jeongin’s body. “I don’t—I won’t change my mind on this one, I’m sorry.” She straightens, and Jeongin relents some of the pressure of her palm to allow her movement. “Jeonginnie, let’s go.”
Jeongin hums. She drops a kiss at the crook of Hyunjin’s neck. Her eyes don’t leave the man in front of them. “Of course, honey.”
She revels in the way his smile falls when Hyunjin shifts in her arms, walking away and clearly ending their conversation.
Mine.
⊹₊⟡⋆
There is a beautiful, standing full-length mirror in Hyunjin’s bedroom. It’s a gift from Jeongin, when she’d moved in.
It’s a beautiful piece—tall, vintage, with carved ornaments into the wood at the head of the frame and its foot. It stands with hinges on the side locked into a solid, easel-like base. Hyunjin had marvelled at it, smiling wide, when Jeongin had managed to snatch the thing online and drive it back to their apartment—her hands flailed around it, moving it here and there in their bedroom to find the perfect place for it. As it stands, now, it faces their bed, between Hyunjin’s dressing and the window.
When Jeongin looks at it, now, it shows her this: Hyunjin in her lap, thighs spread wide, her dress halfway off her body, taken with pleasure. Jeongin is right behind her, has one hand cradling the base of Hyunjin’s throat and the other guiding her hips as Hyunjin fucks herself nice and slow on her strap.
Hyunjin throws her head back and moans when Jeongin’s hand slides up her throat, just a soft touch against her skin. “Jeongin-ah, fuck.”
“Unnie,” Jeongin whispers against the side of Hyunjin’s neck, black hair getting caught in her mouth when she speaks. She can’t tear her eyes away from the mirror—the way the dark silk of Hyunjin’s dress looks, folding onto itself around her waist; her naked tits flushed with her arousal, pierced nipples perked and hard. She’s still wearing her jewelry, her necklace falling right between her breasts, glinting in the harsh light of their bedroom. Jeongin had turned on the ceiling light—something they never really do—because she wanted to see. Everything. “Look at you, baby. Look at how good you are to me, hm?”
“Yes,” Hyunjin whimpers, her hips and thighs still moving up and down around Jeongin’s cock. She has one arm holding herself up against Jeongin’s hips and the other in Jeongin’s hair. She looks gorgeous. Jeongin always thinks so. “I’m—I’m your—”
“My good girl, baby, that’s right—fuck,” she gasps, when Hyunjin’s hand in her hair tightens at the praise. She leaves open-mouthed kisses on Hyunjin’s neck, tastes the salt of her sweat under her tongue. The tang of it makes her hum against her skin, dewy soft. “Don’t you see how good I make you feel?”
“Always,” Hyunjin nods. Her eyes are closed, and small noises escape her throat each time she sits herself down on Jeongin’s cock almost absentmindedly, when she’s not speaking. “Ah—you’re always so good to me, always make me—uh—make me feel so good.”
That’s right. Hyunjin is hers to praise, hers to please. “That’s right. Tell me, baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Who do you belong to?” she whispers right into Hyunjin’s ear.
Hyunjin’s moan rings loudly in their bedroom—Jeongin rewards her, pressing her closer against her chest. “To you,” Hyunjin says. “I’m yours, only yours, only ever been yours.”
It’s a cute story, after all. Hyunjin and Jeongin, high school sweethearts who have never left each other’s side. Gentle puppy love that grew into something burning, all-encompassing, and Jeongin hopes to God it lasts forever. There was only ever Hyunjin for Jeongin, and she’s so lucky Hyunjin loves her, too.
Still, there’s something primal that tugs at her gut when she hears it—only ever been yours. Jeongin is the only one to ever have Hyunjin; like this, sure, but in every other way, too. Her heart and her smiles and her every waking moment.
Her hand slides from Hyunjin’s hip to her navel, not unlike earlier that night—pressing against her bare skin this time, tugging her closer, fucking her deeper.
“Mine,” she breathes right into Hyunjin’s ear, smiles when she feels her shudder. “You’re mine, Hyunjinnie.”
Hyunjin sounds so sweet for her—the way her voice gets high with pleasure, the way her throat closes around her whimpers when she’s close. It’s almost a shame no one else gets to hear her like this, Jeongin muses. It’s such a beautiful melody, for her ears only.
“Innie, Innie, please,” she begs—so pretty, so sweet, her hips stuttering with her pleasure, “please, could you…”
“Yes, honey?”
“My—my neck, I’m close, so close, just—baby, please, please…”
Jeongin smiles against her neck, licks up at the skin. She doesn’t say a word before her hand tightens at her throat, shivers when she feels Hyunjin’s voice against her palm when she moans. Her other hand slides lower, before she presses the heel of her palm against Hyunjin’s clit, giving her something to grind into.
“Oh, fuck, yes, yes, yes—ah, I’m close, close, close,” Hyunjin chants, and Jeongin snaps her hips up with renewed vigour at the words.
She kisses Hyunjin’s shoulder, scrapes her teeth against the skin. “That’s right, baby, let go for me, yeah?”
It’s all it takes.
Jeongin watches the mirror as Hyunjin comes—her cry loud and dragged out of her throat as her spine arches, hips fucking up against Jeongin’s hand, down against her cock; she shudders violently in Jeongin’s arms, her body moving unconsciously to make the pleasure last as long as possible. Jeongin drinks it all in, her own hips moving languidly into her cunt with slower strokes, hands smoothing out against her skin.
Hwang Hyunjin is the most beautiful girl in the entire world. It’s a damning, irrefutable fact of life, Jeongin is sure of it—especially now.
When Hyunjin’s voice turns into a whine, sensitive, Jeongin lets up, sliding both her hands back around Hyunjin’s hips, but keeps moving into her, slowly. Always so good to her, her Hyunjinnie. “Innie…”
“Unnie, please, I’m so—so close, you’ll help me, hm?”
Jeongin gets like this, after Hyunjin comes—overtaken with something sweet and thick dripping into her bloodstream, and she starts whining, like a needy little thing while a spent, softened Hyunjin takes care of her. She’ll never admit it out loud, but it’s her favourite part of sex with Hyunjin—how vulnerable Jeongin lets herself become, and how good it feels when she revels in Hyunjin’s attention, after showering her with hers.
“Of course, my love,” Hyunjin murmurs. Her words are slurred, and she’s still a little out of it, but it’s part of what makes this so good. She brings her hands to her own tits, fondling them and squishing them together as Jeongin watches in the mirror, moaning. “You always make me come so good, darling.”
“Yeah?” she says with a small voice. She’s so, so fucking close. Hyunjin is so pretty, all for her, only her.
Hyunjin nods around a hum. Her eyes flutter closed again, moving slightly against her as Jeongin continues fucking into her leisurely. “Hm, yeah. I wish—I wish I could feel you come in me, baby.”
Jeongin whimpers, pressing Hyunjin’s hips closer against hers—the harness digs into her clit, offering just the amount of pressure she needs, if she can just—she just needs to—
“Wish you could pump me full, make me feel you for hours, hm?”
“Unnie, I’m—I—”
A whine gets caught around Hyunjin’s words. Her hands are still moving against her chest, tugging at the bars going through her nipples, making her shudder. “Fuck—wish you could get me pregnant, have your babies, honey.”
Jeongin comes.
It crashes into her, startlingly violent, and she grinds up into Hyunjin around a loud moan. “Fuck, oh my God—”
Hyunjin is still moving her hips against her, slow little circles that drag out Jeongin’s orgasm. She smiles at Jeongin’s reflection in the mirror, licking her lips. She’s sinful, and Jeongin moans again. “That’s it, baby. So good, yeah?”
Jeongin whines, hiding her face in Hyunjin’s hair as she rides out the last waves of her climax. It’s a while before her head clears, before she stops moving, and she’s still panting against Hyunjin’s shoulder when she pulls out slowly from her. Hyunjin whimpers at the loss, but doesn’t keep her from moving away.
She lets herself fall back into the mattress, catching her breath. Hyunjin looks like an apparition, like this; towering over her, pale skin washed under the harsh light coming from the ceiling, haloing around her hair, a tangled mess running down her back. Holy, ungodly, all at once. Mine.
Sometimes, Jeongin thinks it’s a shame she is no artist the way Hyunjin is. She’d spend her days painting her curves, tracing each and every inch of her body and smile on paper or canvas, immortalizing it forever, if she had even a bone of Hyunjin’s boundless creativity in her. The world might not deserve to have Hyunjin walk amongst them, but they should see how stunning she is for Jeongin, like she is right now and every day. Is that not right?
Before her, Hyunjin turns slowly, crawling until she positions herself right above her hips—she leans down, takes the silicone cock still stuck to the strap into her mouth around an exaggerated moan, her eyes fluttering shut as she tastes herself. Jeongin almost comes again on the spot at the sight alone.
“Fucking hell, unnie,” she breathes out. Her hips tentatively push up, and Hyunjin pulls off, her tongue lolling out. A sound gets caught in Jeongin’s throat.
Hyunjin is so fucking sexy. It’s disarming, even after all this time. Jeongin wouldn’t have it any other way.
Hyunjin opens her eyes, making a quick job at unfastening the strap around Jeongin’s hips and pulling it away, freeing her from it. She bites her lip around a sated smile before she moves to slot herself flush against Jeongin’s side. Their arms wound immediately around each other, and Jeongin dives in to kiss her, swallowing the sigh Hyunjin lets out as she licks into her mouth.
They make out for a while like this; slow, leisured, quiet. Their hands are soft against each other’s skin, not pressing, simply caressing. Jeongin hums as Hyunjin’s entire body melts into her own. The fabric of her dress is bunched up around her waist now, probably soiled and dirty. Jeongin doesn’t care. She doesn’t think Hyunjin does either.
This, too, counts amongst Jeongin’s favourite parts about sex with Hyunjin, or life with her, really. Kissing her, tasting her, having her boneless in her arms, endlessly giving and crawling back into her embrace, every time. The sweetness of her mouth is addicting, and Jeongin will never stop herself from coming back for more, every day. Love, poured out from their lips, shared and tenacious and true.
Completely theirs.
“I love you,” Hyunjin says quietly into her mouth before kissing her again. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, unnie,” Jeongin says back, smiling.
⊹₊⟡⋆
“I think Minho-oppa has a crush.”
Jeongin blinks, looks up from the couch to Hyunjin, standing by the kitchen. “How’d you know that?”
Hyunjin shrugs. As she does so, the fabric of her shirt slides slightly to the left, exposing more of her collarbone. It’s terrifying how much Jeongin wants her, all the time. “Just a feeling. I saw him recently, we met up for dinner and ran into Lixie. Remember her?”
“From college?” Jeongin remembers Felix. Awfully adorable, tremendously sweet. It’s both a blessing and a curse that she’s also frighteningly straight; the thought of her and Hyunjin together has haunted both Jeongin’s hottest dreams and most terrible nightmares.
Hyunjin hums. “Yeah. Her boyfriend was with her. Chan. The way Minho looked at him… I don’t know, though. I might be, like, projecting, or whatever.”
Huh. “Projecting? What do you mean, projecting?”
As far as Jeongin is concerned, Hyunjin is gay. Like, gay gay. Full blown lesbian, never had an ounce of attraction for a man once in her life, gay. She doesn’t exactly understand how projecting would work here, or in any such cases.
Hyunjin shrugs again. She grabs herself a small, kid-sized box of mango juice from the fridge before making her way back to the living room. “I just think, if I were into men like that, Chan would be the dream guy, you know. He’s so good to Felix, she always used to gush about him.” She plops down next to Jeongin on the couch. Jeongin’s hand finds her girlfriend’s thigh immediately. “If I were Minho, disastrously bisexual and afraid of commitment Minho, a man like Chan would be, like, so hot to be with, I don’t know.”
“A man like Chan?”
Jeongin doesn’t want to see red, but she does, a little. Who the fuck is this Chan guy anyway? She’s met him maybe once or twice, back when Felix was still a close friend and not a sweet, forgotten acquaintance at best. From what she remembers, he’s not that hot. Built like a God and kind to a fault, sure, but men like that could be counted in droves, so.
“Yeah, you know. Super committed, super hot. Super bi, too. And so sweet. Minho likes that. Messing people up. He’s fucked up, you know him.”
“I do know him.” She fails to see Hyunjin’s point here. “He’s my brother, unfortunately.”
“Step-brother,” Hyunjin corrects, like she does a lot of the time. She only does it because she knows it gets on Jeongin’s nerves, who doesn’t understand why the distinction is even necessary, but whatever.
She ignores her, and barrels on. “So what do you mean by projecting?”
At that, Hyunjin pauses. She takes the time to pierce the juice box with the straw, bring it to her mouth and take a sip, lips wrapping around it as she blinks owlishly at Jeongin. A faux air of innocence. Jeongin wants to fuck it out of her, immediately.
“What do you mean by that, Innie?”
“Do you find him hot? Chan, I mean.” No need to beat around the bush anymore.
Hyunjin blinks again, but Jeongin catches it—the quirk of a smirk, immediately smothered and hidden, but there nonetheless even just for a second.
She hates to admit that Hyunjin’s games are working on her, but she can’t help it, not when she needs Hyunjin to understand that they’re it for each other, and no one, nothing can come between them. Not even a joke as stupid and vapid as this.
She watches as Hyunjin bites the straw with her front teeth, eyes wide and deceptively innocent. Jeongin needs her on her knees, crying. The hand at her thigh tightens, just a bit. “I mean, if we’re talking objectively? Yeah, he is, Jeonginnie. Haven’t you seen him?”
“No.”
She gets a roll of eyes for her quip, and it makes her burn. “Well, he’s hot. Muscles and all. He’s got dimples, just like you, baby.” Just like you. Jeongin sees red. “But it’s not just that, you know. He’s really nice. He’ll make you feel like you’re the only person that matters in the whole entire world, when you’re having a conversation with him, you know?”
No. Jeongin doesn’t know. Jeongin doesn’t care, and she doesn’t want Chan to make Hyunjin feel like the only girl in the world, when she already has Jeongin to do that for her, whenever she asks. “He’s probably full of shit. I’m sure he’s nothing special. He’s just a man.”
Hyunjin snorts a laugh. It’s a ridiculous noise, and Jeongin loves it, usually—when she’s not keyed up and annoyed and furiously jealous, like she is now. “Don’t worry, honey, I didn’t forget. Like I said—I think you should worry about Minho, actually. He seemed absolutely gone, even with Felix right there, watching him.”
Here’s the thing, though: Jeongin doesn’t give a fuck who Minho gets his dick wet with. He might as well steal Felix’s boyfriend, or steal her from him, or even fuck them both, for all she cares.
What she does give a fuck about, however, is the apparent fact that Chan could, hypothetically, make Hyunjin swoon in a world where Hyunjin wasn’t painfully gay. And while that alone should be enough reassurance not to make a whole thing out of it—well.
Jeongin’s strong suit has never really been rationality, let’s just say.
“So you think he’s hot.”
“Who, Minho? Ew, no, he’s your brother—”
“Chan. You think he’s hot, don’t you.” Not a question, a statement.
“Jeongin, I’m gay. And I’m quite literally in love with you.” Her tone is incredulous, almost teasing. “Who cares if Chan is hot?”
On any other day, Jeongin would preen at the words. She’s in love, too. With Hyunjin, with the both of them together, with what they’ve built over so many years. It burns her, it burns in her, and it won’t stop, it can never stop, it never will.
But she also cares, if Chan is hot. Or whatever. It’s not—nothing about this makes sense, she knows it, she does, but she needs, she needs—
“Who’s prettier, then?”
Hyunjin gapes at her, mango juice box forgotten. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Jeongin tightens her hand around Hyunjin’s thigh, pressing. Watches as Hyunjin’s breath hitches. Jeongin’s eyes bore into hers, assessing, unrelenting. “I’m not joking. Tell me, Jinnie.”
She hates the way it’s so obvious, how much Hyunjin enjoys this—the way her eyes widen slightly, before her cheeks heat up and her lips part, all because Jeongin is too much of a self-conscious, jealous brat to simply let a passing comment go. She hates herself for how much it truly gets to her—the teasing, the obvious trap she walks into, the way Hyunjin’s words leave no doubt of her affection yet Jeongin needs more, constantly, desperately.
She hates how much she loves to see it all unfold, when Hyunjin folds under her hands, her words, at the end, each time.
Hyunjin licks her lips before she replies, breathless. “Of course you’re the prettiest, Innie.” She bites her lip around a shy smile. “You’re the prettiest girl in the world, baby.”
“Wrong,” Jeongin says. She pulls herself closer, and Hyunjin moves to accommodate her, letting her climb over her naked thighs. “You’re the prettiest, most beautiful girl in the world, unnie. And you’re all mine.”
Hyunjin lets out a sudden breath, like it’s punched out of her—but Jeongin doesn’t waste a second before kissing her, tongue coming to wedge itself between her lips immediately, pulling out a surprised, choked out sound from Hyunjin’s throat.
She kisses Hyunjin with a purpose—pours out her desperation into every single press of their lips, every single drag of her tongue against Hyunjin’s, the roof of her mouth, the back of her teeth. I love you. I love you so much. I love you so much, I lose myself in you, sometimes. All the time. There’s nothing but you for me. I want there to be nothing but me to you, too. I need it, Jinnie. I need you.
Hyunjin lets herself be kissed, at first. She kisses back tender, sweet, so, so sweet. The sweetest thing Jeongin has ever tasted. She whines under Jeongin’s touch—she always sounds so lovely—lets her hands roam around her hips, her waist, pulling her closer. Jeongin shudders under those hands, rolls down her hips, drinks in the low moan coming out of Hyunjin’s mouth at the gesture. Mine.
“Tell me again,” Jeongin breathes in the infinitely small space between them, shudders under Hyunjin’s hands. Hyunjin’s lips are wet with their spit, bitten raw, red harsh against pale skin.
Her eyes are still closed when she answers, blissful. “Hm?”
A peck at the corner of her mouth. “Tell me, Jinnie. Who’s the prettiest?”
“‘S you, baby. Prettiest—hm—girl to me. I love you so much, honey, so, so much.”
“That’s right,” Jeongin smiles, shifting her hips again. She can feel herself get wetter by the second, Hyunjin soft and pliant under her, her anger almost lost to the fog of her arousal. “Tell me again.”
“It’s you, ‘s only you.”
She sighs at the words, lets Hyunjin pull her even closer, their chests brushing. Shivers run down her spine when she feels the metal of Hyunjin’s piercings against her own tits. “Tell me, again.”
“Only you.” Hyunjin bites at Jeongin’s bottom lip. Somehow, she manages to make the gesture reassuring, gentle. Jeongin soars. “Only you.”
⊹₊⟡⋆
It’s not always pretty, though. There are times Jeongin goes too far. There are times Hyunjin doesn’t find it charming, anymore.
The only person who understands is Minho. They might be siblings, and he might be absolutely fucking infuriating on most days, but he’s still the closest thing to a best friend Jeongin has ever known, before she met Hyunjin.
And look how that turned out.
“You’re gonna freak her out, one day,” Minho drawls from the other end of the line, one afternoon. “She’ll finally realize how fucking insane you are and run the other way.”
“Fuck off,” Jeongin mutters. She’s on her way to Hyunjin’s studio, tucked between two elderly ladies on the subway who keep sending her snide glances and disapproving looks. Maybe it’s the way she’s dressed—low-rise baggy pants and a top that’s a little too tight on her small chest, and a jacket that makes noise every time she moves—or maybe it’s the way she’s speaking to her darling brother on her phone. Who knows. “She won’t. I wouldn’t let her, anyway.”
Hyunjin wouldn’t want to leave, anyway. Right? As much as Jeongin sometimes smothers her with it, Hyunjin loves her attention, her constant care. She tells her as much, reassures her constantly. She wouldn’t leave. She can never leave. Right?
Right.
Minho laughs. It sounds manic and mocking through the static of the phone line. “See? She will. Poor Hyunjin, she doesn’t deserve that, hm? Maybe once she realizes her pathetic girlfriend is a lunatic, she’ll come find comfort in—”
“Mom called to ask you to lend her more money, by the way,” Jeongin cuts off. Her tone is harsh, and the woman to her left startles at the volume. “Eight million won by the end of the week. Don’t count on me to get her off your back again, oppa.”
She knows she’s being mean. Minho was asking for it.
“Ah,” he scoffs, mirth gone from his voice. Minho’s tone is curt, now. Annoyed, bothered, and just a touch regretful. Somehow, that doesn’t make Jeongin feel any better. “Low blow, Iyen-ah. I’ll—I’ll get in touch, just—” He swallows, and his phone picks it up. Jeongin sighs, swallows down the guilt climbing up her throat. “Just—please. Help me out this time, yeah? I’m sorry.”
“You’d better be.” She doesn’t promise him anything, but they both know she’ll call her mom anyway, make up some excuse. They only really ever have each other, when it comes to family. “I’m hanging up now. Try not to die before I see you, oppa.”
“Tell Hyunjin I said hi,” he replies, but it’s devoid of any sort of teasing tone, and he hangs up before Jeongin can curse him out anyway.
She sighs. Swallows around the lump at her throat and the twist at her gut, and stands up to step out of the subway.
Jeongin knows the way she loves Hyunjin is twisted. Ugly and wrong, sometimes, she thinks on the worst days. Desperately devoted, a little too close to obsessed. Jeongin is lucky enough that Hyunjin, most of the time, finds it endearing. “My own guardian angel,” she says around a sly smile, and Jeongin melts.
But the truth is so far from Hyunjin’s lovely words; Jeongin is no angel. She wants, she craves, she’s covered in flames that burn at the height of her love, constant—that is to say, incredibly bright, incredibly hot, and never, ever ending.
She misses Hyunjin when she is near, and she revolts at the idea of letting her out of her sight, even when it is necessary. She dreams of shackles around dainty wrists and delicate ankles, and she dreams of her own lips, tracing patterns on pale skin following their clicking shut. She dreams of never leaving their bed. She dreams of drinking in the sight of Hyunjin from the moment she wakes until the moment she sleeps, or dies. Whichever comes first, until she cannot wake again.
Her greed knows no bounds, and Hyunjin forgets, sometimes. Jeongin can’t let the guilt consume her, though—it’s there, of course it’s there, sinking deep into her stomach and never really leaving. It’s a brand of dark poison that seeps into her every touch, her every kiss. But letting it win means letting Hyunjin go, and Jeongin is far too selfish for that. She wants, she craves, and she won’t ever, ever let Hyunjin leave her.
The air is crisp and cold when she steps out of the subway car, running down the stars to reach the street in a hurry. Hyunjin’s studio is tucked into an alley off the main boulevard, barely a few blocks away from the station. It’s definitely a huge perk, especially on colder days like this, when Jeongin has a habit of severely underdressing for the weather.
It’s fine, though. Hyunjin runs cold, too, and her studio is always warm. When Jeongin finally steps in, she welcomes her in her arms, drops a chaste kiss at her hairline.
Warm.
“How are you, baby?” Hyunjin asks, already walking back to the window.
Next to it stands her easel—a wide canvas, blood red against a sea of pale pink, almost pearly white; skin stained red, with slashes of black where a thigh curves against a stomach. Jeongin shudders.
“I’m okay.” Jeongin’s voice is distant, she knows. She’s staring—the painting is stunning. It’s most definitely a self-portrait; Jeongin recognizes the moles at Hyunjin’s hips, the dips of them near her smooth stomach. Painted with shy strokes and vulnerability pouring out of the piece, like Hyunjin wants the world to see, but not too close. “What’s this?”
Hyunjin turns to follow her gaze, and hums when she catches her staring. “Oh, this? Just practice. I’m trying to get better with different angles, and new brush strokes, too. If it turns out alright, I might expose it next month at—”
“You can’t.”
The words are said calmly, her tone is firm, quiet. But Jeongin, underneath it all, stands still with something icing over her limbs, climbing up her throat.
Hyunjin’s art is always so compelling, absolutely mesmerizing—it is praise she deserves not just because Jeongin admires her, but because her talent speaks for itself—but it has rarely ever showcased her before. Self-portraits were the stuff of hidden, personal sketchbooks and doodles in her art school supplies, or practice time in the college studio that never saw the light of day outside of those walls. As much as Jeongin loves to praise her, to show her off, it’s coming to her now that this shyness of Hyunjin’s has always worked in favour of Jeongin’s obsession.
The world might not deserve to have Hyunjin walk amongst them, and maybe they shouldn’t see how stunning she is for Jeongin either, like she showcases herself on that canvas. Not on Jeongin’s terms, anyway.
She knows she’s being ridiculous, she knows she is made up of contradictions, she knows, most of all, how awful she’s being—but Jeongin doesn’t say another word to justify herself, not before Hyunjin probes, anyway.
“What?”
“You can’t.”
Thick eyebrows narrow slightly on Hyunjin’s forehead, and Jeongin hates herself for relishing in the sight, despite the lead sinking down her stomach. “What do you mean, I can’t?”
“You’ve never done self-portraits before.” Jeongin swallows. There’s no logic to this, nothing but her own fucking greed, but she can’t—she must— “Why start now?”
Recognition dawns on Hyunjin, before her face morphs with thinly veiled, growing anger. There’s confusion smeared in there, too, not like she doesn’t understand Jeongin’s point—but rather like she can’t fathom this happening now, about this, about her art.
The one thing that belongs entirely to Hyunjin, the one thing Jeongin lets her have completely, because she knows just how much it means to her.
A quick smile appears on Hyunjin’s lips. It doesn’t reach her eyes, no matter how much Jeongin sees she tries. “That’s none of your concern.”
“But—”
“I’ll expose what I damn please, Jeongin,” Hyunjin cuts, a murmur so loud in the room she might as well have yelled it out. Jeongin grits her teeth, watches as Hyunjin turns to show her back to her, tight with tension. “You don’t get to decide any of that.”
“Of course,” Jeongin says. She swallows again. There’s something prickly and painful in her throat now, sharper than the lump she felt earlier, in the subway, speaking with her brother.
You’re gonna freak her out, one day.
She feels so small, suddenly. Hyunjin is just a year older than her, but right now, Jeongin feels so terribly fragile, so much younger. She hates the fact that the only thing she wants, right now, is Hyunjin’s reassurance—her embrace, her soft-spoken words, the warmth of her presence—and it’s the one thing Hyunjin is least likely to give her.
She barely remembers why she came here in the first place.
“I’ll see you at home,” she manages out. Jeongin licks her lips, nods, looks down at the floor before Hyunjin meets her eyes. “I just remembered I’ve got a few things to do for class, I’ll—I’m sorry, I can’t stay.”
“You only just got here.” Hyunjin’s voice is both parts accusing and cold, confused and warm. It’s a cocktail of emotions too complex for Jeongin to decipher at this time.
Something pulses under her skin, blood thickened into something unbearable, pulsing against her every limb and making her run cold, cold, cold. She shivers under her jacket. Jeongin has a habit of severely underdressing for the weather.
“I know, but—” she tries to chuckle, but the sound is horribly hollow. Jeongin hates this, hates feeling like she’s too much, like she’s ruining everything, like it’s only a matter of time before— “You know how I am. Forgetful. Clumsy. I’ll—I’ll see you at home, unnie.”
Poor Hyunjin, she doesn’t deserve that, hm?
There’s an apologetic twist to the words when Hyunjin simply says, “Okay, baby.”
Jeongin nods, looks up to find Hyunjin’s eyes—frowning brows making her look so much older, and Jeongin is so tired of feeling so small, her emotions too big for her frame.
She attempts a smile, though. She can’t help herself, when Hyunjin is the most beautiful sight her eyes have ever appraised. “Love you.”
A sigh and a smile, resigned but kind, somehow. “Love you too.”
Jeongin leaves, quick on her feet as she steps back into the cold of winter, before her thoughts can manage to convince her to walk right back into Hyunjin’s arms.
⊹₊⟡⋆
Two days later, Jeongin is at work when she gets a text from her girlfriend.
jinnie 💌
baby
what do you think?
jinnie 💌 sent an attachment.
Jeongin looks up from her phone to scan the shop, makes sure there isn’t a client waiting for her help before glancing back down, opening up the picture.
She drops it almost immediately against the counter, the clatter loud in the small shop. One customer startles, turning her way, and Jeongin bows quickly with her eyes glued to the counter under her, face flushed.
Once the small commotion passes, she takes a long, deep breath, and turns her phone over again. She stares.
The picture shows Hyunjin—or rather, her half-naked body, between her sternum, from right under the curve of her breasts held up by her arm, to her hips, covered in black jeans. The pants are undone, though, and sit so low on her she’s almost showing her entire underwear. The elastic band of her panties is being slightly pushed down by Hyunjin’s thumb to reveal a wider stretch of her pale skin at her navel, smooth and freshly shaven.
And right there, in fresh, black ink against reddened, sensitive skin, so close to the most intimate part of her, sit three small letters, in a delicate script.
y.j.i.
It’s a small thing—barely bigger than Jeongin’s thumb, she can already feel herself covering it with a single finger, pressing against the skin, lightheaded—but it’s enough to make Jeongin’s blood rush south immediately, while her head clouds with instant arousal.
She doesn’t text back—instead, Jeongin calls, isn’t surprised with Hyunjin picks up after the first ring.
“Hi, baby,” she greets, tone teasing. She sounds happy, breathless, excited. Jeongin burns.
She exhales harshly. “What’s this?”
“A tattoo,” Hyunjin says simply, like Jeongin is an idiot. Her voice is condescending, and Jeongin has to bite her lip not to make an undignified sound. “Can’t you tell?”
“It’s real?”
“Yeah, it is. Jisungie just got it done for me. He’s so quick with his work. It barely took any time at all.”
The thought of Han Jisung sitting so closely to her girlfriend’s cunt for minutes on end makes Jeongin almost balk in fury, before she remembers the letters inked into Hyunjin’s skin. Her initials.
Yang Jeongin.
She has to swallows hard before she speaks again. “When can I see it?”
Hyunjin giggles. Jeongin can feel herself growing wetter, and she has to adjust herself in her seat. “When are you getting off work?”
“In an hour.” It couldn’t come any fucking faster.
“Then you’ll see it in an hour, my love,” Hyunjin whispers on the other end of the line. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”
Before Jeongin can say anything, Hyunjin hangs up.
Jeongin exhales, closes her eyes, tightens her hand around her phone. Just one hour. She can even spare a few minutes near the end, close just a touch earlier. It’s Sunday, there’s no one at the store, and it’s not like her boss fucking cares what she does anyway.
It takes an incredible amount of self-control for her not to simply close immediately and rush back home. She deserves the highest praise for that alone.
The hour passes in long stretches of unbearable boredom. Jeongin thinks of Hyunjin—laid out on Jisung’s table, shuddering under his pen as she gets inked with Jeongin’s mark. Jeongin knows Hyunjin enjoys it when it hurts a little. Did she get turned on, getting branded with Jeongin’s name like that? Is she at home now, fingers in her cunt, waiting for Jeongin to relieve her?
What even made her do that, anyway?
When six o’clock strikes, her feet take her to the subway almost immediately. She doesn’t even double check to make sure she locked up properly.
It’s only a ten minute ride until she reaches their apartment, but it cannot fucking go fast enough.
When Jeongin finally, finally steps into their apartment, she finds Hyunjin on the couch, tight black t-shirt showing the jewelry at her nipples, and sitting in boxers that definitely belong to Jeongin.
“Oh, God,” Jeongin moans at the sight, rushing to step out of her shoes and drop her bag before joining Hyunjin on the couch.
She watches as Hyunjin laughs, throwing her head back against the couch. Her hair is tied up, away from her face, and Jeongin can see the stunning blush painting her neck and cheeks when Jeongin finally sits next to her, hands on her girlfriend’s hips.
“Show me,” she breathes, and Hyunjin has to take her hands and put them on Jeongin’s wrists for her to calm down just a touch.
“Just—baby, please, be careful, it hurts, still,” she chuckles, but she drags Jeongin’s hands to pull the boxers down, and—
There it is.
It looks hot to the touch, still, wrapped under thin plastic film, but Jeongin can see now with her own eyes, stark black against the smooth skin of Hyunjin’s navel.
y.j.i.
“Holy fuck, unnie,” she sighs, running her thumb delicately over the letters. Under her touch, Hyunjin shudders, letting out a small noise at the back of her throat.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Hyunjin sighs. One of her hands makes her way into Jeongin’s short hair, pushing back the strands and scratching at her scalp.
“Have you?”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin nods. Jeongin looks up to stare at her—eyes so unbearably gentle, even as Jeongin wants nothing more than to eat her whole. She loves her so, so much. More than words could ever express. “I’m yours, Jeonginnie. There’s no one else, there’ll be no one else for me but you.”
Are you sure? Jeongin wants to ask. But it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Jeongin needs reassurance, constantly, but what more can she ask for than this? What more could Hyunjin even give her—every inch of her body, her soul, her entire self, and then what?
She puts a slight pressure at the ink. Hyunjin whimpers in pain, and Jeongin swears under her breath.
“Why now?” she asks instead.
They both know the answer to that, though. It’s probably one of the best—if not absolutely fucking maddening—answers to Jeongin’s fears, the best antidote possible to her anxieties.
So instead of answering her, Hyunjin tilts her head and asks, “Do you like it?”
Jeongin scoffs, before surging up to kiss her girlfriend, humming into it, tongue swiping across her bottom lip. “It’s absolutely perfect.” She brings the hand at Hyunjin’s hip to settle at her neck, tilting her head so she can kiss her deeper. “Send my highest regards to Jisung-oppa.”
Hyunjin smiles under her, brings her arms around Jeongin’s waist. “Hm, I’m glad, then.”
“Can I eat you out, unnie?”
Hyunjin whines, but shakes her head, and Jeongin frowns. “I’m too—I’m so sensitive, Innie. It hurts.”
“I’ll be gentle, hm? Unnie, please?”
At the words, Hyunjin blinks, pulling away to stare back with wide eyes.
Though it’s rare, it’s not unheard of for Jeongin to beg, but not like this—not before they’ve even done anything, not before she’s made Hyunjin come at least once or twice. It makes her feel too vulnerable, too naked, too easy to read.
But this? Jeongin needs this—needs her tongue inside, eyes on her name stark against Hyunjin’s skin, a chant of Mine, mine, mine echoing in her head. She can already hear it, faint against the walls of her mind.
She feels like putty under Hyunjin’s hands, needy, terribly demanding. Won’t Hyunjin give her what she needs? When they’re both so good to each other, when Jeongin is being so patient already, not tearing at Hyunjin’s clothes like the beast she feels herself become?
One of Hyunjin’s hands slides from her waist to the hem of her jeans, unbuttoning with quick efficiency before slipping in. Jeongin chokes on a gasp when she feels Hyunjin’s fingers against her hole through the thin cotton of her underwear, wet even through the fabric.
“Oh, baby,” Hyunjin breathes, leaning up to kiss Jeongin softly. “You really like it, hm?”
Jeongin nods, wordless, leans in to kiss Hyunjin back deeper. She feels everything so intensely—the scratchy fabric of the couch against her side and back, the warmth of Hyunjin’s skin where she still touches, the intent press of Hyunjin’s fingers against her.
She moans when those fingers slide up, running slow circles around her clit. It’s insane how turned on she is already—at the thought of Hyunjin, at the thought of them, at the thought of her name etched into her skin, forever.
“You get so worked up over me, hm?” Hyunjin murmurs. Her mouth moves to kiss Jeongin’s cheek, to lick at the skin under her ear. “Now I’m all yours. For anyone to see.”
“Yeah?” Her voice is pitched so high Jeongin can barely recognize herself. Her hips have started moving up against Hyunjin’s hand, her hands gripping at Hyunjin’s face, keeping her close.
Hyunjin hums against her neck, her teeth gentle against the thin skin there. “That’s right. But it’s funny, baby. You act so tough, but look how desperate you really are for me.”
Jeongin whines high in her throat. She knows she’s blushing furiously—shame twisting with her arousal, embarrassed and so, so fucking gone already. “Only for you, unnie.”
“Only for me,” Hyunjin repeats. She hums again as she sucks a mark against Jeongin’s throat.
Jeongin almost opens her mouth to say something—anything—but then, Hyunjin cups her through her panties, fingers at her cunt, thumb at her clit, pressing insistently. She shivers violently, moaning loud in the living room, clearly too loud for the flimsy walls of their apartment.
Not that they’ve ever cared before.
Her hand buries itself in Hyunjin’s hair, messing up her ponytail, clutching desperately at the strands.
“You want your mouth on me, baby?” Hyunjin says. She’s moving her hand expertly over her, still through the cotton of her panties, and it makes Jeongin shudder with how fucking hot it is. She could come like this, wetting herself in her underwear, under Hyunjin’s touch.
“Yes, ah—please, please, unnie, I need it, I need you…”
Hyunjin kisses her, shutting her up, whining in her mouth. “Fuck, you sound so sweet when you beg, my love.”
Her lips part around a gasp, panting against Hyunjin’s mouth. Jeongin is so fucking close already. Her hips are canting up against Hyunjin’s hand, the drag of the fabric against her clit is making her shudder, and she’s so, so close.
Something unlocks in her, and she keens, desperate. “Please, unnie, please, I’ve been—been so good, yeah?”
“I know, sweetheart.” Hyunjin licks a wide strip of skin on Jeongin’s face, and it makes her cunt throb. She cries out, she’s so fucking close. “My pretty girl, all mine. Look at you, darling.”
“I’m close,” Jeongin chokes out. She needs to come now, she’s so fired up, won’t she let her come? “I’m so close, unnie, please…”
“Of course, my love.” Hyunjin kisses her deep, Jeongin moaning into her mouth, before she pulls away to whisper, “You can come, now.”
It washes over her like a wave of relief, at first.
Jeongin comes against Hyunjin’s fingers, warmth rushing from her cunt to the extremities of her limbs, cresting over and over as Hyunjin’s thumb keeps rubbing against her clit. She cries out, tears catching at her eyeline—when did they even get there?—her hips slowing down in sinuous circles as she rides out her orgasm.
“Ah, fuck, unnie,” she whines, her tongue lolling out as Hyunjin keeps trying to kiss her—it’s messy, wet, so fucking sloppy, and it makes it so, so fucking hot.
“Look at you,” Hyunjin moans into her mouth. She’s restless next to Jeongin, like she’s trying to press up against her, relieve some of the ache between her legs against Jeongin’s body. “You’re the most perfect thing to exist, my love.”
Jeongin sighs, whines when Hyunjin’s hand becomes too much against her, tapping her wrist for her to pull away. When she does, she doesn’t waste a second before pulling herself up on her knees, looking down at Hyunjin.
Her cheeks are red, her eyes, glassy and wet. The hand she had pressed up against Jeongin’s cunt is glowing with a faint sheen—Jeongin shudders, remembers she still has her tacky underwear on, dirty with her release—and she’s breathing hard, nipples hard sensitive under the tight fabric of her shirt.
And right there, above her pussy, sits Jeongin’s brand, forever there for anyone to see.
Not that Jeongin would let anyone do that.
“Innie,” Hyunjin breathes, desperate.
She leans down, pulls down the boxers around Hyunjin’s hips, and finally, finally presses her tongue against her, feeling it when she moans under her mouth.
So, so sweet. Jeongin smiles. “Of course, unnie. I’m here. I’m yours.”
⊹₊⟡⋆