@teddaby, Jun-hee ⌖ [borrow.] sender wears receiver's shirt/sweater while they have sex.
Jun-hee contains multitudes. It’s a stupid fucking way to put it; she contains beauty, of course, and a cool detachment that makes you want to chase her more. Most importantly, she’s yours, embraced in a relationship that indicates some measure of who she belongs to. You, man who has never been able to own anything, who has known dissatisfactory childhood conditions rocketing you into immense desire to make something of yourself. Bringing home money, stability, having someone or something to provide for as means of bolstering your own ego. You really fucking love her for that, that among a lot of things — that she seems to need you just as much as you (want to) need her, that your relationship is a marker of status, a blemish to be left upon the earth. You are a good boyfriend. You kiss her and hold her and tenderly stroke her face, petting her hair whenever her countenance shifts with the implications of emotions you don’t know how to handle. Or maybe it’s a lack of desire to handle them. You can never tell the difference.
Right now, she’s gorgeous. She’s clad in only your t-shirt, which envelops her frame just enough to entice you (not that you’ve ever been the heftiest guy / the pitiful little thing punched down onto by those above him in the pecking order / you knew things would be different, one day, when you had money and status). She makes you feel better about yourself, and maybe you should feel worse about that fact. You don’t. “Pretty girl,” you coo, lining yourself up with her entrance. Force of your hips invites you within, and sharp inhale delineates your already-blooming pleasure. “All mine, jagiya.” You love Jun-hee, obviously. These opportunities her mere presence affords you means the world; sweet little thing to rely on you, be it money or attention, someone to look after her. You are a good boyfriend. Maybe you could even see a real future with her. A family.
