Bina🦕

♡he loved her like one loves a dream. ୨୧

[antonsdoll]

ੈ✩‧₊˚🪄✩°ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐✧.*𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Welcome to bina’s dollhouse! ׂ╰┈➤ makeup sex ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

She loves all things anton , bunnies and magic! ׂ╰┈➤Bina | 07 | she/her ׂ╰┈➤riize,aespa,cortis | batfam,Superman,zatanna

╰┈➤Requests open 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ Send a love letter now don't be shy!

ׂ╰┈➤feel free to just talk,or vent

╰┈➤𐙚⋆.˚⋆.˚ Rules ✧.* M.list ✧.* Pinterest

╰┈➤common tags ~ ⌗Bina’s dollhouse ⌗mooties𐙚

⌗loveletterrecieved𝜗𝜚 ⌗binayaps✧

[antonsprincess]

anton coded. 𑣲

[antonsdoll]

shoulf i lowk delete this acc........i feel like i never have time for iy

[antonsdoll]

does anyone know how to like....get my period quick

[letterfromhk]

l.at )) ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗  ۪　anatomy practice ⠀⠀ ♥︎ ᩙ𓈒 ⠀⠀˖ . ⸰⠀

contains : smut, established relationship, fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, slight muscle worship, soft dom anton, lots of touching + teasing, fluffy aftercare

word count : ~920

note : requested ^_^ ive been very very busy!!! enjoy meow!!!!!!

you’re sprawled across the living room floor surrounded by highlighters, flashcards, and that stupidly thick anatomy textbook that’s been mocking you for three hours straight. the muscles of the upper limb section is kicking your ass tonight; origin, insertion, innervation, action… everything is blurring together and your brain feels like mush.

a soft chuckle comes from the couch behind you.

“still fighting with the deltoid?” anton’s deep voice is gentle, a little amused. he’s been quietly gaming with one ear off so he could keep an eye on you.

you groan dramatically and flop onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “i’m gonna fail this practical if i can’t keep all these stupid attachments straight. why do there have to be so many layers?”

you hear him set the controller down. then the couch creaks, and suddenly anton is on the floor with you, long limbs folding as he sits cross-legged. his oversized black hoodie and sweats make him look extra cuddly, but those sharp cheekbones and sleepy eyes are unfairly pretty even when he’s just trying to be helpful.

“here,” he says simply, tugging the hoodie off in one smooth motion. the thin white t-shirt underneath rides up a little, revealing a sliver of smooth, toned stomach. “use me.”

you blink. “huh?”

“you need to learn the muscles, right? i’ve got muscles.” he gives you that shy little smile that always makes your heart flip. “i’m right here. touch, poke, trace—whatever helps. i’ll be your living model.”

heat rushes to your face instantly. “anton… you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” he scoots closer until his knees brush yours. “c’mon, baby. it’ll be fun. and maybe i’ll learn something too.”

you hesitate for half a second before grabbing your textbook and crawling over to him. he stretches out on his back obediently, arms relaxed at his sides, watching you with those big dark eyes. the t-shirt clings to his chest and shoulders in the best way.

you start safe. shoulder area. your fingers press lightly over the fabric, tracing the curve of his deltoid.

“origin on the clavicle and scapula… insertion on the humerus…” you mutter, more to yourself than him, but anton hums in encouragement anyway. your palm slides down to his bicep and you feel the muscle twitch under your touch when you gently squeeze.

“flex,” you whisper.

he does, slowly curling his arm so the biceps peaks beautifully. you can’t help the tiny gasp that escapes. it’s firmer than you expected, warm skin under thin cotton, the vein along the muscle standing out just a little.

“good?” he asks, voice lower than before.

“yeah… really good.” your fingers drift lower, mapping the brachialis, then the triceps on the back of his arm when he flips it for you. every time you press or stroke, anton’s breathing gets a little deeper.

you move to his chest next. when your hands slide under the hem of his shirt and push it up, he lifts his arms without being asked so you can bunch the fabric under his collarbones. his abs contract slightly as cool air hits his skin. eight subtle lines you’ve kissed a hundred times but never studied quite like this.

“rectus abdominis…” you murmur, fingertips dancing along the ridges. “external obliques… transverse abdominis…”

anton lets out a shaky breath when your nails graze the sensitive skin just above his waistband. “you’re really focused, huh?”

“trying to be,” you admit, cheeks burning. but your hands are lingering now, no longer just clinical. you press your whole palm flat over his pectoralis major, feeling the firm muscle and the way his heart beats faster underneath.

his hand comes up to cover yours, guiding it slowly across his chest. “this one’s pectoralis major. helps with adduction and medial rotation… right?”

you laugh softly. “show-off.”

“i pay attention when my girlfriend talks about school.” he tugs you gently so you’re half-draped over him. “keep going. i like your hands on me.”

the air between you shifts. the textbook is forgotten on the carpet as you straddle one of his thighs for better access, your knees bracketing his hips. you trace the serratus anterior along his ribs, then back up to his trapezius when he sits up a little so you can reach his back and shoulders. every new muscle you name, you reward with a kiss. soft at first, then slower, wetter.

“latissimus dorsi…” you whisper against the wide muscle of his back, lips brushing skin as you push his shirt higher.

anton groans quietly, hands settling on your waist. “baby…”

you can feel him getting hard against your thigh where you’re pressed together. the innocent study session is long gone. you rock your hips experimentally, grinding down on the firm bulge in his sweats, and he hisses through his teeth.

“fuck… keep doing that,” he murmurs, voice husky.

your hands grow bolder. you shove his shirt all the way off and let your mouth follow where your fingers have been kissing, licking, gently biting the defined lines of his abs while your palm slides lower, cupping him through the fabric. he’s so warm, so hard already, twitching under your touch.

“quadriceps…” you tease breathlessly as your fingers trace the long muscles of his thigh, squeezing the thick muscle there before slipping higher, brushing over his inner thigh. anton’s hips buck up involuntarily.

he suddenly flips you both so you’re on your back, his tall frame hovering over you, eyes dark and hungry. “my turn to study,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up and pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

his long fingers dip under your waistband, sliding your shorts and panties down in one go. when his palm cups between your legs, he groans at how wet you already are.

“soaked just from touching me? cute…” he circles your clit slowly with two fingers, then slips one inside, curling it perfectly while his thumb keeps rubbing. you moan, thighs trembling around his wrist.

“anton—ah—right there…”

he adds a second finger, pumping steadily, his mouth latching onto your neck, sucking a pretty mark while his free hand kneads your breast. every thrust of his fingers makes your back arch, pleasure building fast and hot.

“gonna come for me, baby? wanna feel you on my fingers first…”

you do, clenching around him with a broken whine, hips grinding against his hand as the orgasm washes over you. he keeps moving gently until you’re panting and boneless beneath him.

only then does he pull his fingers out, licking them clean with a shy-but-filthy little smile. “best study method ever.”

you laugh weakly, reaching down to tug at his sweats. “your turn… i still need to practice the hip flexors…”

he helps you push his sweats and boxers down, his cock springing free. long, flushed, and leaking at the tip. you wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly while he groans into your mouth, kissing you deep and messy.

“inside,” you whisper against his lips. “want you.”

anton nods, lining himself up and sinking into you in one smooth thrust. the stretch is perfect, filling you so good you both moan. he stays still for a second, forehead pressed to yours, then starts moving slow, deep rolls of his hips that hit every spot.

“so tight… fuck, you feel amazing,” he pants, one hand braced beside your head while the other grips your thigh, spreading you wider.

you cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the very muscles you were studying earlier as he picks up the pace, thrusting harder, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. when he angles just right and grinds against your clit with every stroke, you cry out, coming again around him.

anton follows right after, burying himself deep with a low groan, hips stuttering as he fills you up.

after, he collapses half on top of you, both of you sweaty and breathing hard. he presses soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips. sweet again, like the gentle boyfriend who offered to help in the first place.

“same time tomorrow?” he mumbles sleepily, nuzzling your neck. “i think you still need to review the gluteus maximus…”

you smack his chest weakly, laughing. “shut up, lee anton.”

but you both know you’re definitely doing this again.

[antonsdoll]

had a hard week....opened this app to see someone aging up Martin from cortis to write smut......................................anyhow do yall miss me

[soheeton]

saw your anton thighs post and immediately had to come here bc i’m the biggest fan of that (the boom boom bass jeans are my bsf) and all i think abt is him getting all shaky when he sees ur hands size ontop of his thigh and just can’t deal with how tiny they are compared to his thighs 🤕🤕 also abt getting all caged in by them during wtv you guys got up to 🤤 anton come home

i just saw a photo from bbb era and that is exactly why i'm currently salivating🤤

anton with his size kink is so real... him seeing your hands look so small on top of his thick thighs causing him to suck in a sharp breath of air. all he can think about in that moment is how your hands would look on his big cock god.

getting caged in by them while he's restraining you, hands above your head. the urge you'd have to push your hips up to feel him but he'd be so quick to place his large hand across your abdomen, pushing you back down quickly.

also thinking about the way anton would love nothing more than to have you on his lap, just in your panties and his t-shirt. you'd be able to feel his thighs flex under you, the rough fabric of his jeans vs your thin panties. you'd get wet so fast on top of him and he knows it very well— that's exactly why he prefers to have you on top of him. knowing how easy you are, you'd start humping his thighs in no time to feel any type of pleasure. anton loves just watching you be so desperate for him. he's definitely the type to bounce his leg on purpose to watch your reaction to the intense friction.

even better to ride his thigh fully naked. that skin to skin contact, his dick would be so hard against his stomach watching your wetness slide against his thighs.

[antonsprincess]

dom shotaro would get u little trinkets n toys n blind boxes as rewards for good behavior n i just think that’s so cute to think abt ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა

[letterfromhk]

( l.at ) ゛❤︎ ✿̲ׄ .. the barista named tony

contains : public-ish sex, fingering, oral mentioned implied, penetrative sex, creampie, overstimulation, praise-heavy, size kink, marking, obsessive behavior, possessive anton :3, and cute aftercare!

word count : 1987!

pairing : barista!anton & student!reader

notes : not proofread or edited or anything :c

the cafe is this cute little pop-up spot with warm wood counters, hanging plants, and that signature coffee riize sign with the hibiscus flower. soft jazz hums low in the background. anton works behind the bar in his black apron over a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to show those veiny forearms. his name tag reads “tony” in neat handwriting, and a tiny gold hoop earring catches the light every time he turns his head. his hair is a little messy from the steam wand, and his lips stay naturally pouty while he focuses on latte art.

you come in every afternoon like clockwork with your backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing an oversized sweater that swallows your frame. your hair is tied up messy and cute, and your glasses slip down your nose when you concentrate. you always order the same thing: iced oat latte with extra foam and a dash of cinnamon. you say “please and thank you” with that shy smile that makes his heart do stupid flips.

at first it is all innocent. he notices you because you are always buried in textbooks or your laptop, chewing your pen cap absentmindedly and mumbling formulas under your breath. he starts drawing little hearts or cats in your foam without saying anything. he just slides the cup over with a soft “here you go” and watches your eyes light up when you see it. you look up, cheeks pink, and ask “did you…?” he just shrugs all cool and tall and says “maybe. study hard, okay?”

but then the obsession creeps in slow and sweet. he starts timing his breaks around when you usually show up. he memorizes your exact table preference: the corner by the window, away from the door so no drafts hit you. he remembers tiny details: you like the playlist with more lo-fi when it is raining, you fidget with your necklace when you are stuck on a problem, and you bite your lip when you finally get it right and do this tiny happy wiggle in your chair.

he catches himself staring way too long while wiping the counter, watching the way sunlight hits your face when you push your hair back and how your lashes flutter when you blink at your screen. one day you catch him mid-stare and he panics, dropping a spoon with a clatter. you giggle softly and he wants to die (in a good way).

things escalate when he starts adding secret menu notes on your cup sleeves. little things like “fighting today’s lecture! ♡” or “your smile > my latte art” scribbled in sharpie. you start blushing harder every time, hiding your face behind your book but peeking over the top to watch him work. he pretends not to notice but his ears turn red every single time.

one rainy evening the cafe is slow. you are the last customer, packing up slowly because you do not want to leave the cozy vibe. anton has the closing shift. he walks over with a fresh hot chocolate (not on the menu, just for you). “on the house. you looked cold.” he sits across from you uninvited but you do not mind. your eyes sparkle.

talking turns into hours. he asks about your major and listens so intently his chin rests on his hand, eyes never leaving your face. you ramble about your tough exam coming up and he says “you have got this. you are the smartest person who comes in here.” you laugh shyly and ask “you say that to all the regulars?” he leans closer, voice dropping: “no. just you.”

now he is properly whipped. he starts staying late just to walk you to your bus stop when it is dark (says it is safer but really he just wants more time with you). he brings you little gifts disguised as lost and found items: a cute cat keychain “someone left it, thought it suited you”, extra pastries “they were going to throw these out anyway”.

the obsession peaks when you miss a day. he gets anxious, keeps glancing at your empty table, messes up three lattes in a row. when you finally come back the next day (looking tired, bags under your eyes from all-nighters), he almost drops the milk pitcher. he rushes over with your usual plus a little note: “missed seeing you yesterday. do not overwork, okay? ♡ tony”

you read it, eyes watery from stress and cuteness overload, and mumble “thanks anton… i mean tony.” he freezes. “you know my real name?” you nod shyly “i asked one of the other baristas. sorry if that is weird.” he smiles so big his cheeks hurt. “not weird. i like hearing you say it.”

after weeks of cup-sleeve notes, shy eye contact over the espresso machine, and that one late-night text exchange where you admitted “i study better when i know you are watching from behind the counter :3”, anton finally shoots his shot properly.

he texts you one rainy thursday night:
“hey… closing shift tomorrow. wanna come by at 9? cafe is empty after close. i will make you that secret caramel thing you like… no studying required this time. just us?”

you reply in like two seconds: “yes please!!! i will be there ♡”

friday rolls around. you show up right as the last customer leaves, still in your oversized hoodie and skirt combo (the one that makes his heart flips every time you bend to grab a book). the cafe lights are dimmed low, only the warm glow from the hanging lamps and the neon “coffee riize” sign flickering softly. the jazz playlist still hums quiet. anton is already out of his apron, just a black tee hugging his broad shoulders and those damn rolled sleeves showing off forearms that look way too capable. his hair is a little damp from the steam earlier, and his tiny gold hoop glints when he turns to lock the door behind you.

“hey cutie,” he says all soft and low, voice deeper without the cafe noise. he walks over slow, like he is giving you time to back out (you do not). he stops right in front of you, so tall you have to tilt your head back. “been thinking about this all day.”

you bite your lip, cheeks burning. “me too…”

that is all it takes. he cups your face with both hands (big, warm, calloused fingertips from grinding beans and pulling shots) and kisses you slow at first. his lips are soft and taste faintly like the vanilla syrup he always sneaks extra of. you melt instantly, hands fisting his shirt, pulling him closer. the kiss turns hungry fast: tongues sliding, little whimpers from you when he nips your bottom lip. he groans against your mouth and walks you backward until your ass hits the edge of the counter.

he lifts you up easy and sets you right on the marble (cold against your thighs under the skirt). he steps between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs slow, pushing the fabric higher. “fuck… you are even prettier up close like this.” he murmurs while kissing down your neck, sucking lightly on that spot that makes you gasp.

your hands are already tugging at his shirt. “anton… please…”

he chuckles low, that deep rumble vibrating against your skin. “please what, baby? use your words.”

“touch me… been thinking about your hands all week.”

his eyes darken instantly. one hand stays on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles higher and higher while the other slips under your hoodie, palm flat against your tummy, sliding up to cup your breast over your bra. he thumbs your nipple through the fabric till it pebbles hard. you arch into him with a whine.

“like this?” he teases, pinching lightly. you nod frantically. he pulls your hoodie off in one smooth move and unhooks your bra with practiced ease (barista fingers are nimble af). he leans down to take a nipple in his mouth: warm, wet, tongue swirling slow while his free hand finally dips between your thighs.

he finds you soaked through your panties already. he groans against your chest. “shit… all this for me?” his fingers trace your slit over the fabric, pressing just enough to make you buck. “been wet since you walked in?”

“y-yes… anton please—”

he hooks your panties to the side, middle finger sliding through your folds, collecting slick before circling your clit slow and firm. you are trembling already, hands in his hair, tugging. he adds a second finger, curls them inside you while his thumb keeps working your clit. pace steady, deep, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl against his hips.

“look at you… falling apart on my counter.” he whispers hot against your ear. “gonna make you cum here first… then take you upstairs to my place. want you in my bed all night.”

you clench around his fingers at the promise. he speeds up, curling harder, mouth back on your neck sucking a mark you know you will have to hide tomorrow. “cum for me, baby… let me feel it.”

you shatter hard: back arching, cry muffled against his shoulder, thighs shaking around his hand. he works you through it slow, kissing your cheek, your jaw, murmuring “good girl… so pretty when you cum for me.”

he does not even let you catch your breath fully. he scoops you off the counter bridal style (because of course he does) and carries you through the back door up the narrow stairs to his tiny apartment above the cafe. the door barely shuts before he has you on his bed: sheets smelling like fresh laundry and his cologne.

he strips you slow this time: skirt, panties, everything, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers. when you are naked under him he just stares for a second, eyes hungry. “fuck… you are perfect.”

you tug at his shirt. “your turn.”

clothes hit the floor fast. he is long and thick, already leaking when he settles between your thighs. he rubs the head through your slick folds, teasing. “ready for me?”

“yes… need you inside—”

he pushes in slow: inch by inch, stretching you so good you are gasping, nails digging into his back. he bottoms out with a low groan, forehead pressed to yours. “so tight… feel so good around me.”

he starts moving: deep, steady thrusts at first, letting you adjust, then harder when you start meeting him halfway. the bed creaks softly under you both. one hand pins yours above your head, other gripping your hip to angle deeper. he hits that spot over and over till you are seeing stars.

“anton… harder… please—”

he flips you onto your stomach, pulls your hips up, slides back in from behind. deeper angle now, balls slapping wet against you with every snap. he leans over, chest to your back, kisses your shoulder blade while pounding you senseless. “like this? taking me so well… my pretty study girl.”

you are babbling: his name, pleas, nonsense, pushing back to meet every thrust. he reaches around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing fast. “cum with me baby… wanna feel you squeeze me.”

you do: harder than before, crying out muffled into the pillow, walls fluttering around him. it triggers him: he groans deep and wrecked, buries himself to the hilt and cums hot inside you, pulsing, filling you up.

he collapses half on top of you, both panting. he kisses your sweaty neck, your cheek, rolls to the side and pulls you into his chest. big arms wrap around you completely, legs tangling. “you okay?” he whispers all soft now, thumb stroking your spine.

you nod sleepy, nuzzling into his neck. “more than okay… best study break ever.”

he chuckles low, kisses your forehead. “good. because this is happening again. every friday after close… maybe more if you keep being this cute.”

you fall asleep like that: tucked against his heartbeat, his cum still leaking slow between your thighs, his hand resting possessive on your hip.

barista anton who went from foam art hearts to fucking you stupid on his bed upstairs… obsessed era fully activated >_<

[antonsdoll]

do you like matcha be honest

NO....im so performative i force myself just like toni.....chai and coffee tho...

[antonsdoll]

masterlist next

tag:@baldsungchan@chuuismywifee@tonddosstar@hwalllllllelujah @emislove @anvyton @doe-eyed-jinsu @winterbeartaehyungbestboy

[antonsdoll]

gonna update smau tmrw

[antonsdoll]

heres smth thats been in my drafts for a week and was written for @kkuyaseal

The bass thrums through the floorboards and up into your heels like a second heartbeat. You’re three tequilas in maybe four and the room has gone soft at the edges, the way it always does when you drink to forget. The bar is crowded tonight, all low amber light and cigarette ghosts curling toward the ceiling. You came here because it’s far enough from the apartment you used to share with him that you thought you might not run into anyone who knows your name.  

You were wrong.

He’s leaning against the far end of the bar, one elbow propped on the scarred wood, fingers curled loosely around a glass of whiskey he hasn’t touched in ten minutes. Anton Lee. Same dark hair falling into his eyes, same quiet way of taking up space like the room rearranges itself around him whether he asks it to or not. He’s wearing the black shirt you bought him two winters ago, the one that makes his shoulders look unfairly good. You hate that you notice. You hate that your body remembers the exact weight of those shoulders under your palms.

You turn away too fast and nearly collide with a guy who’s been circling you for the last half hour. Tall, easy grin, expensive watch. He smells like cedar and vodka and confidence that isn’t earned. His hand settles at the small of your back like it belongs there.

“Dance with me,” he says, not a question.

You let him lead you to the floor because Anton is watching now…you feel it the way you used to feel him watching you across a kitchen table at 3 a.m. when neither of you could sleep. The guy’s hands slide lower. You don’t stop them. You tilt your head back, laugh too loud, let your hair spill over his arm. You want Anton to see that you’re fine. That you’re desired. That you’re over him.

The song changes to something slower, filthier. The guy presses you close, mouth at your ear. “You’re trouble,” he murmurs.

You’re about to answer when the air shifts thickens like someone opened a door to a storm. Anton is suddenly there, a foot away, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping. His eyes are black in the low light.

“Get your hands off her,” he says. Quiet. Lethal.

The guy laughs, turns just enough to size Anton up. “We’re busy, man.”

Anton doesn’t look at him. He’s looking at you. Only you. “Y/N.”

Your name in his mouth is a bruise you still press on when no one’s watching.

The guy tightens his grip. “She doesn’t want—”

Anton moves so fast you barely track it. One second the guy’s smirking, the next he’s on the floor with Anton’s fist connected to his face. The sound is wet, shocking. People scatter. A glass shatters somewhere. Anton doesn’t stop. He hits him again, and again, until blood blooms across the guy’s mouth and two bouncers haul Anton off, dragging him toward the back exit while he fights them like a man drowning.

You follow because you’re drunk and stupid and because some part of you has been waiting for him to bleed for you again.

The alley behind the bar smells like rain and garbage and the metallic tang of violence. The bouncers shove Anton against the brick wall and tell him to cool off or they’re calling the cops. He doesn’t answer. Just stands there breathing hard, knuckles split open, blood running over the face of the watch you gave him on your first anniversary.

The bouncers leave. It’s just you and him and the distant thump of music leaking through the walls.

He doesn’t look at you for a long time.

When he finally does, his eyes are wet. Not from pain. From something worse.

“You let him touch you,” he says. Voice shredded.

“You don’t get to be jealous,” you answer. Your own voice cracks. “You left.”

“I didn’t leave.” He laughs, bitter. “You kicked me out. Remember? You couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

“Because you stopped looking at me like I was yours.” The words come out raw, ugly. “You looked through me for months. Like I was already gone.”

He flinches. Takes one step closer. The streetlight catches the blood on his lip.

“I was drowning,” he says. “And every time I reached for you, you pulled away.”

“That’s not…” You stop. Because it is. You both did it. You built walls out of silence and slammed doors and separate beds until the space between you was wider than any ocean.

He’s close enough now that you can smell whiskey and the faint trace of the cologne he wore when you were still in love. His chest rises and falls too fast.

“I saw his hands on you,” he says, “and I wanted to kill him. I still do.”

His fingers flex at his sides like he’s imagining it.

You should walk away. You should call a cab and go home to the bed that still smells faintly of him on the left pillow you can’t bring yourself to wash.

Instead you say, “Then do something about it.”

The sound he makes is half-snarl, half-sob. He backs you into the wall so fast your breath leaves in a rush. His mouth crashes into yours like punishment. You bite his lip hard enough to taste copper and he groans into you, pressing closer, one hand fisted in your hair, the other slamming against the brick beside your head.

You kiss him like you’re trying to crawl inside his skin. Like if you bite hard enough you can leave marks he’ll never erase. His tongue slides against yours and it’s messy, desperate, all teeth and anger and six months of grief.

He pulls back just enough to speak against your lips. “Tell me to stop.”

You drag his head down again instead.

He lifts you easily hands under your thighs, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct and carries you deeper into the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. Your back meets the cold brick again and you gasp at the contrast of his heat.

His mouth finds your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin. “You’ve always been mine.”

You would laugh if you weren’t so close to crying. “Prove it.”

He does.

His hand shoves your skirt up to your hips, fingers hooking in your panties and ripping. The fabric tears with a sound that makes you clench around nothing. Cool air hits you and then his fingers are there, sliding through how wet you already are, and he curses reverently.

“Still soaked for me,” he says, voice wrecked. “Even when you hate me.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and bite his shoulder through his shirt.

He pushes two fingers inside you without warning and you cry out, nails digging into his neck. He fucks you with them slow and deep, curling just right, the way he learned your body years ago and never forgot. Your head falls back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You force your eyes open. His gaze is molten, furious, devastated.

“I hate seeing you with anyone else,” he says, thumb circling your clit until your legs shake. “I hate that I still love you so much it fucking destroys me.”

You cum on his fingers with his name breaking in your throat like a prayer you don’t deserve.

He doesn’t give you time to breathe. He spins you around, presses your chest to the brick, yanks your hips back. You hear his belt, the zipper, the rustle of fabric. Then he’s pushing into you in one long, punishing thrust that makes you sob with how good it hurts.

He stills when he’s fully inside, forehead dropped to your shoulder, breathing like he’s been running for months.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers. “Lie to me.”

You push back against him instead, taking him deeper.

He fucks you like he’s trying to brand himself into your bones. Slow at first agonizingly slow every drag of his cock deliberate, making you feel every inch. His hand slides around to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. Claiming.

You reach back, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard. He groans and speeds up, hips snapping against yours, the sound obscene in the quiet alley.

“I missed you,” he says, voice cracking. “Every night. Every fucking night I jerked off thinking about you and hated myself for it.”

You moan, clenching around him, and he swears violently.

He turns you again, lifts you, your legs around his waist once more. This time when he slides home it’s face to face, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked. He fucks you deep and filthy and tender all at once, like he’s apologizing and accusing you at the same time.

You come again, harder, tears spilling over because it’s too much … too much of him, too much of everything you lost.

He follows right after, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you with a broken sound that might be your name. He doesn’t pull out. Just holds you there against the wall, both of you shaking, his face hidden in your neck.

After a minute( or ten)he lowers you gently, fixes your skirt with trembling hands. You watch him tuck himself away, zip up, wipe blood from his knuckles onto his jeans like it’s nothing.

The silence stretches, heavy as the night air.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you say finally. Your voice sounds foreign. Small.

“I know,” he answers.

He reaches up, brushes a thumb across your cheek where tears have dried. His knuckles are swollen and bleeding.

You lean into his touch for one weak second before stepping back.

“I should go,” you whisper.

He nods. Doesn’t stop you.

You walk away on unsteady legs, his come sliding down your thigh, the taste of blood and whiskey still in your mouth.

Behind you, he stays in the alley long after you’re gone, staring at the place where you were like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your absence all over again

[letterfromhk]

i just saw a post of cinnamoroll condoms on twt and im thinking of who in riize would buy cute condoms for when u guys fuck (but in the end they'd fuck you raw and fill you up anyways :p)

sohee is the most likely to buy cute condoms just to see your reaction (and then fuck you raw anyway) :3

he’d walk into your room all shy and excited, holding the little pack behind his back like it’s a secret gift. “i got something for us…” voice soft, cheeks pink, ears red. pulls out the cinnamoroll or my melody condoms with a nervous little smile. “they’re cute… like you. thought it’d be fun?”

then he slides in slow… and immediately groans like he’s in pain. “fuck… can’t feel you enough. this stupid thing—” rips it off in one frustrated tug, tosses it somewhere across the room.

“sorry baby… had to feel you raw. need to feel all of you.”

fucks you hard and deep after that, no more holding back. hand pressing on your lower stomach so you feel how deep he is, whispering “gonna fill you up for real now… no condom, just me inside you… wanna see you leak me later.”

comes so hard he’s shaking, fills you until it’s dripping out, then plugs you with his fingers while kissing your tears. “can’t help it… you’re too perfect. next time i’ll try to last longer with the cute one… maybe.”

[antonsprincess]

soooo cute

[soheeton]

giving anton his first blowjob. having anton sit on the couch, kneeling down infront of him, his pretty erection right infront of me. kitten licks on his tip, licking up any pre-cum that starts flowing. switching between stroking his length, touching every vein and then taking my tongue to run it over those veins, tasting him more, before taking him full in my mouth. he’s afraid i wouldn’t be able to take it, so he puts his hand on my cheek, shaking his head and says “it’ll be too much for you”, but actually i know deep down it’ll be too much for him. it was his first blowjob after all. ignoring him, i work him all over with my mouth and, occasionally my hands to stroke him up and down. he’d let out soft whimpers, biting his lip, eyes closed. until he find his release and shoots a big load of warm cum in my mouth, before even forewarning me his orgasm. only realising it happening without his control and saying “oh shit, baby i’m cumming” when he’s halfway releasing it all. i then lightly pinch-stroke the rest of his cum out from his pretty tip and continues licking it up, purposely leaving some dripping out of my lips. he wipes it away and says “see, i told you it’ll be too much for you”, saying it in his soft voice with a sweet smile on his face and looking at you with heart eyes.

the irony and his denial.

anon this is so yummyyyy <3 does anton know it's okay to let himself be a whiny sub??????? let it goooo anton...

anton cumming so fast down your throat, he's so pathetic under your touch. trying to come up with excuses to make himself seem all nonchalant but he couldn't even control his own climax. he knew he wouldn't be able to last long during his first blowjob so he acts all sweet and concerned for you instead. "are you sure you'll be able to take me baby?" little does he know...his hands gripping the fabric of the couch, his body tensing up, he's biting his bottom lip to keep himself composed, all that only to fix himself right up after and act like it wasn't any big deal. he goes back to caring for you like normal, wiping his cum from your lips but inside he's burning up still. he'll be replaying this moment in his mind forever. he'll become addicted to wanting to feel it all over again, the image of his gum spilling down your chin, the way you swallowed his load so well and fit him so perfectly into your pretty mouth.

[antonsdoll]

NOT that hard

masterlist next

tag:@baldsungchan@chuuismywifee@tonddosstar@hwalllllllelujah

[antonsdoll]

guyssss im sorry ill def update friday saturdsay im just sooo busyyyy