fishie gets sleepy in small steps. first her words get slower, then her movements, and lastly she starts leaning without realizing she’s doing it. the catch is she fights sleep like her life depends on it.
anton is at the counter when she bumps into his leg. he looks down. “hey.” she doesn’t answer. she slides her arms around his leg and rests her forehead against him, eyes already half-closed. you’re on the couch, watching. “she’s done.” anton lifts her easily, settling her on his hip. she yawns, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
he starts walking slow laps around the living room and kitchen. the little girls fingers curl into his hoodie. you glance at the clock, "you're going to be at this for a while." anton shrugs. “that’s okay.” fishie stirs when he pauses to adjust his hold, eyes fluttering open just enough to her surroundings. when she sees you looking at her, she gives a tiny sleepy smile. “hi mama,” she whispers.
“hi baby.”
she tucks her face back into anton’s neck. one hand slides up to rest on his collarbone. anton keeps moving, one hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades, the other supporting her legs. every step is careful. eventually you stand and trail behind them, straightening pillows, turning off lights as they pass. the house gets quieter with each lap. fishie goes fully limp at some point, breath evening out. anton murmurs, mostly to himself, “got her.”
summary: you are an exchange student and anton likes you.
word count: 1.3k
warnings: suggestive at the end, non idol and music student! anton. fem! reader. fluff. reader is studying photograph and i know nothing about it so i apologize for any dumb shit said.
a/n: sooo. i was writing something else entirely. and this idea came up to me. ingles in miami has another vibe, more flirsty and stuff but i dont think i really see anton like that, he´s more like a yearner so i kinda gave it a little twist here. first time writing anton, so i hope i did some justice! hope you like it and thanks for reading <3
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
goodbyes suck. anton had always known that. every time he went back to korea to visit his family on christmas, he and his family suffered after waving goodbye, knowing it would be another year before he could see them again.
now, watching you gulp down a vodka cranberry, with the sun hitting your skin, glowing golden by the beach water and the sand. you laughed, barely understanding the joke one of anton’s friends made, one of the girls leaning to your side, doubling over with laughter; his heart felt heavier than ever.
you noticed him looking at you. you stared into his eyes for a second longer, then smiled coyly before looking away. he felt his cheeks warm up and sighed deeply. despite the beautiful sunset by the beach, his friends cracking jokes, having drinks and snacks. it was the perfect setting. they were all having fun. so why was he feeling so blue?
right. this was a meeting to say goodbye to you. you had all gotten together to have your final moments as a group.
at least, as a group with you in it.
anton could only remember the day he first saw you, six months ago, at the beginning of the new year.
your bright eyes as one of anton’s friends gave you a quick tour of the university. you were bundled up in a scarf and a padded jacket, asking questions and making his friend laugh. she caught sight of him and walked closer, you trailing behind her.
“anton, hi,” she smiled at him, but he couldn’t help but stare at you—bright, inquisitive eyes looking him over, stopping for a second on the cello case sitting on his right shoulder. “this is y/n, she’s an exchange student. she studies photography. i’m showing her around.” she turned to you, who smiled at him excitedly. “y/n, this is anton, he’s one of my friends.”
you held out your hand to him, and he shook it slowly.
“nice to meet you, anton.” your smile melted his insides. it was so sweet. he felt his chest warm despite the cold weather. Even the cello resting on his right shoulder felt lighter when you smiled at him.
“welcome to our school, y/n. you’re gonna hate it here.”
the three of you laughed.
two days later, your extroverted personality had already made its way into anton’s friend group. even if your english wasn’t the best, your expressive face and your ability to read people were enough to help you communicate.
you had managed to explain, in somewhat broken english, that you decided to study abroad to build your resume, to take pictures of different scenery and landscapes—other than the ones in your country. besides that, you wanted to improve your english speaking.
anton thought, honestly, watching you down tequila shots like they were water, ‘nobody really learns english like that.’
he didn’t mind, though.
he enjoyed your company, and you made him come out of his shell a little.
“what do you like to do best, anton?” you had asked one time, when he came to help you look for a specific flower that grew near campus, in a small park with a flower field. you needed to photograph it for your final portfolio. “in your free time, i mean.”
he smiled at you as you both walked along a small stone path, complimenting your improving english.
“i like making music,” he said, shrugging.
you crouched down, finally seeing in real life the orange flower you had dreamed of photographing since before your trip. you looked at him disapprovingly and shook your head as you began taking pictures of it, using the natural light.
“that’s what you do in school every day, anton.” the camera clicked as you angled it different ways, trying to capture the flower and the small field around it. “there has to be something else. or is music all you think about?”
you seemed pleased with one of the pictures after reviewing it, so you stood up, finding him in the same spot—tall, hair slightly tousled, wearing a denim jacket. you swallowed and aimed your lens at him.
blue sky behind him, his sharp, handsome features slightly surprised for a second before turning into a small, awkward smile—already used to your impromptu photography shenanigans.
you smiled at him when you were done capturing him, then began looking through your pictures.
anton stepped closer and leaned down to your level to look at them as you reviewed them again. you were very close to each other—you could feel his breath on your face.
and you could feel him looking at you, instead of your camera.
“i also think about you, sometimes,” he muttered. you could have missed it if you hadn’t been so close. your eyes lifted to his. his were already on yours.
your hands went to his neck and jaw, pulling him toward your lips. he sighed into you and wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you closer. your lips moved softly against each other, and you tilted your head, deepening the kiss. anton’s hands felt hot against you through your clothes.
you pulled apart after a while, breaths uneven, eyes closed. only then did you realize you were on your tiptoes, holding onto his shoulders.
“okay, i lied,” anton said, brushing your lips with his. “i actually think about you all the damn time.”
you laughed against his mouth and kissed him again.
after that, you had been attached at the hip. in every possible sense. the months that followed were filled with anton walking you to and from your classes, giving you very private (and nicely rewarded) english lessons, and lots of coffee dates in his improvised studio.
you had grown used to each other’s presence. anton had sung countless unfinished songs into your ear. you had taken pictures of him every chance you got, and you had always found ways to sneak away together during group hangouts.
the six months you spent with them—with him—had been amazing. you were sad to see it end. but you were sure you would meet again.
even if your “relationship” with anton had never been defined, he couldn’t help but develop feelings for you. so now, sitting on the sand with your friends, drinking and laughing, he felt his heart ache as he watched you smile.
he knew it wasn’t a fully happy smile. Because he knew you better than anyone on that beach. And he didn’t want you to go.
he offered to drive you home, since you were leaving early in the morning and had asked everyone not to go to the airport—not even him. so dropping you off at your apartment would be the last moments he had with you.
he parked in front of your building. you both looked at each other with a heavy silence filling the car.
“you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?” he asked, hands gripping the steering wheel. “i think it’s better if you don’t,” you said quietly.
anton nodded, exhaling, “can i kiss you one last time, then?”
your shoulders relaxed, and you smiled, leaning across the console to press your lips to his.
“i’ll miss you,” he exhaled between kisses. you didn’t answer—you just climbed onto his lap, straddling him. you hugged him closer, arms around his neck, pressing your chest to his as you kissed him again, more desperate this time.
his hands moved over you, holding onto every part of you he could reach. the faint smell of salt from the beach still lingered. your hips began moving slowly against him, and you both sighed, and he held you tighter.
you bit his lip and pulled away, looking at him with a mischievous smile. his eyes were wide—you were sure yours looked the same. “come inside?” you asked.
y/n struggling with a baby fishie who just won’t stop crying , getting so frustrated that now she’s crying too. and then anton comes home , appa to the rescue 🥹
it’s been minutes. actually no, it's been longer than that. it's long enough that your arms ache from holding her. it's long enough that the sound of her crying has started to blur into everything else. fishie was never this fussy with you. you’ve done everything. you've fed her, burped her, and changed her twice just in case. you walked the same stretch of hallway over and over until it didn't even feel real anymore.
“hey, hey … it’s okay,” you whisper, bouncing her gently. “mama’s here.” somehow she cries harder.
your chest tightens as you shift her position, try rocking slower, then back to a little faster, pressing a kiss to her warm little head. “what do you need?” you murmur, voice cracking despite yourself. “tell me, baby. please.”
it seems like nothing works. the house feels too loud and too small. her cries feel like they’re pressing in on you from every side. you sit down on the couch because your legs won’t keep going, holding her close even as your own eyes start to burn.
“i’m trying,” you whisper, tears slipping down before you can stop them. “i don’t know what you want. i’m trying so hard.”
she keeps crying and now you are too. you hear the door unlock. you barely register it until you hear his steps and then anton is there, stopping short when he sees you. “hey"” his voice softens immediately. “hey, it’s okay.” you shake your head, breath unsteady. “she won’t stop. i tried everything- i don’t-"
he’s already in front of you, one hand on your arm to ground you. “give her to me,” he says gently. you hesitate for half a second, then pass her over. anton takes her carefully, tucking her against his chest like it’s instinct. one hand spreads across her tiny back, the other supporting her head as he starts to sway.
“hi,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “what’s going on, hm?” her cries stutter for a second. he keeps moving, slow and rhythmic, cheek resting lightly against her head. “i’ve got you,” he whispers. “appa’s here.” you watch, still catching your breath, as her wails break into little hiccups. then sniffles. then quiet. anton presses a soft kiss to her hair, still swaying. “there you go,” he murmurs.
you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your face. “of course.” he glances at you, eyes gentle. “you’ve been with her all day,” he says softly. “she just needed a little break.” you nod even though you're still a little overwhelmed. he shifts closer, settling beside you with fishie tucked securely against him. his free arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you in. “you’re doing good,” he murmurs. “she’s just loud like her mama.”
🍼 genre: slice of life au
🍼 pairing: husband!anton x f!reader
🍼 word count: 5.1k
🍼 summary: you’ve been exhausted for days, blaming jet lag and long flights, until small changes begin to stack in ways you can’t ignore.
🍼 warnings: talks of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, drinking while pregnant (unknowingly), slight body dysmorphia/insecurity, let me know if i missed anything else!
✎୭: thank u anonie who sent this in ! luv writing for this universe hehe
you can barely keep your head up.
you’re curled into the corner of the couch in your at-home studio, legs tucked beneath you while your husband sits a few feet away hunched over his laptop with a pair of headphones on. one side of his headphones rests properly over his ear, the other pushed back just enough so he can still hear you if you speak. he’s clicking through sounds choosing to spend his downtime working on producing some new tracks.
the two of you wrapped up lunch not long ago and drifted downstairs to the basement to work on your separate things, not wanting to be separate but also not wanting to insert yourselves into each other’s thing.
you have a book perched on your lap, the third installment of a court of thorns and roses. you’ve been tearing through it embarrassingly fast; staying up too late, sneaking chapters in between flights and meals. normally you can’t put it down, right now you can’t seem to keep your eyes open.
you blink slowly then harder as if that might fix your drowsiness. your gaze drops back to the page and you try to reread the paragraph you’re on but the words blur together. you’re fairly certain this is the fourth time you’ve started the same sentence. your head tips forward before you can stop it. your chin dips toward your chest and the book slips from your hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
the sound startles you awake.
you blink fast, trying to reorient yourself as anton spins around in his chair pulling his headphones off. there’s a small smile on his face as you rub at your eyes in a half-hearted attempt to wake yourself up.
“sorry,” you mumble.
he doesn’t comment on it, just stands and crosses the room, bending to pick your book up off the floor and hands it over. you take it with an embarrassed laugh. “thank you.” you murmur.
anton hums in response. he looks you over carefully and his brow furrows when you yawn again. you shake your head, trying to blink away the lingering fog, thumb slipping between pages as you attempt to find where you left off.
“you okay?” he asks gently. “are you…coming down with something?”
you stare at the page for a second longer before giving up. with a quiet sigh you close the book and rest it against your chest. “i’m fine,” you say, yawning through your words. “just really…really sleepy.”
he doesn’t look convinced. you don’t blame him for being wary though, you’ve been falling asleep everywhere lately; during short car rides, halfway through zoom meetings. you’re pretty sure he caught you nodding off in the bathroom last night, toothbrush still in your mouth.
you offer him a smile, hoping to ease the tension between his brows. “it’s probably just jet lag, we did just get back from seoul.” you reason.
it’s been four days since you touched down, realistically you should be adjusted by now…anton is. still, you tell yourself bodies are strange maybe yours is just taking a little longer to catch up because of how long it's been since you’ve been on the east coast.
anton mulls it over, lips pursed before nodding slowly. “yeah…that makes sense.”
he steps closer anyway and reaches out, his thumb brushing softly along your cheek. “want me to carry you upstairs?”
you shake your head. “no. i like being down here and your music is relaxing.”
his lips curve into a soft smile, cheeks tinting pink as he lets out a quiet laugh. he reaches for the spare blanket you keep folded over the back of the couch and drapes it over you, tucking it around your hips. once he deems you cozy enough, he presses a kiss to your forehead then lets his lips trail down until they meet your lips. he gives you three gentle pecks before pulling away. “get comfy then.”
he heads back to his seat, settling in front of his laptop again. after a few tweaks to his beat, he asks, “can you help me with this new track? just listen?”
he’s met with silence.
he pauses, swiveling his chair around only to find you already fast asleep, head resting on the arm of the chair, blanket pulled up to your chin. anton exhales softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you for a moment longer than necessary before turning back to his screen, lowering the volume even further.
THREE DAYS LATER
you stumble back into your home a little after midnight, cheeks warm and flushed from the wine you definitely drank too much of. even with the east coast wind biting at your face the entire walk from the uber, you still feel warm all over. anton is close behind you, already reaching for your coat before you even think to take it off yourself, fingers brushing your waist as he helps you out of it, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.
you drift toward the stairs without much direction, your body heavy and content from good food and a long day spent walking everywhere. today marks day seven of anton’s break, a full week back in jersey and he’d decided early that morning that you were going to new york whether you felt like it or not.
he hadn’t wanted to drive, said it defeated the point so the two of you took the train in, bundled up side by side his arm slung around your shoulders as the city slowly came back into view. he’d spent the day pulling you from place to place showing you places from his teenage years; the coffee shop where he used to sit for hours, headphones in people watching, the park where he would go and sample random noises for old beats and lastly a record store he frequented for old vinyl.
by the time dinner rolled around, your feet hurt and your stomach was growling and anton looked smug as he led you into a dimly lit italian restaurant. you shared plates of carbonara and a lobster ravioli and split a bottle of wine that turned into more than one glass for you despite your best judgment. he kept reaching for your hand and would lean in to steal kisses between bites like no one else was there.
now, standing at the bottom of the stairs, all of it catches up to you at once, the fatigue that has been trailing you for days and the tiredness from exploring the big apple.
you sink down onto one of the steps with a soft laugh, pressing your back against the railing, suddenly very aware of how full you are and how little you want to move.
anton turns around, already smiling when he sees you. “already giving up?” he asks, stepping closer.
“i just need a second,” you say, words slow and loose.
he laughs, shakes his head and before you can even think to argue, he scoops you up, one arm under your knees, the other around your back. you yelp, hands flying to his shoulders, laughter spilling out of you as he starts up the stairs.
“anton! put me down!”
“nope.” he says grinning, enunciating the p.
you’re both laughing by the time he reaches the top, breathless and giddy, the sound of it echoing softly through the quiet home.
he sets you down carefully on the bed and then he follows you down, draping himself over you fully, his weight familiar and comforting. you smile at the feel of him there, arms sliding around his shoulders as you tilt your head up and kiss him.
he hums into it and kisses you back slowly and unhurried. when he pulls back just enough to look at you, he smiles softly. “hi.” he says, like he hasn’t seen you all day.
you giggle, the sound light and breathy and let your head fall back against the pillows. your eyes flutter closed for half a second longer than you mean them to, your body already halfway gone. anton immediately notices.
“no,” he whines, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “don’t you dare fall asleep.”
you groan, dragging an arm over your eyes. “five minutes.”
he snorts. “you will not wake back up.”
“i will,” you insist weakly, already losing the argument.
he sighs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before rolling off you and standing up. “bathroom. now.” he gives your hips a few gentle taps. if you weren’t halfway drunk and so exhausted you’re sure it would of had a bigger effect on you
you groan again, louder this time but you obey anyway shuffling toward the bathroom while he laughs quietly behind you.
you shower quickly, more to wake yourself up than anything else, letting the hot water run over you. when you step out wrapped in a towel, anton is just coming back upstairs with a glass of water and a couple of pills he sets on the counter.
“just in case.” he says, kissing your cheek.
you smile at him, take the water and swap places with him as he steps into the shower. you brush your teeth, wipe the last of your makeup away and watch anton’s blurred silhouette move behind the glass, letting your imagination run for a little while.
a few minutes later he steps out with a towel slung low around his waist, his skin still damp. you can’t help the way your eyes linger, slow and appreciative as you eye the ridges on his abs and how water runs down his v-line.
he catches you and smirks. “see something you like?”
you don’t even deny it. he just laughs and reaches for his toothbrush, turning to the sink as you focus on your own reflection again. you pull your skincare out from the drawers, lining things up the way you always do, splashing water on your face before reaching instinctively for your rings to drop them into the little jewelry dish you keep by the sink.
you tug at the two rings that sit on your ring finger but neither moves. you pause, blinking at your reflection before trying again however, they still don’t budge.
your brows furrow. you pull a little harder this time and wince when a sharp throb shoots through your finger. you gasp quietly, looking down to see why your rings won’t budge. you’re not prepared for how swollen your fingers are.
“anton,” you say, voice pitching slightly.
he’s already turned to face you, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, brows pulling together the second he sees your face. you try one last time to tug the ring free and suck in a breath when it hurts.
he spits his toothpaste out immediately. “wait,” he says gently but firmly, reaching for your hand. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”
you pout, frustration rising fast. your gaze drifts to your reflection and you notice it, how bloated you are, how your stomach looks rounder than it normally does after a night out.
your throat tightens. “i’m fat.” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
anton scowls at you the second the words leave your mouth. he drops your hand only to cup your face instead, thumbs brushing gently along your cheeks until you’re forced to look at him. “____,” he says softly but firmly. “no.”
you shake your head, eyes glassy. “my ring doesn’t fit a-and i feel gross and—”
“baby,” he interrupts, brows knitting now, not liking the way you’re talking about yourself. “you’re not fat. you’re a perfectly healthy weight and even if you gained a little, which happens, that’s not a bad thing.”
you sniff, still unconvinced so he continues. “we ate a lot of salty food today, we had wine, we’ve been traveling. your body’s probably still adjusting from the flight.”
he kisses you gently, once, twice and then a third time. “you’re beautiful.”
you breathe out slowly, letting his words sink in, trying to believe them yourself. “thank you,” you say quietly.
you abandon the rest of your skincare after that, suddenly uninterested in staring at your reflection any longer. instead you turn toward the bedroom, exhaustion crashing back over you all at once.
“i should sleep, i have brunch with the girls tomorrow. i don’t want to oversleep.” you mumble.
anton smiles softly and leans in to kiss you again, slow and reassuring. you return it briefly before pulling away, padding straight to bed and curling beneath the covers without a second thought. he finishes brushing his teeth before turning the bathroom light off and following you soon after.
you keep flexing your fingers against the tabletop, opening and closing your hand without really meaning to, distracted by how strange it feels not to have the familiar weight of your wedding band and engagement ring present. your skin is pale where they should be, a faint indentation if you look closely enough.
anton had helped you take them off while you were getting ready. it took ten minutes of gently tugging before they finally slid free and he kissed your knuckles apologetically, promising it was just for the day just to see if it helps with the swelling.
your friends jen and nyla sit across from you, leaning in toward each other as they look over the menu. you can hear them talking but don’t register a single word. your attention keeps drifting back inward; between falling asleep everywhere, the constant heaviness in your body and now this weird swelling you can’t explain, you feel hyper-aware of yourself in a way you’re not used to. you’re still staring at your hand when nyla speaks again.
“earth to ____?”
you blink, lifting your head a little too quickly. “what?”
nyla arches a brow at you. “did you hear anything we just said?”
“sorry,” you say, rubbing your thumb against your palm. “i zoned out.”
jen’s eyes flick down to your hands for a second before returning to your face. she hesitates and clears her throat softly. “are you…are you and anton okay?”
the question throws you completely. “yeah,” you answer immediately, confusion knitting your brows. “why?”
nyla doesn’t hesitate. “you’re not wearing your rings and you’ve been frowning since you got here.”
you glance down at your hand again then back up at them, understanding clicking into place. “oh! no! we’re fine, really.”
jen still looks a little unsure so you explain, “my fingers have just been really swollen so anton suggested i take them off today to see if it helps.”
“swollen?” nyla repeats, tilting her head.
you shrug. “yeah. i don’t…it’s weird.”
they both watch you for a moment not saying anything but then jen nods slowly, accepting your answer. “okay,” she says gently.
nyla lets it go too, already turning her attention back to the menu. “fair enough.”
you exhale, sinking back into your seat, fingers curling against the table again without thinking. the empty space on your hand still feels wrong.
you pick the menu up to make your selection, maybe food will help clear your mind a bit.
nyla is still debating across from you, tapping the side of her glass absentmindedly. “i don’t know if i want the blueberry pancakes or strawberry crepes,” she says half to herself, half to the table.
you glance up from your menu, lips curving faintly. “want to get the pancakes and we can split the crepes? that way you don’t have to choose.” you suggest.
nyla considers it for all of two seconds. “that’s…actually genius.”
“you’re just indecisive," jen says dryly.
“oh yeah? and what are you getting,” nyla says, already nodding at the server when they come by.
jen scoffs and rolls her eyes, letting nyla order first before putting in an order of french toast. you end up ordering something simple for yourself; eggs, toast and a black coffee, nothing adventurous lest you upset your stomach on top of bloating. after the server leaves, jen leans forward, elbows on the table. “so…how’s married life?”
you don’t hesitate. “amazing. it’s been a dream honestly.”
jen smiles at that. “yeah? he treating you right?”
you huff out a quiet laugh. “he always has.”
nyla hums, resting her chin in her hand. “i still can’t get over the fact that you guys are actually married…like what? it’s also weird that you’re back in jersey.”
you laugh and reach for your glass of water. “yeah it is crazy when i think about it but it's the best decision i’ve ever made.” you shrug in thought. “it’s nice being back in jersey too. seoul is pretty and all but nothing beats home.”
“five months is insane. what are you guys even doing with all that free time?” jen says, referencing the amount of time anton and the boys were given for a break.
you think about it for a second, shrugging. “nothing crazy. staying in a lot, cooking, watching stuff. he’s been in the studio downstairs most days. we just kind of…exist near each other.”
nyla makes a face. “that’s disgustingly cute.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “it’s nice,” you admit.
the conversation drifts for a bit after that, bouncing between topics without much thought. you nod along, add in where you can, but you can feel yourself slipping again, attention lagging just a half step behind everything else. you resort to pinching your thigh to stay awake.
the food arrives not long after. plates are set down in front of each of you, the table filling quickly with pancakes stacked high, french toast dusted with powdered sugar, your plate of eggs and toast placed neatly in front of you, the crepes sit in the middle.
the smell of the crepes hit you almost immediately. they’re sweet almost in a sickly way and yet putrid, your stomach turns before you can stop it. a sudden wave of nausea rolling through you so fast it catches you off guard. you gag automatically, hand flying up to cover your mouth.
“____! what the heck? are you okay?" nyla asks, already running a hand on your back.
"i-i think. the crepes just smell...disgusting." the scent lingers in the air so you clamp your mouth closed with your other hand.
both nyla and jen give you a weird, incredulous look, "you literally love strawberry crepes." jen says.
"maybe the strawberries are bad." nyla offers before cutting into the crepes to inspect the fruit herself and shakes her head, "they look fine to me." she even takes a bite. "they taste just fine too."
you hold out your hand to take another whiff, maybe you had caught the scent of something else but still when the overly sweet and sour fumes hit your nostrils, you reel back and vigorously shake your head. "no. it smells gross."
your friends share a look. "are you pregnant?" jen asks under her breath, leaning forward a bit.
for a second, you just stare at her, still holding your breath like that might keep the nausea at bay, your hand hovering uselessly in the air. “what?” you say.
nyla’s hand slows against your back, her attention fully on you now and you can feel both of them watching you in a way that makes it impossible to pretend you didn’t hear what was just said.
you swallow, lowering your hand slowly, your mind already starting to work through it whether you want it to or not. you try to think back; dates, timelines, anything that could give you a clear answer but it’s all a blur of travel and long days and nights that bled into each other.
you and anton have never been careless exactly but you also haven’t been strict with birth control. you have an iud, have had it for a while now and somewhere along the way it turned into a kind of reassurance that everything would just…be fine. that you didn’t have to think about it too hard, didn’t have to track every period or worry about condoms or pulling out and didn't have to rush to buy emergency contraceptives.
you exhale slowly, leaning back into your chair, your fingers curling against the edge of the table again. “i don’t know…i haven’t taken a test or anything. it’s just…” you glance down at your plate then back up at them. “i don’t know.”
jen’s hand comes to rest lightly over yours. “we can go get a test, there’s a pharmacy right down the block. we can just walk over after this, it doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”
you immediately shake your head. you want anton to be there, whether it’s positive or not. “no. i need anton.”
jen nods right away, like she expected that. “okay.”
nyla gives a small shrug, already easing back into her seat. “yeah, that makes sense,” she says, picking her fork back up like nothing has changed.
and just like that, the moment passes. the conversation shifts, drifting into something lighter and easier and you try to follow along, nodding at the right times, offering small responses when you can but your mind keeps circling back to the possibility of being pregnant.
your drive back home feels shorter than usual, though you’re not sure if it’s because of traffic or because your mind won’t stay still long enough to notice the time passing. you sit in your car once you pull into the driveway to collect yourself.
you sit there for a total of thirty minutes before gathering enough courage to climb out and go face your husband. the house is quiet when you step inside. you kick your shoes off near the door, shrug your jacket off your shoulders and for a moment you just stand there, listening for anton. you hear movement coming from the kitchen so you follow it.
you find anton standing at the island, back to you and shirtless, a light sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin from what you assume is his typical afternoon workout. his hair is damp at the edges, curling slightly and he’s focused on what he’s doing, slicing fruit probably for his protein shake.
for a second, you just watch him. he glances over his shoulder when he hears you come in, the corner of his mouth lifting immediately when he sees you. “hey, baby” he says, turning slightly. “how was—”
“—i think i’m pregnant.”
it comes out before you can stop it. before you can soften it, or ease into it or choose better timing. the words hang in the air between you..
anton stills. the knife in his hand pauses mid-motion before he sets it down carefully on the counter, turning to face you fully now. his expression isn’t panicked, rather calm and you don’t know if that soothes you or panics you even more. “what?” is all he asks,
you shrug, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands, your voice quieter now that it’s actually out there. “i don’t know. i haven’t taken a test or anything. it’s just—” you trail off, searching for the right words and not finding any. “a feeling…? a hunch?”
he just watches you for a second, taking it in then he moves towards you slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. his hands find your waist first, warm and steady and then he pulls you into him without hesitation, grounding you in a way that makes your shoulders drop just a little.
“do you want to be pregnant?” he asks softly.
the question catches somewhere in your chest. you hadn’t really let yourself go that far yet, hadn’t let the thought fully take shape beyond maybe. your hand lifts almost automatically, pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.
you tilt your head, looking up at him, searching his face. “do you want me to be?” you ask instead.
anton exhales quietly, his lips pressing together for a second, like he’s holding something back on purpose. his thumb moves absently against your side, a small, repetitive motion that tells you he’s thinking harder than he’s letting on. “you first,” he says finally.
you let out a small laugh, more out of nerves than anything else, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you look away for a second, trying to gather your thoughts. you think about the past year: about your wedding, settling into this life with him, the transition.
you also think about kids. about the way he is with them, the way he’s talked to you about wanting some one day with you. you look back at him, your answer coming easier than you expect. “yeah, i do.” you say softly, nodding once then again, a little more sure this time. “i really do.”
his shoulders relax, something in his expression softening as a small smile pulls at his lips. “me too,” he says.
you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your forehead brushing lightly against his for a second before you both pull back just enough to look at each other again. his hand squeezes lightly at your hip before he pulls back just enough to take your hand, already guiding you toward the stairs. “come on,” he says. “we still have some tests, right?”
“yeah. in the bathroom.”
he hums and leads you upstairs and you step into your bathroom together. anton moves first, opening the drawer, pulling out the box you both forgot was still there. he turns back to you, holding it out, his fingers brushing yours when you take it.
for a second, neither of you says anything. you exhale slowly steadying yourself before turning away to take the test. anton stays by the sink while you pee on the stick. once you finish your business and drop the test face down on the counter, he slots in behind you and lets his right hand settle on your stomach, thumb moving in slow soothing circles.
“okay,” he murmurs, reaching around you to grab his phone. you hear the quiet tap of the screen as he sets a timer before he sets it down beside the sink.
neither of you moves right away.
anton’s chin comes to rest near your shoulder, his voice quieter now. “do you want a girl or a boy?”
you let out a small breath, the question catching you off guard. “a girl,” you say eventually.
you feel him smile against your shoulder. “yeah?”
you nod, even though he can’t really see it. “what about you?”
his hand shifts slightly, thumb still moving. “me too,” he admits. “i want a girl.”
you turn your head just enough to glance at him, catching the way his expression has softened completely, something almost shy settling there. “another princess for me to spoil,” he adds.
“you’re already planning?” you murmur, tilting your head just enough to look at him a little more.
he shrugs lightly behind you but his hand doesn’t stop moving, thumb still tracing those slow, steady circles against your stomach. “just thinking,” he says, softer now. “i think i’d be really good at it.”
your throat tightens a little and you don’t trust yourself to answer right away, so you just lean back into him instead.
the timer cuts through the moment and you both still. anton freezes for half a second more before reaching forward to silence his phone, setting it back down on the counter
you swallow, your fingers curling against the edge of the counter as your eyes fix anywhere but the test. “i can’t. can you look?” you admit, voice small now.
being the amazing husband he is, he doesn’t hesitate. he leans in first, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his hand squeezing lightly at your hip before he steps forward, moving around you so he’s standing in front of the counter. you turn slightly, your eyes fixed anywhere but the counter as he reaches for the test, flipping it over carefully in his hand.
there’s a beat of silence. then another. you turn back to watch his face instead, the way his eyes scan it, the way his brows pull together. “anton? what does it say?” you call softly, your heart climbing into your throat.
he doesn’t answer.
your chest tightens. “anton!”
his eyes gloss over, his lips part slightly like he’s trying to speak and can’t quite get there and before you can even ask again he lets out a small, breathless laugh. he turns the test toward you.
you’re met with two dark lines.
for a second you just stare at it, like your brain needs a moment to catch up to what you’re seeing. “oh my god,” you breathe, the words falling out of you as your vision blurs.
anton lets out a quiet, disbelieving sound, shaking his head slightly as he looks back at you, eyes shining now. “it’s positive,” he says, his voice breaking just slightly on the last word.
you laugh and cry at the same time, your hands flying up to your face before you reach for him. He eagerly pulls you into him, arms wrapping tight around you like he doesn’t ever want to let go.
“thank you,” he murmurs against your hair, voice thick, repeating it again and again like it’s the only thing he can think to say. “thank you. thank you.”
you cling to him, your face pressed into his chest, both of you laughing softly through tears as the reality settles between you.
his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, holding you there. “i love you.” he says through tears.
you laugh through tears of your own and wipe his away. “i love you more. i can’t wait for this chapter with you.”
he exhales shakily, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand slipping from the back of your head to rest low against your stomach again, like it’s instinct now. neither of you says anything after that. you just stand there, wrapped up in each other, letting it settle.
for the first time since you returned to jersey, everything feels as if it's finally starting to fall into place.
taglist: (please send in an ask if you asked to be aded to this series tallest, i lost my list ^^)
writing a new anton au inspired by the song he covered (The Dress - Dijon), this one's noT sexual i promise... might be at the end, depends on he ending so.... might... maybe... perhaps... THING IS
i'm feeling angst... how are y'all feeling? masochistic? or just craving fluff?
Title: Sweet Tooth
Content: Anton x Fem!Reader, slice-of-life, slowburnish, strangers to lovers, fluff
Description: Anton has come to notice the genius behind his favourite sweet treats at his regular café and a spontaneous request for lessons gives him the opportunity to get to know you on a deeper chocolatey level.
Warnings: none, but if you're sensitive to food-related topics maybe be weary of that 🥹
W.C.: 4.7k+
A/N: I revived another old WIP of mine and it felt very Toni– he's so adorable and warm♡
Part: 1/3
Your dreams were made of cotton candy and dripping, rich chocolate.
Since the days of toddling on tiny feet, with grabby hands and no care for rolling in dirt or slobbering over, well—anything—there was one thing that never changed: you had a sweet tooth.
Perhaps it started with the stuffing of succulent blackberries into your greedy mouth, plucked fresh from the back garden in summertime; juicy and ripe, sugary splashes staining your tongue (and your clothes, much to your mum’s disdain), filling your small body with a buzzing, giddy high.
Or maybe your sugar addiction could be traced back to pie—that pie your mum would bring home every Friday from the local bakery. Warm, baked to golden perfection, with flaky pastry that crumbled in a soft, satisfying crunch beneath your teeth. The filling, made of slow-cooked fruits and still hot, had your mouth watering before you even had the chance to take a bite, because you already knew its sweetness—you simply couldn’t wait to devour it.
Though, when you really think about it—especially when you consider the biggest part of you and your life—your sweet tooth could be put down to the influence of one person.
Your nanny: strict on the surface, her voice hard with age and wisdom, but her eyes as gentle as her caring hands. Your childhood memories replay her in the kitchen, hands busy, making treats rich with chocolate.
Every morning, without fail, you're transported back to those memories—back to her kitchen. Your pudgy fingers, a mess of sticky brown delight, reaching for whatever delectable good she was making. The scent of chocolate so constant it felt like a part of you, clinging to your clothes and wafting through your apartment as if you were still on tiptoes in her kitchen.
And so your memories of the past became your present—your livelihood now spent making chocolates, your hands a ghost of your nan’s, each treat carefully crafted into sweet, addictive goodness.
As with any other day, your morning begins in a familiar rhythm: shower, brush your teeth, dress, and make yourself presentable before heading down the stairs that lead directly into your hard-earned shop.
Fully awake, you step into the backroom, ready to begin your daily prep.
Unlike your usual mornings—checking whether desserts have set or making fresh batches—Thursdays are reserved for something different: a special collaboration with a small café.
It began when your friend, café owner Taro, tried your chocolate and coffee truffle cake and begged you to put it on his menu. For the sake of both business and friendship, a deal was made: you would supply your goods to his café on Thursday mornings, and on Friday afternoons, he would bring some of his signature drinks to your shop.
And now, you think with pride as you add pieces of fruit to the centre, your cake has become the reason for the Thursday morning rush.
Placing them into cake carriers with practiced, careful hands, you head out through the back door toward your car and set off. The scent of chocolate lingers heavily, as if you were still back in your shop.
The brightness of Shotaro’s café (better described as a cereal bar, to be honest) greatly differs from the warm browns that make up your store’s interior. While you prefer a more classic look, Shotaro goes for multicoloured chairs and white walls, with doodle-like paintings of buildings scattered across them for a more fun, modern feel. You think it suits his sunshine-like personality and that his artist friend, Seunghan, has done well to reflect that.
Upon your arrival, Shotaro teasingly sings, “I spot something tasty,” helping you place the cakes down, “and it’s not the cake.”
You pull a face at him. “Please, it’s too early to feel this sick,” you reply, and when he feigns hurt—clutching his chest, mouth agape—you only laugh, scolding him. “Help me set up, you doofus.” Which he does, though not without a pout on his stupidly adorable face.
The two of you are careful as you move the cakes to the display counter. You wash and sanitise your hands while Shotaro busies himself setting up the rest.
You move back and forth between the back room and the front in a rush to get everything ready before opening, already spotting a few people lining up along the cobblestone path.
And finally, it’s time for opening, once Shotaro has ensured his Krave cereal muffins, chocolate flake bites, and other treats are arranged in the display cabinets, the coffee machine is running, and the tills are set.
Anton is a man of many tastes. He enjoys the finer things in life, such as aged wine and peanut-sized portions of admittedly delicious but expensive food, or shoes custom-made from the finest leather available. But he also appreciates the simpler things, like coffee. Coffee is his constant—the thing that allows him to function and take a breather without necessarily having to stop.
The café he likes to frequent before heading into work provides him with that and more. It’s homey and spacious enough to offer privacy, but small enough that you don’t feel alone when by yourself. He finds the atmosphere warm, calming the moment he steps inside.
But he has to admit there’s another charm to this café—especially today.
Although he usually comes alone, today Anton has decided to bring Sungchan and Wonbin along.
It’s Thursday. And on Thursdays, there’s a pretty woman who sells the best chocolate-coffee cake in town—it’s to die for. Anton convinced them to join him for that reason alone, though also to prove he’s not exaggerating when he says the creator is just as gorgeous as the cake.
And while Anton had deemed you pretty, there was no denying he had caught your attention as well. It was hard not to, to be frank.
The new faces with him today, however, make him stand out even more—a trio of well-dressed men, prince-like, practically strolling up to the counter, their laughter carrying as they arrive
As soon as Anton reaches the counter, Shotaro is ready with his angelic smile and flirtatious customer service. “Can I get you something tall and dark, handsome?”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, pretending instead to be busy making sure the cakes and everything else are presented neatly (for the hundredth time).
Already used to his antics, Anton playfully flirts back, the edges of his lips quirking as his dark eyes settle on Shotaro. “Do you come with that, sugar?”
You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing, but you notice his friends don’t bother hiding their snickers—the shorter of the three dramatically muttering, “Oh my God.”
One of them nudges Anton aside with a playful scoff, smiling politely. “Three coffees and three coffee cakes, please. This one here said it’s the best in town,” he remarks, gesturing to Anton. “Though… he also said there’s a pretty lady who sells it, and no offence… but you don’t look like a lady to me.”
Your jaw drops, and there’s a brief scuffle as Anton groans, pushing his friend while the shorter one giggles at his expense.
Shotaro bites his lip to hide his own smile. “So that’s three coffees, three slices of cake, and the pretty lady? Coming up! Please take a seat, and I’ll be sure to send both your way.”
Shotaro winks, and the man grins, leaving with a thank you and a light slap to the back of his head, courtesy of Anton.
Shotaro gives you a knowing look as they walk away, and you roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. He mirrors the gesture, and you quickly get to work, pulling out three plates and lining them up on the counter to carefully place a slice on each.
With the plates settled on the tray, you move out from behind the counter and through the opened flap onto the café floor. The café has steadily begun to fill up, and you’re not entirely sure why—perhaps it’s the comment Anton’s friend made—but you feel a flutter of butterflies tickling at your insides the closer you get to their table.
You’re a professional, though, so instead of letting the nerves knock you off balance, you arrive at their table with a cheerful, “I come bearing gifts!”
Immediately, you’re met with smiles. You notice two pairs of eyes locked onto the chocolate treats neatly arranged on the plates, while another pair lingers on you, making you feel slightly too warm. It prompts you to quickly set the plates down in front of each of them, mumbling an “enjoy” with a smile before turning to leave.
Before you can, however, one of his friends speaks up. “Wait!”
You internally groan, already bracing yourself for them to mock Anton at your expense. Turning back around with a smile, you listen as he continues, “Anton said you do the best cake around, and well—as a resident food lover—I must put that to the test.”
Your laughter rings out, and Anton swears the sound hits him like something far greater than it should—like an insignificant fleck of dust lost in the sea, with you as the waves themselves.
“Resident food lover. Right.”
You’re only teasing him, but the way his soft cheeks turn rosy makes you want to coo at him. Instead, you stay where you are, waiting for him to try the cake that (not to sound cocky) you already know he’ll love.
“You’re so extra, Sungchan,” the shorter man comments, but Sungchan pays him no mind as he cuts into the cake.
Despite knowing he’ll enjoy it, you can’t help but lean forward slightly, eyes wide, eager to see his reaction when he takes that first bite.
The base crumbles into the smoothest paste of chocolate, accented with hints of coffee, practically melting on his tongue. For a moment, Sungchan feels like it’s his birthday, Christmas, and the best moment of his life all at once, drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes him blurt out, cheeks already turning pink, “Let’s get married. Please.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, already scooping up another bite, while his friend laughs heartily beside him before turning to you with a raised brow and a cheeky smile. “He’s fallen for you.”
You snort, a smile tugging at your face as you watch Sungchan practically devour the rest.
“More like my cheesecake,” you reply, amused.
Amid the shovelling of more cake, he pauses just long enough to add, “I’m serious. Let’s get married.”
“I take it this means you approve?” you ask, watching as he finishes the last of it with more satisfied sounds spilling rather loudly from his lips, drawing the attention of nearby customers.
“He approves,” his friend replies for him. “Looks like Anton was right—it’s the best cake, and it’s made by a pretty girl.”
Heat blooms beneath your skin, spreading quickly through you. You’ve been able to politely ignore Anton’s presence up until now, especially with him sitting so quietly, but now your eyes instinctively flick over to him. When they meet his, the warmth only deepens, your mouth parting as you struggle to find any response at all to his friend’s comment.
Anton has been quiet ever since you arrived at their table, because all he wants is to take the time to watch you. Lord knows he’d make a fool of himself if he tried to speak. So he settles for watching the way you smile, the way it lights up every one of your features like the morning sun over a field of flowers—and he’s content with that.
But now, he’s just as dumbfounded as you are, his eyes locked onto yours, words—and even the thought of them—failing him.
Instead, for some reason beyond him, he blurts out, “Can you teach me?”
Now you’re really confused. Teach him? Did you miss part of the conversation?
Anton recognises the confusion in your eyes, and his outburst leaves him feeling warm under the collar. Nerves have him lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck, and then, for some reason, he tries to cover it with faux confidence. Shrugging, he elaborates, “Yeah, um… teach me how to make chocolate. It would be… sweet to learn. No pun intended.”
He says it quickly, and if you weren’t taken aback by his request, you’d fully appreciate the joke and laugh.
Tilting your head, you study him curiously, unsure if his request is serious or not. “You want to learn how to make chocolate?” you repeat slowly. Anton nods immediately, confirming with clear enthusiasm that yes—he means it (though he more meant the cake and did in fact not know your speciality was chocolate).
You straighten slightly, the unexpectedness of it all leaving your mind briefly reeling. No one has ever shown interest in the craft behind what you do, and you have to admit—it makes you feel good. Excited, even, at the thought of sharing that with someone.
Anton expects you to decline, but when you give him that beaming smile—the kind that makes him feel as warm as fresh coffee on a cold night, spreading through him in quiet waves—hope settles in his chest.
“Sure! Let’s exchange numbers.”
Anton was initially doubtful that exchanging numbers would bear any fruit. However, he was soon proven wrong when you engaged with him more than expected. Only, he found himself slightly disappointed when he quickly realised that things were not going in the direction he had hoped.
The few texts he exchanged with you remained strictly choclatiering business— or rather, focused on lessons. Any small daydream he entertained about something more blooming felt increasingly far from reality.
You provided him with a rough schedule of your availability, coordinating a time that worked for both of you.
When a date was finally chosen, Anton felt something like fireworks set off within his chest. Excitement swelled in bursts of colour, and so, when the day arrived and he stepped out of his car to head toward your quaint shop, he did his best to keep the slight bounce out of his steps.
Your shop is as homely as you are. The moment he enters, his senses are filled with the rich aroma of chocolate, and he’s somewhat surprised to find the space smaller than he imagined—especially given how popular your chocolates must be.
He stands before the counter, the displays currently bare, everything so tidy it feels almost untouched, as though new.
Anton calls out your name, and he hears a faint, “just a sec,” from somewhere in the back. The sound of your voice alone leaves him jittery, his fingers drumming lightly against the cool counter.
You emerge through a door shortly after, chocolate smudging your hands and a smile as sweet as the scent that fills the air around him.
“Hey. Come through.”
Anton steps through the lifted counter by the cash machine, mumbling a greeting and mentally berating himself for sounding smaller than he intended.
Wordlessly, you lead him toward the back through the door you just came from, and Anton finds himself in your modest-sized kitchen. Though sterile in the sense that the surfaces gleam and the faint scent of disinfectant mingles with the heavier aroma of chocolate, the space is still unmistakably yours. He notes the ceramic tiles lining the walls, decorated with floral patterns, and the appliances in soft shades of pale yellow and lavender. On the splatter-painted wall where aprons hang, he spots classic baking posters and a small photo frame he assumes holds a picture of your family, though he’s too far to examine it properly.
You walk past him, and your scent reaches him over everything else—sweet, sugary, and enticing. He almost feels hypnotised, his body leaning ever so slightly in your direction as if trying to follow it.
He watches as you walk over to the wall of hanging aprons and reach up to pull one down. The realisation that he’ll get to spend actual time with you—and, on top of that, see you in your element rather than quietly observing from his seat at the café—finally hits him. If any of his friends could see the way his palms grow sweaty and his skin flushes, he’s sure they’d tease him for acting boyish, like a high schooler rather than a full-grown adult.
He swallows the dryness in his throat when you return to him, apron in hand and that familiar smile on your face. When you’re close enough, you gently hold the material out to him. “For hygiene, and to keep your clothes clean.”
Your laugh follows, and Anton nearly forgets how to function, his mind briefly short-circuiting before reminding him—belatedly—that he should take the apron rather than get lost in the sound of it.
“T-thanks,” he mumbles, quickly using the motion of pulling the apron over his head as a distraction from his nerves.
But you make it worse, of course. With a bright, “Let me,” you step behind him, reaching for the apron strings and beginning to tie them at his back.
Anton tenses. You’re so close now that your warmth blends into his, sending his heart into a rapid rhythm within his chest, the heat spreading from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears.
Clearing his throat, he turns around to thank you, then pointedly looks around the kitchen in yet another attempt to distract himself.
“So, this is where the magic happens,” he says, adoring the shy smile that graces your lips. You simply nod, following his line of sight.
“Right! Hygiene first.”
He follows you to the sink, watching as you pull out an opened cardboard container. “You must wear a hair net in the kitchen. No matter how long or short your hair is—you have to wear one. No one likes hairy chocolates.”
You pull out two, handing one to Anton before slipping yours over your hair like it’s second nature. You notice him struggling slightly, trying to fit it properly over his ears—his thick hair making the net sit awkwardly. With a small laugh, you step closer, nudging his hands aside and fixing it for him, tucking his fringe neatly beneath it.
Every part of him stills. The only thing he’s aware of is the rush of blood in his ears, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, lips pressed tight as he barely dares to breathe.
He stares down at you, taking in the details of your face—the faint marks of old acne scars, the slight dryness of your skin from long workdays where moisturising probably comes last, the way your lashes frame your eyes, the slope of your nose, your lower lip caught between your teeth in concentration. It makes him dizzy with the sudden urge to pull it free and press it with his own.
“There you go. I know it can feel a little uncomfortable at first, but you won’t even notice it soon.”
What Anton does notice is the way his body almost leans into yours when you step back, already missing the warmth you leave behind.
Instead, he smiles and quietly thanks you, letting his gaze drift over your face once more before turning away slightly. “What now?”
You direct him to wash his hands at the sink, and he takes note of the cute, cartoonish bunnies decorating the towel as he dries them, carefully placing it back on the metal rail.
You lead him over to the centre counter—a metal surface topped with a large marble board. He waits there, once again watching as you move around the kitchen, pulling out the necessary equipment, including blocks of chocolate.
“Okay, to start with, I think I should teach you about tempering chocolate.”
Anton quirks a brow, clearly unsure what you mean, but still completely charmed by your voice— practically hanging onto every word as you begin to explain.
You emphasise the importance of using good-quality chocolate— chocolate made with cocoa butter and not vegetable fat. You even go as far as to say you simply cannot be friends with someone who uses chocolate with vegetable fat; it gives chocolatiers a bad name.
“Chocolate with cocoa butter is better health-wise, better quality-wise, and makes it easier for the chocolate to contract and mould—basically, easier to work with. There’s a lot of science behind tempering, and also behind chocolate with vegetable fat, but just take my word for it—it’s no good!”
Anton chuckles at your passion, nodding along with bright eyes that don’t go unnoticed, a strange flutter of nerves stirring in your chest.
Teaching. Focus on teaching.
Anton listens attentively as you continue, emphasising the key things to remember like what type of bowl to use, not melting all the chocolate at once but leaving some solid so it can melt gradually as you stir, checking whether the bowl is too hot to the touch (because if it is, the chocolate won’t temper properly), and finally, how to test if the chocolate is tempered.
He finds himself genuinely invested, even a little amazed by such a small, precise technique, watching closely as you dip a strip of baking paper into the bowl and set it aside.
“You should leave it at room temperature—making sure it’s below 24 degrees. The time depends on the type of chocolate. For dark, it’s around five minutes, milk about seven, and white roughly ten.”
You’re really in your element, and Anton finds it easy to follow along. He indulges himself by taking brief glances at your face, admiring the light in your eyes and the slight quirk of your lips whenever you smile mid-explanation.
He watches as you move easily through each step.
You leave the paper to rest on a wooden board, and in that time you continue advising Anton on simple tricks to fix chocolate if it hasn’t tempered properly. And while this had started as an excuse to see you, Anton finds himself genuinely drawn in by your passion, wanting to learn more and more, grateful that he's getting to know you in a way he couldn't before.
“See! It’s set!”
Your voice lifts with excitement and brings a smile to his face. He can’t help but mirror it when you bring the paper closer for him to examine. You demonstrate how the chocolate doesn’t run, but is still pliable enough to be moulded later on.
“Okay, there are more basics to go through and I'd like to see you demonstrate the knowledge, but since we only have a limited amount of time we can move onto something fun!!”
“Wait…” Anton starts, a little embarrassed, like he’s about to ask something stupid. “so, in our other lessons…are you gonna show me... how to make chocolate?”
You blink up at him, head tilting slightly in confusion. “You mean from scratch?”
When Anton nods, you can’t help but giggle, the sound quickly blooming into a full laugh. Anton feels caught somewhere between embarrassment at his question and the sudden rush in his chest from being the reason you’re laughing.
“Sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” you say, still smiling. “It’s a common misconception. Chocolatiers don’t actually make chocolate— we just get good-quality chocolate from cacao companies who produce it, and then we do our own thing with it.”
His cheeks tinge and his lashes flutter and all he can let out is a weak “oh.”
You worry that your laughter may have come across as cruel instead of lighthearted and you don't want that to put him off of the lessons, so you rush to say “feel free to ask me anything you want!” Putting some extra cheer in your voice, you add “don’t worry how a question might sound, I'm here to teach you afterall.”
Anton's eyes meet yours, only this time he's quick to look away. Nodding his head, feeling the warmth reach the tips of his ears, he whispers a reply of “okay.”
The lesson continues with Anton asking questions that you eagerly answer. He finds out a lot about you— that you were inspired by your grandma, that you got a job at a hotel before you were twenty and worked with a patisserie chef, that you went to study abroad in France to specialise in chocolatiering, before returning home to set up shop— and the more he finds out, the more enamoured he becomes.
Time is unfortunately flying by much too fast. You've shown him some modelling basics like making chocolates bark and swirls that come out like webs.
Now you're showing him how to make feathers.
“Okay you get a small knife andddd dip into our chocolate. You have to work kinda quick, but now we're going to press and pull outward and thennn,” he watches you take a toothpick and drag in a curved motion from the centre outwards, “voila! A feather.” You beam.
Anton practices beside you with clumsy hands. Usually, he's steady, someone who pays attention to detail. But, beside you there's subtle tremors that have his fingers unsteady.
You notice. And much to Anton's horror, you take hold of his hands.
“Only a light pressure anddd swoop.” You look up at him smiling warmly, “see!” but Anton is looking at you. Not the knife in your hand. Not the chocolate pulled back and spread thinly. He's looking at you.
His eyes are like chocolates themselves, warm with depth and melting into you. Heat flashes through you prompting you to look back down and clear your throat. After a moment, you shuffle to the side, deciding to put more space between you both and weakly say “try again.”
This time when Anton picks up the knife, he purposely uses too little pressure. He frowns, feigning ignorance. “Not sure what the issue is…”
Instinctively as a teacher you want to direct him, but the cynic in you weary of your own attraction to the man has you pausing.
Instead you smile. Straighten up. Remind yourself that you are a professional.
“Practice makes perfect. Apply pressure until you think you have it right. That's the only way you will learn.
“You're strict…” he mutters.
“Were you not planning on taking our lessons seriously?” You squint.
His eyes widen and it's hard to hide your grin as you watch him shake his head and stutter. “N-no of course not. I want to learn.”
His determination makes you want to giggle— in a way, he reminds you of you when you first started out and this was all just a plan stuck in your pinboard.
To show his sincerity, Anton smoothly copies what you had demonstrated. You almost want to laugh at how easily he's managing to do it now when mere moments ago he was acting totally clueless.
“That's perfect! You're a fast learner.” You praise, impressed.
Anton smiles softly, looking down at the work bench and shakes his head slowly. “Just have a great teacher.”
Smiling, you cock a brow. “Okay, let's see if you can do a more advanced method then.” You move over to the sinks and Anton follows.
“Firstly, we should wash our hands with cold water. If our hands are too warm the chocolate will melt.” You dry your hands, Anton mirroring your actions. “Drying our hands properly is also extremely important because moisture also messes with the process.”
Moving back to the work station, you're about to demonstrate further when Anton suddenly takes a hold of your hand. You freeze and Anton's voice is low, so soft it's almost inaudible when he asks “are my hands cold enough?”
Your brain short circuits and instead of focusing on his question, your focus is drawn to how big his hands are— smooth, almost baby-like softness, some rough edges at his fingertips that wrap around the entirety of your hand.
“Are they?” He asks again after a moment of silence.
You take a breath, opening your mouth only to close it again. Finally, you gently pull your hand from his and turn away to hide the frazzled look on your face and croak out “I-I think we should wash our hands again.”
Yet, even after washing your hands, Anton's touch still lingers.
The lesson ends with Anton clumsily trying to mould the chocolate and concluding that maybe he isn't ready for the advanced techniques yet. You agree with a laugh (finding his furrowed brows and hisses of frustration cute) and encouragement that a few more lessons with you and he will be.
Anton leaves with an inexplicable warmth in his chest; you move in the quiet of your kitchen feeling the exact same thing.
smut. boyfriend anton. sneaky sex (exhibitionism), unprotected sex (p in v), he pulls out lmao, slight breastplay, mutual masturbation, aftercare
oh just send me to hell at this point. not proofread! 2.5k+ words
after your friends announced the room and bed assignments to the whole group, everyone immediately changed into their swimming outfits and headed for the beach.
anton, on the other hand, was still hunting for his swim cap. you waited patiently for him on the bed assigned to the two of you: a double-sized mattress tucked into the far corner of the room next to the bathroom.
“i thought your trunks would match my set?” you pointed out as he slathered sunscreen onto his legs.
“i forgot, baby. i’m sorry.” you only nodded in response. once you saw he was finally ready to head out, you bolted from the room first, growing impatient since everyone else was already out having fun.
you missed the sight of anton shaking the bed frame, testing it to see if it would make a noise.
when you were a short distance away, you heard his hurried footsteps jogging toward you. he caught up and instantly hooked an arm around your waist.
“you’re so hot,” he whispered, pulling you flush against his side.
“if i see someone wearing the same color as your trunks, i’m giving you away,” you joked, pulling away from his grasp to walk ahead.
he let out a playful whine. “that’s not fair.”
“okay! i’m going to ride the jetski alone,” you teased.
he pouted, giving you his best fake sulky face. “you’re mean. although i was planning to do something on the jetski.”
“huh?” you were taken aback.
what could he possibly mean by do something?
once you reached the shore, you climbed onto the driver's seat of the jetski, revving the engine and laughing with the rest as everyone was figuring out how to control the ride.
anton settled behind you, his hands gripping your waist tightly as you sped off into the open water.
once you were far enough from the shore that the group looked like tiny specks, you felt his hands wander.
one hand stayed firm on your hip while the other began to slip beneath the hem of your bikini top, his fingers tracing the curve of your skin with a bold familiarity. the sudden heat of his touch against the cold ocean air made your heart skip.
“anton, stop it,” you yelled over the roar of the engine, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips.
not content with just a wandering hand, anton leaned forward, his plump lips grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder.
he then reached down further to tease you, his fingers hooking into the elastics of your bottoms and instantly finding your heat down there.
the way you were bouncing over the waves made your breath hitch, not helping your current situation.
“we’re going to drown here!” you yelled again, nearly causing you to jerk the handles.
you felt his chest vibrate against your back as he laughed, his lips pressing a fleeting kiss to your shoulder before he reluctantly pulled his hand away and gripped your waist properly again. “you forgot i know how to swim.”
“and you forgot we’re in public!” you remarked, slightly leaning your head back so he can hear you.
“but no one’s gonna see.” you ignored what anton had just said, forcing you to hide a smile again.
after a heavy dinner that spiraled into a night of drinking, everyone eventually stumbled back to their rooms and drifted off to sleep.
however, your boyfriend seemed to have different plans.
“should i eat you out first?” anton hissed, pausing to look up at you from where he was.
right on your boobs.
when you looked down at him, it was the exact moment his lips attached again to your hardened nipple. his free hand was busy massaging the unoccupied one, kneading it with a possessive grip.
then, he pressed his thumb firmly against the nub of the breast he was massaging, while teasingly grazing the other with his teeth.
anton earned a soft, broken moan from you, and you instinctively fisted your hands in his hair.
as he began to provide alternating, wet licks to each bud, you found yourself pushing his face closer against your chest, desperate for more.
it was sensory overload. you were squirming so much that your legs wouldn't stay still, despite anton’s weight pinning you down.
the duvet didn’t rustle much, but if anyone were to glance over right now, it would be painfully obvious that a body was draped over yours, even in the shadows of the room.
anton continued to swirl his tongue around the sensitive tips, his breath hot and ragged against your damp skin. he buried his face between your breasts to muffle a low, guttural groan.
eventually, he slid under the duvet beside you, pulling you into his side so your head rested in the crook of his shoulder.
“don’t move too much,” he whispered. the two of you were already so close, but there was a desperate need to be closer, fueled by the fear of making too much noise.
“anton. there’s other people in the room,” you hissed back, suppressing a sudden gasp by pressing your hand over your mouth.
“they’re all blacked out, i promise.” he pulled you flush against him, his hands already working at the waistband of your shorts.
you sighed before shifting in one swift motion to face him. “we should’ve gone with your jetski idea instead,” you breathed against his lips.
you felt his lips curve into a smirk. “jetski or not, you know we were always going to end up like this.” you adjusted the duvet over the both of you, feeling hyper-conscious of every rustle of fabric.
your hands slid underneath his shirt, tracing the planes of his torso as you brought your lips to his. determined to catch him off guard, you pinched his nipple, hoping to coax a sound out of him.
anton couldn’t suppress the whimper that broke through the kiss. you quickly shushed him by continuing to lap at his soft, plush lips to keep him quiet.
his fingers were already pushing inside you. he didn't even attempt to start slow or tease you first; he just surged in. “hah. i was right about you being wet already.”
as he felt your reaction, his lips pulled away from yours to roam along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck.
the duvet was making far too much noise given the supposed secrecy of the moment. you stopped him before he could go any further. “next time, i’m insisting on a solo room,” you murmured.
he gave a pathetic yet frantic nod, immediately returning to the crook of your neck.
before he could lose himself again, you pulled his face back to look at you. “anton, i’m serious. they’ll kill us tomorrow if they find out.”
“i don’t care. just stay quiet.” you let out a silent groan. at this rate, your heart was going to burst long before you reached an orgasm.
“it’s more fun when there’s a thrill, baby,” anton murmured, continuing to mark your sensitive spots while you bit your lip to stifle a moan. “we’ll be fast.”
this was completely shameless.
yielding to the friction, you reached down to find the hardened length of him. you massaged him through the fabric first, earning that low, hitched breath you loved, before pushing his shorts down just enough to grip him. his tip was already slick, so you spread the moisture and began a steady, rhythmic motion.
it was a struggle to give him a proper handjob, given the cramped space and how tightly your bodies were pinned together, but the risk only seemed to make him harder.
he didn't waste a second, his fingers picking up a rhythmic, messy pace inside you that had you arching your back off the mattress. his other free hand pulled you closer, even more, so you can steady your body and not make any extra noise with the duvet.
the pace of your hand going up and down on his length matched his. every wet thrust was punctuated by the faint, rhythmic sound of skin hitting skin.
you buried your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your ragged breathing, feeling the friction of his knuckles against your sensitive skin.
he leaned in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he picked up the speed, his thumb finding your clit and pinning it down with a pressure that made your toes curl under the duvet.
"babe. need to fuck you now," he urged in a gravelly whisper, his movements becoming more urgent as he felt you begin to tremble against his hand.
you managed to respond despite the continuous low gasps overflowing from your mouth. “how t-the hell?”
before eventually stopping the movements your hands were doing on his length, you squeezed his tip. he hissed at the sudden gesture, and started lapping at your lips roughly.
“turn around, we’ll make less sound.” you rolled your eyes at his crazy suggestion.
you shifted as quietly as possible, but the duvet still rustled like thunder.
definitely not a good idea. still, you like it.
you had no choice but to just swallow the huge lump on your throat.
anton hooked a leg over yours to pull you into a tight, sideways spoon. you could feel the intense thud of his heart matching your own.
"stay just like that," he breathed, his hand reaching around to grip your hip. “try not to make any noise, okay?”
"i'm gonna put it in." he guided himself in with one smooth, agonizingly slow push, the sensation of him filling you sideways making your breath hitch in your throat.
you reached back blindly, your fingers digging into his thigh as he began to move, his rhythmic thrusts shallow and controlled to keep the bed from creaking.
every time he bottomed out, he pressed a stifled, hungry kiss to your shoulder blade, his low grunts muffled against your skin. you can only bite your lip to stifle any moans.
with every shallow thrust, he tilted his hips just enough to hit a specific spot.
it was agonizingly good. anton’s grip on your hip tightened, his fingers bruising your skin as he picked up the pace, seemingly not caring about the sound of the duvet rustling too much.
“fuck, you're so tight," anton hissed into your skin, sending shivers down your spine. you can’t help but let out a grin to what he had just told you.
you buried your face deep into the pillow that you grabbed next to you, the fabric damp from your breath as you fought the urge to ruin the silence.
“harder.” you moaned out. then, his movements become more desperate and less controlled.
anton leaned down even more, his teeth grazing the sensitive part of your nape as he struggled to keep his own composure.
your heart hammered so hard against your ribs. the bed gave a tiny creak, and the both of you froze instantly.
but anton didn’t stop with his persistent movements, his thrusts are deeper now, more insistent.
you attempted to peek to check if someone from the other side of the room stirred.
“we’re good,” anton let out a shaky, hot breath against your ear.
the sound of his skin slapping wetly against yours was a rhythmic and dangerous chorus filling the room’s quiet atmosphere. it was not that loud but you can only internally offer a prayer that the others were truly as deep in their sleep.
his thrusts became shorter and more desperate, resulting in a soft moan slipping off your mouth.
“ssshh…” he rested his free thumb on your lips. your hands went feral, not knowing where to place or grip it; your toes curling against the mattress.
“you’re doing good, baby.”
anton seemed to sense you were close. you felt the familiar coil of tension tightening in your stomach, so he reached down with his thumb to find your clit, applying a grounding pressure that sent you over the edge.
this put your brain to a short circuit as his actions followed by him barely pulling out now, and opting for deep, grinding hitches that forced you to bite down hard on your lips.
overstimulation has gotten into you. “close-” your body was already shaking, your hands grabbing his nape from the back as you attempted to bring his face close so you could kiss him messily.
anton’s quads were locked tight against your legs and his hand on your hip was practically pinning you down intensely.
“we’re not doing this again, anton lee.” you squirmed while he bottomed out again.
he let out a sharp, jagged inhale through his teeth, followed by an evident smirk you felt through his breath.
then, you felt that his entire frame shuddered with the effort of keeping a low groan only heard in the tiny proximity you were keeping.
with a heavy lunge, anton buried himself deep inside you and stayed, his entire body locking up as he’s almost reaching his limit.
anton’s grip on your hips finally slackened, leaving a muffled and guttural groan right on the skin of your shoulder. he then immediately replaced it with a soft peck.
slowly, he withdrew, pulling out at the last possible second. you didn’t even have the chance to fight the soft whimper from the sudden feeling of his absence.
anton adjusted your hips while you felt your body finally relaxing as you let out your release. neither of you moved, and you can hear the loud synchronized thud of your hearts.
both bodies tensed against each other and you were exchanging ragged exhales with him in the dark.
with a quiet urgency, anton gripped himself and directed his release away from the sheets. you could hear the faint, wet sound of him moving frantically to chase his high and finish.
“fuck.” his voice barely breathed. “i love you, baby.” blurting out those words as if he was launched to cloud nine.
your eyes were still closed, tired from the sneaky situation. “tissues in my bag beside you.” your hazy mind was still able to form some words.
you felt his heavy figure slumped back against the mattress with his chest rising and falling in jagged heaves that turned into a sudden low groan.
anton crawled back toward you as he tucked his face into your neck, "worth the risk," he whispered. you scoffed in return as you felt his soft lips on your skin.
he pulled you closer and draped a heavy, protective arm over your waist.
“hell no,” your chest was still heaving. “i think i prefer the jetski idea now.”
anton pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing mindless circles on your arm. "let’s clean up, baby. " he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with exhaustion. “bathroom’s just to our right, so…”
you let out a long, shaky sigh of pure contentment as you fix your clothes. “you okay?” anton helped you up, enough to not cause the bed to groan.
once the door clicked shut, you immediately pulled him in for a quick hug. he rested his chin on the top of your head while you feel the warmth of his embrace. your legs swaying slightly from fatigue.
“careful,” anton whispered as he guided you. “here,” his voice lost its rasp and returned to its usual gentle tone.
anton gave you a quick kiss on the forehead as he started carefully cleaning you.
you mumbled, “we are not sharing a room with anyone next time.”
he let out a small chuckle. “you didn’t like the thrill?”
“that’s your fantasy?” you lightly smacked his arm while he was busy helping you.
suggestive. sexual tension. making out. no smut everyone will be edged :P
2759 words. not proofread + texts are plain haha 😭still, hope you enjoy 😁 lmk your thoughts :);)
today's dance practice already felt off.
you were late, dragging your feet from the exhausting shift you pulled last night, and it was a double kill when your coach decided to actually be a coach today. first thirty minutes of training was him pulling you aside for a lecture on the importance of respecting everyone's time.
you hadn't found a single second to review the steps everyone was asked to practice beforehand. because of that, you were constantly a beat behind, and it was visibly painful to watch your own reflection looking so lost and clumsy in the mirrors.
and of course, we have to mention how anton looked so extra hot today.
anton. the member you have a stupid crush on.
he’s a long-time member of the dance troupe, friends with everyone, and undeniably attractive. you only joined a a few months ago, so you’re still part of the rookie lineup, adjusting to the rhythm of the group and trying to get closer to the older members.
that includes anton, who is notoriously intimidating and usually only sticks to his inner circle.
he’s friendly, sure, but he isn't the type to start a conversation; you’d have to approach him with something actually interesting for him to give you the time of day.
some of your co-dancers know about your silly crush, but they don’t even bother teasing you. they’ve long since established that everyone in the group has a crush on him at least once before they eventually give up. they call it a 'canon event.'
even anton is aware of it, and he has been verbal about his strict personal rule about never dating anyone within the troupe.
but it’s been months, and you’re still stuck on him.
you already had a bad start to your day, and he was unconsciously making it worse just by existing in your peripheral vision.
a ten-minute break was finally called. after you spent a few minutes frantically refining your footwork, coach called anton’s group up to run their choreography.
while you and your friend slumped down in the front, leaning against the cool glass of the mirrors to watch.
you couldn't stop staring. of course, that’s given for how attracted you are to him. he was wearing a thin black parka and a snapback pulled low, a combination that felt like a personal attack on your sanity.
you were basically ogling him at this point, which didn't help your reputation as the'annoying rookie who kept messing up the counts earlier.
the most frustrating part of being in the same room as anton is that he knows exactly how attractive he is.
he’s aware of his effect to other people.
or maybe to you only.
as they finished the choreo, some of the boys started messing around, comparing their muscles in the mirror. it was a ridiculous sight since half of them didn't even have visible gains and were just doing it for the bit.
as you and the other girls were laughing at their antics, anton slid into the fun. he lined up with the others, eyes catching his own reflection, and casually bunched his shirt up in his fist to show off his torso.
anton with toned, six-pack abs.
he had a smug, knowing look on his face as he let the fabric drop, laughing along with the boys who were snickering and clapping him on the back.
you froze. you forgot to breathe for a solid minute, convinced that if you died right now, the final seven minutes of your brain activity would just be a replay of that specific action he just did in front of you.
fuck. fuck. fuck. you just know the consequence of this would be so embarrassing.
practice started again, but you were completely gone. arms and feet aren’t even coordinating at all. it’s as if your locomotor skills just left your body for a whole hour.
you kept catching his eye in the mirror instead of focusing on your own hands, and it got so bad that coach finally snapped.
“go jog three laps, all the way to the 20th floor,” coach barked.
you had to admit, you needed the time out.
you needed to get away from the immediate proximity of anton, who was starting to look less like a crush and more like a distraction you couldn't afford.
you slipped into the fire exit and sighed. the studio was on the 15th floor, so five flights of stairs felt like a fair price to pay for a mental reboot. but as you started to jog, your mind went straight back to the way he moved during the set.
and also back to the antics he made at the mirror.
but shit, he danced with a kind of effortless, heavy control despite his tall figure.
anton’s movements were sharp but fluid, the beats were just following him. you could still see the way the light caught the sweat on his neck, and the way his parka shifted with every shoulder movement he did.
he was in his element, looking both casual and completely disciplined.
it was impossible to look away from him. really.
on your final lap, your lungs were already crying for help and your legs felt completely wobbly. coach probably wouldn't know you were sitting on the stairs just to catch your breath.
you were panting so hard you had to stare at the wall in front of you, eyes involuntarily closing as you tried to keep up with your own breathing.
then, a creak echoed from the heavy fire exit door.
anton, already changed into a black tank top and looking fresh without a single drop of sweat, gave you the impression that training had ended early. you just looked at him, having zero clue what brought him to the fire exit.
“is coach looking for me?” you stood up where you were, your back an inch from the wall.
anton stopped in front of you, leaning against the railing beside him. unexpectedly, he tossed a cold bottle toward you, which your reflexes caught quickly. his gaze remained fixed on you, a question mark already forming in your head.
he stepped closer, his presence making your legs feel extra wobbly.
fuck. he looks so good up close.
you tried to look away as he gently snatched the water bottle back from your hands to crack the seal. his biceps were visibly sculpted under the dim light of the cramped stairwell. you were staring at his arms, and he definitely noticed.
“you seem distracted,” he started. you looked up at him; he was looking down at you, hands relaxing at his sides.
you cleared your throat. “something’s just been on my mind lately.”
“hmm? tell me about it.” he relaxed his stance, looking away for a second before returning his focus to you. this time, he looked at you intensely, as if you’d done something to him.
you had to improvise. “you know, work. i had a bad shift yesterday. that’s all.”
his musky, woody scent was so apparent that your brain started wondering what expensive cologne he was wearing. you just wanted to pull him by his tank top and breathe him in.
“you seem distracted,” anton replied with a smirk.
you were already nervous, a cold shiver running through you despite the heat.
what the hell was happening? the fire exit felt so heavy with tension that the air was starting to get stiflingly hot.
suddenly, he released a chuckle that made the tension high and the atmosphere too thick.
“why are you even here?” you murmured in response, attempting to look back at him just as intensely.
instead, anton leaned in until your shoulders were pressed firmly against the brick wall, one of his hands coming up to rest right beside your head, effectively trapping you.
you tried so hard not to follow his movements so you can take a glance at his very obvious biceps.
holy shit. your lungs were going to collapse.
his voice dropped an octave. “is that why you couldn't keep your eyes off me? because you were thinking about work?”
you tried not to give an obvious reaction to what he just said, swallowing the lump in your throat.
he backed off for a bit, looked at the wall, and gave a fake nod. “okay, okay.”
his eyes never left yours. you fanned yourself with your hands, given how hot it was getting in the fire exit. all of a sudden, he deliberately pressed the cold, damp bottle against the side of your neck.
you gasped at the sudden shock of cold, your pulse thumping hard against the plastic.
“it’s hot, right?” he whispered, his smirk widening as he watched your reaction.
at that moment, your brain rewired. two could play this game, anton.
you just stared at his lips. anton noticed the shift in your gaze and stopped smirking. he raised an eyebrow at your sudden, composed expression.
he leaned down, his lips hovering just inches from your ear. “should i do something about it?”
once again, your eyes met his.
“you’re so confident,” you remarked as the air grew even stiller. your mind replaying again the antics he did earlier at the studio.
he was facing you again, his face still inches away from yours. both of you were watching each other’s features closely, ready to acknowledge the tension between you.
you moved your gaze from his eyes down to his lips, your hand voluntarily tilting his chin up with your thumb.
with your sudden, bold movement, anton couldn’t help but let out a surprised, puppy-like grin. he was turning pink, too.
you furrowed your brows in confusion.
you watched him as his grin faded into the kind of stare that made you want to just melt into the ground.
then, you fixed your posture, appearing as confident as he was. “tell me you want it too,” you whispered.
his other hand slowly snaked to your waist, eyes never leaving yours. the contact made you freeze in an instant.
“definitely,” he asserted. “more than you’d ever know.”
then do something, fuck. you wanted to voice that out loud.
you pushed him back with one hand, landing right on his chest.
instead of pulling away, he gently grabbed your hand with his own, pressing it harder against his heartbeat so you could feel how fast he was going, too.
“is that enough proof?” anton smirked, finally letting go of your hand.
his other hand never left your waist. worse, it started to stroke your side in a slow, agonizing motion.
every interaction in this god-forsaken fire exit felt like a ticking bomb.
the forgotten water bottle was already sweating against your fingers, the cold condensation making you even more aware of the heat radiating between you.
you finally found your voice and murmured, “are we gonna keep having a staring contest?”
“do something, anton,” you said firmly.
the challenge made him drop the smirk instantly, realizing you weren’t backing down.
shit. holy shit. your lungs were going to burst.
he leaned in until your noses were brushing, testing to see who would break first. just inches away from your lips, a new smirk formed on his.
he moved his hand from your waist to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline with a heavy, deliberate pressure.
i hope i’m dreaming, you thought. no. for fuck’s sake, this is real. anton kept his nose brushed against yours, his breath hitching as he murmured, “you asked for this, baby.”
in a heartbeat, the next thing you heard was the loud echo of the water bottle hitting the concrete floor. the second the bottle hit, anton didn’t give you another second to breathe before he devoured your mouth.
you took over instantly, your tongue tracing his bottom lip before deepening the kiss. his hand snaked back to your waist to pull you forward while his body slammed into yours, pinning you against the wall.
the kiss was messy and desperate, a testament to too much pent-up frustration and intensity.
you pulled him even closer by his tank top, then both of your hands roamed to his arms, feeling the hard curve of his muscles. the shock of your touch made him lose his composure completely.
you pulled away suddenly, breathless, as you felt just how large and flexed his biceps were.
anton whined at the sudden loss of contact.
you slowly rubbed the muscle, realizing he really had a sleeper build underneath the clothes he wore. “what kind of workout are you even doing?”
“it's just naturally big,” anton whispered, before catching your lips again. his hands were everywhere now.
the kiss continued, deeper and more deliberate, until the sound of muffled voices in the hallway made you freeze.
anton didn't stop. instead, he pressed his body fully onto yours and kissed you harder, his thumb pressing into your jaw to keep you focused only on him. the closer the contact, the harder you felt him down there. your effect on anton was very apparent already.
still, the risk of getting caught had finally gotten to you. you couldn't help the small whimper that escaped, a sound he caught and swallowed whole, making him growl into the kiss.
his grip on your waist tightened while your hands remained fixed on his sculpted arms.
you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about this, especially the way his tongue was currently claiming yours.
at this point, you were going to be a total nuisance at the next training session because you wouldn’t have a clue how to act around him. it was so bad.
“i need you,” his voice sounded completely wrecked.
anton seemed to be replaying everything that had led to this moment. so, he guided one of your hands under the hem of his tank top. you flinched as you felt his abs, tight and ridged under your palm.
suddenly, you pressed your hands against his stomach and shoved him, making both of you stumble back. it was hard not to close the gap again, not when the sight of him panting was right in front of you, his chest heaving as he stared you down.
everything about this moment was dizzying.
anton, on the other hand, looked like he was fighting every urge to just lunge forward and pull you back.
this fire exit was a terrible place for whatever this was. or whatever could be.
you walked past him to get some space and catch your breath. you were both a mess. hair ruffled, lips swollen, and skin glistening with a mix of sweat and heat.
faced with the sudden weight of reality, you looked down at the floor. “i have a crush on you, anton. i don't know if it was obvious already... but whatever just happened, we can forget about it if you didn’t like it.”
he sat down on the stairs, catching his breath as if he wasn't a trained dancer.
“how can i forget about that when i’m already thinking about how we’re gonna go back to that studio? it’s empty now. everyone already went home,” he admitted, his voice still rough.
anton slowly stood up, his movements forced you to look up at him as he neared you.
“i didn’t know how to act around you either, so i always played it cool. i acted like you weren't even there because i get so stiff and awkward when you’re close.”
you let out a breathy, nervous laugh, “shut up.” you refused to believe his confession.
anton responded, “i’m not joking.” a faint flush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the heat of the stairwell.
“sure,” you briefly returned, finally looking at him. he’s the one to walk past you this time, heading to the door.
your heart seemed to stop for a second when your eyes instantly noticed something on anton’s lower body.
“you say you’re stiff around me but you’re still hard right now.”
anton groaned, hiding his face in his hands for a second before turning his head back to you as he held the heavy door open.
you continued to tease him. “is it naturally big as well?”
anton can only respond by whining and asking you to stop. you skipped towards him while chuckling.
as the heavy door closed behind you, he looked up at you with a predatory grin.
