想我就爱我

he would like to think that his luck is fairly decent, lucky enough to pull some of your photocards at least (all of which he treasures dearly, some tucked away in cute holders and others stored neatly in a binder dedicated solely to you), but the collector and boyfriend in him greedily yearns for them all.

with a deep breath and a short prayer that what happened in his dream (perhaps nightmare is a better description of it) doesn't happen in real life, jungwon takes a blade conveniently lying next to the box and cut through the tape.

the first thing he's greeted with is the back of the pre-order benefit photocards, and jungwon is sure that if he had a heart rate monitor on him, it might've called the ambulance in his stead.

maybe he's being way too dramatic about opening a few pieces of printed card, or whatever material photocards are made from, but this is serious for him, as a dedicated fan of yours. how could it not be? jungwon wasn't going to lose the title of your biggest fan to someone else, that would just be embarrassing. he would never let himself live it down.

with careful fingers, jungwon opens the plastic housing the trapped photocards and carefully slides them out, their backs still facing him. he flips open the first, and, and— it's one of your members. what a bummer. it's okay, there still two more.

jungwon flips the second with an almost inspiring amount of determination, only to be greeted with another member that was definitely not you. he places it on top of the pile of not-yous, population: 2.

the last pre-order benefit card sits in his hand, and jungwon almost feels resigned to his fate. maybe his dream was foreshadowing his terrible luck, and maybe he should just open all of them with no expectations. if he doesn't expect anything, he can't be disappointed, right?

with another deep breath and with one eye shut in anxiety, he flips open the last photocard and — it's you!

"oh my god!" jungwon gasps, taking in your appearance on the glossy card. it's you, it's really you! and you're as perfect as ever, with your smile and wink, and jungwon feels like he just died and woke up in heaven.

this win fills him with so much joy he almost doesn't want to open the actual albums in case they dampen his good mood. but as your most dedicated fan, jungwon treks on, while gently placing your card on a separate pile dedicated to you.

there are three versions of the album, along with an individual member version. jungwon made sure to order your version where possible, so he's guaranteed some of yours at least. he's gotta have a reason to keep going, you know?

the first album sits on top of the stack innocently, wrapped in thin plastic. jungwon gnaws on his bottom lip as he takes it in his hands, carefully slicing an opening in the plastic and discarding it somewhere on the desk. he slides the album out of its casing, and opens the first page of the concept book.

the two photocards are tucked inside the cd-sleeve, peeking out teasingly, but the postcard isn't as sly. you're there, on the postcard, looking away from the camera in a pose. jungwon hehe's to himself and sets it aside with your other photocard, and slides the two photocards out.

like ripping a bandaid off, jungwon flips both cards at the same time, and — holy shit, they're both you!

jungwon has to rub his eyes to be sure he's seeing things right. the face on the cards doesn't change, undoubtedly you, one holding a cute cat key chain (jungwon wholly believes that it's a reference to him and he will not be taking any criticism) and the other you with a pair of sunglasses.

the precious cards join the growing pile, although it looks more like a spread. sue him, he just wants to see your face in every pose you make!

the second version is opened in the same way, but with less apprehension and a lot more excitement. honestly, even if he doesn't get you again for the remaining versions, jungwon was plenty happy with his pulls already.

the postcard, again, sets the tone for this version. you're there, in a different outfit and looking into the camera this time, and jungwon can't help the little giggle of happiness that escapes him, and he hasn't even seen the photocards for this version!

with a lighter heart, jungwon eagerly takes the cards out of their spot and flips them, and he really thinks he might have to start worrying for himself, because what were the odds of pulling two of you, again?

jungwon brings them close to his face, smiling so hard his face started to hurt. he thinks this might be his favourite set of pictures so far, and it's mostly because there's one photo where you're doing the infamous egg angle, but that's besides the point.

"egg-(y/n), my beloved…" with one hand jungwon holds it to his heart, and with his other he shuffles through the card holders in his drawer, finally landing on one he especially liked. then, with delicate hands, he slides it into the holder and props it against a shelf so he can see you better.

in the box, there's still the third version and your individual version. calming himself, jungwon goes through the same repetitive actions of opening the plastic and sliding them out of their sleeves.

he opens the individual version first, and he's not surprised to see you. that's to be expected — he did order your specific version, after all — but the real test is the second card, because that's the only one not guaranteed. when he flips it, you're there again, in a beanie he recognises as one of his own, and jungwon just about collapses from joy.

the final version of the album sits almost menacingly. while jungwon was very, extremely, even, pleased with his you-streak, there was now a little bit of fear that this would be the one to break it. but there's no way of knowing unless he opens it, sounds for the third time of the day, jungwon opens the concept book.

a third postcard of you lays there simply, and jungwon feels like he might pass out. he slides the two photocards out of their hiding spot, and flips the first, apparently deciding that he wanted to prolong his own suffering.

you're staring right at him with a wink, and jungwon has to actually sit on his chair. closing his eyes, he flips the second, and he almost blacks out for a split second because how. how the hell did he pull you eight times in a row???

he's not complaining, of course not. jungwon is probably both the happiest man and your happiest fan in the world right now, but what do you mean he pulled you every single time???

still, jungwon appreciates your selcas all the same, and they join the very full pile of your photocards. then, he dials your number.

it beeps for a few seconds before you pick up, yawning a tired hello into the mic, and jungwon genuinely debates leaving the dorm to go to yours.

"babe! you'll never believe what happened!" he all but whisper-shouts. he can almost picture you blinking sleepily, maybe even furrowing your brows as you process his words.

"did you dream that you pulled my pocas?"

"even better!" jungwon eyes the egg photocard he has propped up like the beginnings of a shrine, the smile on his infectious. "i got all your pocas in real life!"

you make a noise of confusion, and jungwon only sighs and requests a video call instead.

his camera is already positioned to show his loot, a neat spread of your selcas and postcards. he can see you squinting at the sight, bringing your phone closer to your face to inspect his claims, and he watches with glee when your face morphs from confusion to disbelief.

"holy shit, won!" you gasp, wide awake.

"i know, right!" he gushes, proudly holding his beloved egg-you to the camera, as if you weren't the one who took that selca of yourself in the first place.

you're both silent for a second, but you look deep in thought. then, your mouth opens. "maybe you should consider buying a lottery ticket…"

jungwon considers for a moment. "will the grand prize be you?"

"you and i both know the answer to that."

"so… yes!"

the devil doesn't come dressed in red and parading horns and a sharp tail. instead, he comes in the form of your boyfriend, and he is far, far crueler.

"f-fuck, bun," jungwon groans from above you, one hand gripping the leg resting on his shoulder, the other glued to your waist in a grip you're sure will leave a mark. his eyes, usually bright and mischievous, are dark and glazed over, and it only makes the heat in your stomach boil hotter and your heart beat faster.

it's unusual that he's like this, always so good at keeping himself in check, but it is also far from your first round. in fact, you've lost count. how many times have you cummed, anyway?

"won," you whine, squirming in his hold, sensitive from all your previous orgasms. you can tell jungwon is too, his hips stuttering every so often, biting his lip like he's on the verge of tipping over at any second.

the sheets beneath you are wet with a mix of your and his cum and your sweat, the sticky strings of white connecting you to him — outside of his length, of course.

"bunny, how the fuck are you still this tight?" jungwon moans, the hand on your waist finding a new place next to your head as he leans down, his breath fanning your face. despite the dim lighting, you can still see the pink that dusts his face, and you involuntarily clench at the close proximity. his hips still as his eyes shut, as if trying to ground himself.

still, you have the gall to look at him innocently, a soft "wonnie?" leaving your lips.

"don't act coy with me," he growls out through gritted teeth, a sound that sends shivers down your spine and causes more slick to leak out of your hole. his eyes open again, beautiful browns shrouded by a layer of what you can only describe as feralness.

"i'm sorry," you whimper, hoping desperately that he'll start moving again. "didn't mean to… just like having you close…."

jungwon's eyes bore into your own, trying to gauge your sincerity, when his cock suddenly leaves your pussy and then slams back in almost violently.

something in between a moan and a scream rips from your throat as black dots blur your vision, and tears leave your eyes. you swear you can feel your body shaking from the sheer impact of his thrust and the intensity of your orgasm.

"don't cry," jungwon coos, and it would've been sweet if his smile wasn't so wolfish, clearly pleased with his display of power. his dimples, normally so sweet, linger even as he speaks such mean words. "bad girls don't get to cry."

"and," he continues, eyes trailing down your body. "bad girls don't get to cum, either." your heart pounds in your chest, full of regret and repentance. you've pushed jungwon over the edge it seems, and he's more than happy to make sure you fall with him.

"my bunny can do it, can't you? she wouldn't pick a fight she couldn't win, would she?" jungwon teases right beside your ear, the taunt pouring over you in waves of shame.

"oh wait," he leans back, a cocky smirk on his face. the hand beside your head now caresses your face with a gentleness he hardly reflects in this moment, but it doesn't bring you any comfort, not at all; instead, an ominous feeling gets stronger and stronger with every stroke of his thumb, and you feel more akin to a lamb being sent to the slaughter.

"i forgot my bunny doesn't have anything in that pretty head of hers."

Briefly, you contemplate texting him an excuse. Sunoo is sweet and understanding, there's no doubt that he would forgive you if you said you weren't feeling well, but you don't want to be that kind of person, especially not to him. You're here anyway, you might as well suck it up and fix whatever you can and hope it doesn't deter him.

You're not satisfied with your appearance when you leave the bathroom, but you can't afford to spend anymore time in there. You're almost ten minutes late to the agreed upon time, and who knows how long he's already been there; making him wait any longer was just rude on your part. So, you take a deep breath, and walk to the table he's sat at.

"(Y/n)!" His face seems to brighten the moment he sees you, immediately setting his phone down in favour of paying attention to you.

"Hey Sun, sorry I'm late." You apologise with a tight smile, setting your bag down behind you. "The wind is crazy."

"Tell me about it," he complains, rolling his eyes. "It ruined my hair!"

"Really? You still look so pretty, though." You giggle, feeling the slightest bit more comfortable in your own skin now. You don't know what it is about Sunoo, maybe his sweet smiles or just the way he always knew what to say, but he had a warm aura about him that seemed to gently wash away your worries.

"Not prettier than you," he teased, taking one of your hands in his and bringing them to his lips. "My gorgeous girl."

You feel your face get warm from both his actions and his words, hastily looking away from him and looking at the menu instead.

"Seriously though, I love your makeup and outfit. The shade of your lip gloss complements your skin perfectly, and your hair looks so soft that I just want to play with it. My girlfriend really is the prettiest girl in the world." You can tell from his voice that he means every word he says, and for some reason, it makes you want to cry.

"Lovey? What's wrong?" Sometimes you forget that Sunoo has studied and memorised your every expression, and he knows better than maybe even your own parents the telltale signs of your sadness, let alone your tears. At his question, the tears come sliding down your face without warning, making you cover your face in your hands as you sniffle.

It feels stupid to cry over slightly ruined hair and makeup. It could've been worse, like a heavy rain drenching you and ruining your efforts completely. Someone could've spilled their drink or food on you, or you could've been hurt. Those would be understandable things to cry about. But crying about the wind tousling your hair? Was something wrong with you?

You didn't even notice when he left his seat opposite you and sat by your side, gently and lovingly coaxing you into his embrace. He doesn't push you to answer him, letting you cry quietly in the safety of his arms, shielding you from the world. Carefully, he dabs at your tears, conscious to not ruin your eyeliner. His care only makes you want to cry more.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup between sniffles, hiding in his chest. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"That's okay," he hums, pressing a kiss to your head. "You don't have to know."

"It feels stupid, to cry over slightly ruined makeup, and I know it is, but it's just… I spent so long trying to style my hair right and get my lips that pretty glossy look, and the wind ruined it so much that I feel like all my effort went to waste. And," your hand searches for his, grounded by his presence. "I've just been so stressed lately and we haven't had a date for so long that I wanted to look nice for you, and now I just don't feel like I have, and you deserve bet—"

"Now let's not have that," he cuts off your spiral, shushing you with a kiss to your lips. "It's not stupid. If you're crying over it, then it's something important to you, and anything that's important to you is important to me too."

Sunoo lets his words ruminate in your mind first before they reach your heart, still wiping your tears away. You've managed to stop crying by now at least, but you're sure your puffy eyes and probably ruined makeup, even more than from the wind, give it all away. Still, he treats you as gently as he did before, and doesn't demand anything of you.

"I mean it when I say you're my gorgeous girl, I'd never lie or joke about this." He nuzzles his nose in your hair, the words whispered in your ear and sent straight to your heart. "My lovey."

"I love you, Sun." You sniffle, finally feeling like you can breathe again. You feel him smile against your hair.

"I love you too." He sits up after, and tilts your face towards his. With a completely serious expression, he says these next words:

"Fuck the wind."

The abruptness sends you into a brief state of shock before you're both doubled over in a fit of laughter that no doubt makes you look crazy to others.

"Yeah," you giggle, a smile on your face. "Fuck the wind."

♡━━━━━━ ◦ ✤ ◦ ━━━━━━♡

The fights have increased, you think. You find yourself asking him to stop, to hear himself for a moment, far more often than usual, and more often than not, you're the one left in tears while he slams the door and disappears.

He's not drunk, that you're sure of, and that makes it worse. At least if he was drunk, you could comfort yourself by rationalising that the alcohol was talking, that he would wake up tomorrow and be back to your Jake, but he is all too sober when he throws yet another barrage of words shaped like weapons into your heart. It's an all too familiar sight for you, but tonight, perhaps exacerbated by the constant sight of your tears and a build-up of every argument before, he is especially cruel when he says these words.

"You're always crying, is that all you know how to do? I'm so sick of it! If I make you cry so much, then you should just date someone who doesn't!"

The air stills, the cold biting, but you're numb to it all. Does he mean it, does he want to break up? Is this the end, is there nothing left for you anymore?

This time, you're the one who leaves, who takes a jacket and shoves your phone into the pocket and puts on your shoes and leaves the apartment without a word. The tension is suffocating, and maybe you should actually listen to your friends. Maybe you should accept your losses, accept that nothing will change, and let go. It's a sinking ship, and you know it is, but stubbornly you stayed, as if one day it would float by itself again.

The streetlights flicker as you solemnly walk to a destination even you're not sure of. Some part of you hoped that the moment you walked out, he'd follow you, asking you to stay, but having come this far all alone says everything you've refused to believe.

Perhaps you've cried so much that you have no tears left, because even though you're sitting on an old set of swings in some random park, his words constantly running through your head, your eyes are dry. All you feel is an emptiness, one that precedes the inevitable end of a relationship. You've mourned enough, and it seems that it's time for you to start preparing the funeral. Nothing in this world is permanent, of course, much less such fragile and intangible things like relationships that rely on unpredictable emotions. What did you expect, really, from such —

"(Y/N)!" Jake's voice calls for you from behind, cutting off your train of thought. You stop the gentle swaying of the swing, but you refuse to look at him. If you see him, you know that your heart will give in once more.

"Please, look at me?" He begs, standing in front of you. The image of him saying those hurtful words, ripping out your heart without mercy, is still fresh in your mind, and to separate the Jake of an hour ago with the Jake standing in front of you now is too much.

"Okay, you don't have to look at me. But first, I just want to say I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath before his next words, and you've known him long enough to know that he's thinking very hard and carefully choosing his next. "I'm sorry I've been such an asshole lately. There's no justification for it, and I shouldn't have let out my frustrations on you. I didn't mean it when I said I'm sick of it, sick of you, even less that we should break up, but if…" He gulps, hesitant. "If that's what you want, then I'll accept it with no resistance. I don't, uh, deserve your forgiveness any time soon, really, but I mean it when I say I love you."

When you look up at Jake, his head is bowed, facing the ground. He doesn't dare to look at you, afraid of what your face might say before you find the words to.

You are conflicted, to say the least. This Jake is the one you love, a stark difference from the one who argued with you earlier, but you're scared. More than that, you're tired. You're tired of fighting, of going to sleep sad, of wondering if another argument would arise again. But somehow, you still love Jake like he's all you've ever known. And maybe, for the last time, you'll place your trust in the Jake you love.

"I'm tired, Jake." Your voice comes out hoarse, dry from the crying. His head snaps up to look at you, and with the light of the moon, you can see how glassy they are. For the first time in what feels like forever, he sees you.

"I'm tired of fighting, of wondering if today's the day we break-up for good. But… I still love you the same, if not more, and I don't know my life without you." A sigh, watery and bitter, leaves your lips. "But I'm tired, Jake, I don't want to fight, least of all you. So, for the last time, I'll hold on. I'm not saying I forgive you, but just… please, don't make me regret this."

Once your words leave your throat, Jake pulls you into a hug, warm and everything you've missed for the last few weeks, of a home you've almost forgotten.

"Thank you," he mumbles, holding onto you with such reverence that even the gods would envy. "I love you."

He leaves his final words unsaid, because he knows you know them by heart.