𝓫𝓵𝓾𝓮 ﾟ☾

[everythinginbluee]

──────── ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ☾ ˚｡⋆ 𓆩𓆪 ────────

→ 💌 welcome to, everythinginblue ☾ ⋆｡˚ ♡ ˚｡⋆

blue | 20 | she/her

i mainly write for: riize + enhypen

&: nct, p1h, txt, zb1, svt, illit, aespa, ive, etc.

requests are open!

feel free to leave something in my inbox ♡

blue’s library

[everythinginbluee]

Hello.. I’m finally out of my writing slump. New fic dropping soon. And rave bae anton is past 1k notes…. thank you guys frfr 🥹🤞🏼 I’ll try to respond to my inbox/anons asap, maybe once I’m done with finals🙏

[everythinginbluee]

I have so many plot ideas and drafts but I’m having major writers block, and school is killing me. 😭😭

[everythinginbluee]

reading rave bae anton while still physically recovering from ultra is so fun omg

Omg I wrote that while recovering from crankdat, which was on antons bday 😭😭 i need rave bae anton 🙏

[everythinginbluee]

who can i be for you? - anton lee

life is scary as you grow out of your teenage years, in times when you can’t seem to figure things out, anton will always be there to hold you together until you feel like yourself again

wc - 3k

content - fluffy angst, comfort, reader in going through it, anton is a big softie, college setting

note - for anyone who’s struggling to find their passion, feeling lost in life, feeling behind or unsure. a reminder: you don’t have to have everything figured out, everything will work out in the end🤍

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No one ever plans to cry on their birthday, but of course, it happens.

You didn’t plan on crying on your twentieth birthday. You didn’t plan on feeling like a fraud, either.

The dinner had been perfect on paper. Anton had booked a table at that Italian place downtown you love. Your friends were there, all dressed up, laughing too loud over the ambient restaurant music, passing around a bottle of wine. The food was good. The lighting was warm. Anton’s hand was a steady, grounding weight on your thigh under the table the entire night.

It should have been a good night. It was a good night, until the conversation shifted.

“How’s your prep for the MCAT?” Shotaro asked, leaning across the table with a piece of garlic bread halfway to his mouth. “You’re still doing the summer intensive?”

You forced a smile, taking a slow sip of your water to buy yourself a second. “Yeah. Starts the first week of June.”

“God, you’re so put together,” Yunjin groaned, dropping her head onto Sunoo’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what classes I’m taking next quarter and you’re already locking down a specialty. Pediatrics, right?”

“Pediatric oncology,” you corrected automatically. The words tasted like ash in your mouth. “That’s the plan.”

Sohee chimed in, raising his glass. “To our future doctor.”

“To the future doctor,” the table echoed, glasses clinking together in a messy chorus.

You smiled. You clinked your glass. You said all the right things. However, under the table, your fingers dug so hard into your own knee that it hurt.

Anton’s thumb brushed against your thigh, a slow, deliberate stroke. You didn’t look at him. You knew that if you looked at him, you knew you’d crack.

The truth was, you were good at your major, biochemistry. You were good at memorizing pathways, balancing equations, and pulling all-nighters in the library until the words blurred together. You were good at getting the grades that made your parents proud, the kind of grades that made your friends look at you with that mixture of awe and envy. Your intended field was something you were naturally good at.

But you didn’t love it. You didn’t know if you even liked it anymore.

Lately, the thought of all the exams of medical school, spending the next ten years of your life trapped in a hospital doing something you were only doing because you were good at, something you were supposed to do. It made your chest tight. It made it hard to breathe. You’re twenty now. A junior in college. You were in too deep to change your mind, too far along to admit that the perfect plan you’d built was suffocating you.

Of course there was pressure from your parents and the expectations from your friends. But the worst part was that you were doing it to yourself. You were clinging to this path because you knew you could succeed at it. The idea of stepping off the track, of trying something new and potentially failing, terrified you more than the thought of being miserable in a lab coat.

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur. You laughed at the right times, blew out the candles on the cake your friends had surprised you with, and let him wrap his heavy coat around your shoulders when you all finally stepped out into the crisp night air.

—

“You guys heading back to campus?” Anton asked.

“Yeah. Let’s hope that our RA doesn’t yell at us for coming back this late.” Shotaro responded.

Anton glanced down at you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. “We’re gonna head back to my place.” “Get back safe!” You added.

“Happy birthday again!” Yunjin called out, pulling you into a tight hug that smelled like expensive perfume and wine. “Text me tomorrow!”

You waved as they piled into an Uber, the red taillights disappearing down the street. Then it was just you and Anton, standing on the sidewalk under the glow of a streetlamp.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you lied, pulling his coat tighter around yourself. “Just tired. It was a long day.”

He didn’t push it. He just laced his fingers through yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles as he led you toward his car.

The drive back to his apartment was quiet. Not the comfortable, easy quiet you usually shared, but a heavy, loaded silence. You kept your eyes fixed on the window, watching the city lights blur past, trying to swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

—

When you got to his place, the routine was familiar. He unlocked the door, tossed his keys onto the counter, and toed off his shoes. You slipped out of his coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, and kicked off your heels with a quiet sigh of relief.

“You want some water?” Anton asked, heading toward the kitchen. “Or tea? I think I have some chamomile left.”

“Water’s fine,” you said, your voice sounding thin even to your own ears.

You walked into his bedroom, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent and cedarwood instantly wrapping around you. You sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floorboards. The exhaustion was hitting you all at once, the bone-deep weariness of unsure for an entire evening.

Anton walked in a minute later, holding a glass of water. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes scanning your face. He didn’t hand you the glass right away. Instead, he set it on the nightstand, walked over, and crouched down in front of you.

He was wearing a soft black shirt and his wire-rimmed glasses, his dark hair slightly messy from the wind outside. He looked so warm and safe.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. He reached out, his large hands resting on your knees. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, looking away. “I’m just tired, Anton. Really.”

“Look at me,” he said softly.

You didn’t want to. You knew what would happen if you did. But his thumbs were tracing slow, steady lines against your skin, and his voice was so impossibly tender that you couldn’t help it. You looked down at him.

His dark eyes were entirely focused on you, with this spark in his eyes, stripped of any pretense. He wasn’t looking at the future doctor, or the girl who had it all figured out. He was just looking at you.

“You’ve been somewhere else all night,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ever since Sunoo brought up the MCAT. You went completely rigid.”

“I didn’t,” you deflected, your voice trembling slightly. “I was just… thinking about my schedule. There’s just a lot of studying.”

“Baby,” Anton sighed, shifting closer so he was kneeling right between your legs. He moved his hands from your knees to your waist, his long fingers wrapping around your sides. “You don’t have to do this with me. You know you don’t have to pretend with me.”

The tears came without warning, hot and fast, spilling over your eyelashes before you could even blink them away. A choked, small sob tore out of your throat, and you immediately brought your hands up to cover your face, humiliated.

“Hey, hey,” Anton said instantly, his voice dropping an octave. He stood up, pulling you off the edge of the bed and straight into his chest. “I got you. I’m right here.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands gripping the fabric at his chest like a lifeline. The dam had completely broken. All the pressure, the anxiety, the suffocating weight of the expectations you’d been carrying around for months—it all came pouring out in messy, broken sobs.

Anton didn’t say anything to try and stop you. He just wrapped his arms around you, one hand splayed wide across your back, the other cradling the back of your head, pressing you flush against his chest. He was so solid and warm, his heartbeat a steady, grounding rhythm against your cheek.

“I just don’t know anymore,” you sobbed into his chest, the words muffled by the heavy cotton of his hoodie. “I don’t know if I want to do it.”

“Do what, baby?” he murmured, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Tell me.”

“Any of it,” you cried, your voice cracking. “Med school. Pediatric oncology. I don’t know if I want to be a doctor. I don’t know if I even like it anymore.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and terrifying. You’d never said it out loud before. Not to your parents, not to your friends, not even to yourself in the mirror. Saying it made it real. Saying it meant the perfect plan was crumbling.

Anton’s grip on you tightened slightly, his hand stroking down your hair in long, soothing motions. “Okay,” he said simply.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with tear-blurred eyes. “Okay? Anton, I’m twenty. I’m a junior now. I’ve spent years preparing and taking classes I’m not even sure I care about. My parents are going to kill me. Everyone thinks I have it all figured out. It’s way too late to change anything.”

“Fuck what everyone thinks,” Anton said, his voice firm but quiet. He reached up, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “And fuck the plan. If you’re not sure, you don’t force it. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argued, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t have a backup plan. I’m just… this is what I’m good at. It’s safe. I know I can pass the tests and get the degree. If I try something else, what if I fail? What if I’m not good at anything else?”

“You’re not going to fail,” Anton said fiercely, his hands cupping your face. He leaned down, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Listen to me. You are only twenty years old. You’re not supposed to have the rest of your life figured out right now. Nobody does. Yunjin doesn’t know what she’s doing. Shotaro changes his major every quarter. I’m doing psych and half the time I don’t even know how I’m going to pursue it”

“But you like it, you have a passion for it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t know if I like this. I feel so lost.”

“Being lost is okay,” he promised, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “It’s better to be lost and looking for what you actually want than to be perfectly on track for a life you don’t even like. Being good at something doesn’t mean you owe your life to it.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against his chest. The panic was still there, a tight knot in your stomach, but the suffocating weight of the secret was gone. He knew. And he wasn’t looking at you like you were a disappointment.

“What am I going to tell my mom?” you whispered miserably.

“Nothing right now,” Anton said, his arms wrapping around you again, pulling you back into his embrace. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. You don’t even have to figure it out tomorrow. You just have to breathe.”

He swayed slightly, rocking you back and forth in the quiet room. The only sound was the faint hum of the city outside the window and the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear.

“I’m so scared, Anton,” you admitted, your voice small and fragile.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. “It’s scary. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stood there for a long time, just letting him hold you. The tears eventually slowed, leaving you feeling hollowed out and exhausted, but lighter. The frantic buzzing in your brain had quieted down to a dull hum.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were red and puffy, your makeup definitely ruined. Anton didn’t seem to care. He just looked at you with that same soft, unwavering affection.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, then walked into his bathroom. He came back a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth. He stood between your legs again, gently tilting your chin up, and started carefully wiping the ruined makeup from under your eyes.

His touch was so incredibly gentle. He took his time, making sure he got all the mascara streaks, his eyes focused entirely on the task. You watched his face. The sharp line of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips, the way his glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose.

“You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

Anton paused, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. A small, soft smile touched the corners of his mouth. “I’m just taking care of my girl. Especially since it’s her birthday.”

He tossed the washcloth onto the nightstand, then framed your face with both hands, moving your hair out of your face. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. Then your temple. Then the corner of your mouth.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t urgent or demanding. It was slow, sweet, and deeply comforting. His thumbs stroked your jawline as he kissed you, pouring all the reassurance he couldn’t put into words into the touch.

You parted your lips, letting him deepen the kiss slightly. His tongue brushed against your lower lip, tasting like the red wine from dinner. You brought your hands up, resting them flat against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

He stepped closer, his hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you gently against his hips. The kiss deepened, slow and languid. You tangled your fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, a soft sigh escaping you.

Anton pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier. His hands were warm on your waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles against your skin.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “You look exhausted.”

He helped you out of your dress, his hands respectful and familiar. He tossed you one of his worn-in vintage t-shirts. The one that smelled the most like him—and a pair of his sweatpants where you had to fold the waistband a couple times.

When you crawled under the heavy duvet, the sheets were cool, but Anton followed right after you, pulling you flush against his side. You curled into him automatically, resting your head on his chest, your leg throwing itself over his hips.

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. His free hand tangled in your hair, his fingers lightly scratching at your scalp in a way that made your eyes droop shut instantly.

“Anton?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you.”

You felt his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, his grip on you tightening just a fraction.

“Always,” he whispered into the dark. “Whatever you need to be, whoever you want to be. I’m right here.” A beat went by. “Happy birthday, my love.”

—

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and the soft sound of rain tapping against the window.

You blinked your eyes open, the room bathed in the gray, muted light of a rainy Sunday. The space beside you in bed was empty, but the sheets still held Anton’s warmth. You stretched, your muscles feeling heavy but relaxed, the lingering exhaustion from last night’s breakdown still present but no longer suffocating.

You sat up and padded out of the bedroom.

Anton was in the kitchen, standing by the counter in his sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, his glasses pushed up on his head. He was pouring coffee into two mugs, his movements slow and easy.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps, a soft smile spreading across his face. “Morning, birthday girl.”

“Morning,” you mumbled, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. You pressed your cheek against his back, breathing in the scent of coffee and his familiar cedarwood body wash.

He chuckled softly, leaning back into your embrace for a moment before turning around within your arms. He handed you a mug, his fingers brushing against yours.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching your face.

You took a sip of the coffee, just the way you liked it, and let out a slow breath. “Better. I think.”

“Good,” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Today is just for resting. We can order takeout and watch movies. How does that sound?”

You looked up at him, the boy who had held you together when you felt like you were falling apart, the boy who didn’t care if you were a doctor or a dropout, as long as you were happy.

“That sounds perfect,” you smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

You didn’t have a plan. The future was a blank, terrifying canvas. But as you stood there in his kitchen, wrapped in his warmth and the quiet safety of the morning, the unknown didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

[everythinginbluee]

Blue’s Library

RIIZE

as member of riize on eunseok and anton’s bdays (smau)

Shotaro

Eunseok

Sungchan

Wonbin

Sohee

i call it fashion

Anton

not so secret admirer

spring into summer, and the winter’s gone

rave bae anton

——more groups to be added——

[everythinginbluee]

i call it fashion - sohee lee

sohee loves to match outfits with you

bf!sohee x reader

wc - 1.3k

content - established relationship, fluff, slice of life, established relationship, matching outfits, implied that he’s an idol, domestic

note - this ended up being a lot shorter than i wanted tbh but i love sohee sm.

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Sohee’s apartment had a special kind of quiet on his days off. A really comfortable, lazy stillness. Rihanna’s “Love on the Brain” was playing softly from the Bluetooth speaker on his nightstand, the bass blending with the hum of the fridge and the muffled traffic from the streets of Seoul outside.

You were sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while waiting for him to finish getting ready. Going out with Sohee always took a minute. It wasn’t that he was high maintenance, he just really cared about his clothes. Fashion was his thing—a small hobby he kept up between dance practices and vocal training.

“Are you almost done?” you called out over, leaning back against the pillows. “If we wait any longer, the tteokbokki place is gonna have a line out the door.”

Sohee finally wandered out of his walk-in closet. He had on a plain black t-shirt hanging loose off his frame and a pair of perfectly faded, baggy denim jeans pooling over his sneakers. He was messing with the brim of a brown vintage cap, pulling it down just enough to hide his messy morning hair—the exact hair that got him his hedgehog emoji from the guys. He didn’t look like he tried hard at all, but the proportions of his fit were flawless. He just has that effortless, understated charisma he carried so naturally.

“Patience,” he teased. He walked over and nudged your leg with his knee. “You can’t rush art.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting up to check out his outfit. “Art? It’s a black shirt and jeans, Hee.” Teasing, knowing he looked good regardless.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he was disappointed in you. “It’s about the silhouette. The fit. The vibe.” He paused, his dark eyes scanning what you were wearing. You had on a vintage oversized graphic tee and some comfortable, wide-leg sweatpants. It was your go-to lazy, day off look.

A small, mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Sohee, the one who was comfortable enough to be a little bratty in the most endearing way possible.

“You’re not just wearing that, are you?” he asked, crossing his arms.

You looked down at your clothes, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with this? It’s comfortable. We’re literally just going to get spicy rice cakes and snacks from the convenience store.”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Sohee said, stepping closer and grabbing your hands to pull you up off the bed. “You always look good. But we can make it better. Come here.”

He dragged you into his closet, which was surprisingly organized for a guy who claimed to be so laid-back. Racks of plain tees, vintage denim, and a crazy collection of caps lined the walls.

“Sohee, I don’t need to dress up—“

“Who said anything about dressing up?” he cut in, digging through a section of jackets. “I just think if we’re going out together, we should look like we belong together.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. Sohee had this secret, undeniable weakness for coordinated outfits.

He pulled out a faded, oversized grey zip up jacket that looked suspiciously like the one he wore a few days ago and tossed it to you. “Put that on.”

You caught it, slipping it over your graphic tee. It was heavy and perfectly worn-in. “Isn’t it a bit warm for this?”

“It’s fall. The weather’s perfect,” he reasoned, turning back to his racks. He pulled out a grey zip-up hoodie, leaving it unzipped over his black t-shirt to match the relaxed, layered look you had going on now.

You watched, amused, as he adjusted the hood so it sat casually over his collar. Then he grabbed a navy blue beanie off a shelf and tossed it right at your head. It landed smack on your face.

“Hey!” you laughed, pulling the beanie off and glaring at him.

“Put it on,” he instructed, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Trust the vision.”

You sighed, pulling the navy beanie on and fixing it in the full-length mirror. The jacket smelled like him—clean laundry detergent and crisp autumn air.

Sohee stepped up behind you, his reflection joining yours in the glass. He had his navy cap, the grey hoodie, and his baggy jeans. You had the grey jacket over your vintage tee, your wide-leg sweats, and the navy beanie.

Sohee closed the gap between you, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms securely around your waist. You could feel the solid warmth of his chest pressed against your back, the silver rings on his fingers cool against the fabric of your jacket. He looked at your reflection, a satisfied hum vibrating deep in his chest.

“See?” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your neck. It sent a sudden, pleasant shiver down your spine.

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning back into his solid frame. “You just wanted us to match.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. He turned his head slightly, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple that lingered just a second longer than necessary. “But you gotta admit, we look good.”

He didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he just stood there for a minute, watching the two of you in the mirror. The teasing edge in his voice faded into something more settled. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and opened the camera app.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching him frame the shot in the mirror.

“Documenting the vision,” he said simply. He shifted his grip on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer so your sides were pressed flush together. He snapped a quick photo, just the two of you, faces half-hidden by the brims of your hats.

He didn’t post it. He couldn’t, obviously. But as you watched him set it as his lock screen wallpaper before slipping the phone back into his pocket, you understood.

He reached up, his fingers gently brushing your forehead as he adjusted the navy beanie one last time. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, and then he tilted your chin up.

His lips pressed against yours like he had all the time in the world, one hand still cradling your jaw while the other rested on your hip. You could feel him smile into it. That quiet, self-satisfied grin he always got when things went exactly the way he wanted.

“What was that for?” you asked with a small giggle.

The look in his eyes were so warm it made your chest ache in the best way. “Nothing. You just look really good in my clothes.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. He caught your hand before it dropped, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles before stepping back and grabbing his wallet off the dresser. “Alright,” he said, the easygoing smirk returning. “Let’s go eat before you start complaining about being hungry again.”

He grabbed your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours naturally, his thumb stroking the back of your knuckles. As you walked out of his place and into the crisp autumn air, you caught a glimpse of the two of you in the elevator mirrors.

He glanced at your reflection, then back at you, and squeezed your hand a little tighter.

“Same time next week?” he asked, like this was a standing appointment. Like coordinating outfits with you was something he penciled into his schedule between rehearsals and recordings.

You looked up at him—this boy with his cap pulled low and his hoodie zipped halfway and his whole heart quietly stitched into the way he loved you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Same time next week.”

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

[everythinginbluee]

I have an upcoming fic about songwriter!reader x idol. Who are some idols that could fit this fic? I need ideasss

[i06heetopia-deactivated20260402]

I recommend and push for softer, kinder, and loving fics. specifically for riize. as a woman, I rather not see a bunch of this garbage about the members being super abusive to the reader. that includes the fetishizing of rape, incest, domestic violence, and more. if we as women fight against this type of crime every single day, why are we writing it? young girls (children) and adult women daily, monthly, yearly, are victims to these crimes and that leaves a very vulnerable and fragile person. a broken person who no longer gets back the time before such crimes took place. so! why are we writing these kpop men out to be complete monsters? not sure but I as a woman will make a stand and post about it to stop. it’s not cute, romantic, or sexy. if you’re a person struggling because you were a victim to one of these crimes then I think it’s best you get the professional help needed and stop writing it into sick and twisted fantasies for young girls to get ahold of. unfortunately minors are on this app and can read all of the gross fanfics you’re writing about men you don’t know. which can cause confusion. if you were an actual fan of these people—you wouldn’t write such trash. and I mean that in the nicest way possible, let’s stop.

[everythinginbluee]

rave bae anton lee…

raver!anton x f!reader

wc - 5.1k

content - edm concert setting, drinking/smoking, smut, everyone’s in college, Anton gives reader a shoulder ride

note - can you guys tell i love college student anton? if any of u guys go to raves stay safe and have funnn!!

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

The harsh fluorescent lights of the concrete parking garage buzzed overhead, cars were packed bumper to bumper on every level, trunks popped open, music bleeding from portable speakers. The air was thick with the smell of exhaust, alcohol, and the distant, muffled thud of bass vibrating from the stadium a few blocks away.

“Hold still, you’re going to mess up the gems,” Yunjin scolded lightly. She pressed a final iridescent rhinestone near the corner of your eye, using the rearview mirror of Shotaro’s SUV as a makeshift vanity. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. “Okay. You look devastating. If you don’t ruin at least one man’s life tonight, I’m revoking your rave privileges.”

She pulled out her silver digi cam, the flash blinding you for a second as she snapped a picture of your makeup. Then she squeezed in next to you, pressing her cheek against yours, and held the camera out at arm’s length. The flash went off twice—one normal, one with both of you mid-laugh because Sunoo yelled something stupid from across the trunk.

You laughed, adjusting the straps of your top. You’d gone all out tonight: a black mesh set that hugged every curve, layered under a harness. Your arms were stacked with kandi bracelets, the plastic beads clinking together as you reached for the plastic cup resting on the bumper.

“She’s not ruining anyone’s life, she’s going to be too busy trying not to pass out before the opener finishes,” Sunoo chimed in, appearing at your side. He passed a joint to Yunjin before handing you a plastic cup filled with a mix of peach soju and Yakult. His own face was dusted in silver glitter. “Pace yourself. You just took a shot and hit that twice.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip. The alcohol burned pleasantly down your throat, mixing with the warm, heavy buzz of the weed already settling in your limbs.

It wasn’t your first rave, but you were definitely the more casual raver of the group. While Shotaro and Sohee hit festivals almost every other weekend, you usually only tagged along here and there when you had time. Tonight was the final stop of the Illenium and Dabin tour, and it was your first time seeing either of them live. The group chat has been hyped for months.

“Are we moving or what?” Sohee yelled, bouncing on his heels near the concrete stairwell. He and Shotaro were already halfway to the exit, looking back at you three with impatient grins. “We’re going to miss Dabin’s intro!”

“We’re coming!” you shouted back, downing the rest of your drink. You tossed the cup into a nearby trash can, linking arms with Yunjin and Sunoo as you hurried to catch up.

The walk to the festival grounds was a blur of neon outfits, pulsing lasers bleeding into the night sky, and thousands of people vibrating with the same collective anticipation. The alcohol was definitely hitting you now. The edges of your vision were soft, your limbs felt light, and the heavy dubstep echoing from the main stage made your heart race.

You followed Shotaro as he navigated your group through the dense crowd. He was a seasoned raver, weaving through the sea of bodies with practiced ease, his hand firmly gripping Sohee’s backpack so they wouldn’t get separated. You kept one hand on Sunoo’s shoulder as you pushed deeper into the crowd, aiming for a spot just behind the VIP rail.

“We’re meeting a friend of mine here!” Shotaro yelled over his shoulder, his voice barely cutting through the music. “He saved us a spot!”

You finally broke through a particularly dense wall of people, stumbling slightly as the alcohol made your platform boots feel a little heavier than usual. You bumped into a solid wall of a chest, letting out a small gasp.

Large hands immediately caught your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall.

“Careful,” a deep, yet soft voice rumbled above you.

You looked up, and your breath hitched.

Standing there, towering over the rest of the crowd, was a guy who looked like he had been carved out of marble specifically to ruin your life. He was ridiculously tall, with broad shoulders showcased perfectly by a black, sleeveless muscle tank. A silver chain rested against his collarbone, catching the strobe lights. His dark hair was slightly messy, falling into his eyes in a way that looked effortlessly perfect.

Shotaro crashed into him with a massive hug, clapping him on the back. “You actually held the spot! You’re a legend.”

The guy laughed. His voice was a rich, warm rumble that you could feel in your chest even over the heavy bass. He hadn’t let go of your shoulders yet.

Shotaro pulled back and gestured to your group. “Guys, this is Anton. We play soccer together. Anton, this is Sohee, Sunoo, Yunjin, and…” Shotaro’s eyes landed on you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “…and this is my favorite person, but don’t tell the others.”

Anton’s gaze shifted down to you. The moment his dark eyes locked onto yours, the rest of the festival seemed to fade into background noise. He looked you up and down, a slow, deliberate sweep that took in the platform boots, the mesh, the harness, and the few gems around your eyes. When his eyes finally met yours again, a slow smile spread across his face.

“Hi,” he said, his hands finally dropping from your shoulders. Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne and clean laundry, a sharp contrast to the sweat and smoke of the crowd.

“Hi,” you breathed back, suddenly hyper-aware of how much skin you were showing, and how warm your cheeks felt from the vodka.

“Okay, group photo before we lose each other!” Yunjin interrupted, pulling out her silver digi cam. She shoved it into Anton’s hands since he was the tallest. “Take one of us?”

Anton chuckled, taking the small camera. He took a step back, crouching slightly to frame you and Yunjin as she threw an arm around your waist. Right before he pressed the button, his eyes flicked up from the screen, catching yours over the top of the camera for a beat too long. The flash went off, blinding you for a second, but you could still feel the weight of his stare. He handed the camera back to Yunjin before turning his attention fully back to you.

“First time seeing Illenium?” he asked, leaning down slightly so you could hear him over the music.

“First time seeing him, yeah,” you admitted, having to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. The size difference between you was staggering. He was a wall of solid muscle, his presence completely enveloping you. “Not my first rave, but… I don’t go as often as the other guys.”

“I can tell,” Anton murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before flicking back up. He tilted his head, studying your flushed face. “You pregamed a little hard, didn’t you?”

You blinked, feeling caught. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little,” he chuckled, the sound low and incredibly attractive. “Stick close to me. The crowd gets rough when the headliners come on, we don’t want you getting trampled.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As Dabin took the stage and the crowd surged forward, Anton naturally positioned himself just behind you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the heat radiating off his chest, a solid, protective barrier between you and the crushing weight of the thousands of people pushing from behind.

The set was incredible, but about thirty minutes in, the combination of the heavy bass, the flashing strobe lights, and the alcohol you had downed in the parking garage started to catch up with you. The air in the middle of the crowd was stiflingly hot. You swayed slightly, pressing a hand to your forehead as a wave of dizziness washed over you.

Instantly, Anton’s hands were on your waist. “Hey. You okay?”

You leaned back against his chest instinctively, closing your eyes. “Just… a little dizzy. It’s really hot.”

“Alright, come here,” Anton said smoothly. He didn’t ask Shotaro or the others. He just wrapped an arm securely around your waist and gently but firmly guided you out of the thickest part of the crowd, moving toward the slightly more open space near the back rail.

He found a spot where the air was cooler and the bodies weren’t pressed so tightly together. He turned you around to face him, his hands resting on your hips. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, opening your eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anton said softly. He reached into his small crossbody bag and pulled out an unopened bottle of water, twisting the cap off before handing it to you. “Drink this. Slowly.”

You took it, sipping the cool water gratefully. Anton stood in front of you, blocking you from the chaotic flow of people walking by. He reached up, using his large hand to gently fan your face, the cool breeze feeling heavenly against your flushed skin. He was so attentive, his dark eyes watching you carefully to make sure the color was returning to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you murmured, looking up at him.

“Anytime,” he replied, his thumb brushing lightly against your waist. “You feeling sober enough to go back in, or do you want to stay back here for a bit?”

“I’m okay now,” you smiled, the dizziness fading into a pleasant, manageable buzz.

When you moved back to your group, the dynamic had shifted. Anton kept one hand resting lightly on the small of your back the entire time, instead of just standing behind you. Every time the crowd shoved forward, his grip would tighten, pulling you flush against his chest to protect you from the impact. The touch was respectful, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core every single time.

Halfway through Illenium’s set, the music slowed, the heavy bass fading into a soft, melodic acoustic intro. The crowd roared in recognition as the opening chords of “Hearts on Fire” echoed through the stadium.

“You want to see better?” Anton’s voice rumbled right next to your ear, his breath hot against your neck.

You turned your head, your face inches from his. “What?”

“Get on my shoulders,” he offered, a playful glint in his eyes. “You can’t see the visuals from down here.”

Before you could protest, Anton crouched down slightly, tapping his broad shoulders. “Come on. I got you.”

You hesitated for a second, then grabbed his hands to steady yourself. You swung one leg over his shoulder, then the other, and the first thing you noticed was how wide he was. Your thighs barely fit around the span of his shoulders. Then he stood up, lifting you with effortless strength like you weighed nothing. You could feel the muscles in his shoulders and neck shift and tighten beneath your thighs as he adjusted you, his traps solid and warm under the thin fabric of his tank top.

The view was breathtaking. The entire festival grounds stretched out before you, a massive ocean of people swaying in unison under a canopy of lasers. But as incredible as the view was, all you could focus on was the feeling of Anton beneath you.

Your thighs were pressed flush against his neck, his large hands gripping the backs of your thighs to keep you steady. His fingers dug slightly into your skin, a firm, possessive grip that made your breath catch. You could feel every shift of his broad shoulders between your legs—the way they rolled when he adjusted his stance, the hard muscle flexing under your weight like it was nothing.

The beat dropped, a massive, euphoric explosion of sound and light. Confetti cannons erupted, raining colorful paper down on the crowd. You threw your hands up, completely consumed by the music and the adrenaline. Anton’s hands tightened on your thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just below your skirt, and a sharp spike of heat coiled low in your belly.

When the song ended, he slowly lowered you back down to the ground. You slid down his chest, your body pressing flush against his for a long second before your boots hit the grass.

You were breathless as you looked up at him “Thank you.”

Anton didn’t step back. He stayed exactly where he was, so close you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes dropped to your lips again, and this time, they stayed there.

The tension between you was thick, pulling you toward him like a magnet. You wanted him to kiss you. You wanted it so badly your skin ached with it.

“Hey!” Sohee’s voice shattered the moment, and you both jumped slightly as he threw an arm around Anton’s shoulders. “We’re going to grab water before the finale. You guys want anything?”

Anton cleared his throat, taking a small step back, though his eyes never left yours. “We’re good. We’ll hold the spot.”

The rest of the night was a blur of heavy bass, blinding lights, and the suffocating tension between you and Anton. You traded kandi with him during a quiet moment, teaching him the PLUR handshake. When your fingers interlocked with his, he held on for a second too long, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. He gave you a bracelet that said RAVE HEAD, and you gave him one that said YOURS. You had made it as a joke, but when he read the beads, his eyes darkened, and he slipped it onto his wrist without a word.

By the time the final fireworks went off and the festival lights came up, you were exhausted. Your ears were ringing, your feet ached, and the adrenaline crash was hitting you hard.

The walk out of the venue was a chaotic mass of thousands of people trying to leave at once. The crisp night air felt amazing against your sweat-slicked skin, but you couldn’t stop a shiver from running down your spine.

Without a word, Anton pulled his black zip-up hoodie out of his backpack and draped it over your shoulders. It was massive on you, swallowing you completely, and it smelled exactly like him.

“Okay,” Shotaro announced as your group huddled near the rideshare pickup zone. “There’s an afterparty at this warehouse downtown. Sohee knows the DJ. We’re all going.”

You groaned internally, leaning your head against Yunjin’s shoulder. “Taro, I love you, but if I hear one more bass drop tonight, my brain is going to liquefy. I’m so tired.”

“You can’t tap out now!” Sunoo protested, though he looked sympathetically at your exhausted expression.

Anton looked down at you, his eyes assessing. He could see the fatigue pulling at your features, the way you were practically holding yourself up with Yunjin’s help.

“My hotel is three blocks from here,” Anton said quietly, addressing Shotaro but looking at you. “I’m not really feeling the afterparty either. I can take her back with me. Let her crash there, and you guys can go.”

Shotaro looked between the two of you, that same knowing smirk returning to his face. “You sure, man? We don’t want to impose.”

“It’s fine,” Anton said, his voice steady. He looked down at you, his dark eyes intense. “If she wants to.”

You pulled the oversized hoodie tighter around yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs. You weren’t drunk anymore, but you were definitely not feeling like going to the after party.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to.”

Yunjin gave you a look that screamed we are talking about this tomorrow in excruciating detail, before hugging you goodbye. You waved to the rest of the group as they piled into a rideshare, leaving you and Anton standing alone on the crowded sidewalk.

“Come on,” Anton said softly, his large hand wrapping around yours. His fingers intertwined with yours perfectly, his grip warm and solid. “Let’s get out of here.”

—

The walk to his hotel was quiet, the ringing in your ears making the city sounds feel muffled. He kept you tucked close to his side, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles over the back of your hand.

His hotel was upscale, the lobby quiet and dimly lit. You rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor in silence, watching the numbers tick up.

Anton unlocked the door to his room and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first. The room was dark, illuminated only by the city lights filtering in through the large window.

The heavy door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet room.

You turned around to face him, but before you could even open your mouth, Anton was there.

He didn’t hesitate. He backed you up against the door, his large hands coming up to cup your face, and crashed his mouth down onto yours.

It was everything that had been building up since the moment you locked eyes in the crowd. You gasped into his mouth, your hands flying up to grip the front of his tank top as his tongue slid past your lips, tasting you like he had been starving for it all night.

“God,” he groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down from your face to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his massive frame. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the second I saw you.”

You breathed, tilting your head back as his lips trailed down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Anton let out a low, ragged sound. He grabbed the hem of his tank top, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. The sight of him made your breath hitch. He was huge. Broad, thick, and carved with heavy, defined muscle, his skin glowing in the dim light of the city.

He reached for the zipper of your skirt, his large hands making quick work of your rave outfit. The mesh, the harness, the boots—everything was discarded until you were completely bare, standing against the door.

He dropped to his knees right there in the entryway.

Your breath caught in your throat as his large hands gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling your legs slightly apart. He looked up at you, his dark eyes blown wide with lust, the city light catching the sharp angles of his face.

“Anton—” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his dark hair.

“Shh,” he murmured, his breath hot against your center. “Let me taste you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He pressed his mouth against you, his tongue swiping in a broad stroke that made your knees buckle. You cried out, head falling back against the door. He was relentless, his large hands gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise, holding you in place as he devoured you.

“So fucking sweet,” he hummed against your slick folds, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your clit. He sucked hard, his tongue flicking with a precision that had you sobbing his name.

“Anton—please—” you babbled, fingers gripping his hair as your hips jerked forward.

He pulled away right before you tipped over the edge, leaving you whining. He stood up, massive frame towering over you, lips slick with your wetness.

Anton led you toward the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes in seconds. He didn’t lay you down. He sat back on his heels, grabbed your hips, and pulled you forward until you straddled his lap.

The size difference was staggering. Sitting on him, you felt incredibly small, his broad chest and thick thighs dwarfing you.

“Ride me,” he whispered, eyes dark and hungry.

You guided his thick, heavy length to your entrance and slowly sank down. The stretch was overwhelming. He was so big you had to stop halfway, a broken whimper tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” Anton groaned, jaw clenched tight. His hands steadied your hips. “Take your time. You’re so tight.”

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself down the rest of the way. When you finally bottomed out, a loud, shameless moan ripped from your lips. You were completely full, the pressure making your vision blur.

Anton’s hands moved from your hips to rest flat against your lower stomach. His eyes widened.

“Look,” he commanded softly.

You opened your eyes. His large hand was pressed right over the faint, visible press of him against your lower bellythe subtle outline of how deep he was inside you.

“Hmm,” he breathed, thumb tracing the slight bulge. “You take me so well.”

You started to move, lifting and sinking at a slow, agonizing pace. The angle was incredibly deep, every downward thrust making you gasp. Anton watched with hunger, his hand staying firmly pressed against your stomach to feel every inch of himself filling you up.

After a few minutes, Anton let out a frustrated growl. He grabbed your hips and flipped you over in one fluid motion, pinning you face-down against the mattress.

Before you could process the change, he settled between your thighs, lifted your ass slightly, and drove into you from behind with a single, brutal thrust.

You screamed into the pillows. The angle was even deeper now, his broad chest pressing your back, his large hands gripping your hips like a vice.

“You feel so good,” he panted, pace turning frantic. He was relentless, hips snapping forward with bruising force, the wet slap of skin echoing loudly in the quiet room.

He reached around, his large hand sliding down your stomach to find your swollen clit. The moment his thumb pressed against it, your brain short-circuited.

“Anton—ah—wait—” Your voice cracked on a high, broken moan as he bottomed out inside you, thumb circling your clit simultaneously. “It’s too much—”

“You can take it,” he breathed against your ear, his voice thin, strained, almost whiny. “Fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—” He let out a shaky, desperate sound against your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Your protests dissolved into loud, broken moans. He kept his pace hard and deep, each thrust dragging against oversensitive walls, pulling high, desperate sounds out of you.

“Oh my god—Anton—fuck—” You babbled, words slurring, fingers clawing the pillows. “I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he panted, voice breaking. His thumb pressed harder, hips stuttering as his breath came in ragged gasps. “Let me feel it. Come for me.”

You couldn’t hold back. The orgasm crashed into you—sharp, intense, ripping through you. You screamed his name, walls clamping down hard around him as your body convulsed.

The force dragged him over the edge. Anton let out a broken, wrecked cry against your shoulder, his whole body shuddering as he spilled deep inside you, hips jerking in shallow, desperate thrusts. He collapsed against your back, heavy, sweat-slicked body pinning you to the mattress, chest heaving.

Neither of you moved for a long time. Just the sound of ragged, uneven breathing filling the room, your bodies tangled together, both of you trembling.

He slowly pulled out of you, and before you could even process the emptiness, he was flipping you over onto your back. Your body was limp, boneless, and he moved you like you weighed nothing.

The sight of him above you knocked the air out of your lungs. His chest was flushed, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his lips swollen and parted. His broad shoulders blocked out the dim hotel light behind him, caging you in completely.

“Anton,” you whimpered, your thighs trembling around his waist. You were so sensitive it almost hurt. “I can’t—not yet—”

“Please,” he murmured, lowering himself until his forehead pressed against yours. Sliding his tip up and down your wet slit, and you felt him push back inside you—slow, agonizing. The stretch on your oversensitive walls made your eyes roll back, a broken moan dragging out of your throat.

“Oh—fuck—” Anton’s voice cracked the second he bottomed out, his whole body shuddering above you. His arms were trembling where they braced on either side of your head. “You feel so—god—” The words came out thin and strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your hips bucked up against him involuntarily, and the friction made both of you moan.

He let out a shaky exhale that sounded more like a whimper. “Ngh—I’m not gonna last—”

He started to move anyway, slow and deep, his hips rolling into yours with a deliberate rhythm that had your back arching off the mattress. Every thrust dragged against your swollen walls, punching out sounds from your chest with every roll of his hips.

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, pulling him deeper. A high, broken groan vibrated against your collarbone. “Fuck—baby—don’t do that—” His hips stuttered, his composure slipping. His voice pitched up at the end, needy and wrecked.

“Feels so good,” you whined, your head pressing back into the pillows. “So deep—Anton—ah” Your words dissolved into a trembling moan as he hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

You clenched around him on purpose. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, a choked whine spilling out of him as his hips jerked forward. “Please—” he gasped. “I’m trying to make this good for you and you’re—”

“It’s good,” you breathed, pulling his face up to yours. His eyes were glassy, his bottom lip bitten raw. “It’s so good.”

Something in him snapped. He hooked one hand under your knee, pressing your thigh up toward your chest, and the new angle made you scream. Your free hand flew to his back, nails raking down his spine. “Anton—I can’t— too much—” A sob cut off whatever you were going to say, your body arching off the bed.

His free hand found yours, lacing your fingers together and pinning your hand beside your head. He buried his face in your neck, broken moans muffled against your skin, your name slipping out of him over and over.

“Look at me,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

You forced your eyes open. His face was inches from yours, his pupils blown wide, his jaw tight, his lashes wet. He looked completely undone.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Stay with me.”

“I’m gonna—” you whimpered, your walls fluttering around him. “Anton—I’m so close—”

Every time he bottomed out, a small, helpless sound punched out of his chest. His breathing was ragged, punctuated by quiet, whiny gasps every time you clenched around him.

“I’m close,” he choked out, his hips losing their rhythm. His hand squeezed yours tight. “Baby—please—”

“I’m coming—” you cried, your voice shattering into a broken moan as your body seized around him.

He came with a sound you’d never forget. A raw, wrecked cry that cracked in the middle, his body shaking as his hips pressed flush against yours and stayed there. The feeling of him pulsing inside you, the desperate way he clung to you, his broken whimpers against your neck—it dragged you over the edge with him, your second orgasm ripping through you in slow, devastating waves.

Neither of you moved for a long time after. Just the sound of ragged, uneven breathing, his body still covering yours completely. His face was pressed into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the wetness of his breath against your skin.

When it finally subsided, you were boneless. Completely spent.

Anton slowly rolled off you, pulling you flush against his side. He wrapped his strong arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his hand tracing soothing circles over your bare arm.

“You’re staying the night,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. It wasn’t a question.

You smiled against his chest, closing your eyes as the last of the adrenaline faded away. “Yeah.”

—

The next morning, sunlight was streaming through the sheer hotel curtains when you finally woke up. Anton was still asleep, his heavy arm draped securely over your waist, his face buried in your neck.

You carefully reached for your phone on the nightstand, wincing at the brightness of the screen. Your group chat was blowing up.

Shotaro: [Voice note: 0:25]

Yunjin: ????????????????

Yunjin: HELLO????

Sohee: lol

You smiled, typing out a quick I’m alive, tell you later before tossing the phone back down. You noticed Yunjin’s silver digi cam sitting on the nightstand. She must have slipped it into your bag before you left the venue.

Curious, you turned it on and clicked through the photos from last night. There was the one of you in the parking garage, the group photo Anton took, a blurry one of the stage, and then the one Yunjin had secretly taken of you on Anton’s shoulders.

“What are you looking at?” a rough, sleep-heavy voice mumbled against your skin.

You turned the camera off, sliding back down under the covers and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Nothing. Just pictures from yesterday.”

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

[everythinginbluee]

Your last fic is sooooooo good cuz I can't wrote a fic like that 😭

Really really appreciate it. *standing applause

omg thank you😭😭🙏🙏

[everythinginbluee]

spring into summer, and the winter’s gone…wow!! Soo good omg!!

thank you sm!! i’m so glad people are liking my fics😭🫶🏻

- blue

[everythinginbluee]

spring into summer, and the winter’s gone - anton lee

ex!anton x f!reader

wc - 4.4k

content - second chance romance, yearning, angst, fluff, smut, overstim, size kink, student anton, eunseok feature

note - i’m so in love with this version of anton. i know this song is a little more angsty and has a slightly different meaning than what i wrote but i hate sad endings, lyrics are out of order for plot purposes

series: turning songs i love into fics

——————————————

⋆｡˚☁︎ now playing ☁︎˚｡⋆

( spring into summer — lizzy mcalpine )

——————————————

You can’t recall what lead you and Anton’s relationship to this point.

You had met him in your freshman year of college. Well, technically, the summer before, at the mandatory first-year orientation. You hadn’t been too thrilled about being placed into groups of random people you didn’t know, followed by icebreakers you were oh so excited to participate in.

The cute tall boy, lanky, wearing a crewneck and jeans, introduced himself with an unexpected soft tone. “Hi, I’m Anton. I’m majoring in comp-sci, and one fun fact about me is that I swim and play the cello.”

That’s when found yourself stuck beside the cute comp-sci major during the entirety of the campus tours and the awkward team-building activities they made you do. Bonding over how much you dreaded being there, what you did over the summer.

—

First quarter, freshman year.

Like many people you meet at welcome week events and orientations, it’s common knowledge that you’ll most likely never see them or talk to them again. When you do pass them in the hallways, it’s usually pretty awkward, and you both try to pretend you didn’t see each other.

But you saw him everywhere. In the library, at the on-campus cafe, and although you had different majors, he was in most of your prerequisite classes.

Although soft-spoken, he wasn’t afraid to come up and talk to you from the moment he realized you were in the same Calc 1 class.

He became apart of your routine. Studying together, going on walks, getting lunch between classes, and meeting up after the classes you didn’t share. He became your best friend.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to become a packaged deal. If you showed up to a club meeting or a study group alone, the first question out of anyone’s mouth was always, “Where’s Anton?” If he was seen grabbing coffee without you, people assumed you were just saving a table. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a quiet, comfortable orbit that no one else quite understood. The shared notes, the inside jokes, your friend circle saw it all, existing in a world built just for each other.

Nobody knows what it's like to be us.

—

Winter quarter, sophomore year.

Anton was getting tired of seeing how some of these college boys treated you. You had mentioned how one guy you met in your major’s club asked you out and never paid for any of the six dates he took you on. Another guy was just a creep; he would follow you around when he noticed Anton wasn’t there, and still bothered you even when he was. It was a pattern of unfortunate men drawn into your space.

At the end of the semester, Anton asked you out. It wasn’t a grand, sweeping gesture in front of a crowd. You were both sitting on the floor of his dorm room, textbooks scattered around you, the heater humming softly against the winter chill outside. He had been staring at his laptop screen for ten minutes without typing a single line of code.

Of course you’ve noticed the slight change in him since freshman year. The shy, lanky boy you met at orientation had started hitting the campus gym between his labs and lectures, and it showed. His arms noticeably thicker, his presence taking up more space in the small dorm room. It was also in the way he carried himself. The nervous eye contact was gone, replaced by quiet, steady confidence. You had caught yourself staring more than once lately, hyper-aware of the way his biceps flexed when he reached for a textbook or the broad line of his back when he walked ahead of you.

“You know,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to keep going on these terrible dates.”

You looked up from your notes, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s the alternative? Die alone with my degree?”

Anton finally looked at you, his dark eyes serious but soft. He reached over, gently closing your textbook. “Go out with me instead.”

You had always known he was handsome, always appreciated his quiet care, but the sudden shift in the air between you made your heart race. “Anton…”

“I’m serious,” he said, shifting closer. He didn’t look away this time. “Let me take you out. Properly. Give me a chance to treat you right.” A small, nervous smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the only crack in his newfound confidence. “Just one date. If you hate it, we can go back to being just friends.”

You didn’t hate it. That first date turned into a second, then a third, and before the snow melted into spring, you were entirely his.

—

Autumn quarter, junior year.

The honeymoon phase faded, not into toxicity or anger, but into a quiet, heavy exhaustion. The reality of upper-level course loads and conflicting schedules began to weigh on you both. Anton’s projects kept him in the lab until ungodly hours, his eyes constantly fixed on screens, while your own classes demanded more of your time than ever. The easy routine you once had fractured into rushed coffees and exhausted apologies. It wasn’t that you stopped loving each other. It was just that the connection felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

Spring into summer, and the winter's gone

The breakup was slow and unraveling. You were both too tired to fight, too drained to fix the growing distance. One rainy Tuesday evening, sitting in the same cafe where you used to spend hours laughing, you both silently agreed that you couldn’t keep hurting each other with your absence.

“Maybe we just need time,” Anton had said, his voice thick, his hand resting over yours one last time.

I try to hold on to it, but the current's too strong

—

The months that followed were agonizing. Instead of trying to fix it, you both threw yourselves entirely into your departments. Anton practically lived in the engineering building, his name popping up on lists for prestigious hackathons and coding fellowships. You were busy in your own major, taking on extra credits and research projects. You saw him on campus occasionally, the familiar ache in your chest tightening every time you caught his eye before quickly looking away. It was the freshman year awkwardness all over again, but this time, it was laced with heartbreak.

But the pull between you two was too strong. By the time the leaves began to change again, the distance had become unbearable. It happened at a mutual friend’s birthday party. The room was crowded, the music too loud, and someone was taking a group photo of all the people close to you both. You were standing on opposite sides of the frame, but when your eyes met his across the room, everything else faded. He walked over, the familiar scent of his cologne making your head spin.

“I miss you,” he murmured, leaning down so only you could hear. “I don’t care how busy we are. I can’t do this without you.”

You didn’t answer with words. You just pulled him by the collar of his jacket and kissed him, the taste of cheap alcohol and desperate longing sealing the promise that you would try again.

You're always gonna be someone that I want

—

Spring quarter, senior year.

Graduation was looming, and with it came the acceptance letters. You got into your dream program on the East Coast. Anton was accepted into a prestigious tech fellowship in California.

You tried to ignore it. You spent the spring quarter wrapped up in each other, trying to memorize the feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of his laugh, the way his hands felt tangled in your hair. The nights were long and desperate, but the days went by in a blink of an eye.

The reality of the distance finally crashed down on you the week before graduation. You were packing up your apartment, the cardboard boxes a stark reminder of the impending separation.

“We could try long distance,” Anton suggested, though his voice lacked conviction. He was sitting on your stripped bed, watching you fold sweaters.

“Anton, it’s three thousand miles,” you whispered, dropping a sweater into a box. “We barely survived being across campus from each other. How are we going to survive across the country?”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, so softly you almost missed it: “So what are you saying?”

If I could jump into the past, I'd only change one thing

You couldn’t look at him. You kept folding, your hands shaking, because if you stopped moving you would fall apart. “I’m saying that I think we need to let each other go.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You heard him stand up from the bed. You heard him take a breath.

“You’re ending this?” he asked. Not accusatory. Worse. Confused. Like he genuinely could not understand how you could be the one to say it first. Not after everything.

“Anton, don’t—”

His voice cracking. “I came back. I would have kept coming back.” He stopped himself.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together.

“I know,” but the look on his face said that knowing the reason didn’t make it hurt any less.

I'd never hurt you first, I'd never let you leave

—

The actual goodbye happened on graduation day. The campus lawn was a sea of black robes and cheering families. You found him near the edge of the quad, holding his diploma, looking devastatingly handsome in his regalia. The confidence he had built over the last four years radiated from him, but when he looked at you, his eyes were red-rimmed and entirely soft.

“I guess this is it,” he said, his voice tight.

“I guess so,” you replied, trying to force a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

He pulled you into a hug, and you felt his arms tighten around you in a way that made your ribs ache. He held on for too long, the kind of hug where you can feel the other person memorizing you. “Have a good life on the East Coast, I know you will do well,” he whispered against your temple.

“Have a good life in California, Anton. Good luck with everything.”

Your chest physically ached as you turned your back on him and walked toward your family. You didn’t look back. You knew if you did, you would never leave.

—

Post grad. Three years.

It had been three years since you last saw Anton Lee. Three years of building a life on the East Coast, of throwing yourself into your career, of trying to forget the boy who had ruined you for anyone else.

The first year was the hardest. You threw yourself into your grad program, filling every waking hour with coursework and research so you wouldn’t have time to think about him.

By the second year, you convinced yourself you were ready to move on. There was a guy from your office building—Eunseok. He was kind, consistent, uncomplicated. He asked you out in the elevator one morning, and you said yes because you couldn’t think of a reason not to. He was the kind of person who showed up when he said he would, who texted you good morning, who never made you guess where you stood. He found you when you were emotionally adrift, not quite drowning but not really swimming either.

Somebody finds me in the state I am,

You tried with him. You really did. You held his hand in public and kissed him goodnight and told him you cared about him, and all of it was true in the most surface-level way. You kept trying to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could will yourself into loving him the way he deserved, just because you knew you were capable of love.

Eight months in, Eunseok sat you down in his apartment, his expression careful and measured, the way it always was.

“You’re not here,” he said quietly. “You haven’t been here for a while.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because he was right. Every time he reached for your hand, you thought of longer fingers. Every time he laughed, you listened for a different sound. You had been trying to love him, but you knew you couldn’t. Not the way he needed.

Love you like I mean it, when I know I can't.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and you meant it.

He nodded slowly, like he had already known. “Whoever he is,” he said, standing up, “I hope he knows what he has.”

—

Your company sent you to a conference in San Francisco. It wasn’t just a networking event—it was a final interview of sorts. They had offered you a transfer to the West Coast campus, a massive promotion that you had been working toward for three years. You told yourself it was just a work trip. You told yourself you wouldn’t look for him.

But of course, the universe has a funny way of forcing your hand.

You were sitting in a quiet, dimly lit hotel bar, nursing a drink after a long day of networking, when you heard a familiar laugh. Your heart stopped. You turned your head slowly, almost afraid that your mind was playing tricks on you.

It wasn’t. He was sitting a few tables away, and the sight of him knocked the wind out of you. He didn’t look like the boy you left on that graduation lawn. The last traces of softness in his face had shifted. Stronger jaw, defined cheekbones, the kind of face that made you do a double take. His shoulders were broader, filling out a tailored suit in a way that contrasted the lanky freshman in the crewneck. He looked like a man now, and the quiet confidence he had been building since college had matured. He was talking to a colleague, a relaxed smile on his face. He looked successful. He looked happy. He looked like he hadn’t spent the last three years missing you at all.

A sudden, sharp wave of bitterness washed over you. You had spent three years comparing every man to him, three years trying to scrape together a life without him, and here he was, looking completely unbothered.

As if feeling your gaze, he turned his head. His smile faltered. The noisy bar seemed to fall completely silent as his dark eyes locked onto yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. The gap of time between you felt insurmountable, a vast expanse of years and miles.

He excused himself from his table and walked over to you. Your breath caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you. Up close, the change was even more devastating. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his neck met his collar, the sheer physical presence of him. His eyes scanned your face, taking you in slowly, as if making sure you were real.

You could tell by the way his gaze lingered that you had changed too. The years had been kind to you in the way they are when you finally stop trying to be someone else. You had grown into yourself—your features settled, your style sharper, the kind of quiet beauty that comes from a woman who has been through something and came out the other side. You could see it register on his face, the way his lips parted slightly, the way his eyes softened with something that looked a lot like awe.

“Hi,” he breathed out, his voice deeper but still soft on the edges, still sending the same shivers down your spine.

Leaning back in your chair, you kept your face blank, building a wall between you before he could tear it down again. “Hi, Anton.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. “You’re here,” he said, a look of disbelief washing over his features. “In San Francisco.”

“Work conference,” you explained flatly, gesturing vaguely to your badge on the table. “I fly back tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Can I sit?”

“I was actually just about to head up to my room,” you lied, reaching for your purse. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t sit across from him and pretend it didn’t hurt.

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. The confident facade he had been wearing across the room shattered instantly. He looked at you with such raw, desperate vulnerability that the wall you had just built began to crumble. “Just for a minute. Please.”

You hesitated, your grip on your purse loosening. You let out a slow breath and nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

He slid into the booth. The silence between you was heavy, thick with unsaid words.

“I’ve missed you,” he said suddenly, the confession hanging in the air between you. “Every day. I tried to move on, I really did. But…” He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you remembered all too well. “No matter how much time passes, you’re always going to be the one I want.”

The walls you put up faltered, replaced by the familiar, terrifying ache in your chest. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Anton…”

Head below the surface, almost never certain of the truth.

“I know we have so much time between us now,” he continued, leaning forward, his gaze intense. “I know we live on opposite sides of the country. But if I could go back, I would have never let you go.”

He reached across the table, his large, warm hand covering yours. The spark that ignited at his touch was instantaneous, a familiar fire roaring back to life.

“Come home with me,” he said quietly. Not desperate. Not begging. Just steady, certain, like he had been waiting three years to say it. “Just for tonight. We don’t have to figure everything out. I just don’t want to let you walk away again.”

You let out a breath. “Okay.”

I’m always, forever, runnin’ back to you.

—

The drive to his apartment was quiet. Not the heavy, suffocating silence of the bar, but something softer. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the fabric of your dress like he was making sure you were still there. The city lights blurred past the window, and you watched his profile in the glow of the street lamps, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat moved when he swallowed, the slight tension in his shoulders like he was afraid that if he breathed too hard, you would change your mind.

Neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to.

His apartment was on the top floor of a clean, modern building. You barely registered the details: dark floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air. It looked like him. Put together, intentional.

He closed the door behind you and you stood in his hallway, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. Three years of distance, and now you were standing in his home, and the enormity of it hit you all at once.

Anton turned to face you. He didn’t rush. He just looked at you, really looked at you, the way he used to when you were twenty and sitting on the floor of his dorm room. Like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

“I never stopped,” he said softly. “You know that, right? Not for a single day.” Just him, standing in his hallway, telling you the simplest truth.

You closed the distance between you and kissed him.

And now I'm here forever, runnin' back to you

It was different from the desperate kisses you shared back then. It started slow—tentative, almost careful, like you were both afraid the other might pull away. His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks, and you melted into him.

Then the slowness burned away. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the solid, heavy muscle of his chest through his dress shirt, the sheer size of him pressing against you. You reached up, pushing his suit jacket off his broad shoulders, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When you finally pushed the fabric aside, your hands flattened against his bare chest. He was so much bigger now, his muscles hard and defined under your palms, his skin radiating heat.

Then the slowness burned away. His hands slid from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the solid, heavy muscle of his chest through his dress shirt, the sheer size of him pressing against you. You reached up, pushing his suit jacket off his broad shoulders, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When you finally pushed the fabric aside, your hands flattened against his bare chest. He was so much bigger now, his muscles hard and defined under your palms, his skin radiating heat.

“God, I missed you,” he groaned against your mouth, his lips trailing down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. He sucked a bruise right over your pulse point, making your knees buckle.

He caught you easily, his strong arms wrapping under your thighs to lift you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to his broad shoulders as he carried you down the hallway to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, and the sight of you spread out beneath him made his breath hitch.

The rest of your clothes were discarded in a soft rush. When he finally hovered over you, completely bare, the sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. He was big—bigger than you remembered. The years of discipline had carved him into something devastating, and the way he looked down at you, his dark eyes dragging slowly over every inch of your naked body beneath him, made your skin burn.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his large hand gently brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. His gaze dropped lower, tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips, the way you looked so small spread out underneath him. Something shifted behind his eyes—something hungry, possessive. “You’ve always been so fucking beautiful.”

“Anton, please,” you begged, your hips arching up instinctively to meet him.

But he didn’t give you what you wanted. Not yet. Instead, his hand trailed down your body slowly, over your collarbone, between your breasts, down the flat of your stomach—until his fingers found the slick heat between your thighs. You sucked in a sharp breath as his fingertips grazed your folds, barely touching, just enough to make your hips chase his hand.

“So wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and thick. He dragged two fingers through your slit, spreading the wetness. “All this for me?”

You couldn’t form words. You just nodded, biting down on your lip as his thumb found your clit and pressed down in a slow, firm circle. Your back arched off the bed, a choked moan spilling from your mouth.

He slid one finger inside you, and the stretch of his finger, long, thick—made you gasp. He curled it forward, pressing against the spot that made your thighs shake, and your hand flew to his wrist, gripping it hard.

He added a second finger, and the fullness of it pulled a low, desperate moan from your chest. He pumped them slowly, his thumb still working your clit in tight circles, his dark eyes fixed on the way your body opened up for him. His fingers were so big, filling you in a way that made your toes curl against the sheets.

“You’re so tight,” he breathed, his jaw clenching as he watched his fingers disappear inside you. He scissored them, stretching you, “Need to get you ready.”

You clenched around his fingers, and he groaned like it physically hurt him to hold back.

He added a third finger and your vision blurred. The stretch burned in the best way, his knuckles pressing against your entrance as he fucked you with his hand at a pace that was slow and devastating. His thumb never stopped circling your clit, and the dual sensation had you writhing beneath him, your moans getting louder, more broken, your thighs trembling.

“Anton—I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he said, and pulled his fingers out.

You whined at the loss, your hips lifting off the bed, chasing the contact. He brought his slick fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, and the sight of it made your brain go completely blank.

Then he settled between your thighs, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you steady. He guided himself to your entrance, letting the blunt, heavy head of his cock press against your slick folds. Even after his fingers, the stretch of him was overwhelming—thick and deep, so much fuller than his hand, filling you so completely that a broken whimper tore from your throat before you could stop it.

Anton squeezed his eyes shut, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buried his face in your neck. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, buried to the hilt, just letting his body adjust to the tight, wet heat of you. His chest heaved against yours, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your skin.

Then he looked down.

His eyes locked onto the faint, visible press of him against your lower belly—the subtle outline of how deep he was inside you. His breath stuttered. His hand slid from your hip to your stomach, his large palm pressing flat against the slight bulge, and a low, wrecked sound left his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his thumb tracing over the spot where he could feel himself inside you. “You feel that?” His voice was barely a whisper, rough and reverent, like the sight of it had short-circuited something in his brain. “You take me so well.”

The pressure of his hand on your belly, the way his eyes darkened as he watched himself inside you—it was almost too much. You whimpered, your walls clenching around him involuntarily, and his hips jerked forward on instinct.

“You feel so fucking good,” he panted, his hips finally beginning to move in earnest.

He started slow, setting a deep, rhythmic pace that had you whining his name. Every thrust was deliberate, pulling almost completely out before sinking back in to the hilt, his hand still pressed against your belly so he could feel every inch of himself filling you up. His body was heavy and solid above you, dwarfing you against the mattress. His other hand moved to pin both of your wrists above your head with ease, his grip swallowing yours completely, his broad frame caging you in, his large hands holding you down like it was nothing—made your head spin.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice dark with lust.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw clenched tight as he fought for control.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said, his hips snapping forward, driving deeper than before. The angle made your vision go white. His hand pressed down harder on your stomach, and you could feel the pressure of him from the inside and outside at once.

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, your body trembling as the pleasure spiked. “Anton, I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.”

That was all it took to break him. His pace turned frantic, his thrusts hard and punishing as he chased his own release. The bed frame hit the wall with a rhythmic thud, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin against skin, your breathless moans, and his deep, guttural grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, taking every inch of him, letting him completely consume you. He was relentless, his hips snapping forward with bruising force, his hand still splayed across your belly like he couldn’t stop watching the way your body yielded to him.

The orgasm hit you like a wave, ripping a loud, shameless scream from your throat. Your inner walls clamped down hard around him, milking him through your climax. Anton let out a harsh grunt, his body going rigid as he drove into you one final, deep time. You felt the hot pulse of his release spilling deep inside you as he crashed over the edge with you.

But he didn’t stop.

Your orgasm was still rolling through you in aftershocks when he started moving again, rock hard again—slower this time, but deliberate, grinding deep into you with every roll of his hips. Your body jerked, oversensitive and trembling, your hands pushing weakly against his chest.

“Anton—ah—wait, I can’t—” Your voice cracked on a high, broken moan as he bottomed out inside you again. “ngh—It’s too much, please—”

“You can,” he breathed against your ear, but his voice wasn’t steady anymore. It came out thin, strained, almost whiny—like the feeling of your swollen, oversensitive walls clenching around him was ruining him just as much as it was ruining you. “Fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight—” He let out a shaky, desperate sound against your neck, half groan, half whimper. “One more. Give me one more, please.”

The please undid you. How could you say no? He was practically begging now.

Your protests dissolved into loud, broken moans that you couldn’t hold back anymore. Every nerve ending was on fire, your body shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down your temples and into your hair. Picking up his pace snapping and deep, each thrust dragging against your oversensitive walls, pulling sounds out of you that didn’t even know you could make.

“Oh my god—Anton—fuck—” You were babbling, your words slurring together between sobs and moans, your fingers clawing at the sheets, at his arms, at anything you could hold onto. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes you can, baby,” he panted, and his voice broke on the word. His thumb found your swollen clit and circled it with a precision that made you arch clean off the bed, a scream tearing from your throat. His hips stuttered at the sound, his breath coming out in short, ragged gasps against your skin. “haah—that’s it” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes glassy and half-lidded. “That’s my girl. Let me hear you.”

You couldn’t have been quiet if you tried. Every slow, deep thrust punched another moan out of you, louder than the last, your voice raw and wrecked. and Anton—his composure was long gone. He was whining against your neck, needy sounds that vibrated against your pulse, his hips into you like he physically couldn’t stop. “You feel so—fuck—” He choked on his own words, his body trembling above yours. “You’re gonna make me—”

The second orgasm crashed into you without warning—sharper, more intense, ripping through your entire body like electricity. You screamed his name so loud your throat burned, your nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood, your thighs clamping around his waist as your body convulsed around him. The force of it dragged him over the edge with you—Anton let out a broken, wrecked cry against your shoulder, his whole body shuddering as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking in shallow, desperate thrusts as he rode it out.

He collapsed beside you, his heavy, sweat-slicked body pulling you into his chest immediately. You wrapped your arms around his wide back, your fingers tracing soothing circles over his skin as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

Anton shifted his weight, rolling to the side and pulling you tightly against his chest. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you like he was terrified you might disappear if he let go.

You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. “I got an offer,” you whispered into the quiet room.

He shifted, looking down at you. “What?”

“My company. They offered me a transfer to the San Francisco campus.” You looked up, meeting his eyes. “I haven’t accepted it yet.”

Anton stared at you, the realization washing over his face. The distance, the three thousand miles, the three years of missing each other—it could all be over. He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“Accept it,” he whispered against your skin. “Please.”

The years apart felt like a distant dream, fading away the moment you turned around and found him running right back to you.

Summer is falling, it's a distant dream

If I turn around, you're runnin' back to me

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

[everythinginbluee]

series: turning songs i love into fics

hi!! im starting off a series, feel free to send in my requests songs you love and the person you want and a short description (sfw, nsfw)

————————

spring into summer (lizzy mcalpine) , anton lee

[everythinginbluee]

insta stories as a member of riize

eunseok & anton’s birthday posts

smau!riize x youngestmember!reader

cw: reader almost gets in trouble for her bday posts for eunseok and anton, reader calls eunseok and sungchan papa as a joke!!! swearing, a few kys/death jokes, manager might seem annoying but he’s just trying to do his job, anton catches some strays but the members still love him dw

note: this was just supposed to be for their bday post but this was lwk rlly fun to make, lmk if i should make it a series or make similar posts, im kinda scared posting this, i hope someone out there finds this funny, if you find this cringy or unfunny please scroll🙏 - blue

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

[everythinginbluee]

how do you feel abt zb1 being 5 members 😭😭😭

I’m devastated rn.. 😭 i hate that they split them up…

wakeone and yuehua, you are evil

[everythinginbluee]

not so secret admirer. - anton lee

WC - 3.7k

Anton Lee as your secret admirer.

Content — best friends to lovers, secret admirer, kind of slow burn, mutual pining, soft confession, boyfriend anton, fluff, kissing, soft hours, suggestive if you squint

Note — hi! this is my first fic i’ve written and published so i hope you guys like it! i’ve been wanting to put out something for my blog since forever and finally committed to it lol. lowkey nervous posting this, but i had a lot of fun writing it… i hope you enjoy <3 - blue 🪼

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧

The first note showed up on a Tuesday, wedged right between the metal vents of your locker. You almost missed it as you were too busy trying to balance a half-empty iced coffee, your phone, your heavy backpack, and a textbook that was practically slipping out of your grip. A small, perfectly folded square of lined paper. You place your no longer needed textbook on the shelf of your locker and grabbed the folded note. You unfolded it expecting it to be a reminder from the library or maybe a joke from one of your friends.

You looked really tired today. I hope you get some rest. Don’t forget to drink water.

:)

There was no name. Just a tiny, hastily drawn smiley face in the bottom corner. You stared at it for a second, blinking. It was sweet, sure, but it was also just confusing. You were tired, you’d stayed up until 3 am finishing a paper, but you didn’t think it was that obvious.

“Hey.”

You jumped slightly, nearly dropping your coffee. Anton was standing right next to you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized hoodie. He had his headphones resting around his neck, the faint buzz of some song bleeding out.

“Hey,” you breathed out, recovering quickly. You shoved the note into your jeans pocket.

Anton’s eyes tracked the movement, just for a split second, before meeting yours. “What was that?” he asked, his voice low and soft.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, adjusting the strap of your backpack. “Just some trash someone stuck in my locker. Probably a flyer for the debate club or something.”

“Right,” Anton said quietly. He didn’t push it. He just fell into step beside you as you started walking toward your class. He naturally shifted to the side of the hallway where the crowd was thickest, acting as a subtle buffer between you and the rush of students. It was a habit you had stopped noticing years ago.

—

You didn’t think about the note again until Thursday.

This time, it was waiting for you after lunch. The weather had taken a sharp turn overnight, the crisp autumn air suddenly biting and bitter. You were shivering as you spun your locker combination, regretting your choice of a thin cardigan.

When you opened the door, the familiar folded square fluttered down.

The weather is getting colder. Make sure you wear a scarf tomorrow.

:)

You picked it up, your brow furrowing. Okay, so it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was purposefully leaving these for you. You looked up and down the hallway, trying to catch whoever was doing it. You looked for someone lingering, someone who might catch your eye and quickly look away, but it was just the usual crowd of people rushing to their next class.

“You’re shivering.”

Anton was leaning against the locker next to yours, watching you. He had a thick, dark green scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Without waiting for you to answer, he reached out and draped it over your shoulders. It was warm and it smelled exactly like him, clean laundry and a faint, woody cologne.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling the fabric closer to your chin. You held up the small square of paper. “Remember that ‘trash’ from Tuesday? It wasn’t trash. I guess someone is leaving me notes.”

You don’t catch the way Anton froze for a fraction of a second. His hand, which had been resting on the metal frame of your locker, dropped back to his side. “Notes?”

“Yeah.” You handed it to him. “Look.”

He took it carefully, his long fingers brushing against the paper. He stared at his own handwriting.

“It’s kind of weird, right?” you laughed, leaning against your locker. “It’s probably a prank or maybe someone lost a bet.”

Anton swallowed hard. He handed the note back to you. “It doesn’t sound like a prank,” he said. “Maybe they just… notice things about you.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his as you both started walking. “Since when are you such a romantic, Lee Chanyoung?”

He let out a small, breathy laugh, ducking his head so his soft hair fell over his eyes. “I’m not. I’m just saying.”

He kept his hands shoved in his pockets for the rest of the walk, terrified that if he took them out, you would see how badly they were shaking.

—

You did really well on your presentation. You always speak so clearly, even when you’re nervous.

:)

Okay, so it really wasn’t a mistake. They were always written on the same lined paper, always folded into that exact same neat square. They never asked for anything, never demanded a reply. They were just observations.

The notes kept coming through the winter. They became this quiet constant in your life. You found yourself secretly looking forward to them, your heart doing a stupid little flip every time you saw that familiar folded square waiting for you. Of course, at the same time, you really wanted to know who was sending you these messages.

I wish I could take away whatever is making you sad today.

:)

You started analyzing the handwriting, trying to match it to the guys in your classes. You would sit cross-legged on the floor of Anton’s room, takeout containers scattered between you, your laptop open with half-finished assignments you were both ignoring.

“It has to be someone in econ,” you said one night, holding up a note. “They mentioned my presentation.”

Anton, sitting across from you.

“Maybe,” he said carefully.

“Or someone in the library,” you added. “Or, wait, what if it’s someone I don’t even know?”

Anton huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“Exactly,” you said, pointing at him like that proved your point.

But you didn’t notice the way it caught him of guard every time you mentioned the notes, or how he went quieter, more careful.

He watched you. Not in a creepy way of course. But he watched the way you chewed on the inside of your cheek when you were stressed, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about a movie you loved, the way you absentmindedly leaned into him when you were tired. He ached with this quiet, desperate longing that he didn’t know what to do with. How could he tell you straight up? You were his best friend. If he told you and you didn’t feel the same way, nothing would be the same. Things would get weird and Anton would rather swallow his feelings whole than risk losing you.

So, he kept writing them down instead.

—

It happened on a rainy Thursday in late December.

The weather had been bad all day, but by the time you got to Anton’s apartment, it was worse. The rain was steady and cold, soaking through your sleeves by the time you reached the door. You pulled your spare key out of your bag and unlocked it without thinking much about it. He had given it to you a while ago casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. In case you get there before me.

You stepped inside and kicked your shoes off by the door. It was warm and quiet, the faint smell of laundry detergent and something slightly woody lingering in the air. His place always smelled like him. You called out his name once, even though you already knew he wasn’t home, and when there was no answer, you walked further in and dropped your bag by the counter.

Your phone buzzed.

anton: running late. practice went over. you should start without me

You lightly chuckled and replied back that you were already inside. It wasn’t unusual. He was always late when he had swim practice.

You walked into his room, already planning to just sit there and wait. You’d been in there enough times that it didn’t feel weird anymore. His bed was unmade, the sheets slightly messy like he had rushed out that morning.

You places some of your things onto the desk.

That’s when you noticed the notebook sitting near the edge.

Black leather and lightly worn.

You paused for a second. He always had it with him. You’d seen him write in it all the time—during class, at lunch, even when you were just sitting together doing nothing. He never really let it out of his sight, and whenever you joked about it, he would just laugh and brush it off.

So it was weird that it was just sitting there.

You turned it in your hands for a second feeling the leather, then leaned forward to move it out of the way.

A piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.

You froze.

You stared at it for a second before crouching down to pick it up. It was just a piece of lined paper, folded once. Something about it made your chest feel tight.

You hesitated for a second, then unfolded it.

I wish I was brave enough to tell you.

You didn’t move.

You just stared at the words, your mind taking a second to catch up.

Because you knew the handwriting.

You had seen it before.

Your grip tightened slightly on the paper as everything started to connect. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the sound of the rain outside fading into a dull. Your mind was racing, piecing together the puzzle that had literally been right in front of you the entire time.

The quiet observations, the gentle reminders. The way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed, even before you did.

It was him. It had always been him.

Your phone buzzed again behind you, making you flinch slightly.

anton: almost there

You stayed where you were, still holding the paper, looking around his room like you were seeing it differently now. His desk, his clothes, everything felt more personal all of a sudden.

You heard the front door unlock followed by footsteps toward the room.

A second later, it opened.

“Hey- sorry, I-” Anton’s voice started, slightly out of breath. Then he stopped.

You turned around.

He was standing in the doorway, damp from the rain, his hair sticking slightly to his forehead. His hoodie was darker in places where it had gotten wet.

His eyes went straight to the paper in your hand, then to the notebook on the desk, then back to you.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did you.

The room felt quiet in a different way now, heavier.

You swallowed. “Anton…”

He looked away almost right after, like he couldn’t hold eye contact for more than a second. “I didn’t mean for you to find it like that,” he said quietly.

You took a small step closer. “Then how?” you asked.

He just stood there for a second, shoulders tense, like he was trying to figure out what to say without making it worse.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he said.

That made your chest tighten.

“Not at all?”

He shook his head slightly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t want to mess things up.”

You hesitated for a second before asking, softer this time, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Anton let out a shaky breath, his jaw tightening slightly before he answered. “You’re my best friend,” he said your name softly, his voice still quiet but heavier now. “And I was terrified that if I told you, I would lose you.” He paused for a second, glancing up at you before looking away again. “And I would rather have you as my friend than not have you at all.”

The words hung there between you, and for a moment you didn’t say anything. You looked at him, at how tense he was, how careful, like one wrong move would ruin everything. Your grip tightened slightly around the paper in your hand.

“Anton,” you said.

He hesitated before finally looking up at you again.

“I liked them,” you said.

His expression shifted, just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “I mean, at first I thought it was kind of weird,” you admitted, letting out a small breath, “but then I started looking for them.”

He went still.

“It just became,” you added quietly. “Like… part of my day. I just didn’t know it was you.

For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy, like everything was settling at once.

“Would it have mattered?” he asked finally, his voice careful.

Maybe you should’ve said no, that it didn’t matter who the notes were from.

You looked at him, not looking away this time. “Yes,” you said softly.

He stilled.

“It would’ve,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “I think I would’ve liked them more… knowing they were from you.”

Something in his expression shifted at that, like he didn’t expect it, like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You took another small step closer, closing the space between you.

“You wouldn’t have messed anything up,” you said quietly. “And you can’t.”

He let out a small breath, like he had been holding it in for longer than he realized. “Really?” he asked.

You nodded. “Really.”

There was a pause. Like both of you were waiting to see what the other would do next.

His eyes flickered down to your hand for a second, then back up to your face. He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. He shivered slightly, like he expected you to pull away, but you didn’t. You let your his rest there, feeling the warmth through the fabric.

For a second, it felt like he might say something else. His lips parted like he was about to, then he stopped.

Instead, he pulled you into him.

It wasn’t hesitant, like he had already thought about it too many times before. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand pressing lightly against your back and the other coming up to your face, thumb brushing just under your cheekbone like he didn’t want to scare you away.

He was warm, even though he was still a little damp from the rain. You could feel his heartbeat, just as fast as yours.

You tilted your head up before you could think too much about it. For a second, neither of you moved.

He looked at you like he was waiting. Like he needed to know you weren’t going to pull away.

His hand shifted, cupping your face more fully now, thumb brushing your skin once, twice, like he was memorizing it.

He leaned in again, soft and careful.

Your lips brushed and he hesitated again, just for a second.

And then you leaned in a little more.

His hand tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, like he didn’t want any space left between you. The kiss deepened like he finally let himself believe this was real.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, holding onto him without even realizing it.

His forehead rested against yours, his hand still on your face.

—

The next time you found a note in your locker, your heart still did that same quiet thing. Folded neatly, tucked between your books.

You smiled and rolled your eyes with a soft giggle before you even opened it.

You unfolded the paper slowly, already knowing what the handwriting would look like.

You looked really pretty today.

-yours

p.s i love you :)

Your lips pressed together to hide the way your smile kept growing anyway.

You slipped the note into your pocket like you always did, fingertips brushing over the crease once before you closed your locker.

He had swim practice all day since it was competition season.

His messages stayed short.

don’t wait up, eat without me

The kind of texts that felt normal, but still left a small, quiet gap where he usually was.

—

By the time you got home, it was already dark.

You dropped your bag by the door, changed, and let yourself fall onto your bed for a second, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time.

Your phone buzzed.

toni💌: love, are you home?

you: yeah

Then the doorbell rang.

You blinked, pushing yourself up as you walked toward the hallway.

It rang again.

Your heart did that same quiet thing again, only louder this time.

You moved quicker now, reaching for the door.

When you opened it, Anton was standing there with a boyish grin, slightly out of breath, like he had rushed to get here. His hair was a little messy, his hoodie half-zipped-

and in his hand-

flowers

Not a huge bouquet, nothing over the top.

Just a small bundle of lilies, wrapped loosely in paper, a little uneven like he’d picked them out himself instead of buying them arranged.

You blinked.

“Anton-”

He stepped a little closer, almost awkward, like he wasn’t entirely sure how to do this even now.

“I didn’t see you today,” he said it like it explained everything.

Your chest softened a little at that.

“I noticed,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He held the flowers out, not quite meeting your eyes. “I just-” he paused, exhaling softly, “I wanted to-”

You didn’t let him finish.

You reached up, grabbing lightly at the sides of his hoodie and pulling him down into a kiss.

But when he froze for a second, you almost pulled back-

until he kissed you back.

His hand, the one not holding the flowers, came up to your waist, pressing lightly against your lower back as he leaned into you.

You pulled away slowly, just enough to look at him.

He was still a little out of breath, looking at you like he was still deciding if you were real.

You took the flowers from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you did. Then you stepped aside, gently tugging him in with you.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

He followed without hesitation.

You set the flowers down on your desk, smoothing the paper a little even though it didn’t really need it.

“I saw your note,” you said.

He finally looked at you then,

“I love you too.”

The words came out simple, but they landed heavier than anything else you’d said.

For a second, he just looked at you.

Like he wasn’t sure he heard you right.

Your fingers slipped into his sleeve, finding his hand without really asking, lacing your fingers together.

He tightened his grip almost immediately.

Like he had been waiting to.

You leaned slightly into him.

“You know,” you said, glancing up at him, a small smile returning, “you could’ve just told me in person I looked pretty.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little. “I did.”

“On paper.”

“It counts.”

You smiled. “It does.”

There was a small pause.

Then he leaned down again, but this time, there was no hesitation.

You barely had time to react before his hand came up to your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you again.

Like he wasn’t second-guessing himself anymore.

Your fingers tightened slightly around his sleeve, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he just held you closer, his other hand coming up to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as he tilted your face toward him.

You melted into it without thinking.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far.

His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still at your jaw, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the same small movement over your skin.

“I meant it,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. “I know.”

He shook his head slightly, like that wasn’t enough. His grip on you tightened just a little.

“No,” he said, softer but more sure this time. “I really meant it.”

Your heart stuttered a little.

You didn’t even get a chance to respond before he leaned in again, pressing another kiss to your lips, quicker this time, but just as soft.

Then another.

And another.

Each one lingering just enough to make your chest feel tight.

You let out a small giggle against him, your hand sliding from his sleeve to the front of his hoodie, holding onto him a little more firmly now.

He huffed out a quiet laugh against your lips, like he couldn’t help it.

“I missed you today,” he murmured, brushing his nose lightly against yours before pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“You saw me in the morning,” you said, breath a little uneven.

“Barely. It doesn’t count.”

He kissed you again.

His hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, not rough, just steady, keeping you close.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time, like it was just for you.

You smiled a little against him.

“I know,” you said softly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand still at your waist, the other resting against your cheek.

“You’re not getting away with just that,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips now.

You let out a small laugh. “I already said it back.”

“Say it again.”

You looked at him for a second, then smiled.

“I love you.”

You don’t recall the moment he stopped hesitating. He kissed you again, rougher, longer, his thumb lingering at your cheek there like he didn’t want to stop touching you.

Like part of him still couldn’t believe you were his.

✧₊ ⊹ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⊹ ₊✧