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To Jimin, marriage was less of a promise to have and hold and more of a landmark of her hard work and yearning. Like a generous end of year bonus, or a silver YouTube play button, or the special skins she used to grind for on CSGO, except instead of a $600 holographic knife her reward was putting a beautiful ring on a beautiful girl.
In any case, what she means is that she was having and holding Minjeong years before they got married. She was in love with Minjeong when they first met in Advanced Functions during high school. She was in love with Minjeong when she got drunk at a KSA social and Minjeong held her hair back as she puked. She was in love at the altar as a trembling mess, and she’s in love now as a married woman. Life has literally never been better. Heaven is real and Minjeong is a god-given gift.
But you know. Jimin is, like, normal about it.
Rocket puncher. Soju crusher. Jimin from Finance. She’s been collecting names for years, an amalgamation of all the shit she’s been through to get to the cluttered cubicle she calls her own in the heart of Bay Street. But out of every unfortunate nickname she’s picked up, whether cute (Kitty cat, Jiminie) or horrifying (Nipple Pincher, Seven-incher), her existence has boiled down to ‘Jimin the Wife Guy’.
“Wife guy,” Jimin says. She redrafts her email for the seventh time, debating between the pushy Best Regards or lucrative With Regards, or even the emotionally manipulative Cheers. “Wife guy. I’m not a wife guy. What does that even mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.” Aeri types like a missile. At the very least, it sounds like she does. She could be dragging her nails in figure-eights across the keyboard and Jimin wouldn’t be able to tell. “It’s that whole newlywed thing. The honeymoon phase.” She pauses in the middle of another figure-eight. “Although I thought it wouldn’t be this bad, since you two have been acting like newlyweds for years.”
“Not true,” Jimin replies. She thinks about it. “Maybe true. Explain.”
“Well,” Aeri starts. She leans back in her chair and taps a long, manicured nail on her chin. Jimin wonders how she picks her nose. “You know Mark Lee from IT– after his two weeks of vacation, right– and he would just not stop fucking smiling, everywhere you went he’d just be grinning like he won the lottery. It was creepy. And honestly, babe, you’re kinda doing the same.”
Well that’s just not fair. Mark Lee from IT is a nice guy, and Renjun the IT husband is a sweet dude. Definitely not the height he says he is, but still nice, and Jimin kinda gets it. When she thinks of Minjeong, she feels the same way: the warmth in her heart rushes to her face, and before she knows it she’s bright red, thinking of her pretty wife. Oh, man, she’s so excited to go home. Minjeong usually makes dinner, and sometimes they get to take a bath together, and then–
“See?” Aeri says. “Look at you. No, really, go to the washroom and look at yourself.”
“I miss her,” Jimin says. “I should take lunch and call her.”
“We have to get this done. Jimin, it’s literally due tomorrow. Are you still drafting that email? Is that an email for me?”
“I’ll be right back.” Jimin grabs her lunch bag and practically sprints out to the hallway, safe from the prying eyes of enemies like Aeri. Who she thinks is just jealous, but whatever. Minjeong is her lockscreen, and her wallpaper, and featured on multiple of her icons. She sends her a text.
She stops and calls for an elevator. The doors open and reveal Mark Lee from IT. “Yo,” he says. He eyes her lunch bag. “Did you make that?”
“No,” Jimin says. “My wife did.”
Mark lifts his own lunch bag. “That’s what’s up.”
They take the ride down to the main floor together. Jimin gets a text back and almost faints in the cabin.
She eats the lunch that Minjeong packed and tastes love in every bite. Every oversalted bite of egg, every misshapen feline cut from seaweed. It’s perfect, and at some point she starts tasting her own tears of joy. Mark, equally ruined by the note he found on top of his prepackaged bento, accompanies her in her appreciative silence.
Her mood has improved so greatly that she even decides to go for a coffee run. Fuck, she’ll get Aeri a little sweet treat too. Maybe she’ll give her advice on her email. When she’s walking back into the office, she sees Jeongin from three cubicles down with a vape in his hand and his phone in the other. “What are you reading?” she asks him. “Toronto Star? Jujutsu Kaisen?”
“Gender Trouble by Judith Butler,” Jeongin says. Jimin goes inside.
It’s not like Minjeong is all she thinks about. When Jimin clocks out of the office, she wonders if she left her earphones on her desk. When she boards the shitty, cramped TTC carriage taking her up the Yonge line, she thinks about how she should have taken that last donut in the break room. When she’s walking home, she realises exactly how hungry she is.
So, yeah. She thinks about other things. It’s just that the moment she opens the door to their apartment and sees Minjeong in the kitchen, she kinda forgets everything else.
“Welcome home,” Minjeong says. She’s wearing one of her frilly white aprons, the ones that are impractical to hell and back but make her look so goddamn cute that Jimin’s nose starts to run– oh God, her fucking nose, fuck fuck fuck– “Don’t just stand there.” Minjeong huffs. “Come inside. I missed you.”
Jimin closes her eyes and counts to ten. She is so lucky. She loves her wife so much.
“I’m home,” she says belatedly, stumbling out of her work shoes and slinging her bag over the closest flat surface she can find. That happens to be the kitchen table where Minjeong’s already begun to set their plates, so Minjeong is definitely going to get mad at her later, but Jimin currently can’t care for anything but wrapping herself around her gorgeous wife. She melts into Minjeong’s back, burying her face in the crook of her neck as she groans, every pound of stress from work relieved by Minjeong’s presence. “I missed you so much. I thought I was gonna die. Like, I really did pass out around three for a couple minutes and I swear I saw the pearly gates, baby. I think I might have died for real.”
“Really?” Minjeong laughs. Her hands are busy with dinner, but she lets Jimin do as she pleases, working around her neediness. “That’s fun. What was heaven like?”
“You might have been one of the angels,” Jimin mumbles. She digs her nose in the back of Minjeong’s nape, taking a whiff of her shampoo. “Or maybe I’m thinking of what happened last night.”
Minjeong looks over her shoulder, throwing her a sneaky glare. It’s so cute that Jimin can’t help but smile like a fool and kiss her on the lips. “Go take a shower,” Minjeong says, bumping the tip of Jimin’s nose with her knuckle. “You stink.”
“Okay,” Jimin giggles stupidly. She’d bathe in gasoline if that was what Minjeong wanted.
Thankfully, Minjeong’s only criteria for keeping her around seems to be smelling nice. Well trained, Jimin folds her dirty clothes before she puts them in the laundry hamper– the small things she pays attention to are what gets her extra special treatment from Minjeong, like how she enters the bathroom to see a fresh change of clothes already waiting for her on the counter.
Married life is amazing, Jimin thinks. She can have a warm shower, eat a warm dinner, and then maybe, if she’s good, get warm under the sheets.
She slaps herself on both sides of her face. God, she’s a pervert.
But Minjeong likes her perverted side, doesn’t she? She’s the one that sidles up to her at night and laps at her ear like a puppy, and she’s the one that’s always getting her hands on her chest, and she’s the one that stares at her like that. Jimin swallows, combing through an angry knot in her hair. The silver of her wedding ring glistens.
She’s startled by a knock on the door. “Hurry up,” Minjeong says from the other side.
“Yeah– yes!” Jimin squeaks like a fucking loser.
So dinner goes like this. Jimin’s still flushed hot from her shower, and after a long day of corporate hell and tucking into stale Tim Hortons she can finally indulge in a home-cooked meal by her stunning, perfect wife. Married. Minjeong, her wife. “Oh my god,” Jimin groans, stuffing her mouth full. “It’s so good. Oh my god. Minjeong Ramsay. Minjeong Stewart.”
“That’s just white rice,” Minjeong says. “I put it in the cooker.”
Minjeong seems to not understand that everything she touches becomes blessed by the gods. Like her fingers are baptism water, and this rice is a small baby. “But I’m glad you like it,” Minjeong says anyway. She smiles, sweet and gummy-like. Jimin almost dies again. “Did you have a long day at work?”
“It was horr’ble,” Jimin says through her rice.
“Mmh, yeah?” She feels something fluffy graze her ankle. Minjeong tilts her head, cheeky. “You look so cute when your cheeks are stuffed full, Jiminie.”
“Thanksh,” Jimin replies.
Minjeong looks at her like she has more to say. Her expression is hard to read, but she bites her tongue where it sits just past the corner of her lips and oh. Jimin blinks. Oh.
“Uhm.” She clears her throat. “Do we, uh, have plans for tonight?”
Rice isn’t really cutting it anymore. She wants something else in her mouth, namely something that is sitting across from her and staring like she wants to eat her alive. “Do you think we do?” Minjeong asks. Her pretty little wedding ring sits snug on her pretty little finger.
“I think,” Jimin says, “that I’m gonna finish my dinner.”
One time, Jimin threw up so hard she saw God. It was supposed to be a CSA bar night, or her friend’s birthday party or something, but she didn’t even make it past the pre because someone decided to spill some Milkis into the fucking rum and made the worst drink concoction known to man. She remembers it vividly: slumped over in the washroom ready to call 911. Someone was blasting Overwatch music. It was a horrible experience.
The one good thing that came out of it, though, was the voice in her head telling her to stay alive. It’s not your turn yet, it boomed. And she was like, God? Is that for real you? Yes it is. And you can’t die yet, Jimin Yu. Your life awaits you– a plentiful life, full of health and joy. When your death comes, it will be a happy one.
Back then, Jimin was all like, get out of my head, dude! But now she kinda gets it. Actually, she totally gets it.
So Minjeong, sitting on top of her, has been kissing her for so long she thinks this is going to be it. Minjeong’s hands are all over her, grabbing at her hips, her waist, her chest, any inch of skin she can grope with her tiny fingers. It’s kinda funny how dainty her hands are when what she does with them is anything but. “Minjeong,” Jimin groans– the moment she opens her mouth, Minjeong licks into her mouth– “Hol’dhon, Mnjeon–fh, I can’t brea–”
“Mnh,” Minjeong grunts. She gets her grip on Jimin's hair and jerks her head backwards and wow. Wow, Jimin is so ready to die. “I missed you,” she murmurs, swiping her tongue across Jimin’s lips. “Soooo much. The whole time you were gone, all I could think about was when you’d be back.”
Such are the woes of a housewife, Jimin wants to say. Eight years ago, she would have happily gloated about this, but between the two of them it’s become clear that she’s lowkey Minjeong’s bitch and not the other way around.
“Haha,” she coughs instead. Despite Minjeong’s eternal craving for wanting to ruin her and make her cry, she’s just as equally likely to leave Jimin high and dry if Jimin doesn’t play her cards right. “Well, I was– ahem. You know. Working hard.”
“Oh,” Minjeong says. She strokes the curve of Jimin’s cheekbone. “I know.”
“For you,” Jimin squeaks. “All for you, babe.”
She practically breathes for Minjeong, anyway. It’s not a stretch to say she rolls out of bed and into her stiff blazers for Minjeong’s sake, too– there’s no better way to spend money than on seeing Minjeong smile. “You’re very chivalrous,” Minjeong says, “but still. I’m always wishing you were home.” She trails a finger down the side of Jimin’s face to her neck, digging into her skin with the manicured nails Jimin paid for. “You’re becoming a workaholic, and you’re not even thirty.”
“Sorry.” Just as soon as Jimin tries to placate her with a smile, Minjeong sinks her teeth into the flesh beneath her jaw– which is a weird place to bite, but considering all the places Minjeong’s mouth has been, is still not the weirdest. “Baby, please. Concealer only does so much in the morning. Listen, I’ll take Friday off next week, as soon as I’m done with this project– ack–!”
Another bite, and harder. Minjeong chews like she’s trying to draw blood. “Uh huh.”
“Minjeong. I promise, dude–”
“Don’t call me that.” Minjeong pulls off of her neck and narrows her eyes. She tries her best to look threatening, which is unfortunately drastically overshadowed by the fact that she is very beautiful. “Dummy. What am I gonna do with you?”
“Anything you want,” Jimin says rather dumbly. “I have a few suggestions. If you, like, need any.”
It turns out that Minjeong doesn’t. She makes her way down Jimin’s body without so much as a second though, biting and sucking and licking over every inch of skin she can in what’s practically a second bath. Between her legs, Minjeong spreads her thighs apart with her hands and stops just above the band of her underwear, sneaking a kiss on the expanse of her stomach. “So,” she says. “I’m thinking.”
She stops talking. Which is really fucking unfortunate when her mouth is so close to where Jimin really needs it to be. “I bet you are,” Jimin replies anyway. “Haha. Uhm. About what?”
“How I wanna play with you,” Minjeong says coolly. She dips her head down and snatches the fabric of Jimin’s underwear between her teeth. Wow, wow wow wow. Wow. “I could do it down here,” She licks her lips, “or up here.”
Balancing herself on her elbows and knees, Minjeong climbs back up the bed until her mouth hovers near Jimin’s rucked up tank top. She sneaks her hand underneath, getting a good squeeze on Jimin’s chest. “You’re, like– obsessed with my tits, holy shit,” Jimin laughs. And yeah she knows she’s the enabler here but still. Still. “Maybe you’re the problem, puppy.”
“Watch what you say, kitty cat,” Minjeong says.
Jimin’s not really watching anything besides the shape of Minjeong’s body as she hovers over her, or the hungry look in her eyes as she pins Jimin down like she’s a fresh catch of prey. “Be nice to me,” Jimin tries. Minjeong stays put. “Really, Minjeongie. I’m still going to work tomorrow, believe it or not. Come on, baby. My dear, darling wife.”
“Oh, I know,” Minjeong purrs. She leans down, brushes the tips of their noses together as she grins, “But you’d let your dear, darling wife do whatever she wants, wouldn’t you?”
The answer has always been yes. It’s been a yes since the moment Jimin got home, and probably since the morning too, and maybe ever since she said I do at the altar. Mark Lee from IT and Renjun the IT husband were there in the fifth row, having recently been married themselves. Jimin wonders if Mark is in the same boat: powerless beneath the gaze of a beautiful wife. Entirely willing to be powerless for the sake of said wife.
Minjeong has huge, gorgeous eyes and nice smelling hair. She laughs like a fairy and has an appetite like a carnivore. She’s the reason Jimin goes to work in the morning and sprints from the subway stop to get home. She’s the same perfect girl Jimin has known for years, that Jimin is still desperately, hopelessly in love with–
But you know. Jimin is still, like, normal about it.