thinking about... anton who needs your tits in his mouth at all times
word count: 3.1k
content warning: fem reader, oral fixation, dry humping, breast play, p in v, unprotected sex, no real power play they're just teasing the fuck out of each other, begging, anton being a perv and desperate as FUCK, aftercare, anton drools a lot in this lol?
i feel like it's common knowledge at this point that anton really, might actually have an oral fixation. i mean, have you seen how often he touches his lips and the many photocards of him having random stuff in his mouth? yeah. personally, i also think anton is a boob guy. he doesn't care whether they're small or big, boobs are boobs and he's probably just happy he gets to touch yours.
that combo, though? ugh.
your boyfriend is the kind of guy who loves to use your boobs as a pillow, nearly making them spill out of your shirt with how much he snuggles his face to them because he needs the skin to skin contact. anton's a goner when you bring one of your hands to the back of his head to play with his hair while the other caresses his bare back, needy whines coming from his mouth as he shifts on top of you. you can feel something pressing against the soft insides of your right thigh and it doesn't take long until anton starts humping his semi hard cock on you, his breath coming out shallow—which leads to his open mouth getting drool all over your shirt and breasts while his grip on your hip tightens to hold you in place.
"oh, fuck– oh, baby... mhm, you feel so fucking good," he barely manages to let the words out with how much he's moaning, the friction on his sensitive dick, the soft skin of your boobs under his cheek and the way your nails scratch his scalp just right, pulling his hair every so often when he grinds too hard onto you... it's all too much. anton feels like he could cum from just this, but he can't. he won't.
though his right arm stays under you to keep you place, his left hand hastily moves to your shirt, his actions nearly aggressive as he pulls it down and guides your nipple to his mouth. you giggle at how eager anton always gets when he wants to have you in his mouth, but it's quickly suppressed by a heavy sigh when you feel anton's tongue licking the underside of your boob before sucking on your nipple as if expecting something to come out, already feeling yourself getting wet from his ministrations. he keeps his hand on your right breast to angle it towards his mouth as he refuses to lift his head from your left one, all while he still humps your thigh, albeit more clumsily now.
you hiss when he pulls back from your boob after a particularly hard suck, and the cold air hitting your spit slicked nipple makes it even harder, much to anton's delight. "need you in my mouth all the time, fuck," he moans, this time lifting his head so he can lick the entirety of your breast before starting to suck on your nipple again. he moves so he's sitting back on his haunches, placing your legs on either side of his waist before pulling the other side of your shirt so both your tits are out.
the first few times anton fucked you, he always went straight to your boobs first, which led you to try and take off your shirt to make things easier for him. depending on the day, he either would either whine or groan, but anton never let you take if off during foreplay—in his sick, perverted mind, he gets off so bad on seeing you all fucked out under him, the wetness oozing out of your pussy staining your panties and your tits pressed together, all bitten and slick with his spit, spilling out of your shirt in a tight fit. anton groans at the sight, "my baby looks so fucking good for me... i love you so much, you're so fucking pretty."
you grab anton by his hair again, a loud moan coming out of his mouth as you pull him towards you. anton barely has time to place his forearm next to your head to brace himself before your lips are on his, kissing him sloppily just the way he likes. in this position, he can hump your pussy instead of your thigh, and that's exactly what he does. anton angles his hips so his hard cock can grind on your neglected clit, all while you're kissing the air out of him and his free hand plays with your boob, lightly squeezing it and pulling on your pebbled nipple. when you pull back, you can feel anton's dick twitch against your pussy and inside his pajama shorts as he watches the string of saliva that still connects your mouths, licking it before pressing another wet, fat kiss on your lips.
anton doesn't waste time getting back to your tits, though, pressing both of them together before alternating between licking and sucking each of them. you let out whiny moans, needing some stimulation on your slick, empty cunt again, so you use your legs that are still wrapped around his waist to pull anton closer to where you need, making his dick perfectly grind against your clit. you keep using your legs to basically get him to fuck you through your clothes, making the two of you whiny messes, letting out loud moans you're sure your neighbors are hearing.
you can feel anton lose his focus on your tits due to how good you're making his dick feel. he stopped sucking on your nipples to just having his open mouth around one of them as he moans uncontrollably, his spit leaking out of his mouth and making its way under your shirt. when anton feels like he's getting too close to cumming, he grips your hips so fucking tight to stop you it makes you whine. he moves to kiss you messily again, your tongues sliding against each other in a way that makes your pussy clench around nothing. he's breathless as he says against your lips "baby, please, let me fuck this pussy. god, fuck. wanna fuck you so bad, i love your fucking pussy." anton can feel his sanity slipping even further when you let out an airy laugh and say "yeah? you wanna put your big cock inside me? you need it, baby?"
anton nods eagerly, his hold on your hips getting impossibly tighter as he tries to stop himself from grinding down on you, knowing he's too close to cumming inside his shorts. "i need it so much, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good on my cock. best pussy i've ever fucked, please!" as much as you love having a man like anton—big, hot, insanely handsome—nearly crying as he begs to fuck you, you feel like you're two seconds away from absolutely losing it if you don't impale yourself on his dick. you push his shoulder slightly to get him off of you, telling him "sit up, baby" when he whines, thinking you're gonna leave him like this. when he sees you pulling your panties down, his eyes glint with a newfound desperation as he quickly discards his pajama shorts, moaning when the cool air hits his cock that's been drooling with precum from the moment you put your hands on his hair.
it takes all your might to focus on just telling anton to rest his back against the headboard and not lean down to put that perfect, twitching fat dick of his inside your mouth. you lick your lips as if you could already feel the taste of his skin and precum on your tongue, but you unfortunately have more pressing matters at the moment. as you lift one leg to straddle anton's lap, his left hand immediately finds your waist, finally tugging on the hem of your shirt to take it off of you. anton then pulls you flush against his chest as his other hand holds the base of his dick to slide his slick head against your folds, making you both sigh needily. before you can cuss him out for taking too long, he pushes your hips down in one swift motion, forcing a loud whine out of your throat as you feel your pussy get completely stuffed from his big cock.
"fuck, toni, that's it" you moan you set a quick pace on his dick, exerting yourself to the max as you need to almost stand completely on your knees so you can ride the entirety of anton's length before sliding back down. even if riding your boyfriend is tiring, you keep letting out high pitched whines every time you bottom out, feeling high off the way he makes you feel so fucking full. anton, on the other hand, feels his dick get even harder from how warm and tight your walls feel sliding against him, the wet sound of your ass hitting his thigh making you both delirious. what really gets him going, though, is hearing you whimper when his hands on your hips slightly shift your position so his fat tip nudges the deepest parts of your pussy. one of anton's moves from your hip to curl around the hair at the back of your head, tugging on it just enough for it to sting a little as he pulls your face closer to his. his tongue wastes no time diving into your mouth as soon as your lips touch, sliding against yours in a rapid but sensual rhythm that had you both moaning into each other's mouths. when anton pulls back, he leans away only enough for him to be able to whisper against your lips "i swear to god this pussy was made to take my dick. i love it so much," making you whine as you felt yourself gushing and clenching even more around him.
anton feels like he could seriously detach himself from how good you're making his dick feel and cum solely from watching you rolling your eyes back due to the almost painful pleasure you're feeling. the way your boobs move up and down, in tandem with your movements on his cock, feel downright hypnotic—he only realizes he had been staring at them with an open mouth like a freak when your hand slides up from his shoulder towards his face, using your index finger on his chin to make him look you in the eyes while your thumb cleaned the saliva that had drooled from his mouth as he was gawking at you. you then slowly move your thumb from the corner of his lips and into his awaiting mouth, feeling yourself smirk as anton closes his eyes and moans around your finger, feeling you slow down your pace until you're grinding down on him instead.
when anton opens his eyes again, he barely looks into your eyes before his gaze drops to your boobs again, squeezing your waist tightly. he mumbles something around your thumb and you pull it out of his mouth to let him speak. anton lets out a raspy and hushed "need them in my mouth so damn bad," before he plants both his feet on the mattress and slides down on it so he's now lying on his back. you position your hand flat beside his face to support yourself as you playfully roll your eyes, letting out a breathy laugh while you caress his soft cheek with your free hand, saying "you're such a perv." anton laughs too, but he quickly masks it with an exaggerated pout. he pushes the side of his face further against your palm like a needy cat as he blinks up at you before he brings his hand to yours, holding it so he can press a kiss to your palm without breaking eye contact. when anton brings his hand back to your waist, he says "i just love you too much, baby. could worship you all day..."
that seals the deal for you. you can't spend another second feeling him twitching impatiently inside you, so you just decide to give the man what he wants—you lean down so you're supporting yourself on your forearm instead of your palm and use your free hand to guide one of your breasts towards anton's parted lips, the corner of his eyes already lift up with happiness. the moment he latches onto your nipple, anton's hands slide down to your hips to hold you firmly as he starts to quickly thrust into you from below. you whine loudly from how hard and fast he's fucking you, just the way you like, and you use the hand from the arm supporting you to tug at his hair, trying not to let your body give up and fall on top of his. "toni," you whimper, pulling his hair harder to alleviate some of the immense pleasure you were feeling. "your dick feels too good– oh my god, it's too fucking good!"
anton moans around your tit when he feels you pulling on his hair, feeling himself getting close from all the stimulation—your filthy words ringing in his head, the pain on his scalp, your wet pussy clenching tightly around him and your nipple getting harder and harder against his tongue—so he moves one hand to find your clit, his fingers almost slipping past it from how wet you are. in the back of your mind, you think it's all too much much for him to be sucking your tit, fucking you that fast and now he's trying to stimulate your clit too, but the thought quickly slips from your mind when his fingers start rubbing it in fast up and down movements.
"fuck, fuck, fuck, toni, i'm cumming, plase don't stop!" you manage to say between loud moans, and anton lets your breast fall out of his mouth to groan "fuck, yeah. cum on my cock, baby, i wanna feel it." hearing those words is all that was left for you to finally reach your breaking point, opening your mouth in a silent moan as you feel yourself spasming on anton's dick.
when it's finally over, you're gasping for air as you let your body slump over anton's, feeling too weak to keep holding yourself up. you let out quiet little cries as anton keeps fucking you fast and steady, laughing deliriously between groans with how good he felt "you're amazing, baby, fuck. i'm gonna cum so fucking much inside you," he says as he uses the hand that was previously on your clit to hold your hair and keep it away from your neck so he could kiss it. you feel tears sliding down your face as anton's thrusts get impossibly faster, and he groans against your neck "oh, pretty girl, i love using your pussy so much– i'm gonna cum! i'm gonna cum so much inside you, okay? take it– fuck, take it all, please!"
you're not even registering his words anymore from how overstimulated you feel, just nodding along to whatever anton is saying and begging him to finish already—both because you're so tired and because you absolutely love when he cums inside, "please, toni! give me your cum, please, baby!" anton groans loudly, latching his mouth onto your neck before wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you flush against him, fucking a few more hard thrusts into you before he stalled, lifting his hips from the mattress with how hard he pushed into you. all you can do is sigh and sniff tiredly against anton's hair as you stop crying, your entire body trembling as you feel your pussy get even more stuffed, both from anton's big cock and his cum—which, as he promised, was a lot.
anton keeps holding you on top of him as you both calm down, waiting for your breaths and hearts to slow down and pressing reassuring kisses to your shoulder. when he feels like he can move again, anton gently pushes you away from him to lay you down on the mattress, chuckling when you groan in complaint as you feel his dick slide out of you and his load start to drip down your thighs. he gets on his haunches between your legs again, being careful to keep some distance between both your crotches are you're still sensitive.
you're still kind of out of it, your eyes closed, when your boyfriend leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, barely having the energy to kiss him back. anton proceeds to press kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, jaw and neck, mumbling against your skin "that was so good. you're so good to me, my love," making you smile and sigh happily. when you don't say anything back, anton pulls back to get a better look at you and says teasingly "what? i fucked you too good and now you can't speak, baby, is that it?"
you finally open your eyes to give a deadpan look to your boyfriend, saying begrudgingly "you're so annoying..." anton laughs, lightly pinching your side and making you flinch, "oh, so now you can speak?" you just roll eyes, barely stopping yourself from laughing too. he moves to lay beside you, pulling you close to him so your head is resting on his chest and his fingers are tracing shapes on your back.
anton has half a mind to grab tissues from his bedside table to clean you up when you distract him by asking "are we really gonna stay in bed?" you slightly lift your head from anton's chest to look at the time on anton's clock at said bedside table, letting your head fall back down as you comment "it's, like, way past noon. aren't you hungry?" you don't have to see it when you're able to hear the cheeky smile on anton's face as he says "babe, my mouth was full ten minutes ago. i'm doing great." you playfully push his body away from yours in mock exasperation, which gives anton the opening he needs to quickly lean down and give a quick suck to one of your nipples. you push him away again, laughing, "oh, my god! you're worse than a baby!"
anton just smiles up at you, moving up to kiss your lips before a smirk takes over his face. you feel one of his hand sneaking its way on the side of your body as he says "besides, even if i start feeling hungry, i have a full course meal waiting for me right here." before you can ask him what he means, anton's fingers find your pussy again, making your body twitch from sensitivity as they slide through your folds to gather the remnants of your slick and his cum. anton brings his now wet fingers to his mouth, groaning in delight at your combined taste.
he pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop, smiling deviously as he says "delicious." as you stare at him, you swear you feel yourself start getting wet again, so you pull anton towards you to kiss him hard, feeling his spit slicked hand hold your hip tightly as anton moves his body from his side to fit between your legs again. you speak against his lips "you're a freak."
"just for you," anton smiles before leaning down to kiss you again.
a/n: can you guys tell i wrote most of this when i SO pissed off and wanted a pretty man to service me and make it better? also, this is my first time writing a full blown smut (and in english, at that) and it took me three days to write it lol be kind, guys 💔
𓏵 having a boyfriend who was in the year above you and popular was not for the weak, especially when he has a whole fanbase that berates you over simply dating him *ੈ✩‧₊˚
ナナ’s ⦂ the request for this fic disappeared from my asks 😭 but anyway thank you anon for requesting ♡
dating someone who’s popular is one thing, but dating the anton lee? that was a whole other thing. if you asked the whole school about him, 97% of them would say they wanted him. to be fair, he is the perfect man – tall, smart, a swimmer, and insanely good looking. it wasn’t a surprise that everyone had an underlying crush on him. and even though he was yours, you couldn’t help but feel a little ticked off whenever someone got a little too close to him.
it was hard getting the students to accept your relationship with anton. first of all, most of them were envious of you, and secondly, you were in the grade below him. everyday, students from anton’s year would come up to you and argue about how ‘they deserved the title as his girlfriend more’, or how ‘you’re too immature to date him.’ it drove you insane. if he had a competition, people would make signs and posters, calling him their boyfriend, and that’s why you didn’t like going to them.
“i’m so nervous, baby.” anton pulled you into his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head. his hands carded through your hair, humming softly as he held you tight. “come to the competition, please?”
“i don’t wanna see all those posters, anton…” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his body. “please, y/n. i wanna see you there or else i’ll come dead last.” he held your face, positioning it so you’d look at his pleading face. “please? just for today. plus, the guys’ll be there, they’ll hide them from you.”
as much as you disliked going to his competitions due to all the posters, knowing it’d put you in a bad mood later, you had to go. for anton, at least. “fine,” you gave in, leaning your weight on anton.
his smile reached his eyes, when you agreed, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “thanks, angel.” he quickly ushered you out of the guys changing room, hearing more people bustle in. “i’ll see you out there.” he pressed his lips to your cheek, letting it linger a little longer this time.
it had been barely ten minutes until you started noticing all the banners, but thankfully you also noticed anton’s friends who were calling you over to sit with them. the competition was gonna be a long one.
more under the cut ⋆.ೃ࿔*:・
the crowd was relatively quiet, but the moment anton stepped out? it’s like he was offering everyone a million dollars. girls screamed his name, standing up and jumping around in the bleachers as he walked out, giving you a small wave.
“they really love your boyfriend, huh?” shotaro chuckled, still astonished by the volume of the mob despite experiencing this multiple times before.
eunseok clicked his tongue at the sight of so many losing it over anton. “don’t they know he’s taken?” his head cocked to the side, eyes squinting. “gosh, they’re insane. look at those posters.” he pointed at a select few, reading them out. “...’lee anton, you’re mine’ oh, yeah no.”
“i can’t believe even the older students do it.” sohee furrowed his brows, as annoyed as you. “it’s so childish.”
shotaro saw how your smile slowly turned the other way around, quickly deciding to say something. “it’s okay, y/n. anton only has eyes for you.” he pat your shoulder, nodding his head.
the swimmers had hardly touched the water and the rally got louder, piercing through your eardrum. and that was just the start. as the tournament went on, the yells for anton just kept on increasing. girls’ squeaking voices rang in your ear, shrills loud enough to break the glass windows.
once anton had ultimately won most of his events, bringing home three golds and two silver medals, his fangirls snapped pictures of him, some even took pictures with him, posing like he was a celebrity.
you made your way down the stairs, ready to congratulate your boyfriend, when another student, one in his year, stopped you in your way, blocking you from anton.
“excuse me, i was here first.” she said in a stern voice, keeping her arm out, defending you as if she was a security guard for anton. “get in line.”
“i’m his girlfriend,” you said, keeping your voice calm, though on the inside you were burning with anger. you attempted to push through her shield of an arm, but she used all of her strength, shoving you back to where you were.
she rolled her eyes at your perseverance. “i don’t care if you’re his girlfriend. you don’t deserve to be, anyway. he should be with someone more mature, someone in his year, like me.”
unbeknownst to her, anton had been listening the whole time behind her.
“could you not block my girlfriend’s way?” he said, clearly annoyed. “i’m dating her and not you for a reason. i don’t care if you’re the same age as me, y/n’s the one for me.”
her face turned bright red, full of embarrassment. “s-sorry…” she managed to mutter before scurrying away.
anton eyed her as she ran away, glaring at her through the corner of his eyes. “hey, baby.” his medals clanked against one another as he walked toward you. “thanks for coming,” this time, he kissed you on the lips, holding your waist with a strong grip. “my lucky charm.” you could feel him smile as he kissed you, smugly showing you off in front of everyone who wishes they were in your position.
“ugh, tonie…” you whined as you pulled away from his face. “your hair’s literally dripping.” you exhaled, grossed out by how your hands were soaked in pool water now.
he drew you back into his arms, giggling as he shook his hair, flinging drops of water on you. “whatever.” he laughed at the way you complained about him drenching your uniform yet still hugged him back.
it was safe to say that you were the only one for him.
wc: 4.8k | pairing: long distance bf!anton x gf!reader | genre: ANGST, smut | warnings: lots of angst, yearning, and pining, lots of emotions, emotional conversations, emotional make up sex, p in v, unprotected sex
synopsis! this was a request ( @namedinwinter ) where anton is a loving long distance bf to yn, but they're both always yearning for the other. anton never wants to take it further than kissing out of his guilt of not being able to be there like he wants to for yn, but yn thinks the worst of this situation...
the nights always felt longer without him. you lay on your back, phone resting on your chest, watching anton’s face glow faintly on the screen. his hair was a little messy, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue, but he was still smiling at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“you’re tired,” you said softly, even though your own voice carried exhaustion.
he shook his head. “i just don’t want to hang up yet.”
there was always this small stretch of silence after he said things like that. it wasn’t heavy or awkward, just full of something unspoken—the wanting that hung between you both. you loved him, he loved you, and yet the miles between you pressed against your chest like a weight you couldn’t push off.
he told you about his day, small things that wouldn’t matter to anyone else: what he ate for lunch, the way the rain hit the practice room windows, the joke one of his friends made that he wished you had been there to laugh at too. you listened to every word like you were collecting them, storing them away for the nights you wouldn’t have him at all.
but even as you smiled, you felt that familiar hollow ache. love wasn’t the problem. the distance was. the way your bed always stayed cold on his side, the way you held your phone instead of his hand, the way you had to imagine his arms around you when you fell asleep.
he didn’t notice the way your smile faltered, too busy fighting sleep, eyes fluttering closed before he snapped them open again to look at you. “don’t go yet,” he mumbled, like a child refusing bedtime.
“i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.
and you meant it. but the thought still pressed at the edges of your mind—how long could you really keep this up? how many more nights of distance, of phone screens instead of skin?
the melancholy lingered, quiet but steady, as you listened to his breathing on the other end. sometimes you closed your eyes and pretended he was beside you, close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. and when he finally was—when distance gave you a brief reprieve—the moments were fleeting, fragile things you tried to hold onto.
anton kissed you until his chest ached. your hands were clutching at his shirt, warm against his skin, and for a second, he thought he might lose himself in you completely.
but then the familiar weight settled in. the reminder that he wasn’t here enough, that he was about to leave again, that you spent more time waiting for him than actually with him.
anton pulled back, breath shaky, and forced a small smile. “sorry,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your cheek as if he could erase the disappointment before it formed.
you only nodded, resting your head against his shoulder. you didn’t say it, but anton felt the tension in your body—the way you had been ready for more, the way you would never ask for it.
later, lying in bed beside you, he stared at the ceiling instead of sleeping. your breathing was steady, soft against his chest, but his thoughts spun relentlessly.
anton wanted you. he always did. every time he looked at you, his chest ached with it, a need that went beyond anything physical. but it felt selfish to ask for more when he already gave you so little.
anton thought about the nights you spent alone, holding a phone instead of him. he thought about the time he wasted in airports, in practice rooms, in hotel beds miles away from your warmth. what kind of boyfriend was he? what kind of man?
anton’s hand twitched where it rested on your arm, wanting to pull you closer, to give in. but his guilt stopped him. he had already taken so much from you—your patience, time, your constant reassurance that distance didn’t matter. he didn't deserve to take more.
so anton kissed the top of your head instead, as if that would be enough, and shut his eyes.
you would never know how often he lay awake like this, staring into the dark and wishing he were different. wishing he wasn’t the boy who left you behind more often than he held you. wishing he could be brave enough to tell you how much he needed you, in every way.
but instead, anton told himself the same lie he always did: that holding back was better. that not asking too much of you was a kind of love too.
still, the ache in anton’s chest didn’t ease. it only grew heavier, settling deep into him, until sleep finally took him under.
you watch him on the screen, the glow of his lamp casting soft shadows across his face, and for a moment, the ache in your chest dulls. you lean closer, resting your elbow on the bed and your chin in your palm, smiling at him like it’s nothing, though your heart is pounding.
“i got something,” you say, holding up a small, delicate package. his eyes flicker with curiosity. “you’re going to like it.”
he smiles, a little tight, a little hesitant. “oh?”
you pull it out slowly, letting him see the shape, teasing just enough to make him lean forward. “but… i haven’t tried it on yet. i want you to see it first.” your voice is softer now, and a quiet thrill coils through you at the thought of his reaction.
anton freezes. his cheeks flush pink, eyes widening just slightly, and he opens his mouth, then closes it again, fumbling for words. your pulse quickens—exactly what you wanted—but there’s also that tiny shadow at the edges of it, that hesitation that always lingers.
“you… you mean, now?” he stammers finally, his voice low, almost breathless.
you bite your lip, trying to keep your tone playful, but the tremor in your chest betrays you. “well… not really now,” you say, letting your words hover. “soon. just… imagine it, okay? imagine me in it, for you.”
his hands curl into fists at the edge of the desk, knuckles white, and his throat moves as he swallows. “i… i do,” he murmurs, barely audible, and then his gaze drops. the flush in his ears deepens, and he glances away, like he can’t meet you head-on.
you laugh softly, a little breathless, trying to shake off the disappointment crawling through you. it was supposed to be fun, meant to draw him out, make him want you like you wanted him. but instead… it’s a timid reaction, careful, restrained, and it leaves a hollow ache in your chest that mirrors the distance you feel even now.
he’s blushing, he’s flustered, he’s clearly affected by you. but it isn’t enough. it’s never quite enough, and your mind spins with the same persistent doubt: does he miss you the way you miss him? does he want you as much as you want him?
“anton?” you ask softly, tilting your head. he meets your eyes for a moment, and the sight of him—shy, vulnerable, longing—should be enough. but your chest tightens, and the melancholy hums through you like a song you can’t remember the lyrics to.
“yeah?” he whispers, voice tentative, fragile.
“i just… i can’t wait to see you,” you say, trying to hide the edge of longing that sharpens the words. “soon.”
he nods, swallow hard. his lips twitch into the ghost of a smile, but his eyes carry the weight of everything unspoken—the guilt, the restraint, the fear that he’ll never be enough for you.
you end the call soon after, leaving the screen dark, the room quiet. you lie back against the pillow and let your hands fall to your sides, thinking about how much you want him, how much you ache for him, and how sometimes, even love isn’t enough to fill the distance.
and somewhere, miles away, anton stares at the ceiling again, restless, wishing he could close the space between you—if only for a night, if only to prove you that he does, in fact, want you more than anything.
the memory of the facetime call from last night gnaws at you, sweet and frustrating all at once. the blush on his cheeks, the shy stammering, the way he turned away—it should have been intoxicating, proof of his yearning. but instead it leaves a hollow ache that spreads through your chest, heavy and gray. you wonder if he really misses you, if he wants you the way you want him.
your fingers linger on the set you bought for him, tucked in the drawer. you imagined wearing it for him, imagined the way he might react, imagined the way he might need you as much as you need him. but now, the thought only makes the pit in your stomach grow deeper. maybe he wouldn’t feel it the way you do.
so you leave it untouched, slipping it back into the drawer. today he’s coming, and the thought of him makes your chest both ache and constrict, but you don’t want to tempt disappointment. you don’t want to give him anything to misunderstand—or worse, for him to not respond the way your heart hopes he will.
the air smells damp, faintly of asphalt and something distant you can’t quite name. it presses against your skin, heavy and still, as though the world has slowed just enough to hold its breath. the hours stretch, gray and slow, like the rain outside has seeped inside and softened the edges of everything. your mind circles, turning over memories and half-formed fears, until you barely notice the knocks at the door.
he’s there, drenched slightly, the edges of his hair sticking to his forehead, eyes bright with something you can’t immediately read. he smells like rain and him, and it makes your chest ache.
“i missed you so much,” he says, closing the distance in one quick step and wrapping you in his arms. you feel the warmth, the pressure, the desperation in the hug—everything you’ve been craving for weeks.
but something in you hesitates. you stay still, letting him hold you, but you don’t curl into him like you always do. you keep your hands at your sides, and when he tightens his hold, it only makes the hollow ache in your chest feel heavier.
“i missed you too,” you say softly, and the words feel small, almost empty, even as your throat tightens. you close the door behind him slowly, the dampness of the apartment curling around both of you like a muted fog. the familiar scent of rain clinging to his coat, mingling with his cologne, should feel comforting—and yet it only reminds you how far apart you’ve been, how much space still exists between the two of you even when he’s finally here.
normally, you would move with him into the bedroom, brushing around his bags, sliding behind him to wrap your arms around him from behind as he set them down. the gesture was automatic, comforting, a rhythm you shared without thought. today, though, you linger in the doorway, your fingers pressed lightly against the frame, anchoring yourself. you feel unsteady, as if stepping fully toward him might collapse something fragile inside you.
anton’s steps slow as he notices your hesitation. his eyes search yours, cautious and gentle, tracing the tension in your shoulders, the subtle stiffness in your posture. the apartment is quiet, save for the distant patter of rain on the windows, and in that quiet, the air between you feels almost tangible—heavy, hesitant, as if it could solidify into something unmovable if either of you made the wrong gesture.
he tilts his head slightly, a question forming in his eyes, but it remains unspoken, hovering in the gray light. he takes a careful step closer, measuring, as if approaching too fast might shatter the fragile calm you both cling to.
you inhale shakily, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your racing heart. the weight of your uncertainty presses down like a quiet storm, and your chest aches in the way it always does when longing collides with doubt.
when you finally open your eyes, anton is fully turned toward you, his expression a mixture of longing and worry, soft and hesitant. the concern in his gaze digs into you, and your chest tightens even more, because you know he can sense that something is off—that the gray tension is yours and his fault all at once.
he doesn’t speak yet, doesn’t step closer, but the quiet intensity of him there, waiting for you to bridge the gap, makes your breath catch. the room feels suspended, holding its breath with you both, waiting for the first word, the first move, to break the silence.
you take a shaky breath, and for a moment the silence stretches between you like a living thing. anton shifts slightly, hands hanging at his sides, eyes never leaving yours. the rain outside drums softly against the windows, a rhythm that seems to echo the tight, anxious beat of your heart.
“i… i think we should take a break,” you whisper, barely audible even to yourself. the words feel foreign on your tongue, heavy and wet, like something you shouldn’t be saying. you keep your eyes closed, hoping that somehow they’ll carry less weight if you can’t see his reaction.
anton freezes, and the shift in him is immediate. his chest tightens, and you can see the moment his mind races, trying to catch the meaning behind your words before it lands fully. the weight of fear settles in his gaze, that same fear he’s always carried—that he’s not enough, that he’s failing you even when he’s trying his hardest.
“why?” his voice cracks, small, fragile, desperate. “is it something i did?”
you hear the tremor, and it twists something deeper in your chest. your eyelids flutter, but you keep them closed, letting the tears come freely now. you can’t stop them. the dam you’ve been holding back for weeks breaks at once, spilling everything you’ve been holding inside.
“do… do you not love me anymore?” he asks, voice shaking as he steps closer, reaching for you but hesitating. every movement is careful, hesitant, as though the wrong gesture might push you farther away instead of closer.
you shake your head, letting the tears fall freely. “no,” you whisper through sobs, voice cracking. “i love you so much. i love you more than anything.”
but saying it doesn’t stop the ache. it doesn’t erase the fear you’ve carried: the gnawing thought that he doesn’t feel it as fiercely as you do, the quiet doubt that maybe his love isn’t enough to keep you whole across the distance.
anton’s hand brushes yours, tentative, almost as if testing whether you’ll pull away. when you don’t, he moves it gently, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking along the curve as he leans in slightly. his own tears streak down his face now, unrestrained, betraying the guilt that’s been his constant companion—the fear that he’s a bad boyfriend, that he’s not giving you enough of himself.
“then… what’s the matter?” he whispers, voice raw and urgent. “what’s wrong? how can i fix this?”
you tilt your head into his touch, pressing your palm against his chest as if to anchor yourself. your tears soak his shirt, but you don’t care. you can’t stop the sobs, can’t stop the tightness in your chest. “it’s… it’s the distance. and… i think about… about you holding back, about how you never… never take more of me when you could. and it makes me feel like… like you don’t want me the way i want you.”
anton’s lips part, and he shakes his head, his own chest trembling. “no,” he says quickly, almost desperate. “i… i do. i want you. more than anything. i just… i think i’m not… good enough. i think i’m taking too much from you already, and i…” he swallows hard, voice catching. “…i don’t want to hurt you.”
the words cut through the gray tension, sharp but honest, and you press your forehead to his chest, letting your body lean into him as your walls crumble completely. he wraps his arms around you tightly, as though he can physically hold the ache away, and you cling to him just as fiercely.
“i don’t want you to think i don’t want you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your hair. “i need you… more than anything.”
you let out a shaky laugh between sobs, burying your face against him. “then… then don’t hold back anymore,” you whisper. “please.”
you feel him tilt his head down, brushing his lips against the top of your hair, over your temple, down your cheek. every touch is deliberate, hesitant, like he’s memorizing you all over again, imprinting you into his memory after months apart. your fingers tighten in his hair, nails grazing the scalp, anchoring yourself to him, to this fragile, trembling reality.
he shifts slightly, hands sliding down to your waist, holding you close but careful, almost afraid to claim more than what you’ve given willingly. and in that carefulness, in that restraint, the ache in your chest twists—a mixture of longing, frustration, and relief. relief that he’s here, frustration that he can’t let go entirely, longing that makes your lips tremble as you press them into his chest.
“i’ve missed this,” he murmurs, voice low, almost broken. “i’ve missed you. all of you.”
you tilt your head up to look at him, tears still clinging to your lashes, and the sight of him—flushed, hair damp from the rain, eyes shimmering with the same grief and need that lives in your own chest—makes your heart squeeze painfully. “i’ve missed you too,” you whisper, but the words feel like they’ll never capture the depth of everything inside you.
he presses his forehead to yours, breath mingling, and finally, you feel the first thread of permission to let go. his hands move just a little lower, fingertips tracing over the curve of your hips, tentative but intentional, as if asking for consent in every movement. you nod slightly, leaning into him, giving yourself entirely to the moment, to the warmth, to the ache dissolving in the closeness.
the gray stillness of the apartment—the damp, the rain, the lingering hesitation—begins to soften around you. your lips brush his again, this time slower, deeper, tasting the months apart, tasting relief and need and love all at once. his hands move with growing confidence now, gathering you closer, and you let out a soft moan, the sound trembling and raw, echoing the release that’s been building inside for weeks.
he lifts you gently, pressing your body against his, and you wrap your arms around his neck, letting him carry you toward the bed. each step is heavy with desire and tenderness, each movement a careful balancing act between restraint and urgency. you feel the tremor in his chest through your palms, and it mirrors your own heartbeat, rapid and uneven.
when he finally lays you down, hovering above you, the grayness that clung to the edges of the room still hums softly in the background, but it no longer presses in. the rain’s patter against the windows becomes a rhythm, a quiet accompaniment to the intimacy unraveling between you.
his lips meet yours again, more urgently this time, and you let yourself answer in kind. hands trace arms, shoulders, and finally the curve of his back, memorizing, claiming, giving in. the months of longing, the ache of distance, the quiet doubts—they all melt into this single, trembling closeness.
and as he holds you, as you press into him, you realize that even through distance, through restraint, through everything that felt gray and heavy, the tether between you hasn’t broken. it’s stronger, rawer, and now tangible, warming the spaces that have felt cold for too long.
you let out a shuddering sigh, forehead pressed to his chest again, and in that quiet, intimate heartbeat, you understand: even across miles, even across months of restraint, even across gray hesitation, the two of you are still here, still aching for one another, still irrevocably tethered.
anton hovers above you, eyes dark, lips slightly parted, hands trembling even as they hover near your shoulders. the weight of longing in him makes your chest tighten; you can feel how badly he wants you, and it makes your own need flare sharper.
slowly, deliberately, you let your fingers trace the line of his jaw, tilt his head toward you. “anton,” you whisper, voice husky, “please…”
he nods, barely, as if your permission is a tether keeping him from collapsing under the weight of desire. his hands move cautiously, but each motion is filled with reverence. he slides the straps of your top down your shoulders, lingering on the warmth of your skin, pausing to press a feather-light kiss where the fabric falls away. every motion is careful, almost worshipful, as if he’s memorizing you in fragments before he can claim you fully.
you shiver under his touch, letting him guide you, letting the slow unraveling of clothing be part of the surrender. when your bra falls away, his hands cup you gently, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin, and you arch into him, letting out a soft breathless sound. your fingers thread into his hair, tangling slightly, anchoring yourself to him as he leans closer.
anton hesitates for a heartbeat, glancing down at you, lips pressed together in that familiar mixture of shyness and want. then, slowly, he lifts his own shirt over his head, revealing the taut lines of his abdomen, the muscles you’ve memorized from pictures and fleeting glimpses. instinctively, your hand slides down over him, tracing the curve of his stomach, feeling him in a way that has nothing to do with distance or hesitation.
his lips find your bare chest, soft and reverent at first, and you tilt your head back, fingers threading through his hair as your other hand roams across his back, over the ridges of muscle, pressing, tracing, squeezing gently at his biceps. he moans softly into you, shaky, the sound vibrating through your chest. every tremor in him echoes the same tremor you feel in yourself.
“i’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against your skin, voice breaking, “so much… you don’t know…”
you grip his shoulders lightly, drawing him closer, letting him feel the weight of your need as clearly as he feels his own. your lips brush against his jaw, your forehead against his temple, and every sigh, every touch, every whispered word carries the months of distance, the quiet ache, the longing that neither of you could release until now.
his hands roam, slow and deliberate, memorizing the feel of you, mapping every curve, every hollow, every tremble that answers him in kind. the intimacy is slow, deliberate—more than desire, more than lust. it is confession, release, recognition of the ache you’ve carried apart from each other, now surrendered entirely in the quiet gray room.
you tilt your head back again as he kisses up your torso, letting your hands trail down his back, squeezing gently at the breadth of his shoulders, the strength you’ve imagined in your solitude, now tangible beneath your touch. he trembles against you, shivering, and you let your own body mirror him, fingers tracing the muscles, hands clenching, soft gasps breaking past your lips.
your hand drifts down, brushing against his, and you guide him deliberately, pressing his fingers where you need him most. your voice is soft, tremulous, carrying all the ache you’ve been holding back. “it’s all for you,” you whisper, “everything… for you.”
his groan vibrates against your chest, low and raw, and you feel the heat of him pressing against you. your hand traces over the outline of his length through his pants, feeling the undeniable hardness, the proof of how badly he wants you, how badly he’s needed you all along.
“you can go ahead,” you coo, breathless, tilting your head to meet his gaze. your lips curve into a small, shaky smile, and your voice softens, coaxing: “i’ve been ready for you.”
his eyes darken, longing and relief mingling, and he doesn’t hesitate. the slow, deliberate care in which he moves mirrors everything you’ve been waiting for—every restrained touch, every shared moment of absence now unleashed in full.
when he enters you, it’s slow and careful. each movement is deliberate, almost sacred, giving both of you time to adjust, to feel, to acknowledge the months of longing, the ache of absence, and the quiet hunger that has been building between you.
“i… i love you,” he murmurs, breathless, voice breaking slightly as he moves. “so much. i’m sorry i’ve made you wait.”
your chest tightens, and you tilt your head up to press your lips against his shoulder. “i love you too,” you whisper back, voice trembling. “i’m yours… forever.”
he groans softly, and the sound vibrates through both of you. “forever… i’ve wanted this forever,” he says, each word heavy with need and confession.
you wrap your arms around his neck, legs curling instinctively around him, anchoring yourself to him, letting him feel your need just as clearly as you feel his. “anton… i’m yours too,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “all of me. always.”
his hands move along your body, slow and reverent, memorizing the curves and hollows, every inch, every shiver and sigh. “you’re mine,” he whispers, pressing you closer.
you tremble under his touch, letting out soft moans that mix with the wet sound of him moving inside you. “i forgive you,” you say, voice shaky but certain. his lips press against your shoulder, nuzzling, and he groans again. your hands thread through his hair, down his back, clutching at him as if you could anchor yourself entirely in him, letting go of everything that has kept you restrained.
and when he finally collapses against you, forehead pressed to yours, arms wrapped tightly, both of you shivering and spent, the gray has finally lifted. only warmth remains—tethered warmth, solid and real, the proof that even distance, restraint, and longing could never diminish the bond between you.
the rain has softened outside, the patter against the windows now a gentle rhythm, a background to the warmth that fills the apartment. anton lies beside you, one arm draped over your waist, the other tangled in your hair, holding you close as if he’s afraid you might slip away again.
you nuzzle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and a soft laugh escapes you. “you’re warm,” you murmur, voice still husky from everything, “and heavy… and perfect.”
anton groans, pretending to scowl, but the corners of his mouth twitch into a grin. “and yours,” he teases, fingers brushing along your back. “always yours, right?”
“always,” you whisper, smiling into him, tilting your head up to press your lips to his collarbone. “my toni,” you murmur softly, a playful lilt in your tone that makes his chest tighten in delight.
“hey,” he chuckles, lifting his head just enough to look down at you, eyes glittering. “did you just call me that? your toni?”
you nod, biting your lip slightly, eyes sparkling. “yeah… i like it. sounds cute, don’t you think?”
anton shakes his head, laughing softly, shaking off the intensity of the earlier moments. “cute,” he murmurs, voice low, almost teasing. “cute and mine.” he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek. “so… can i see you in that new set later?”
your cheeks flush at the mention, and you nuzzle against him again, tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants playfully. “maybe,” you whisper, voice teasing. “but only if you promise to behave until then.”
he pretends to gasp, mock-offended, before pulling you closer. “behave? me? impossible,” he murmurs, voice low, warm, teasing. “but… i can try… for you.”
you laugh softly, curling against him, letting your fingers trace idle patterns along his chest and shoulders. “i think you’ll try really hard,” you tease, “and then probably fail spectacularly.”
anton presses a soft kiss to your forehead, humming against your hair. he brushes a strand of hair from your face, voice soft, teasing, and full of affection. “you know, toni’s very happy you’re here. and he can’t wait to see more of you later…”
you giggle, rolling your eyes playfully, “you mean toni can’t wait to get into trouble with me?”
“exactly,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your temple, pulling you impossibly close. “but only with you. always only with you.”
riize m.list
a/n! hii i hope you enjoyed this angsty, very romantic, very yearning fic for toni. and thank u for the request, it was right up my alley :D
AN EYELINER DOWN THE LINES OF YOUR BODY | Lee Chanyoung
synopsis — riize’s Anton x reader (non-idol au)
genre — romance, suggestive, “friendship” (you can tell they aren’t just friends…) wc. 4k
warnings — yes, this is pretty suggestive. NO, it isn’t smut! Includes kissing (lowk making out actually), anton’s shirtless, and yea we are wasting eyeliner for this… honestly if ur like…idk under 13 i wouldn’t recommend u read it…
notes — lost my mind a bit when looking at anton edits in tiktok and birthed this baby…tell me how u like it! haven’t written for this man in SO long.
MORE WORKS: navigation | riize!masterlist
YOU’RE ALREADY LAUGHING when the door opens, breath fogged just enough from the walk to make the first step inside feel warmer than it should.
His apartment smells like laundry and cardamom tea—soft domestic notes that always make your stomach do the stupid, loyal flip it’s been doing since the first time you came over.
Anton leans his shoulder to the frame and watches you kick off your shoes, a tiny curl at his mouth like the end of a music phrase he hasn’t decided to resolve.
“You brought it?” he asks.
You lift the tiny black tube like a trophy. “One—perfectly legal—eyeliner. Waterproof. Hypoallergenic. Not responsible for life decisions.”
Anton snorts. “We’re doing a fake tattoo, not a binding contract.”
“Yeah, but still. Waterproof. Foolproof. Regret-proof.”
“Is it artist-proof?”
“No such thing,” you say.
He laughs—quiet, but real—and gestures for you to come inside the living room. You do, trying not to notice the lazy confidence in his movements, or the fact that your heartbeat’s already pretending to be percussion.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
You glance up from the coffee table, where you’re unboxing the eyeliner. “For the tattoo or… in general?”
He raises a brow. “For the tattoo.”
“Shame,” you say before you can stop yourself. He blinks—once, slow—and you’re the first to look away.
“You say that now.”
He steps back so you can pass, and you feel it again—the hush that likes to sit in the space right by your ribs when he’s close.
You’re just friends.
You have been for so long that the word has grown complicated edges. But it still fits the mouth, most days.
Friends who trade playlists and send each other pictures of ugly cafés that serve perfect coffee. Friends who know exactly when to push and when to shut up. Friends who, apparently, draw temporary tattoos on each other’s stomachs because some friend made an offhand comment about Anton “maybe trying an ink moment one day,” and your brain took a running jump at the idea.
The living room is half studio. Coiled cables asleep under the desk. A cello leaning in the corner like a tall, patient friend. He has that small lamp on—the one that throws a pool of amber light over the rug, as if you’re supposed to confess something in it. You make yourself busy instead, setting your bag on the couch, rolling up your sleeves, twisting the eyeliner open to check the fineness of the felt tip.
“You’re really trusting me with this?” you tease. “A needle would be more permanent, but probably less wiggly.”
“I trust you,” he says, simple as a chord played clean. No rust, no drama. It lands somewhere low and steady.
You try not to show what the word does to your pulse. “Okay then. Design brief time.”
He wanders to the speaker, puts on something you both love—piano that threads through a lo-fi drum like a heartbeat that won’t call itself that. “Nothing too much,” he says. “Just…lines. Under the ribs. Maybe something that follows the muscle. If we hate it, we wipe and start over.”
“If we hate it, you pretend it’s art,” you correct, and he laughs, soft.
It’s absurd how many years you’ve known the choreography of his laugh. The way it starts quiet and widens, like the moment sound engineers push the fader up and up until the track sits perfectly in the mix.
You watched that happen slowly with him: the shy boy who learned to speak more where the music didn’t, the young man who asks you what you think and actually waits.
He pulls his hoodie over his head and tosses it onto the arm of the couch, unhurried, absolutely sure you will not combust. You won’t. You won’t. You will set the eyeliner down gently on the coffee table instead of clutching it like salvation.
Beneath the white tee there is a line where cloth ends and skin begins, and then his hands hook the hem, and the shirt lifts. When he lifts off his shirt, you think maybe this was a terrible idea. His shirt rides up just enough to show the edges of toned skin, and you swear the air gets heavier.
“I thought you said we’d draw, not stare,” he says lightly.
“I’m visualizing the composition,” you mutter, rolling up your sleeves. “Don’t distract the artist.”
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
He’s teasing, but there’s warmth under the words, a familiarity that makes your stomach do something traitorous. You kneel on the rug, holding the eyeliner like it’s a scalpel. He leans back a little—enough for the lamplight to fall over his stomach, the faint rise and fall of breath.
“Hey,” he says, as if you’re already halfway to the door. “You okay?”
“Yup,” you say, with the voice of someone who absolutely does not notice the soft map of his abdomen, the lines like brackets around breath. “Just trying to remember where I put—”
“The eyeliner is in your hand,” he says, and you look down to find it there, snug against your fingers like something that knows more than you do.
“Right.” You clear your throat and turn toward him. “Okay. Lay down. I need a flat canvas.”
He settles on the edge of the couch, spine a careful line, knees a little open. He’s taller without the hoodie, somehow. He has always been all long lines and quiet strength, like his instrument. You kneel on the rug, and now the space between your bodies is just air—warm, shared, thin.
The lamp hums. The music drips time.
You try not to let your brain wire elsewhere.
The first stroke is tentative, a thin line tracing the edge of his ribs. The felt tip glides easily, the skin warm under your touch. His abs tense slightly—involuntary—and you can’t tell if it’s from nerves or something else.
“Ticklish?” you ask, half-smile, half-dare.
“A little,” he admits. “You’re… close.”
You try to make it sound like you don’t notice. “That’s kind of the point.”
He huffs a laugh, eyes flicking toward you—then staying there. It’s too quiet after that. Just the sound of your breath and the soft drag of eyeliner. You move to draw another line, your knuckles brushing him by accident. His breath catches.
You don’t apologize.
“Do you know,” he says after a moment, voice lower, “you do this thing every time?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you’re fine.”
You blink, keep your gaze fixed on the line you’re drawing. “I am fine.”
He hums, unconvinced. “Right. That’s why your hand’s shaking.”
You scoff, though your pulse jumps. “Maybe you’re just a bad canvas.”
“Maybe you’re just nervous,” he murmurs, leaning slightly closer.
You look up, ready with something sharp, but he’s already watching you—eyes dark, expression unreadable. The room feels too small.
You grin, because that’s what you do when you’re cornered. “If I was nervous,” you say, “it’s only because I don’t want to ruin your abs. They deserve better art direction.”
He laughs, quiet and breathy, but doesn’t look away. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” you say, “you keep inviting me over.”
The smile lingers on his face, but something shifts in the air—the playful tone stretches thin, and underneath it hums something older.
You change the topic.
“So,” you say, because words are a kind of lid and you need one. “We’re tracing the obliques. Maybe a curve like this…” Your hand hovers at his hip, not touching yet. “…and then a thin line running up here. Think calligraphy. Minimal. Pretend I’m ink and you’re paper.”
“Poetic,” he murmurs, and when you dare to glance up, he’s wearing that look—the one that means he’s watching you think. He does it like you’re a good song. You feel seen and flattered and terrified.
“I’ll start light,” you tell him. “If it tickles, don’t laugh. You’ll ruin my masterpiece.”
“Would never,” he says.
You use the back of your knuckles first, easing your hand against the warmth of him, letting your skin tell your brain this is real. He inhales, slow—heavy, and the muscles shift under your touch like fish under clear water.
You have painted hundreds of lines in your life.
None of them were on him.
Careful.
You put felt to skin and draw the first small stroke, a testing dash along the slope of his hip. The eyeliner leaves a narrow ribbon, dark and obedient. You’re close enough to see goosebumps pebble and fade. His hand, relaxed on his knee, tightens just a fraction. Not a flinch. More like a hello.
“Cold?” you ask.
“Fine,” he says. His voice comes out lower than it was a second ago.
Years, you think. Years of this. Years of cups warming your hands on his couch while he mixes a bass line, years of walking side by side and never bumping shoulders because it would break the spell, years of hungry jokes that you both pretend are just jokes.
Well, who’s to blame, honestly?
You add a second stroke, curving the line to hug the edge of his abdomen. The felt tip glides. You are absurdly, disastrously careful. You want the tattoo to look effortless; you want your hands not to shake; you want not to want this so hard you can taste it. You breathe and the scented lamp breathes with you. It smells like someone’s kitchen at night.
The second stroke finishes.
“Do another one here,” he says, voice lower, bringing your hand in his and guiding it just above his waist.
You ignore how warm his hand engulfs yours.
You move the eyeliner there, trying not to tremble. “Bossy.”
“You like that,” he says, almost absentmindedly.
Your hand hesitates for half a second—enough for him to notice. His eyes lift to yours, and the faint curve of his lips is gone now.
“Anton,” you start, but he only tilts his head.
“What?”
“This is—”
“Nothing?” he finishes for you, soft but edged.
You don’t answer. You draw instead—the thin black line curving just above his waist, the shape of something you can’t name. Your hand lingers too long, your thumb brushing over the line to “smooth” it. His breath hitches again, and that’s when you realize how close you’ve gotten—the space between you measured in heartbeats now.
His voice drops. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Playing.”
You set the eyeliner down carefully, because suddenly your hands don’t feel steady at all. “You’re imagining things.”
“I’m not.”
You force a smile, leaning back. “You’re the one who asked me to draw on you. Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s already weird,” he says, and there’s no teasing left in it—just quiet honesty.
You swallow. “Then maybe we stop before it gets worse.”
A pause. Silence.
You clear your throat. “Look down?”
He looks, and for a second your eyes meet across the distance of his torso, as if your gaze could touch him too. You don’t want to think about what the gaze intended—what it thought of behind that head.
You blink first. You always blink first. It has kept you safe and starved in equal measure.
“Okay,” you say, swallowing. “Now the thin accent line—here.” You hover the tip just under the nearest rib, trace a path you can already see. It’s a dangerous place to write. If you misjudge the curve, the whole design will feel off. The thought makes your hands quieter, steadier.
“Breathe,” he says, breathlessly. You’re not sure who he’s telling. You exhale anyway. The line appears where you want it, a simple arc, intimate in its simplicity. You could stop now and it would already look like something meant.
“You’re really good at this,” he adds, and you almost ruin the next stroke.
“I draw things all the time. You know this.” You hear your own voice, bright with a kind of practiced carelessness you could probably sell for money.
“Not like this,” he says, softer. “Not…on me.”
The song changes. The piano keeps talking.
“You’re going to smudge it if you keep flattering me,” you warn, because banter is a fence and fences keep the deer out. You nudge his knee with the back of your hand, a friendly press.
He takes it as you meant it; you wish he wouldn’t, and also that he would.
He goes quiet then—comfortably quiet, the way he gets when he’s focusing. You draw three more lines: one that echoes the curve you made, one that cuts across at a deliberate angle, one that disappears into the hollow near his side like a secret. The design starts to grow bones. It looks like motion. It looks like restraint. It looks—goodness help you—like longing you can see.
Anton shifts just enough to bring him closer, leaning back on his hands to get a better view. The shift pulls his body long, the clean stretch of stomach a map your fingers want to memorize. The move also brings his face down toward yours, closing the altitude until you could count each of his lashes if you were rude enough to stare.
You are not rude; you are a coward. You look at the tattoo instead, and because you’re a professional at pretending, your voice comes out light. “We’re halfway. You doing okay? Need a break?”
“I’m good.” He’s watching you again. “You’re the one concentrating like you’re defusing a bomb.”
“I am.” You add a tiny dot at the end of one line, a punctuation. “There are very few absolutes in this world, but ruining your abs on a Tuesday would be one of them.”
He laughs, and the sound tips your line a hair; you catch it, correct it, make the tilt look purposeful. It’s a small miracle. He watches you pull off the save like he expected it, like he knows how your brain thinks around mistakes. He has known you so long that of course he does.
“Do you want this to mean something?” you ask, and it’s a question about the tattoo, and also not. “Or just pretty lines?”
His gaze flickers to your mouth and back—not in a way that presumes, just a low, honest circuit that makes your breath stumble. “Everything means something,” he says, and then, gentler: “Even if we don’t say it.”
You’re the one to look away again. You are always the one to step back onto the safe part of the path. “Okay,” you murmur, businesslike. “Then it means ‘good angles and symmetry.’”
You work in silence for a while—not empty silence, but the charged kind that asks for attention without making demands. Every time the felt touches him, his stomach tightens slightly, then eases. Every time your hand braces at his side, heat collects under your palm like a secret that doesn’t want to be secret anymore. You place another line and see him swallow. You pretend not to.
A memory moves through you—the third winter of your friendship, when he let you put your freezing hands under his sleeves while you both waited for the night bus. He didn’t joke. He just held still. That’s what he does: he holds still for you in a world that doesn’t.
If you were braver, you would say something now. If you were reckless, you would press your mouth to the clean skin by the sharp new line you’ve drawn and make your mark in two inks at once. Instead you wear the same old disguise: You paint and you talk about nothing.
“Do you think,” you ask, “you’d ever get a real one? For real?”
“Maybe,” he says. “If I found the thing I wanted to keep.”
Your hand stutters and recovers. “Hm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” You’re almost done. That makes something in you panic. The scene will end; the spell will break. You will put the cap back on the eyeliner and say something chirpy, and he will pull his shirt down and you will go back to being people who only sometimes stand so close the room feels the size of a breath.
You draw the last small curve, a grace note that pulls the whole design together. It is undeniably beautiful. It is also unbearable.
“Okay,” you say, too fast. “That’s it. Don’t move for, like, thirty seconds. I’ll—uh—grab tissues? In case I need to clean an edge.”
You rock back on your heels, already retreating, reaching for the coffee table, for your bag, for anything that looks like distance. Your heart’s doing that runaway thing—it doesn’t trust you either.
“Hey,” he says, and it’s soft, warning and wonder together. You keep going anyway. You toss the eyeliner in your bag, rummage like the right napkin will make this a different story.
“Looks good,” you say—brisk, bright, safe. “I’ll take a picture, send it to you, you can decide if you want me to redo any—”
“Quit.” The single word is gentle, but it hits like a hand catching the back of your sweater just before you step off a curb you didn’t see. “Stop playing.”
You blink. “What?”
“Quit pretending this doesn’t mean anything,” he says, voice low, steady. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Anton—”
He leans forward, the motion slow, deliberate, until you can feel his breath near your cheek. “You keep pulling away like I’m going to let you,” he murmurs. “Like I don’t notice.”
Your throat feels tight. “If I don’t?”
His smile is small, almost sad. “Then maybe I do.”
You freeze. Your fingers close uselessly around nothing. You tell yourself you don’t know what he means.
You do.
He leans forward, and the couch sighs with him. Your name in his mouth is quieter than the lamp hum, but you hear it fine. One of his hands comes down to the rug, steadying. The other finds yours where it’s busy being frantic inside your bag. He doesn’t pull. He just covers your hand with his own—warm over warm—and you realize how long you’ve been cold.
“Anton,” you start, and the word is a little frayed. You pull back out of habit; his fingers follow, not trapping, just present. You are good at this—the art of slipping sideways, the quick joke, the neat turn into less. It has saved you a hundred times. It has cost you, too.
“Look at me,” he says.
You do. You always do, in the end.
He isn’t smug or triumphant or anything you could fight against. He’s steady. His eyes are the same quiet as the cello in the corner. He looks down at the design you drew on him, then up again. You know what it says. You wrote it.
“I like our lines,” he says. “All of them. The ones on me and the ones between us. But this—” His thumb lifts, barely there, skimming the back of your hand like the promise of a stroke you could still draw. “This thing you do. The way you make it a game.”
“It’s not a game,” you say, too quickly. Your face is hot. The room shrinks to the radius of your joined hands.
“I know,” he says. “That’s the point.”
You could joke. You could tell him to practice his cryptic producer lines somewhere else. You could find a sentence that sends you back up onto the river path where the air is thin and safe. You feel all the old exits like doors in a hallway you could sprint. None of them feel like air.
He tilts his head, a tiny, helpless smile breaking through like the sun under thick clouds. “You’re a major tease,” he says, but it’s not accusation, not cruel; it sounds almost fond, like he’s naming a mischievous cat that keeps knocking pens off the desk. “And I don’t mind—most days. I like when you’re here, in whatever way. But I—” He exhales. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t know what this is.”
For a moment, neither of you move. The world narrows to lamplight, the faint scent of tea, the warmth of his hand as it finds your wrist. His thumb grazes your pulse—a barely-there touch, but it unravels you anyway.
You breathe his name—not quite a word, not quite a warning—and the sound seems to undo something in both of you.
He exhales slowly, eyes dropping to your lips, then back up, like he’s asking without asking.
You could close the distance. You could make it easy.
But you just whisper, “Anton…” and let the silence hang there—heavy, suspended, the kind that hums right before something gives.
And when his forehead touches yours—barely, just enough to feel it—you don’t move. You let the moment breathe. You let the question stay unanswered.
The eyeliner is still open on the table, black and waiting, but neither of you look at it again.
You breathe heavily now, feeling his breath on yours as you wait on nothing.
“Tell me you don’t want this.” He whispers, his eyes desperately searching yours for a dare to deny once again.
You swallow your breath, your answer.
“Tell me. Use your words.” He pleads, brows furrowed in frustration though his roaming hand already reaches for your hip.
It presses gently on your hip, and only when he used his thumb to circle patterns on them did you break.
“I want this, Anton,” You confess, like a forbidden secret just unfolded—and his adam’s apple bobs from swallowing earnestly, “I want you.”
For a second, the world paused. Like an almost. Almost, the thread snaps. Almost, your emotions burst out of the jar you forced it into.
And then.
And then you bring your gaze up to his, and the clock ticks once more.
He pushes his lips on yours—hungry and starved and wanting more.
You grip his forearm to stabilize yourself, not expecting the impact and letting out a noise of surprise.
Somehow, that encouraged him more.
His other hand held the other side of your hip, and in an instant—as if you weigh nothing, he lifts you up and reverses your positions, holding your hips steady as he pushes you down on the couch.
He deepens the kiss, and you let him, hands latching onto his hair as years and years of pent up frustration releases.
Years of ignoring the obvious tension. Years of toying around thin ice.
You part after a while, short of breath and dazed.
“Do you like it?” you ask, and you’re not asking about lines.
He gives you that look. Midsummer, all warmth, all patience—except that earnest longing he hid underneath is obvious now. “Yeah,” he says, still catching his breath back. “I like it.”
You laugh—a little wrecked around the edges, but it feels good. You reach for the eyeliner again, not to flee this time but to ground yourself in the thing that brought you here. “One last dot,” you announce, “so the composition feels intentional.”
“Everything’s intentional,” he says, and you shake your head because he stole your line and made it better. He watches you place the dot, a tiny star where two arcs nearly meet. He watches like it’s also his story.
“Don’t move,” you murmur, and he doesn’t. You blow gently across the fresh ink and he shudders. The air returns to your lungs like it’s been waiting.
“Photo?” you ask.
“For me,” he says, possessive—“Not for anyone else.”—but it’s not a rule; it’s a wish.
You nod, and you’re gentle with the angle, with the light, with the possessiveness in both your chests that doesn’t demand an explanation tonight. The photo captures shadow and line and the hint of your fingers near the edge of the frame.
You send it to him. His phone hums on the table; he doesn’t check it. He looks at you.
Only you. Only ever you.
And perhaps, under the moonlight, the both of you were always supposed to happen, no matter how far you try to run.
Genre: college au, slow burn, smut
Pairing: RIIZE Anton Lee x afab!reader
Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), did i mention slooow burn long fic? yeah. 80% slow burn, 20% smut.
Notes: 21k words. Listening to Jump Then Fall by Taylor Swift. This was a reworked version of a fic I wrote for a different idol in my other blog. I decided to write it again because I (and a couple others) had grievances with the way the original fic ended. Lol. Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same fic in a different blog, for SEVENTEEN's Wonwoo, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself; otherwise, lmk.
You met Anton on one hot evening, just two weeks into your senior year of college. It was at a party—one where you’d arrived late after a supposedly quick pre-game session with your girlfriends at Lea’s apartment turned into a full-on mini-party of its own. You’d almost ditched the party altogether, but Mina said she had to meet this guy at the party, or she’d regret it forever. Of course, she was exaggerating, but you went anyway.
You were the designated driver since you were the only one who didn’t drink, which was because you were late even to the pre-game. Yes, you’ve been told that being late is one of your many talents.
As soon as you pulled up to the driveway of the party venue, your friends rushed out of the car and into the house, leaving you behind to park. Just as you were stepping out of your car, you spotted Anton, looking tall next to the lamppost, and handsome under the yellow-orange glow of the light. He was attractive—the slight flush on his cheeks, his skin glowing under the lamplight, and even in simple square glasses and a plain white tee, he radiated some kind of glow that made you pause.
He was cute. And he was heading toward you.
Why though? Did he want to talk to you? Maybe get your number? Oh my god. What are you gonna do?
You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest as Anton drew nearer. Sure, he wasn’t the first guy to ever approach you, but he was really cute, and it was ridiculous how fast you were crushing on him.
He’s coming, you told yourself, glancing around casually, trying to check if he really was coming toward you. But just as he was about three steps away—bam! He hit the ground, limbs sprawled out in every direction.
You gasped, rushing over. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
He groaned, kicked at the offending rock that had tripped him, and then dramatically flopped onto the grass as if it had betrayed him too.
You crouched beside him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Excuse me, are you alright?”
Anton blinked up at the sky, glaring like the stars were personally out to get him. Then, locking his glassy eyes on yours, he said, “Hi. My asshole friends abandoned me here.” He hiccupped. “I’m kinda drunk and you’re kinda gorgeous. Would you be so kind as to help me out?”
Caught off guard by his random compliment, you chuckled. “Sure. Here, let me help you up,” you said, tugging his arm, trying to haul him back to a sitting position. “You can walk, right? You were walking just now.”
“Walking’s overrated,” he muttered, but with your help, he managed to get back on his feet, wobbling slightly.
You told him your name. “What’s yours? Do you need a ride?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but someone suddenly appeared beside him, patting his chest. It was Sungchan, someone you knew. “There you are, Anton. We’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Sungchan, do you know this guy?” you asked, but before Sungchan could answer, Anton tugged at your elbow.
“Yes,” Anton answered like the question was for him, and then pointed a very unsteady finger at Sungchan. “He’s a fake friend. You should never trust people who abandon you.”
Sungchan chuckled. “What are you talking about, man? You’re the one who wandered off!”
Anton smirked, leaning in to whisper in your ear as if sharing a secret. “Friends who gaslight you are not real friends. Don’t forget that.”
“I can’t believe I ditched my girl for this,” you heard Sungchan mutter as he slung Anton’s arm over his shoulder. “Okay, that's enough from you. Where’s that idiot stone? Eunseok!”
A second later, a man came jogging toward you. “Found him?”
“Yeah, help me get him out of here,” Sungchan said, struggling to hold up Anton’s weight.
Eunseok smiled apologetically at you as they shifted Anton’s arm off your shoulder. “He seems like a handful, but he’s a nice guy… well… sometimes.”
You stepped back, watching them as they wrangled him toward a black pickup truck. “He doesn’t seem that drunk, though,” you noted.
Eunseok chuckled. “With this guy? What you see is not what you get. One time, he got wasted and started working on a coding project. Finished the whole thing in one sitting.”
“Didn’t even remember it the next day,” Sungchan added, making a mock exploding gesture at his temple.
You couldn’t help laughing, finding it both amusing and adorable that a fine man like him would have such drinking habits.
“Anyway, thanks again,” Sungchan said, flashing you a quick grin as they finished loading Anton into the truck.
“Bye, gorgeous!” Anton called from the back seat, popping his head out, waving weakly. “I love you!” he added, blowing a kiss your way.
Eunseok scoffed. “You don’t even know her name.”
Anton’s head snapped toward Eunseok. “Who cares what you think, Song Eunseok? You’re a fake friend!”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, waving them off as the truck pulled away. Standing there, you found yourself thinking about Anton—strangely intrigued by this cute, clumsy guy. But before you could dwell on it for too long, you heard Lea’s voice calling your name from inside the house.
“Why are you still out here? Let’s go!”
You skipped toward her, linking arms as she pulled you inside. “I just met the cutest guy ever.”
Your hunt for Anton started the very next day. Living in the on-campus dorms gave you time to walk around the campus before your classes. The problem was, you didn’t know where to start. Your friends could swear they were sick of you, gushing about him and retelling the story of how he called you gorgeous and basically confessed his love for you in under five minutes of meeting each other.
“I know he was drunk, Jill. But people say you become more honest when you’re drunk,” you insisted, not even trying to hide your excitement as you scanned the cafeteria for any sign of him.
“What’s his name anyway?” Mina asked, scowling slightly as she watched you crane your neck, practically spinning in your seat.
“Anton,” you replied, swooning. “I don’t know his last name, but he’s friends with this guy I know from Sci-Tech, Jung Sungchan.”
Mina scoffed. “Sungchan’s friend, Anton? Aren’t you like neighbors?”
You stopped mid-scan, turning to her with wide eyes. “We’re WHAT?”
As it turned out, Anton lived in the on-campus dorm too. He and Sungchan were roommates, and you only knew this because, apparently, the guy Mina just had to meet at last night’s party was Sungchan.
“You’re telling me I’ve been looking around campus for him like a lunatic when he’s been right under my nose this whole time?” you asked, clutching your pearls.
Jill snorted into her iced coffee. “You’ve been obsessed for, what? Twelve hours?”
“Thirteen, but who’s counting?” you corrected, turning to Mina. “But wait… You and Sungchan?”
Mina didn’t say anything. She just grabbed her cup of iced coffee and looked away with a suspiciously giddy smile on her lips.
Knowing Anton was your neighbor helped narrow down your search. For a while, you tried catching glimpses of him around the dorm. You even took slightly longer routes to campus, hoping to spot him by chance between classes or during meals. But every time, you came up empty—no sign of him at all.
“Just where does this hot specimen hide his gorgeous self?” you grumbled. “It’s been three days.”
Lea watched you with a glimmer in her eyes. “This is a first. You’ve had crushes before, but never hyper-fixated on one until now.”
“Right? I was just thinking the same thing,” Jill affirmed.
“There’s no one like him,” you gushed, tilting your head dreamily. “I think he might be the one.”
Mina choked on her drink. “You’re not serious.”
You laughed, stroking her back gently. “Of course not. I’m just having fun, guys. Relax.”
“Anyway, why don’t you just ask Sungchan?” Jill suggested, sounding like the only sane one in the group.
Oh. Right. Sungchan. Why didn’t you think of that earlier? You paused, considering the idea. It was practical and sensible.
“Do you think that’s weird? Just asking out of nowhere?” you asked, biting your lip.
“You’re the one who’s been running around campus like a headless chicken,” Mina pointed out dryly. “Asking Sungchan would be a lot less weird than that.”
You smiled at Mina, batting your eyelashes prettily. “Ask him for me.”
Mina swatted your hand away when you tried to hold her. “We’re not talking right now. And no, I won’t tell you why.”
You grimaced. “Okay, so secretive for no reason. Well, no one’s asking!”
Jill laughed. “Just go to Sungchan. You guys are friends. And it’s not like you’re asking for Anton’s hand in marriage. You’re just curious.”
“Alright, alright,” you relented, standing up from the table. “I’ll ask Sungchan. I’m also gonna ask him why you’re not talking to him.”
Mina gave you a thumbs up as you left the cafeteria, heading out to start your quest. You just hoped your heart didn’t explode from the anticipation before you got there.
You found Sungchan in the dance room, drinking water after practice. You strode over, determined but trying to keep it cool. He saw you coming and grinned, clearly already knowing what this was about.
“Well, well, well,” Sungchan said, putting his bottle down and crossing his arms with a smirk. “What brings you to my humble corner of campus today? Or should I say... who?”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “No one. I was just passing by and remembered I needed to ask you what happened between you and Mina. Why’s she mad at you?”
“Uh-huh,” he smirked, leaning back on the wall. “Yeah, you are not here to ask about me and Mina.”
“Why not?” you scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s snapping at people because of you, and she’s so secretive about whatever it is that’s going on between you two, so I’m here to satisfy my curiosity.”
He shook his head, unfazed. “You wanna know where Anton is, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve seen this so many times before. You’re already head over heels. It’s pretty common.”
“Is he that popular?” you asked, genuinely curious, but then you shook your head. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Where can I find him?”
Sungchan chuckled in amusement. “He’s usually holed up in the tech building, doing nerd stuff. You know, coding, hacking the mainframe, whatever those guys do.” He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, and I’m gonna tell you this only because you and I are tight—you’re gonna need to bring a snack. Anton’s been known to forget to eat when he’s in the zone.”
You crossed your arms, half-joking but half-serious. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do I need to worry about him starving to death before I even get the chance to talk to him?”
“Maybe,” Sungchan said, eyes twinkling. “But hey, if he does, I’ll make sure his last words are something romantic. Like… ‘Tell her... she was... gorgeous.’”
“Oh my god, you’re so lame,” you groaned, turning to walk away, though you couldn’t help laughing. “Thanks!”
He called after you, still grinning. “Anytime! And hey, if you need a wingman, you know where to find me!”
Now you had a solid lead... and maybe a ridiculous wingman if things got really desperate. But most importantly, you had a plan: bump into him as casually as you can.
You spent the next few days timing your trips past the IT building. At first, it felt silly—pretending like you were just ‘happening to walk by’—but today, your patience paid off. There he was, standing just outside the doors, tapping away on his phone. Your heart fluttered the second you saw Anton, that same flush you remembered from the night before creeping up your neck.
You were about to walk over, but then a group of people spilled out from the building, laughing loudly as they passed. You turned away, worried someone might recognize you. As soon as they were far enough, you spun back to see Anton, only to find him gone.
Where did he disappear to? Maybe he went with that group of students. Or maybe he walked the other way. You had no idea.
You sighed. “Next time.”
The next time came—several next times, actually. You just couldn’t land the perfect opportunity! The universe was against you; you could swear with how each encounter was always interrupted by other people, unexpected circumstances, and now, even the weather!
You stared at the sky with a deadpan expression. “Really? Just tell me you don’t want us together, why don’t you?” you sneered at the sky, as if it would respond.
You were supposed to do your routine attempt at ‘bumping-into-Anton,’ but the rain started pouring right when you stepped out of your building. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you didn’t bring an umbrella with you. You sighed, scuffing your shoe against the pavement, debating whether to make a run for it or just wait it out.
“Am I that unlucky?” you muttered to yourself.
Staring at your feet, you noticed a new pair falling into step beside you. You looked up and gasped audibly upon seeing Anton Lee standing there with an umbrella in his hand. He looked as handsome as you remembered—neat appearance, well-kept hair, and his glasses that suited his face perfectly.
“Anton!” you exclaimed, making him glance at you.
He scanned you for a second. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met.”
You told him your name—clearly and in full. “We met at the party last Friday,” you smiled, hoping he’d remember.
“Oh, I met a lot of people that night.”
“You called me nice and gorgeous?” you offered, gouging a reaction from him, but so far—nothing. “And, uh, you also kinda said you love me.”
Anton blinked, clearly taken aback. “I did?” You saw the confusion in his expression, followed by a flicker of embarrassment. He looked away, his jaw tensing slightly. “Sorry, I must have had some to drink. I don’t remember any of that,” he said, his voice softer, but there was no warmth in it. It felt more like a brush-off.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” you said, waving it off casually. “You were really drunk, so it makes sense that you forgot.” You grinned, hoping the playful tone might make the moment less embarrassing.
He seemed like an entirely different person. He was fun that night, sweet even. Was that a one-off thing?
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of the rain pounding on the concrete was oddly loud. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, not entirely sure if you should say something or just let it go.
“Well, then. I should go,” he prompted, offering a nod.
You nodded back. “Of course. It was nice seeing you.”
You watched him walk into the rain, dry and safe under his umbrella. You couldn’t help but scoff. If it was the Anton you’d met that night, he would probably share his umbrella with you, make sure you were safe and dry.
“What a bummer,” you muttered, looking down at your feet again as you kicked your tiptoes to the floor.
You kept your gaze there, replaying the encounter and how awful it made you feel. You barely noticed the car that pulled over in front of you until you heard someone call out your full name.
When you looked up, you saw Anton in a car with his window rolled down. He turned to reach for something behind him before extending his umbrella out to you. It was long enough for you to reach without stepping into the rain, and you grabbed it with a confused look on your face.
“Thank you,” you said.
He just nodded, lips tight. “You can leave it to the dorm lady when you’re done with it.”
“I will!” you replied, smiling at him.
As he drove away, you waved your hand in the air, your smile getting impossibly wider as you clutched his umbrella in one hand.
“You could’ve offered to carpool, but this is fine too,” you mumbled, grinning so wide your cheeks started to sting.
Just like that, your quest to make Anton Lee fall for you was on. You chased him around—well, not really, but you seized every chance to talk to him. First, you personally delivered his umbrella to his dorm room, which surprised him because obviously, he wasn’t expecting it.
When you found him at the cafeteria that day, sitting alone at a table while working on something on his laptop, you walked over with your tray and casually slid into the seat across from him.
“You look like you could use some company. Lucky for you, I am free right now,” you beamed, and he looked up from his laptop briefly just to see who you were.
“I’m working,” he said, reverting his attention to his work.
You leaned forward with a grin. “I know how to multi-task. I can stay still, look pretty, and eat quietly while you work.”
“Do what you want,” he said, noncommittal.
As long as he didn’t tell you to leave him alone, you were fine with being quiet. He was quiet too, and didn’t seem to mind your presence. So you stayed, eating your lunch while on your phone and occasionally sneaking glances at him.
One time, you found him at the library sitting at a table with his headphones in, immersed in whatever he was working on in his laptop, again. You plopped down next to him, spreading your books out.
“It appears you might need some intellectual stimulation. I’ve been told I’m excellent company for that,” you offered, smiling your most charming smile.
Without looking away from his screen, Anton said, “Pass.”
“Are you coding?” you asked, ignoring his refusal.
“I’m studying.”
“For what?” you asked, leaning back to take a peek at his screen. “You’re reading a book on your laptop?”
“It’s convenient.”
You grimaced. “I bet you don’t know what books smell like.”
“No, and I’m not curious so I don’t really wanna know,” he said, facing you. “Can I have some peace and quiet or do you have anything else you wanna ask me?”
“Oh, of course. Sorry. I’ll just be over here being pretty and smart. Don’t mind me.”
He didn’t respond, just nodded slightly, continuing to work. You watched him for a bit, playfully resting your chin in your hand.
“My man is so smart, but so grumpy too,” you muttered and Anton suddenly glanced sideways at you.
You looked away so quickly, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. Then opened a random book and buried your face in it. You could hear him sighing as you grinned into the pages of the book, hoping he didn’t hear what you’d said but knowing damn well he probably did.
You were grinning when he suddenly snatched the book from your hands, flipping it over before giving it back.
“It’s upside down,” he said, fixing his gaze on his screen again.
If it wasn’t for the plans you made with your friends earlier, you would have stayed in the library all day until Anton left. But alas, it was time to go when you received gazillion messages from Lea asking where you were.
Half-heartedly, you packed away your books and got ready to go. Anton noticed you then but didn’t say anything. You tapped on the table next to his laptop, making him take off his headphones and look at you inquiringly.
“I was thinking of watching a movie this weekend. You’re welcome to join me.”
Anton raised an eyebrow. “I don’t really like movies.”
You shook your head disapprovingly. “Guess we’ll have to change that about you.”
“Good luck with that,” he replied, putting his headphones back on.
Another time, you saw him at the gym when you were there with your friends. He was lifting weights, and you confidently strode over, showing off your figure in your gym outfit. You casually leaned over the machine he was using.
“Wow, so you’re not just working out your brain, you work out your biceps too? Impressive,” you complimented.
“I come here to avoid conversations,” he deadpanned.
“You’re still talking to me, so you’re not really doing a great job,” you chuckled.
Anton sighed, but again, he didn’t tell you to leave. He just continued what he was doing, and you watched for a minute, smirking. You were enjoying yourself, despite his lack of reaction.
“I’ll be over there if you need me,” you said, winking.
“Why would I need you?” he asked, resting his hands for a second.
You shrugged. “You never know when you might.”
As you walked away, your friends were waiting for you, shaking their heads, grinning in amusement, and straight up just facepalming. Mina said, “Girl, is it just me, or are you kinda embarrassing?”
You scrunched your nose cutely at her. “I am, kinda. But it’s okay. He’ll warm up to me soon.”
He didn’t seem put off by your forwardness, which was all that mattered to you because it didn’t seem like you were bothering him. You were resolved to continue what you were doing.
You kept ‘accidentally’ bumping into him at random spots—by the vending machine, dorm hallways, the library aisles, or even walking to class despite being in different buildings.
Sometimes, you felt a little embarrassed, but you liked how fun it was to tease him and flirt with him, despite his aloof attitude. He was gonna break sooner or later, and whatever he decided to do when that happened, you were prepared to accept. You had projected about a dozen different scenarios of him confronting you, but the reality was far more unique.
“Look at us, fate keeps putting us together. Ever think the universe is trying to tell you something?” you told Anton when you coincidentally—for real this time—ended up in the same college seminar together.
He stared at you. “The universe doesn’t work that way.”
Unfazed, you shrugged, opening your laptop. “Maybe not, but it’s more fun to believe it does.”
Anton closed his laptop and turned his body slightly toward you. “Do you like me or something?”
“Yes,” you replied without missing a beat. “Wasn’t it obvious? I made sure you’d get the message, though.”
He was quiet for a while, staring at you with his forehead creasing. Then he asked, “Why?”
You shrugged, keeping your smile. “Because I do. Hey, you confessed your feelings for me first!”
“When did I—” he stopped, realization flickering on his face, and then he sighed. “I told you, I don’t remember doing that.”
“It’s okay. I remember enough for the both of us,” you teased, tilting your head with an innocent smile.
Anton seemed to realize arguing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He shook his head slowly, as if accepting defeat. “You know what? Do whatever you want, but I won’t take responsibility for your feelings.”
“You’re not telling me to leave you alone?” you asked, raising your brows in genuine surprise.
He looked at you, baffled. “What?”
“You’re not telling me to leave you alone,” you repeated, this time more matter-of-factly. “So can I take that as a sign that I can keep following you around?”
Anton grimaced, though it was more out of exasperation than irritation. “You’re not seriously going to follow me everywhere, are you?”
You grinned mischievously. “No, not really. But now that you mention it, maybe I should. What do you think?”
“Well then, leave—”
“Good afternoon, sir,” you exclaimed upon seeing the professor walk in, cutting off whatever protest Anton was about to say.
You lay sprawled on Lea’s bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, scowling. Next to you, Lea was perched on her stomach, typing away on her laptop.
“The guy’s a tough nut to crack,” you muttered, shaking your head in frustration. “Do you think… he’s just not interested?”
“I thought he made that very clear with how he keeps ignoring you?” Lea replied, not looking up from her screen.
You sat up with a sigh just as Mina and Jill strolled into the room. “He’s not really ignoring me, though,” you corrected. “More like… he just lets me do whatever I want. Like he didn’t care enough to say or do anything.”
“You guys talking about Anton?” Mina asked and you nodded. “Sungchan is inviting him over for movie night. Apparently, he said ‘yes’.”
Your jaw dropped. “No way? He said he didn’t like movies!”
Mina shrugged, pulling out her phone and flashing you the screen. “I don’t know the details, but Chan said he’s wingmanning you.”
You squealed, grabbing Lea by the arm. “Do you have a nice dress I could borrow? No! I should just go back to my dorm and get one!”
“It’s a pajama party,” Jill interrupted, sitting beside you with a bowl of ice cream in hand. “You’re supposed to wear pajamas.”
You paused, considering. “Yes, but... like, how about a cute nightgown? Those count as pajamas too, right?”
Lea shook her head. “You’ll just complain about being cold.”
You slumped back onto the bed dramatically, face-first. “Friendship is dead. It never existed.”
Later, while the smell of butter and popcorn filled the apartment, you rummaged through Lea’s closet, pulling out a cozy sweatshirt that still looked stylish enough for the movie night. “This will have to do,” you muttered, tugging it on over your pajamas.
Lea, now in a matching set of flannel, raised an eyebrow. “You really think Anton’s gonna notice your outfit at a pajama party?”
“I don’t know. But in case he does,” you paused, checking yourself out in the mirror. “at least I look cute.”
When you got back to the living room, the usual chaos of movie night was already in full swing. Sungchan and Eunseok were bickering over what movie to watch while Sohee raided the snack stash.
Sungchan called out your name, waving you over with a mischievous grin. “Look who actually showed up,” he said, motioning to the couch.
You froze mid-step. Anton was sitting on the long couch, casually leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, looking as aloof as ever. He was wearing pajamas, which was unexpected because you didn’t think he’d be the type to engage in silly activities like this one.
“He’s real,” you whispered into Mina’s ear, eyes wide, and she stifled a laugh. To Sungchan, you said out loud, “Jung Sungchan, you’re my number one favorite person in the world.”
Just as you were about to claim the spot next to Anton, Eunseok walked past and plopped down right where you were headed. Without thinking, you grabbed Eunseok by the arm. “Move!”
Eunseok blinked at you. “Why? What’s going on?”
You picked up a throw pillow and hit Eunseok with it over and over again until he moved out of your way.
“Wow. You’re ruthless,” Eunseok chuckled, shaking his head but laughing anyway. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” you winked at him before turning to Anton. He watched the whole thing unfold with mild amusement, shaking his head as you settled in.
“Comfortable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Very,” you grinned, inching just a little closer to him. “Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t think you’d really show up. And in pajamas, no less,” you said, flashing him a wide grin.
Anton glanced at his clothes briefly. “Sungchan insisted,” he said flatly.
“Well, I’m glad you came,” you said, batting your eyelashes and hoping you looked cute doing it. “It’s not every day I get to sit next to my favorite person.”
Anton raised an eyebrow, unamused. “Didn’t you say Sungchan was your favorite?”
“Ah, a jealous man,” you said, clicking your tongue. “It’s okay. I like them possessive.”
“I’m leaving,” he sighed, standing up at once.
You grabbed his arm and tugged him back to the couch. “You’re no fun, did you know that?”
“Wasn’t trying to be,” he replied, leaning back on the couch, looking unbothered.
Determined to get some sort of reaction, you scooted closer, pretending to examine his face. “Do you always wear glasses?” you asked, feigning curiosity. “They make you look extra smart.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose, side-eyeing you. “I am extra smart.”
You giggled, undeterred. “I bet you’re super smart, Mr. IT Genius. You could probably hack into all our phones right now.”
Anton didn’t seem fazed. “I’m not that smart. And hacking is illegal.”
“Well, that’s good. Otherwise, you’d see all the photos I took of you before,” you teased, leaning even closer so your shoulder brushed his. “For research purposes, of course.”
This time, Anton did look at you, but only briefly. “What kind of research?”
“Oh, just, you know,” you waved a hand vaguely, “studying the behavior of elusive, handsome introverts.”
“Sounds like stalking to me,” he replied dryly, though his lips twitched into a faint smile. You’d almost missed it if you weren’t staring right at him.
You grinned, feeling triumphant at his tiny show of amusement. “Was that a smile just now? Did I just make you smile? Does that make me your happiness and joy?”
Anton lolled his head back, sighing. “Just what is up with you?” he asked, genuinely bewildered.
Getting a real reaction from him, albeit an exasperated one, made your stomach flutter. “I’m persistent. Haven’t you noticed?”
“I have,” he said, glancing sideways at you.
Before you could respond, Sungchan’s voice boomed across the room. “Movie’s starting, everyone! Grab your snacks, get cozy!”
The lights dimmed, and the opening credits began to roll. You wiggled in your seat, purposely leaning just a little closer to Anton, your head brushing against his arm.
Every now and then, you’d make little comments, trying to catch his attention. Anton remained mostly unresponsive, only glancing at you occasionally, but he didn’t seem bothered either. In fact, the more you nudged him or commented, the more relaxed he seemed.
Finally, you ‘accidentally’ let your head rest on his shoulder. “Oops,” you whispered, eyes still fixed on the screen. “My bad.”
Anton sighed, but to your surprise, he didn’t push you off. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight.”
You grinned up at him, batting your lashes. “What can I say? I like taking my chances.”
“Just watch the movie,” he muttered, sounding annoyed but not making a move to push you away.
With a satisfied smile, you snuggled a little closer, content with your minor victory.
After the movie, everyone stretched and yawned. Sungchan and Sohee were already debating what to watch next, while Jill and Lea were dramatically complaining about the lackluster conclusion to the movie. You continued the night with laughter and conversations over light drinks. It was a school day, so no one was entertaining the idea of getting drunk.
You glanced at Anton, who had stayed quiet throughout the night, except for a few quips here and there. You often flirted with him in between conversations, but as usual, he couldn’t even be bothered.
When the group started to pack up, you took a deep breath and turned to him. “Hey, do you wanna walk back to the dorms together?” you asked, keeping your tone light and hopeful.
You were the only ones going back to the dorms, since the rest of your friends lived off-campus, and Sungchan was obviously staying over at Mina’s.
Anton stood up, gathering his things without making eye contact. “No, thanks,” he said simply, pulling his jacket over his shoulder.
Your heart sank a little, but you didn’t want to let it show. “That’s fine, heh,” you said quickly, trying to brush it off with a casual laugh. “Didn’t think you’d say yes anyway.”
He paused for a moment, adjusting his jacket before looking at you with a slight frown. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t need to follow me around.”
The words stung more than you expected, even though you’d been joking about it all night. You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Instead, you just nodded, forcing a small smile. “Got it.”
Anton gave a short nod, then turned and headed for the door without a second glance. As you watched him leave, the giddiness you’d felt earlier fizzled out. You knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel, but his rejection still hurt. You’d pushed and pushed all night, and for a moment, it felt like maybe he was warming up to you. But now, it seemed like you had been wrong all along.
Mina noticed your somber expression and walked over. “You okay?”
You plastered on a smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll head back now. See you guys tomorrow?”
Your farewell was noisy, with your girls dramatically begging you to stay. There was a big smile on your lips when you exited the door, but as you headed back to your dorm, thoughts of Anton’s words stayed with you.
Maybe this little game of flirting wasn’t as fun for him as it was for you. Maybe you were pushing too hard. It had been fun for the most part, a lighthearted chase that kept your heart racing, but now it was starting to feel tiring—draining, even.
Your brows furrowed in frustration. “I should stop…” you muttered under your breath, kicking at a stray pebble in your path. Then, with a small pout, you crossed your arms tightly over your chest. “Men ain’t shit,” you grumbled, though the bitterness in your voice didn’t quite match the half-hearted way you said it.
“Now, now, sweetheart,” said a greasy, slurred voice from behind you, giving you goosebumps all over. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”
How deeply distracted were you that you didn’t notice the dragged-out footsteps behind you?
You tried to brush it off, pretend you didn’t hear anything. When his steps drew closer and he called out again, you got ready to run. But he’d grabbed your arm before you could make a run for it.
Not so fast, sweetheart.” His breath reeked of alcohol. “What’s a pretty girl doing out here alone?”
You shot him a sharp glance, trying to ignore the knot tightening in your stomach. “Sir, please get your hands off of me,” you said, trying to swat his hand away but he tightened his grip.
“I’m not so bad, am I? C’mon. I could use a little company,” he slurred and every nerve in your body screamed danger.
“Let go!” you snapped, your voice rising in panic. You stumbled back, but his grip was strong, steering you toward the wall behind you. Your back hit the concrete, the coldness of it running up your spine. His fingers dug into your shoulders, breath sour with alcohol as he leaned closer.
“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” he slurred. “I just wanna talk.”
Your pulse hammered in your ears. You glanced around at the empty street, and the dim lamplights. Panic crawled up your throat when you realized the danger you were in.
“Hey!” The shout cut through the air. You snapped your head toward the sound and almost cried when you saw Anton sprinting toward you.
The drunk man froze, his head whipping in the same direction. That single second of hesitation was all you needed. You drove your knee up hard—right where it hurt.
He doubled over with a strangled groan, clutching himself. Anton skidded to a stop in front of you, wincing at the sight.
“Damn,” he blurted, still grimacing. “That looked like it hurt.”
“Anton…” you breathed, heart hammering in your chest.
He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “Before he gets back up. Come on.”
You ran, pajamas flapping awkwardly as you bolted down the street. Getting harassed in oversized Pucca pajamas—really? The ridiculousness of the situation would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so shaken.
Your heart pounded as you rounded the corner, Anton’s grip tightening around yours until you were safely back inside the campus gates.
When you finally slowed down, panting, you glanced at him. “Oh my god!”
Anton looked at you, still catching his breath. “I know.”
The simple acknowledgment sent a strange warmth through you. You both stood there for a moment, the adrenaline fading. You were still catching your breath, trying to process everything that had just happened.
“Thank you,” you breathed out. “You really saved me back there.”
“I didn’t. It was all you. That guy’s family jewels are done for,” he quipped, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Is that a joke?” you teased, pointing at his lips. “Are you laughing at your own joke?”
He looked at you, his expression shifting back to its usual deadpan. “I didn’t laugh. Be more careful next time. Don’t just walk by yourself, especially at night.” His voice was almost scolding, but there was an unmistakable note of concern in it.
You blinked up at him, feeling your heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the scare you just had. “You know, I could guilt-trip you right now and say you should have said yes when I asked to walk back together.”
You expected him to sigh and ignore your teasing, like he usually would. But he didn’t. Instead, he quietly took off his jacket, draped it over your shoulders, and zipped it up for you.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be walking alone when I refused,” he said, sincerely, like he really meant it.
For a while, you couldn’t move, or talk, or even think coherently. Your brain was short-circuiting at the warmth and the smell of his jacket that engulfed your smaller frame.
“I didn’t know your other friends weren’t staying in the dorms,” he added, but you couldn’t hear him over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.
Anton noticed your dazed stare, his brows furrowing before he sighed, clearly not amused by whatever was going through your head. Without a word, he tugged the hoodie over your head, covering your face.
“Go back to your room,” he muttered, exasperated. “And stop being weird.”
You pulled the hood back, grinning, but he was already walking away.
“Hey! Wait for me! What if he comes back?” you called, jogging after him.
This wasn’t part of the plan. You were doing just fine on the sidelines of college life, navigating the highs and lows of being a student. You were content not drawing attention to yourself in places that didn’t need your presence, happily enjoying the fun college functions from a distance.
Why did you have to join the student council on a whim?
“I’m so sick of this,” you muttered, hauling a large box of banners back into the storage room. Someone else could do it if only there were other hands available to help. Frustrated, you kicked the box, only to recoil in pain when it slammed against your foot. “Ouch!”
“Move,” came a familiar voice. Anton brushed past you, easily lifting the box like it weighed nothing. You followed him inside, a grin creeping onto your face.
“Thank you,” you said, genuine gratitude lighting up your tone.
“Next time, ask for help if you can’t handle it,” he replied with a side-eye.
“There was no one around!” you protested.
“You didn’t ask me.”
“You were busy!”
“Then you should’ve waited until I wasn’t.”
“Why are you mad? It’s not even your job!” you replied, pouting. Anton sighed and walked off. You hurried after him, your shorter strides barely keeping up. When he stopped suddenly, you almost bumped into him. He turned, eyes scanning you with that unreadable expression that always made your chest feel weirdly tight.
“Are you checking me out?” you quipped, knowing how he’d react—a scoff and a side-eye.
Anton scoffed. “Are you heading back to the dorm now?” he asked, and you nodded. “Wait here,” he said before climbing up the sound box to fetch his backpack. When he came back down, he pulled out a jacket and handed it to you.
“Oh, I’m good. I have one in my bag,” you said, shaking your hands.
“Forget it, then.”
“No, wait—I’ll take it!” you said quickly, snatching it before he could put it away. “Mine’s not warm enough. Thanks.”
He rolled his eyes. “Go get your stuff. We’re leaving.”
You blinked. “Together?”
“We’re going the same way anyway,” he muttered. “Can’t have you getting in trouble again.”
“We’re on the campus, I don’t think anyone would try something like that here.”
He turned his back. “If you don’t want to, just say so.”
You smiled, not even trying to hide how giddy that made you feel. “I didn’t say that.”
After what happened the other day, Anton seemed to be warming up to you for real now. Maybe he was just guilty, but at this point, it didn’t matter. You’d spontaneously combust before you pass up on the chance to spend time with him.
You rushed to grab your bag and waved goodbye to your friends before jogging back. Anton was still waiting, looking like he was second-guessing the whole thing.
“Let me just remind you that this was your idea,” you said, laughing as you caught up and laced your fingers with his. He didn’t pull away. “So stop looking at me like I forced you into this.”
He exhaled sharply, looking annoyed though his words suggested otherwise. “Put the jacket on. It’s cold.”
“Oooh, Anton Lee,” you teased, leaning closer. “Trying to get promoted to green flag?”
“I’m not a red flag,” he said monotonously.
“When did I say you were?”
“You kept implying it.”
You chuckled. “You know, they say people who insist they’re not red flags usually are.”
“Just wear the jacket,” he said flatly. “I don’t want to be responsible for your hypothermia.”
You stepped back to slip it on, unlinking your hand from his—only for Anton to catch it again. You blinked, caught off guard.
“Well, damn,” you teased. “Didn’t think you liked me that much. But I kinda need both hands to do this.”
He froze, then released you like he’d touched something hot. That made you grimace.
“Okay, offensive. Do you hate it that much?” you said with a laugh as you zipped up the jacket. “And no one’s getting hypothermia in this weather. It’s not that cold.”
He sighed. “Can we walk quietly and pretend we don’t know each other?”
“Nope,” you said, looping your arm through his. “Impossible. We totally look like a couple right now.”
“We don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” you sang, resting your head against his arm. The two of you walked under the soft glow of the pathway lights, Anton not pulling away from you, and you just basking in the moment.
The school festival was coming up, and you got to work with Anton for the preparations—you as part of the student council, and him with the IT Club. Your tasks didn’t really overlap, but you were content just being in the same space as him.
While Anton worked with a clubmate on the sound system, you were assigned to decorations and logistics. You organized tables, hung streamers, and made sure everything was in its place—all while stealing glances at Anton and his team. Even if your work kept you on opposite sides of the field, you still made a point to stroll by his area now and then, smiling whenever your eyes met. Anton would only nod to acknowledge you, but each exchange was a little jolt of happiness for you.
During a break, you found yourself near the sound booth, leaning against the wall to catch your breath. Anton was just adjusting a microphone, but in your lovestruck eyes, he looked effortlessly cool, his concentration only making him more attractive.
“Don’t just stand there. You’re making me nervous,” he said when he caught you staring.
“Do I? They say being around someone you like makes you nervous,” you shot back with a grin.
“They lied,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Don’t break anything.”
“Guess the only thing I’ll be breaking is your heart when I leave,” you said dramatically after hearing someone call your name across the field. “Sorry, Anton. Duty calls. Try not to miss me too much.”
Anton rolled his eyes. “Just go. Don’t come back.”
“Please. You’d notice the second I was gone,” you teased, walking away without looking back.
On the day of the festival, music drifted from the courtyard where the marching band played, and the air smelled faintly of grilled food and sugar. You stood with your friends beneath the banner that read Welcome to the 00 University Festival!, cheering as the president wrapped up his speech about the academy, community, and creativity.
“Let the festivities begin!” he declared, and the crowd broke into cheers.
From there, the day unfolded in color and sound. You tried your luck at balloon darts, lost embarrassingly fast at the ring toss, and nearly tripped through the inflatable obstacle course.
Between rounds, you made your way to the sound booth, where Anton and Wonbin were fine-tuning equipment for the performances.
“Snacks for the hardest-working people on campus,” you announced, holding up a paper bag of food and drinks.
“Thanks a lot!” Wonbin said with a grin, immediately fishing out a snack. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Anton just nodded, his eyes still on the soundboard. “Appreciate it,” he said, taking a sip from the drink you handed him.
“You guys are killing it,” you said. “Can’t wait for the party tonight.”
Wonbin chuckled. “We’ll make sure it’s a good one. You coming to dance?”
“Obviously,” you said, flashing him finger guns. “Wouldn’t miss DJ Wonbin’s big night.”
He laughed, then gave Anton a playful nudge. “Your girl knows how to flatter.”
Anton’s forehead creased as he glanced at you. “She’s not my girl.”
“She’s not?” Wonbin asked, genuinely surprised.
“Not yet,” you cut in, winking at Anton before heading back into the crowd.
The hours slipped by in a whirl of noise and sunlight. You checked in on them now and then—sometimes with more food, sometimes just to say hi. Every time, Anton looked the same: focused, calm, the corner of his mouth twitching whenever you teased him.
“Want a break?” you asked during one of your visits. “You’ve been standing here all day.”
“I’m fine,” he said without looking up. “Just want to make sure nothing crashes before the main event.”
You pulled a waffle from the paper bag and held it out. “At least eat this. A not-so-little bird once told me you forget to eat when you’re in the zone. It was Sungchan.”
He chuckled as he accepted the stick. “Thanks.”
He smiled, and—ugh—you could feel yourself swooning again. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the mysterious, unapproachable vibe you have going on. But you look sooo much more charming when you’re smiling like this.”
As if on cue, Anton’s face reverted to its usual deadpan, which only made you laugh harder. “Default mode’s fine too,” you said between giggles.
He shook his head, but you caught the corner of his mouth twitch again before he turned back to the console.
“Fine,” you said, stepping away with a grin. “I’ll stop distracting you now.”
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” he said monotonously, eyes on the monitors.
You left the booth still smiling, the music from the speakers chasing you across the field. The sun was already setting, painting everything in that golden pre-evening light. Stalls glowed under their fairy lights, the air smelled of butter and smoke, and laughter echoed from every direction.
You met up with your friends again, joining them in games and food, but your gaze kept drifting back to the sound booth. By the time the performances started, the sky had deepened into deep blue. Wonbin’s voice boomed through the mic as he hyped up the crowd, and Anton sat behind him, barely visible save for the top of his head.
The festival carried on around you until the last performance ended and the lights dimmed one by one. By then, the energy had mellowed and the crowd had thinned out significantly.
Students began gathering leftover props and decorations. “I can’t believe how well everything turned out,” you muttered, tossing a pile of streamers into a trash bag.
Wonbin, stacking equipment nearby, glanced your way. “Yeah, it was a success. Thanks for all your help today.”
“Of course! It was so much fun being a part of it,” you replied with a smile. Across the field, you caught sight of Anton winding up cables. Even now, with the day done, he still looked fresh and handsome in the night light. The sight of him made you smile wider.
The student council president clapped his hands, calling everyone’s attention. “That’s a wrap, people. And before we call it a night, I am delighted to announce that we will be going on a weekend escapade after this. A little break for an entire week of working and pulling off such a wonderful festival this year.”
Cheers rose from the group, and your heart skipped at the thought of spending more time with everyone—especially with Anton. This time, not for duties and work, but for fun!
“Glad to see everyone’s up for it!” the president said, smiling. “For now, let’s pack up what we can tonight, make sure nothing gets left behind, and then we’ll head to the after-party.”
You worked alongside the others, packing what needed to be stored away. The rest, thankfully, would be handled by the university staff in the morning. When everything was finally in order, people started drifting off—some heading back to their dorms, others already on their way to the off-campus after-party.
It was a big shift from the organized funfest of the festival to a freer, more unfiltered mayhem. The living room was packed with students, and the atmosphere smelled of alcohol, vape, and perfumes mixed with the faintest hint of sweat. Colorful lights danced across the walls and over the swaying crowd.
“Let’s grab some drinks!” Mina yelled over the music, dragging the group toward the makeshift bar. You followed, adrenaline kicking in as you poured whatever mix of alcohol and soda the jocks had concocted.
Cup in hand, you scanned the room until your gaze landed on Anton. He was standing in a corner, one hand in his pocket, a drink in the other, watching the chaos with an amused expression. The strobe lights caught in his hair, and even in a plain white t-shirt, he somehow stood out.
Without thinking, you weaved through the crowd. “Wow, you’re here,” you said, genuinely surprised to see him.
“Not willingly,” he said, raising his cup in greeting.
“Wanna join the madness?” you asked, gesturing toward the dance floor, where a large group of students swayed, lost in the music and alcohol. Mina and Sungchan were there too, hands on each other like no one else was in the room.
“Pass,” he said, not even giving it a thought.
“Knew you’d say that,” you mumbled, grinning into your cup.
Across the room, Mina waved at you, and you lifted your drink in return. “They look so in love, it’s annoying,” you said, though your smile was soft, not bitter.
Anton followed your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Doesn’t look like love to me.”
You turned to him, surprised. “What? You can’t see it? They can’t even keep their hands off each other.”
He shrugged. “Could be the alcohol. You don’t need love for that.”
You studied him. There was no judgment in his voice but you could tell that he was a cynic. “You don’t believe in love, do you?”
“Love’s overrated,” he said simply, taking a slow sip.
You just nodded, acknowledging his admittance and respecting his opinions. “Are you sure you should be drinking? You can’t handle your liquor.”
He tilted his cup toward you. “This is soda. I’m not drinking. Can’t afford to make dumb mistakes.”
You caught the edge in his tone. “Like calling some stranger gorgeous and confessing your love for them?” you said, half teasing, half testing the waters.
“Exactly that.”
You felt a pang in your chest. Whether it was because he called your first meeting a ‘mistake’ or not, you’re not really sure. But it totally killed the vibe.
“Well, good luck with that.” You tapped your cup against his. “Enjoy the party.”
You turned to leave, but his hand caught yours, fingers curling just enough to stop you. The contact was light, but you could feel his hesitation when he released your hand.
“Where are you running off to?” he asked, clearing his throat and looking away.
You let out a short laugh. “I’m gonna go have some real fun. Dancing, drinking, maybe some games because I’m quite good at them,” you smiled, motioning to the party around you. “It’s a party after all.”
He nodded, and under the flash of blue and red and green lights, you couldn’t quite tell what expression he was wearing when he said, “Have fun, then.”
“I will,” you said with a smile, before melting back into the crowd.
You didn’t see him for the rest of the night, and you didn’t try looking. You just let the music take over, losing yourself in the blur of laughter and lights, and trying not to think about how disappointing it felt that he’d called your first meeting a mistake.
Early Saturday morning, you gathered at the school plaza with other members of the festival working group. You were set to leave at 9 am, and despite the hangover you somehow made it on time—not without a splitting headache that the others seemed to share.
“Alright?” asked Anton, appearing beside you with a scowl when he noticed you pressing your fingers to your temples.
“Oh, hi,” you greeted, forcing a grin before wincing. “Ugh. My head is killing me.”
“And whose fault is that?” he said with a smirk.
Before you could come up with something clever, Wonbin appeared, holding a small plastic bag with a packet of medicine in it. “Here,” he said, offering one to you. “It’ll help with the hangover.”
You groaned dramatically. “Thanks a lot, Wonbin. You’re a literal angel.”
The tips of his ears turned red. “That’s—uh—it’s not much.”
“No, really. You’re glowing. Your beauty is blinding,” you said, squinting up at him as if to shield your eyes. “A literal angel,” you added, making Wonbin laugh bashfully.
Anton scoffed. “Take the medicine before you pass out.”
“Oh, right.” You popped a pill into your mouth, then struggled to twist the cap off the water bottle. Just as Wonbin reached out to help, Anton grabbed it from your hand and opened it with an easy twist.
“Thanks,” you said, raising the bottle in salute before turning back to Wonbin. “And thank you, my angel.”
Soon, the rest of the group arrived, ready for the trip. Since the university didn’t sponsor the outing, everyone had chipped in for expenses and carpooled in whoever’s car had room.
Without giving it much thought, you headed straight to Anton’s car, making yourself comfortable in the shotgun like you belonged there.
He didn’t seem to mind, though he did glance your way. “I thought you were riding with Wonbin.”
“Oh, we’re not that close. And he didn’t invite me,” you said, buckling your seatbelt. “Besides, I’d rather ride you.”
The words left your mouth before you could stop them. His hand froze mid-air, and silence filled the car, you could swear you could hear crickets in your own head.
“With you!” you blurted, mortified. “I meant—I’d rather ride with you.”
Anton blinked, then nodded coolly. “Yeah. I know.”
You laughed awkwardly and turned toward the window, silently begging for the ground to swallow you whole. When the other cars began pulling out of the parking lot, you noticed Anton still hadn’t started his engine.
“Are we waiting for someone?” you asked.
“There he is,” he said, nodding toward Sohee jogging toward the car with a backpack.
Sohee jumped into the backseat, slightly out of breath. “Wow. Thanks for not leaving me behind.”
“I almost did,” Anton muttered, finally starting the engine.
You sank a little in your seat, grateful for the distraction—and even more grateful you didn’t have to say another word.
The car ride was filled with laughter as Sohee took charge of the music, blasting upbeat tracks that made it impossible not to move. He sang along, his voice rising above the catchy beats, and every now and then, he added exaggerated dance moves from the passenger seat, making you and Anton laugh.
“The festival was epic,” Sohee said after a while. “But you know what would’ve made it more legendary? A water balloon launcher. Next year, I’m bringing one.”
Anton rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “You’d just end up hitting someone with that.”
“So what? As long as you make memories, right?”
You laughed and reached for the iced coffee in the cup holder, holding it out for Anton as he drove. He took a sip without hesitation, not even a glance at your direction as he was focused on the road.
Sohee’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Why don’t you two just kiss in front of me, then?”
Anton’s brows furrowed. “Why would we do that?”
“Right?” you blurted, snorting as you turned to Sohee. “Didn’t know you were kinky like that, Sohee,” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully at him.
Sohee groaned. “You know that’s not what I meant!”
“Well, you’re being dirty,” you said, turning back to Anton. “I was just being nice. Driving is no easy task.”
“Right, just being nice,” Sohee mocked. “When did he stop complaining about you invading his space?”
“Oh, he’s never complained about that,” you said easily.
Sohee gasped dramatically, hand flying over his mouth. “Ever?” he asked, eyes wide.
“Not that I remember,” you said, peering at him in the backseat. “And I remember every single interaction we had,” you added proudly.
“But he doesn’t like it when people are in his space,” said Sohee, pointing at Anton with a surprised expression. “He hates it.”
You glanced at Anton, but he didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Enough, dude. You’re gonna make her think I’m enjoying this.”
Sohee grinned. “Aren’t you? I mean, who wouldn’t want a hot girl following him around, handing him drinks?”
Anton snickered. “What hot girl are you even talking about?”
You gasped, but before you could say anything, Sohee exclaimed, “Dude, are you blind? She’s right there! 1-800-hot-n-fun.”
That made you laugh, just as Sohee leaned between your seats, finger gun pressed to your temple. “Excuse me, ma’am. You’re under arrest for being ten out of ten and too hot to handle.”
You both burst out laughing, and even Anton’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “Settle down before I kick you two out,” he chided.
Sohee leaned back with a grin, sighing. “Is it weird that I’m more invested in your relationship than you are?”
You pointed at him. “Shut up. No one’s more invested in our relationship than I am.”
As the miles rolled by, the countryside unfolded around you, with fields of wildflowers swaying in the breeze. At some point, you had to stop at a gasoline station because Sohee needed to use the restroom.
“How about you?” Anton asked, just as Sohee had left the car.
You shook your head. “I’m good,” you replied, glancing at him. He was scrolling through his phone and only hummed at your response.
You watched him for a moment—handsome, as always, with that charisma that seemed to come so naturally to him. You didn’t mean to stare, but your gaze lingered on his mouth longer than it should have. There was that faint, almost-smile he always had—like he was always on the verge of actually letting it show. It made you wonder what it’d take to coax a real one out of him.
But more importantly, you wondered if his lips were as soft as they appear to be.
“You know,” you said, voice light but teasing, “you have really pretty lips.”
Anton paused, glancing at you and blinking like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back to his phone, brushing you off as usual. “Thanks.”
“Can you tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue?” you asked, leaning a little closer with an innocent smile on your lips.
You knew exactly what you were doing—the teasing tone, the loaded question. It was playful, sultry, but in a way that you could brush off if he didn’t bite. You fully expected his usual indifferent response.
Then again, there was the possibility that maybe he’d pick up your hints this time, and maybe he’d do something about the tension that was building up between you right at this moment. Maybe—
“I don’t think anyone can,” he answered flatly, brows furrowed like he genuinely and seriously thought about the question.
You threw your hands up dramatically. “Oh my god. What was I expecting?” you scoffed, shaking your head and looking away.
Anton remained quiet, so you glanced back at him. His jaw was clenched tightly, and somehow it felt as though you’d said something you shouldn’t have.
You swallowed, unsure whether to laugh it off or hold your breath. “What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward you. Before you could process what was happening, his hand was already cupping the back of your head, and then his lips were on yours.
You were momentarily stunned, grappling with the sensation of his lips pressing against yours and the racing thoughts in your head. His fingers tightened slightly, tilting your head at just the right angle to kiss you deeper. It was firm, yet slow, like he’d been thinking about it for much longer than you’d realized. You closed your eyes as you melted into him, kissing him back and feeling the warmth spread through your chest. Your heart raced in its cage—so wildly that you swore Anton could feel it echoing in his own.
When he pulled back, he was wearing a rare smirk on his lips and a triumphant glint in his eyes.
“So?” He asked, voice low like he meant for only you to hear it. “Can I?”
It took you a second to catch up. “Huh?”
Anton’s lips curved into a full smirk this time. “Can I tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue?”
You blinked at him, speechless—then let out a helpless laugh. “Y-yeah,” you stammered, flustered and still catching your breath. “Absolutely. You’re amazing. Basically a pro. Heh.”
You were still reeling—trying and failing to act normal—when Sohee climbed back into the car, completely oblivious to what had just happened. He noticed something, though, because his eyes darted between you and Anton suspiciously.
“What?” you asked, forcing a casual tone that probably wasn’t fooling anyone.
He shrugged slowly. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Again with your nonsense,” Anton replied, casually driving away after dismissing Sohee’s suspicion like it was nothing.
Sohee didn’t press, and it was only you who could see the smirk on Anton’s lips, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. It was infuriating, but also oddly disarming. You could still feel the press of his lips on yours, and it took everything in you not to touch your mouth, just to check if it had really happened.
You arrived at the villa, its stone walls glowing warmly under the afternoon sun, half-hidden behind tall trees. There was a welcoming warmth to it, and you hoped it was as comfortable as it looked.
“Wow, this place is massive,” Sohee commented dramatically as he stepped out of the car, looking up at the villa as if it were a five-star resort.
A girl with long hair and a bright smile appeared on the porch. “Hey, guys! You made it!” she called, waving.
“Claire?” Sohee blurted, surprised.
“Sohee!” she exclaimed, running to Sohee for a quick hug.
You caught Anton stiffen beside you, his expression shifting so subtly that you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already watching him.
“What are you doing here?” Sohee asked, pulling away.
Before she could answer, the student council president emerged. “You’ve arrived! Perfect. Have you met Claire?” he said, smiling. “She’s been kind enough to offer her family’s villa for the weekend.”
“Oh, I know these guys. We go way back,” Claire said, gesturing between Sohee and Anton.
When she turned to you, her smile widened. “Hi! You are…?”
You shook her hand, matching her brightness as best as you could. You told her your name. “Nice to meet you.”
“Come on in! Everyone’s waiting.”
As the president led you inside, you caught Claire looping her arm through Anton’s. He didn’t pull away. Something sharp twisted in your chest before you could stop it. Jealousy, it seems.
You glanced at them again—Claire laughing softly, Anton saying nothing, his face unreadable.
The first order of business in the villa was rest, and then dinner. You hadn’t planned on helping out in the kitchen, but when you noticed only a few had volunteered, you reluctantly joined in. A mistake, you realized. From where you stood, you had a clear view of the living room where Anton sat with Claire and a few other people. She looked far too comfortable beside him, her laughter ringing out over the murmur of conversations. Your chest tightened at the sight.
It’s fine. He’s allowed to have a past, you told yourself, slicing the watermelon a little too forcefully. But did she have to sit that close? Exes shouldn’t be that friendly. And did she have to appear now—right after he and I finally—
“Hey, focus!” Wonbin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You’re gonna cut yourself.”
You blinked down at the board, realizing you’d nearly nicked your finger. “Oh, shit.”
“Why are you so distracted?” Wonbin teased, tossing a look toward the living room before grinning. “Relax. He’s yours. I’m sure of it.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Not with his ex clinging to him like that.”
“I don’t know… he’s heading this way,” Wonbin said, smirking. “So I think I’m right.”
Before you could respond, Anton appeared beside you. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller. “What are you doing?” he asked, eyes on your half-cut watermelon. He gently nudged you aside, his arm brushing yours as he took the knife from your hand.
“What do you think?” you said, pouting as you stepped aside but stayed close.
He sliced the fruit with ease. “I think you’re trying to get my attention. Getting hurt and all,” he replied, making your jaw drop. He laughed at your expression. “Aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t hurt,” you told him, rolling your eyes although your heart was fluttering at the sight of his smile. “And even if I did want your attention, I don’t need to hurt myself to get it.”
Anton nodded slightly. “You’re right. You don’t need to. That’s one of your many talents.”
You grabbed a paring knife, pretending to focus on the pears. “Sohee told me Claire was your ex.”
“She is,” he said simply. “Freshman year.”
You stopped the urge to roll your eyes, raising a brow instead. “So you did believe in love.”
“Just because I had girlfriends before doesn’t mean I believe in love.”
“What nonsense,” you scoffed. “You know, people who claim they don’t believe in love are usually the worst hopeless romantics.”
“Whoever said that was lying,” he said, cutting another piece and slipping it between your lips, his fingers brushing your mouth lightly.
You chewed slowly, feeling a blush creep up your neck. Anton’s gaze lingered on your lips. Normally, you’d make fun of him for it, but after what happened in the car, you couldn’t bring yourself to tease him.
He cleared his throat, looking away and resuming his task. You glanced around, suddenly self-conscious, and grabbed a slice of watermelon just to do something with your hands.
“It’s very sweet. Try it,” you said, offering the slice to him.
Without looking, Anton leaned sideways to you and took a bite of the fruit. You instantly regretted that because now you were the one staring at his lips, recalling the vivid imagery of earlier’s kiss.
“Anton!” a voice called out from the living room, snapping you out of your imaginations. It was Claire and she didn’t have anything to say, just waving at Anton with a smile.
You glanced at Anton, who didn’t even bother to show a reaction, let alone respond. “Does it bother you that she’s here?” you asked, your voice softer now, more curious than playful.
He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”
“So you’re unbothered?”
“I’m unbothered.”
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “You know, people who say they’re unbothered tend to be... well, very bothered.”
Anton let out a small, resigned laugh, finally setting the knife down. His gaze softened as he turned to face you fully. “Again with your odd wisdom.” He raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing but warm. “What’s next? People who claim to have allergies aren’t actually allergic?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” you shot back, laughing. “Allergies are backed by science. But being bothered when you’re in the same room as your ex? That’s a little harder to prove. Just like not believing in love.”
“You’re too smart for your own good,” he said, flicking your forehead, which made you grimace.
“Alright, no flirting in the kitchen,” said one of your friends, nudging you aside as she passed by carrying a steaming pot. “You two bring these to the patio.”
After the preparations, you moved to the backyard just as the evening settled into a cool, dusky warmth. The smell of barbecue was permeating in the air, rich and smoky. The large grill crackled and popped as steaks, skewers, and vegetables sizzled under Sohee’s watchful—albeit playful—eye.
You sat at one of the long picnic tables on the patio, nursing a cold drink and watching the light from the grill flicker across the faces of your friends. Anton sat beside you, quietly observing the scene while Claire—who had rejoined the group—chatted animatedly with some others across the table. You were trying not to feel too aware of her presence, but it was impossible not to glance her way now and then.
“Hey, are you going to give me a hand, or are you just going to sit there looking cute?” Sohee called to you with a playful wink.
You snorted, setting your drink down and getting up. “You know, you can’t use that line for everything.”
Sohee shook his head, grinning widely. “It’s not a line. You just happen to look cute all the time. Now, get over here and help me with the skewers.”
Anton chuckled beside you, and you gave him a teasing glance as you headed toward the grill. “How about helping him in my stead?”
“I’ll pass,” Anton replied, grinning.
You pouted, feigning a tantrum as you walked away. Sohee handed you a plate of marinated vegetables to arrange into skewers. “So, how’s it going over there with Mr. Grumpy Sunshine?” Sohee asked in a low voice, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he leaned closer.
You raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”
Sohee nudged you with his elbow. “Oh, no, don’t play dumb with me, woman. I saw how you and Anton were looking at each other earlier. You’re practically making out with your eyes.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, you win. You are more invested in our relationship than I am.”
Sohee chuckled. “I’ve known the guy for ages. He’s not usually this present. Normally, he’s off in his own world, but now, it’s like he actually pays attention when you’re around.”
“Liar. He doesn’t even look at me if he can help it.”
“True, but that was before, no?” he said, giving you a knowing grin. “You two have gotten closer lately.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but were interrupted when Anton appeared at your side, casually grabbing one of the skewers you had just finished assembling. “Hey!” you exclaimed, laughing. “You’re supposed to cook them first.”
Anton raised an eyebrow, popping a piece of bell pepper into his mouth. “It’s good raw.”
Sohee gasped dramatically. “It’s what?”
Anton flicked his forehead, hard. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
You winced at the reddened spot on Sohee’s forehead, but the latter was just grinning at you and wiggling his eyebrows knowingly. You playfully swatted his arm with the back of your hand.
“So dirty-minded, go away,” you scolded, though you were grinning.
Anton smiled softly, and for a moment, the noise of the group around you faded. His gaze held yours, and you felt that familiar warmth spread through your chest again.
Sohee cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. “Okay, lovebirds, enough with the eyes! We’ve got mouths to feed.”
Soon, the platters piled high with grilled meats, skewers, and sides. The plates clinked as people passed around dishes, and conversations overlapped in the comfortable atmosphere of friends enjoying a good meal.
You found a spot next to Anton again, your plate full, though you were more focused on the way his knee brushed against yours under the table. Each little touch felt like a secret between the two of you, unnoticed by everyone else.
Prez pointed his fork at you and Anton, grinning. “You two are awfully close for two people who aren’t dating.”
You froze mid-bite, nearly choking as the table turned its attention toward you. Anton calmly sipped his drink, completely unfazed. “We’re just eating, Prez,” he said, but his hand landing gently on your thigh under the table contradicted his statement.
“Yeah, and sitting suspiciously close while doing it,” Sohee quipped, wiggling his eyebrows. You gave him a look that said, ‘You’re dead when I catch you.’
Thankfully, the subject shifted to talks about K-pop groups who performed in this year’s festival and the previous years, too. The evening carried on, full of laughter, good food, drunk anecdotes, and the soft glow of lanterns that lit up the patio as night fell.
You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this light, this content, as the warmth of the barbecue wrapped around you like a comfortable blanket, and the buzz of alcohol numbed the cold air hitting your skin.
“You alright?” Anton asked, placing a hand over your back while you were resting your head on the table.
Everyone had gone back inside, save for a few others who continued their drinking by the poolside. You and Anton were the only ones left at the table, mainly because you were too tired to move and he didn’t want to leave you there in case you fell asleep.
You sat up and stared at him. “My god, you’re so handsome. I could kiss you.”
Anton chuckled. “I think you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I never get drunk!” you snorted, staring at your index finger. “Actually, I do, sometimes… Anyway!” You took a deep breath and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Truth is, I think about kissing you even when I’m not drunk.”
“You do?” he asked, amused.
You stood up and stepped closer to him. He remained in his seat, looking up at you with soft eyes. You wobbled a bit, but Anton caught your arms firmly, keeping you steady. You held his face with your hands, squeezing his cheeks slightly. “Don’t dodge this, okay?”
“So, what happened?” Wonbin asked the very next morning after you told him about last night.
You exhaled through your nose, pouting. “Knowing him, he probably dodged it. I don’t know. I think I passed out before I could kiss him.”
Wonbin laughed, head lolling back and one hand hitting the steering wheel in great amusement. You shot him a glare and said, “Oh, so you think that’s funny, do you?”
He stopped, cleared his throat and muttered, “Sorry.” He fixed his eyes on the road, but he couldn’t hide his grin. “I shouldn’t judge other people’s drinking habits.”
You scowled, turning to the road ahead as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Remind me why I’m riding with you right now?”
“Because Anton and Sohee already left for the hike,” he replied, and that just made you scowl harder.
“Right,” you muttered. “Now I’m sure I made a fool of myself last night, because why would Anton leave without me?”
Prez had a hike planned for the day. This town was known for its clear river winding through the mountain, so everyone agreed to go when the subject was brought up last night. You were woken by Wonbin’s knocks on your door that morning, half-asleep and battling a splitting headache. Long story short, now you’re on your way to the hike with him.
By the time you reached the foot of the mountain, the others were already gathered for the guide’s briefing. Your eyes automatically searched for Anton and found him near the front beside Sohee and Claire. They looked like they’d been there for a while.
The guide called for attention, and as the group responded, Anton turned, scanning the crowd. His gaze stopped when it found yours. There was a flicker of surprise on his face, then recognition. He patted Sohee on the back, saying something to him before jogging toward you.
“There you are,” he said with a small smile. “I heard you weren’t coming.”
“From whom?” you asked.
“Claire said she heard you mention skipping out. I figured you’d want to sleep in after last night.”
You pouted. “And you didn’t think to check with me?”
Anton shrugged. “Didn’t want to wake you. You seemed… pretty drunk last night.”
Heat rushed to your face as flashes of last night came back—your attempt to kiss him among them. The annoyance you were feeling suddenly dissipated. You groaned quietly, hiding your face with one hand.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asked, chuckling lightly as he ducked to peek at your face. “That’s new,” he teased, pushing your hair aside.
You elbowed him lightly. “Shut up.”
He chuckled, then took your bag and slung it over his shoulder without asking. “I’ll carry it,” he said simply.
“Wow, I think you’ve fallen in love with me,” you quipped, grinning playfully at him.
“No. I just don’t wanna hear you whining about how heavy this is halfway up the trail,” he said flatly, taking his hat off and placing it on your head.
The hike started out smoothly, with the morning sun filtering through the trees. Your group moved at a comfortable pace, chattering as you climbed higher toward the mountain’s scenic river. Claire, somehow always managing to walk beside Anton, led the conversation as if the rest of you weren’t there.
“Are you alright?” Wonbin asked quietly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He flashed you a knowing smirk, catching the direction of your gaze.
“I’m fine. Just… taking in the view,” you replied quietly, pretending to look around.
“Bet you hate that view, huh?” Wonbin chuckled. “Save your energy. There’s still the climb up to the ridge,” he added, pointing ahead to a steeper incline.
You felt a light touch on your back—Anton’s hand, guiding you over a rock. You caught him giving Wonbin a look, which disappeared as soon as he met your gaze.
“Come on. Let’s catch up to Sohee,” he said, nudging you gently to the front.
As the group made its way up, the conversation turned to old hiking trips. Claire, of course, slipped right into it again, laughing as she talked about a time she and Anton had hiked a similar trail.
“Anton was such a show-off back then. He used to be so energetic and silly,” she said with a laugh, nudging him. “You remember that, right?”
Her voice carried a hint of nostalgia, but Anton barely reacted. He gave a polite nod, keeping his eyes on the trail ahead. “I was younger. Probably didn’t know better.”
Claire smiled at his response, but there was something about the way she looked at him, like she was waiting for him to say more. It twisted something in your chest.
“Yeah, when you’re younger, you make stupid decisions,” Sohee said loudly, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Totally get you, man. I’ve got one or two I’d erase if I could.”
You didn’t know the details, but you caught the insinuation, and it somehow comforted you a little to know that Sohee wasn’t fond of Anton’s ex.
After another fifteen minutes of steady climbing, you reached the ridge, overlooking the crystal-clear river that sparkled in the distance. Everyone took a breath, the beauty of the view silencing the group momentarily.
Some of the group gathered for a shot, while others wandered around. You stayed back, preferring to enjoy the quiet for once. You glanced at Anton beside you, who seemed quieter than usual, lost in his thoughts. You wondered if it was Claire getting to him, or if he was just being his typical reserved self.
The hike continued around the river, with a playful challenge thrown in along the way. One of the guys dared anyone to balance on two fallen logs that stretched across a small stream.
“Come on, who’s got the best balance?” he called out, clapping his hands together. “It’s a rite of passage for this hike!”
Prez raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll pass. I like my bones unbroken.”
The guy turned to you with a teasing grin. “How about you? You look like you’ve got decent balance.”
You smirked. “Oh, I’ve got more than decent balance.”
Sohee jumped in before you could step back. “Perfect. You and me, let’s go. Loser treats everyone to ice cream later.”
“Me against you?” You scoffed, taking off your jacket and tying it around your hips. “Fine. You asked for this. Don’t cry when you lose.”
You darted forward, arms out for balance. The log wobbled beneath your feet, but you found your rhythm quickly. Sohee was on the other log next to you, his footsteps thudding against the wood as he tried to catch up.
You were almost across when you caught sight of Anton a few feet away—with Claire. She was standing close, her hand resting on his arm as she told some story. You faltered, your focus slipping for a second.
Sohee jumped off the log just a second before you, throwing his arms up dramatically.
“And that’s a win for Sohee!” one of your companions announced, loud enough for the whole forest to hear. Cheers followed, and soon everyone was chanting, “Ice cream! Ice cream!”
You jumped off a moment later, breathless, still reeling from what you saw but forcing a smile for the crowd. “Fine. Ice cream’s on me,” you declared, feigning defeat.
The group erupted into cheers again and started back up the trail. You glanced at where Anton was only to find him already making his way toward you.
“Water?” he offered, holding out a bottle. “Don’t want to have to carry you all the way back.”
You rolled your eyes, knowing he was only trying to downplay his concern for you. “Thanks.” You took the bottle, appreciating the gesture but still feeling frustrated.
“Did you really just lose to Sohee?” he asked, not mockingly, more like he genuinely couldn’t believe it. “That guy’s slow and has terrible balance.”
You scoffed just as you finished taking a sip. “Were you even watching?” you asked, unable to mask the displeasure in your tone.
Anton blinked, brows lifting slightly. “Honestly? No. I didn’t even know what was going on until everyone started cheering.”
You stared at him, incredulous. “Wow,” you said under your breath.
“What?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
“Nothing.” You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, capped the tumbler, and started walking ahead.
He trailed behind, still trying to make sense of your sudden mood shift. You didn’t bother explaining. Why should you? He’d been busy entertaining Claire. Clearly, that was more interesting.
The rest of the hike went by in silence—at least between the two of you. You laughed when someone cracked a joke, helped pass water bottles around, anything to look normal. But Anton never left your side and your sight, and it only made it harder to ignore the tightness in your chest.
It was right on time for lunch. Sandwiches and juice boxes were passed around, the group scattering across the grass in small clusters. Anton sat beside you, peeling open the wrapper of a sandwich and holding it out. “Here.”
You glanced at it, then at him, before shaking your head. “I’m not hungry.”
Right on cue, Sohee plopped down in front of you and held up an identical sandwich. “You want one? I grabbed extras.”
“Thanks,” you said, taking it without hesitation.
Anton didn’t say anything, but you caught the faint crease between his brows. He offered a juice box, but you ignored it. When Wonbin joined your circle and offered you a juice box, you took it, smiling as if nothing was wrong.
You bit into your sandwich, pretending not to hear the sigh Anton let out beside you.
“Good, right?” Sohee said, unwrapping his own sandwich. “We passed by this small rustic cafe on our way here. That’s where we got these from.”
“Yeah, it’s good,” you replied, smiling faintly.
Anton tapped his juice box against yours. “Wanna trade? You like the grape one, right?” he asked.
Across from you, Wonbin was eating quietly. You held out your juice box. “Would you trade with me? I got apple. Yours looks like grape.”
“Sure,” he said, swapping drinks with a smile.
That’s when Sohee frowned slightly, glancing between you and Anton. “Are you guys fighting or something?”
Wonbin smacked his chest lightly. “Dude.” He gave him a pointed look. “Read the room.” Then he grabbed Sohee by the arm and dragged him toward the others.
You kept your eyes on your sandwich, pretending to be far too engrossed in unwrapping the rest of it. Anton didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze on you. You didn’t want to look long enough to see what expression he was wearing.
At some point after lunch, while everyone was lounging around or taking pictures of nature, Sohee managed to talk you into looking for wild berries. The guide mentioned there were plenty of them around, so it sounded like a harmless adventure.
You walked with Sohee, Wonbin, and a few others, but Anton decided to sit this one out, mumbling something about someone (you) not wanting him there. That was fine because it gives you time to think things through without him hovering around.
You wandered deeper into the trees with a few others. Sohee was practically bouncing from one patch of greenery to the next, exclaiming every time he found a small cluster of berries.
“Look, these are the good ones! I told you I had an eye for this!” he boasted, holding up a handful of bright red berries.
“Okay, Berry Master,” you teased, bending down to pluck a few yourself. But as you reached for another low-hanging cluster, you misjudged your footing on a slippery rock. The moss-covered surface gave way under your shoe, and before you could catch yourself, you stumbled forward, scraping your hand against a sharp branch. A sharp sting shot through your palm, and you hissed in pain, clutching your hand.
“Are you alright?” Wonbin was quick to notice, walking over to check on you.
You waved him off with a sheepish smile, trying not to make a big deal of it. “Yeah, I just slipped on a rock. It’s not that bad.”
Sohee, always the dramatic one, rushed over too. “Whoa, are you bleeding? Should we get you back? Do we need a first aid kit? A stretcher?”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m fine. I just need to wash it off,” you said, inspecting the cut. It wasn’t deep, but a small trickle of blood appeared.
Wonbin offered you his handkerchief to wrap around your hand for now. “Here, it’s not good enough, but it should help until we get back.”
“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling a bit more embarrassed than hurt.
You went back to the riverbank and the sight of Anton sitting alone by the water came into view. He was gazing at the stream, elbows on his knees, the sunlight flickering across his face. He looked so calm it annoyed you a little—like he hadn’t spent the whole morning confusing you.
When he saw you returning, his eyes immediately dropped to your hand, the makeshift bandage catching his attention. Without a word, he stood up and walked over to you, his brows furrowed slightly.
“What happened?” he asked, concern etched across his face.
“Oh, I just slipped. It’s nothing, really. Just a scratch,” you said quickly, forcing a shrug even though your palm still stung.
Anton didn’t look convinced. Without asking, he took your hand, carefully peeling back the cloth to look at the cut. His touch was soft but firm, and you felt your heart skip a beat as he inspected the wound.
“You should clean this properly,” he said, his voice low, a hint of concern in his tone.
“I will, it’s just—” you started, but he was already pulling you toward the river’s edge.
He crouched down by the water, motioning for you to follow. “Come here, rinse it off.”
You knelt beside him, dipping your hand into the cool water. The sting intensified for a moment before the fresh stream washed the dirt and blood away, leaving the cut cleaner. As if on cue, the guide appeared with a small first-aid kit, handing it to Anton. He opened it without a word, cleaning the wound with a steady hand before pressing on a Band-Aid.
“There,” he murmured. “How’s that?”
“Better, thanks.” You glanced at your hand, grateful, but Anton’s next words caught you off guard.
“You said you don’t need to hurt yourself to get my attention?” he asked with an almost teasing glint in his eyes.
You blinked, torn between amusement and disbelief. “I didn’t do this on purpose! And you weren’t even there when it happened.”
Anton’s lips curved faintly. “You came back with a wound. That got my attention.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t ask for you to clean it up or worry about me.”
His brows furrowed. “You don’t want me to?” he asked gently.
“What—Well… I.. I do!” you stammered, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. “But if you’re just going to hold it against me, then no thanks. I can take care of myself.”
Anton huffed a laugh, though it lacked humor. “As if you need to. There are plenty of people who’d line up to do that for you.” He nodded subtly toward Wonbin, who was chatting animatedly with the others nearby. “Park Wonbin, for example.”
A spark of irritation shot through you. “God, I hope you’re saying that because you’re jealous.”
Anton’s scoff came out a little too loud, and he quickly cleared his throat. “Why would I be jealous?”
“Exactly,” you muttered, pushing yourself to your feet, frustrated. “You don’t like me enough to get jealous of other guys.”
He frowned. “I don’t?”
“No, you don’t,” you said, crossing your arms, looking anywhere but him.
Anton tilted his head, studying you. “Fine. Let’s hear it. What did I do?”
That made you glance back at him. “What?”
“You’re upset about something I did. What is it?”
You laughed dryly. “See? If you actually liked me enough, you’d know the answer to that.” You turned and started walking away.
Anton rose too, exhaling in defeat. “Come on, that’s not fair.”
You glanced back just long enough to stick your tongue out before turning away again.
He could only sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched you walk off. Despite the faint crease between his brows, a small, helpless smile tugged at his lips. “Let’s go back together later, okay?” he called after you, but you didn’t glance back.
Soon, your little respite by the river was over, and you were making your way back down to the foot of the mountain. Anton caught up to you at the parking lot, stepping in front of you before you could reach Wonbin’s car.
“Get in my car,” he said simply.
If someone ever asked what your toxic trait was, it’d be your inability to let go of a grudge. “Don’t tell me what to do,” you shot back.
“I’m not telling you what to do,” Anton replied, unbothered. “I’m asking you to come with me. Not with…” He glanced toward Wonbin, who was laughing at something Sohee said a few feet away. “…someone else.”
You scoffed, arms crossing instinctively. “Did you hear me complain when you came here with your ex instead of me?”
Anton fell quiet for a second longer than expected. You raised an eyebrow, making him chuckle.
“So that’s what this is about?” he asked, looking far too pleased with himself. It was infuriating how close you were to folding just because of that smile.
“Come on,” he said, tone softening. “You don’t have to worry about her.”
“Oh, I’m not,” you denied quickly, huffing. “Why would I be worried? I’m a ten. Too hot to handle.”
Anton chuckled, stepping closer until his hand found your waist. “Don’t hang out with Sohee too much. You’re starting to sound like him.”
You froze as his thumb brushed your damp forehead, wiping away sweat like it was something he’d habitually done for you. You could still feel the warmth of his touch long after he pulled away.
“Come on,” he murmured, already walking toward his car. “Let’s go back.”
And just like that, you followed with your grudge still half-intact, and your heart nowhere near calm.
The ride back to the university had been a blur. Exhaustion from the hike caught up to you, so you were asleep most of the trip. You vaguely remembered the sound of Sohee’s singing and the muffled conversations between him and Anton that filled the car.
When you woke, the sun had dipped low in the sky. Your head rested against the window, and the scent of Anton’s hoodie filling your senses. Your heart raced at the idea that he had placed it over you himself.
The car was already pulling into the university parking lot, the journey back seemingly much shorter than expected—probably because you’d slept through most of it.
“Slept well?” Anton asked, glancing at you with a smile. You smiled back and nodded in response.
Sohee groaned dramatically in the backseat, stretching his arms. “Longest drive of my life.”
“You mean longest ride,” you sniggered, handing Anton his hoodie. “You weren’t the one driving.”
“Different lexicon, same meaning.”
Outside, the cool air met your skin. Anton came around with both your bags in hand. Sohee bade you a quick goodbye before running somewhere, something about a forgotten AirPod he needed to retrieve. You didn’t mind, as it gave you a chance to walk with Anton toward the dorms, together.
“I guess that’s the end of our little trip,” you said.
“Yeah,” he replied, glancing your way. “It was fun.”
You couldn’t recall every detail of the trip, but you knew you and Anton were closer now than before. You could still feel the warmth each time he attended to you, his concern, his subtle displays of jealousy, and although it had been a silly joke, the kiss that sent you reeling in bliss.
At the dorm entrance, he paused, turning to you with a small flicker of worry on his face. “How’s your hand?”
“This? Oh, it’s perfectly fine,” you said, showing him your hand. “You did a good job fixing me up.”
Anton’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough. He still held your bag as you walked down the hall, and you didn’t bother asking for it back.
“So, what are you doing today?” you asked, just to fill the silence.
He shrugged. “Assignment. Maybe game after.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It’s not.”
You laughed, nudging his arm. “Need help?”
“Do you know how to code?”
“No, but I could hand you snacks while you work,” you offered.
He huffed out a small laugh. “No, thanks. I don’t eat and work at the same time.”
“Why not?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Don’t tell me you’re bad at multi-tasking?”
He shrugged. “I’m not. Food just makes it hard to concentrate on the more important task.”
You hummed. “Fair enough.”
You reached your door but didn’t open it right away. Letting him leave felt… anticlimactic. After everything that happened over the weekend, this sudden normalcy felt too unfinished.
“Do you wanna come in for a bit?” you asked, glancing at him.
He blinked, a little surprised. “Why?”
“So we can hang out some more.” You flashed a smile. “You can get started on that assignment. And I can sit around and try my best not to distract you.”
He studied you for a second, like he knew exactly what you were doing but wasn’t going to call you out on it. Then he shrugged and said, “Sure.”
You opened the door and stepped inside, the cool air from your room greeting you as you flicked the lights on. Bed, desk, couch, a small fridge and just enough space for two people who probably shouldn’t be alone together, but are anyway.
“Make yourself at home,” you said, grabbing a couple of sodas from the mini-fridge. “Juice, water, soda?”
“Soda’s fine.” He sank into the couch, legs stretched out, watching as you handed him a can. The faint hiss when he opened it filled the quiet space.
He opened his laptop and began working, and you couldn’t help but take a minute to just… watch him. The subtle shift of his focus, the way his fingers moved over the keyboard—it was distracting in a way you weren’t expecting, and oddly attractive. You sat on the floor next to him, chips in hand, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his knee.
“Why are you down there?” he asked.
“Didn’t wanna get crumbs on the bed.”
“You could’ve just sat beside me.”
You shook your head. “Don’t get me wrong, I would love that, but I promised I’d be quiet, so… yeah.”
“That’d be a first,” he murmured.
For a while, the quiet felt nice—him typing, you scrolling on your phone and giggling at memes. You didn’t think you’d actually manage to keep your promise not to talk, but you did. Mostly.
“So,” you said after a while, “How did you like the trip?”
He shot you a quick glance over his laptop. “It was okay.”
“That’s it?” you asked, brows furrowing. “Just ‘okay’? Not fun? Relaxing? Boring? Total waste of time?”
He leaned back on the couch, taking a break from typing and flexing his fingers. “It was nice and fun. Except for the part where I had to take care of a clumsy girl who hurts herself looking for berries.”
“It was an accident!”
“What about the time you got drunk and tried to kiss me?” he teased.
You froze, searching for a comeback. “I was drunk, so technically that was an accident too.”
He laughed softly. “Liar. You think about kissing me even when you’re sober.”
You gasped, scandalized. “Excuse me?!”
“Your words not mine,” he said, shrugging. “You’re too honest for your own good.”
Oddly enough, the teasing glint in his eyes and the smirk on his lips were more endearing than annoying. “Didn’t think you can be annoying, but people has a way of surprising you, I guess,” you complained, though you didn’t really mean it.
Anton didn’t say anything, he just grinned and leaned back, studying you like he was waiting for something you weren’t saying. You were still pouting, glaring at his smiling face and trying hard not to fold.
“What are you looking at?” you asked when he continued to just stare at you.
He closed his laptop and placed it on the table. “Come here,” he said, patting his lap.
You didn’t even think about it. You just moved—one knee on the couch, your hand finding his shoulder as you settled onto his lap. His hand snaked around your waist, the other resting on your thigh like this closeness was something the two of you do on the daily and not at all out of the ordinary.
He stared at you for a while, that small smile still playing on his lips. All of a sudden, his attention seemed too much, making you shy to the point that you couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, so you looked away. Anton chuckled under his breath, making you glance back at him.
“What?” you snapped, trying your best not to sound nervous.
“Nothing,” he said, voice low. “You’re fidgety.”
“I’m not,” you denied, fidgeting even more. You looked down at your fingers on his chest. “Don’t you have an assignment to do?”
“How can I when you won’t stop talking?”
“I’ll leave you alone then,” you said, even though you hadn’t moved an inch away.
You gasped when his arm around your waist tightened slightly. That just made him laugh again and say, “You didn’t strike me as someone who’d be nervous sitting on her crush’s lap.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Wow, you’re a vain one aren’t you?”
Anton tilted his head, puzzled. “Am I wrong? You do have a crush on me, though.”
You sighed, feigning defeat, with your shoulders sagging for added effect. “Fine. It’s my fault. I was the one who inflated your ego by following you around and showing you how much I like you.”
Anton’s laughter filled your ears again just before you felt his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed along your jaw and your breath hitched in your throat. The teasing grin on his lips softened and that made your pulse race.
Without a word, he pressed a quick kiss on your lips. Then another. And another. You fully expected a fourth one to come, but it didn’t. Instead, Anton looked into your eyes, intently, as if asking for something he already knew the answer to.
You stayed still, your fingers curling in the fabric of his hoodie. And then Anton leaned in again, as if he was giving you a chance to stop him. You didn’t. You met him halfway, and the kiss landed softly. This time, it was longer, firmer, and definitely sweeter.
His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head for the right angle. You arched into him, kissing him back with the same amount of fervor. When you opened your mouth, he responded immediately, a low, quiet sound escaping him as his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
You gasped when his teeth grazed your lower lip, the sensation sending a shock of warmth through your body. His arms tightened around you, holding you steady, as though he could sense how much you were melting into him.
You kept going until it wasn’t just a kiss anymore. It was something more, something primal, and hot—very hot. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him, and he obliged, his lips moving against yours with more urgency, more need.
When you pulled back to breathe, you just stared at him—wide-eyed, breathless, a little dazed. Anton’s smile was small but unmistakably content as his thumb traced the outline of your face.
“Wow,” you said before your brain could stop you. “That was so much better than the one in the car.”
He raised an eyebrow, and you realized a second too late what you’d just said. “I mean—uh, not that that one was bad! Just—this one’s… better.”
He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, before reaching for his laptop.You blinked, watching in disbelief as he balanced it on his knee, his other hand still resting casually at the small of your back.
He’s not seriously going back to his assignment, is he? you thought, jaw dropping a little. But apparently, he was.
You tried to slip off his lap, but he caught your leg before you could move far, holding you there without looking up from his screen. So you stayed—perched sideways on the armrest, your legs resting across his lap, your brain spiraling while he typed like nothing happened.
For the next hour, the room stayed quiet. He worked while you scrolled aimlessly on your phone, pretending you weren’t replaying the kiss over and over again in your head, wondering what it meant, what came next, and if he could hear how loud your heart still was.
In the days that followed, everything between you and Anton felt different. The teasing was still there, but now it came with proximity and tenderness. Before, it had always been you who initiated any kind of physical touch in public—holding his hand, a playful nudge, resting your head on his shoulder when you were tired. But now, it was him, too.
Like the way he’d touch your arm when he walked by, or how he’d casually rest his hand on the back of your chair when you sat together. It was mostly just small simple gestures, but enough to send your heart doing cartwheels every time. Sure, he still maintained his aloof attitude, but his actions spoke louder than his words.
One afternoon, you were sitting together in a corner booth at a café with iced coffee, open laptops, and you pretending to study. Every so often, he’d glance up from his screen, meet your gaze, and flash you that rare, charming smile that made you melt just a little.
“You’ve been smiling a lot lately,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him.
He didn’t look up. “I always smile.”
“No, you don’t. But lately, you’ve been smiling because of me.”
“You think too highly of yourself,” Anton said, eyes narrowed in amusement. “I smile for a lot of people.”
“Oh? Do you kiss a lot of people too?” you shot back, leaning forward and watching as a faint flush touched his ears.
He shook his head, still smiling but retreating behind his usual mask of aloofness. “That was a fluke. And I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me.”
You gasped dramatically. “You filthy little liar!”
He chuckled and shoved your half-empty cup toward you. “Finish it, or you’ll complain about all the ice melting away later.”
Over time, you learned that Anton wasn’t the type to outwardly fawn over anyone, but these little moments showed how much he paid attention. You wanted to impress him, so you drained your cup in one go, even though you were already full. He chuckled softly, giving you a look that said he saw right through you.
It wasn’t all just the proximity and teasing, though. You’d started noticing how you both went out of your way for each other. He’d grab an extra coffee to give to you on the way to your morning class. You saved him a strangely good cookie from lunch. He’d remind you of deadlines you pretended to forget. And you’d hang out at the IT library to keep him company when he’s working late on an assignment. All these gestures kept piling up.
“Is that a scrunchie?” you asked one time during a cafe run, eyeing the yellow lace scrunchie around his pulse.
“Hmh?” He glanced at his wrist. “Oh. Yeah, it’s a backup. You keep losing yours when we go out.”
“Aw. You’re so in love with me and I totally understand. I mean—” With flair, you flicked your hair out of your shoulder. “Just look at me.”
“Don’t push it,” he warned, taking the scrunchie from his wrist and handing it to you. “Fix your hair. I don’t want it in my pasta.”
You took it with a teasing grin. “Thanks. But you could have gotten those plain black hair ties though. That way, I wouldn’t feel too bad for losing them.”
“I thought it would look good on you,” he mumbled but you heard him just fine.
Out of habit, you would’ve teased him—asked if he’s falling for you. But the way he looked away with the tiniest hint of shyness, the red tint on his ears, and the slight furrow of his brows—everything added up. You didn’t have to ask.
But you kept it playful because that’s what you knew how to do. “Are you falling in love with me, Anton Lee?” you teased one lazy afternoon, batting your eyes like it was a joke.
Anton scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an air of indifference. “I’m not falling in love with anyone,” he denied smoothly.
“Maybe not.” You tied the scrunchie into your hair with a grin. “But you definitely like me.”
Right on cue, the server came over—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, the type who probably handed out unsolicited but warm advice with every dish. “You two look adorable together,” she said, beaming at both of you. “How long have you been dating?”
“We’re not dating,” you replied immediately, returning her smile. “It’s just me. I like him a lot, and he’s… well, he’s just putting up with my antics.” You scrunched your nose playfully, expecting her to laugh and move along.
Instead, she paused, head tilted. “Isn’t that what dating is?”
You stared after her, blinking. “Sorry?”
She didn’t say anything, and just laughed as she walked away with her tray.You turned to Anton, waiting for him to correct the misunderstanding like always. But he just stared back at you, lips quirking into an amused smile.
This wasn’t the first time someone mistook you for a couple. You’d lost count of how many times people asked things like, “When did you start dating?” And every time, you laughed it off, always the first to deny it, brushing away the idea with a joke.
Not because you didn’t want it… God, you wanted it! But the thought of making Anton uncomfortable, of pushing something he hadn’t acknowledged? You didn’t want that.
Anton, meanwhile, never denied it. Never confirmed it either. He just kept floating over that maddening middle ground that kept you guessing.
After dinner, you walked back to campus with your arm wrapped tightly around his, humming a song you’d been obsessed with lately. Your head swayed with each step—carefree—until Anton suddenly slowed, then stopped.
“Why do you keep telling everyone we’re not dating?” he asked, making you glance up at him.
“Because we’re not?” you replied, brows knitting.
He scoffed, shaking his head as he resumed walking. “For someone who’s supposedly head over heels for me, you sure hate it when people think we’re a couple.”
“I don’t hate it. I actually like it!” you insisted, clinging tighter. “I’m denying it for your sake. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” he echoed, glancing at you again.
You hesitated, struggling to line up your thoughts. “I just… didn’t want to assume you were okay with it. I didn’t want to make things weird by pushing something you haven’t even said you wanted.”
“Why worry so much about what I feel when I’ve never made a big deal out of it?”
His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but the way he said it suggested something far more profound. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His actions and his words were confusing, and you didn’t want to make your own conclusions.
Anton let out a soft sigh, moving a step ahead of you, his hands slipping into his pockets as he walked on.
“Hey, wait up!” you called, jogging after him, completely missing the subtle, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
You were in your dorm room again. This had become routine—your little bubble. Some days you sat across from each other, other days you lay together on your bed, sharing peaceful silence. Tonight, Anton sat comfortably on the couch, legs crossed, leaning against the backrest. He looked relaxed as he talked about his plans for the future.
It was a very Anton sort of conversation. He had been so open about his future, talking about post-college job prospects and what he planned to do with his IT degree. You listened, thoroughly intrigued by how calm and composed he was about the life waiting beyond college.
“What about you?” he asked suddenly.
The question caught you off-guard. It shouldn’t have—given the direction of the conversation, it was inevitable that he’d ask about your future too. It hadn’t sunk in yet, but you’re a senior now, and you knew that you would soon be graduating. And you still had no idea where to begin with the career you wanted so badly.
“What do you wanna do?” he repeated, tilting his head in that way he did whenever he realized you were drifting.
And drifting you were. Your eyes had begun tracing the shape of his mouth without permission—the subtle movements of his lips with each word, the way they pressed together when he paused to think. At this point, it was a habit. You barely registered the question because you were too busy studying him.
“Hey?” he prompted again.
You blinked, your gaze snapping back to his eyes, but the words tumbled out before you could think. “I so badly want to kiss you right now. That’s what I wanna do.”
Anton sighed, like he was already used to you blurting impulsive things. You cackled. His non-reaction is only comical to you now.
You pushed yourself to your feet, still grinning. “Never mind, then.”
You turned to leave, but before you could even take a full step, a firm tug pulled you backward—and suddenly you were in his lap. You got a brief glimpse of him swiftly taking his glasses off and tossing them aside before his lips crashed into yours—all in a span of two seconds.
You froze in delight, then kissed him back with just as much urgency. Before it could deepen though, he pulled away, hands clutching your shoulders.
“There. Happy?” he muttered, feigning indifference. But he wasn’t fooling you. Not even close.
You pouted, still breathless, reaching up to fix the slightly crooked collar of his shirt. “I don’t really wanna talk about careers right now.”
“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “Then let’s talk about us.”
“Us?” you echoed, trying to sound casual, though your pulse had quickened.
He nodded. There was a gentleness on his face that sent butterflies raging in your stomach. “Yeah. Us. Me, you, and what we want this relationship to be.”
The room felt still, his words hanging in the air between you. You couldn’t stop staring at him—at the softness in his dark eyes, the subtle parting of his lips like something else was on the tip of his tongue. Like he was teetering on the edge of a feeling he’d kept quiet for far too long.
Your heartbeat was loud, pounding against your ribs, drowning every thought except him. His closeness was intoxicating, and his lips so inviting. He was looking at you with an intensity that was making it hard to breathe. You stared back, and something, somehow, seemed to have snapped between you.
Anton grabbed your face and pressed his lips onto yours—softly, languidly, like he’d been deprived of it for so long that he wanted to savor every second of it. You kissed him back, closing your eyes.
You could feel every touch. The way his hands slid up your back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The way his lips moved with a passion that seemed to match the pounding of your heart. It was overwhelming, how the heat was engulfing you from head to toe.
You pulled back for a moment, just enough to catch your breath, but your forehead stayed pressed against his. His breath was warm against your lips, and his eyes—half-lidded and dark with desire—locked onto yours. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered right now.
“Kiss me like that again and I’m gonna take it as your confession of love,” you whispered.
Anton rolled his eyes—and kissed you again, just as intently.
You gasped when he pulled away. “Is that… is that your confession of love?”
“You can be a little dense sometimes,” he sighed.
Before you could react, his hand slid behind your neck again, guiding you into another kiss. This time, it was deeper, hungrier. His lips molded against yours, his grip on you tightening as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss as he tilted his head, changing the angle to kiss you even harder.
You felt dizzy, lightheaded—completely consumed by him. His lips, his touch, his scent—all of it was too much, yet not enough at the same time. You wanted more of him, more of this.
Your hips bucked forward, slamming onto his crotch where you found out that he too was being spurred further into the pit of desire. The contact made Anton grunt, nipping your lower lip and wrapping strong arms around your waist.
Breathless, you pulled away, staring into his eyes and wondering if this was actually happening. Anton lifted you by your thighs and moved from the couch to the bed in a heartbeat. There, he carefully laid you down, running gentle fingers through your hair.
“Anton…” you whispered, unsure of what you were going to say, but needing to break the silence.
He pressed a thumb on your lip, shushing you softly before kissing you again. This time, he abandoned your lips too quickly, moving his kisses down to your jaw and up to your earlobe. The tickling sensation spread through your nerves, intensified by his hand slipping under your shirt to palm your breast. You moaned out, arching toward his touch—your quiet way of asking for more.
Anton’s lips left your ear, trailing to your neck down to your collarbone. His hands were busy with the buttons of your shirt, all while you were angling your neck to give him better access of your skin.
He pulled back once he was done with the buttons, marveling at the sight of your body, and letting out a sharp exhale before lifting the hem of his shirt and tossing it across the room.
“I can do a lot more without those,” he said, gesturing at your set of underwear.
While you were fiddling with the hook of your bra, Anton dived down to kiss your belly, sucking with an intensity that you knew would leave tiny bruises on your skin. He was moving upwards, grabbing a boob as he peppered his path with kisses and then taking his mouth to meet your nipple. As if by his design, he sucked your nipple and pressed his fingers on your sex at the same time.
The moan you let out was throaty, spurred on by the ministrations of his mouth and his fingers. He rubbed tentative circles on your cunt, trying to find your clit based on your reactions. When he did find it, your mouth parted open as you took a sharp intake of breath, and the confidence on Anton’s face made you want him even more than you already did.
“Oh, I see,” he grinned, licking a stripe on your neck. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?”
You bit your lower lip, trying not to lose your mind with just this. “Since when did you talk like thi—agh!”
“Shh, you’re distracting me,” he said after pushing a finger in your cunt that had you gasping. He watched you writhe underneath him, going absolutely insane with just a finger. When he pushed another one inside, you were close to crying, whimpering, and clenching around his fingers.
“Anton please…” you whined, forehead creased and lips downturned—desperate, needy. “Please.”
“Come on. Say it properly. I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me what it is.”
You threw your head back and sobbed before meeting his gaze again to say, “Fuck me, Anton. I need you to fuck me really really good.”
Anton groaned softly, clenching his jaw as he pulled his fingers out of your pussy. He shimmied out of his sweatpants and positioned himself between your legs, watching you with half-lidded eyes.
He licked his fingers and used them to palm his erection. Your breath hitched at the sight, chest heaving up and down as you waited patiently for him to do what he came to do. He lowered himself, placing his hands beside your head as he prodded your entrance with his cock.
“You sure about this?” Anton asked, caressing your face.
“Aren’t you?” you shot back, brows furrowing.
That made him chuckle. “You and your sharp tongue.”
He kissed you again, just as he pushed inside you with one messy stroke. The gasp you let out was guttural—one of surprise, pain, and pleasure, mostly pleasure. The nerves all over your body were rejoicing, feeling both relief and a delightful pain as your cunt stretched exquisitely.
“Damn, look at you,” he drawled, leaning lower to give your open mouth a sloppy kiss. “I didn’t know you could get any prettier. If I did, I would have done this a long time ago.”
“Move, Anton,” you managed to rasp out, not even trying to hide the desperation in your voice. “Please, move. Please, please, please, please!”
He did as you asked, moving languidly as he practiced the clench. That didn’t take long. In no time, he was rocking inside you over and over in a rhythm that made you lose your mind. You writhed and whimpered, urging Anton to keep going.
When it looked like you couldn’t take any more, he paused for a bit, squeezing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Then he lifted your leg over his shoulder and rammed deeply into you, grunting at how tightly you clung onto his manhood.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pausing to take a break. You reached to wipe the sweat forming on his forehead and saw the expression on his face—something between pained and delighted. “We’re not done yet,” he said, hovering over you and ravishing your neck before picking up where he left off.
You kept at it, moving in sync with each other, getting lost in a blur of passion and desire. Your mind was clouded, thinking about nothing except the building pleasure and satisfaction. You rose to meet his thrusts, clawing at his back, moaning and whining for more. And Anton was more than willing to give you what you want, driving himself further into you, kissing you wherever his mouth could reach. All while you desperately chased a high that was almost within reach.
“Oh, Anton,” you cried out, eyes rolling back just before the pulsating release engulfed you with euphoria.
“Damn it,” Anton murmured, his thrusts becoming sloppy and unsteady as he chased his own climax, driven further into a high by your fucked-out face.
Then you both laid there, breathless, staring at the ceiling with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing to break the silence. You turned on your side, moving towards him and resting your head on his arm. His hands found a spot on your waist, thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your skin.
“Is this the part where I ask if I could be your boyfriend?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
You giggled, nudging his shoulder. “We’re way past that now. But I’d still say yes, if it makes you feel better.”
He hesitated, eyes flicking briefly away. “But… I don’t believe in love. Is that okay?”
You rolled your eyes at him, not annoyed, just amused. “It’s okay.”
“It’s overrated,” he added, like it was a fact he’d researched.
“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” you xteased.
Anton shifted onto his side to face you properly, his eyes gleaming with affection and fondness. Those eyes were directed at you—a rare look he saved only for you. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted quietly. “And I don’t know what to call… us. But I know I can’t stand the idea of not being yours.”
Your heart flipped. You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “It’s fine, Anton. If you want me like I want you, it doesn’t matter what we call it.”
“Okay, baby,” he murmured with a smile, fingers brushing your hair off your shoulder. His thumb traced along your neck, his expression changing into guilt. “I may or may not have left some…” he paused, “...marks.”
You jolted upright, smacking his chest. “Anton Lee!”
He just lay there smirking, propped up on an elbow, eyebrows doing a very irritating wiggle.
“The girls are gonna see that and know we had sex!”
He shrugged. “They’ll probably just say something like, ‘About damn time’.”
You glared half-heartedly. “You’re annoying.”
You hopped out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Anton followed behind you, draping an arm around your shoulder and then kissing the side of your head.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” he said, chuckling lightly.
“No, do it again,” you said sheepishly, looking away. “Just… not where people can see it.”
You peeked at Anton’s face and saw him sporting a massive grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
From the start of your official relationship, things shifted dramatically. Anton was a completely different person from his usual aloof self. He was all over you—holding your hand, lying on your lap, hugging you from behind—anything as long as he was touching you.
Your dorm room remained the prime spot for these moments. He’d drape himself over you lazily, stealing kisses whenever you least expected it. The guy who once seemed indifferent now craved your touch like he was making up for lost time.
And in public, it was no different. Anton would always reach for you without looking because he knew you’d be there. He’d lace your fingers together, or rest a hand on your thigh like it was instinct.
It was so instinctive that one afternoon, he accidentally grabbed Sungchan instead—his palm settling on Sungchan’s knee while his eyes stayed glued to his phone. Sungchan, immediately recognizing his chance to mess with his friend, leaned his head on Anton’s shoulder, pretending to cuddle closer.
Still blissfully unaware, Anton absentmindedly reached up and cupped Sungchan's cheek, thumb stroking like a lovesick boyfriend.
“Man, I didn’t know you were this clingy,” Sungchan sighed, leaning in.
Anton blinked, his brain catching up, and when the realization hit, he let out a horrified gasp, yanking his hand so quickly like he’d been burned. “Sungchan, what the f—!” He scrambled across the couch as if distance would erase the moment.
Across the room, you were in stitches laughing with the rest of your friends, watching the whole thing unfold.
“Babe,” Anton called out to you, almost desperately as he fled toward you for safety. The sudden shift into an affectionate voice had everyone cringing.
“I could never get used to this,” Eunseok groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“I hate it when they call each other that,” Sohee added with a mock shiver. “Like, okay, you’re in love and I’m lonely. We get it.”
Anton ignored them, wrapping his arms around you like a child seeking comfort. “I missed you,” he mumbled dramatically into your shoulder, drawing another round of groans.
You tapped his forehead. “I was literally five steps away.”
“That’s five steps too far,” he countered, burying his face into the crook of your neck while everyone pretended to gag.
Moments like this had become normal now—Anton letting people see just how much he liked you, even if he still tried to cling to his “too cool to care” persona. It was adorable.
Despite the teasing, you liked this new side of him. It felt good knowing Anton was willing to show both you and your friends a part of himself that not everyone got to see. Your relationship had leveled up, and it was evident not just in the way he acted but in the ease you felt together now
“Can we go back to when the only simp in this friend group was her?” Jill complained, pointing at you. “Anton’s giving me the creeps.”
Feigning offense, you planted your hands on your hips. “Wow, okay. Sue me for being drop-dead gorgeous and having a boyfriend who is, unfortunately for you all, obsessed with me.”
“Don’t listen to them, babe. Jealous friends are fake friends,” said Anton, covering your ears and kissing the side of your head.
Anton had a patience that made it easy to handle your boundless energy. When you’d burst into a room excited, full of chatter, he would always listen with a soft smile, never overwhelmed by your liveliness. He never tried nor needed to match it—he balanced it.
Anton knew how to take care of you, too. When your stress bubbled over, he’d pull you into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head, whispering words of comfort so softly they barely broke the silence. You’d feel the stress melt away in those moments, reassured just by being close to him.
And you understood him just as well. You knew when he was getting tired, even when he tried to hide it behind his usual stoic demeanor. Like when he’d sit a little closer than usual or his fingers would linger on your arm. That’s when you’d instinctively dial it back, protect him in the way he protected you. You were attuned to his subtle cues, an understanding between the two of you that others rarely noticed.
“Remember when we were in that seminar, and you asked me if I liked you?” you had asked randomly one day.
Anton laughed, a soft sound that felt like a warm hug. “How could I forget? That was when I started falling for you.”
“Really?” you asked, eyes widening at his revelation. Anton rolled his eyes as if he regretted telling you that. “No, but seriously?”
“Yes. You were so confident then. You looked me in the eye and said exactly what you felt. I felt my heart skip a beat for the first time that day.”
“No way!” You swatted his chest, grinning. “So why pretend you didn’t care for so long?”
Anton scratched the back of his neck. “I might’ve enjoyed watching you chase me.”
You gasped, scandalized, and he only smirked. “What were you going to say that day, anyway?”
“Oh!” You sat up, remembering. “I was gonna ask if you were about to tell me to leave you alone before the professor walked in.”
He stared at you, then smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, no. I think you’ve figured out the answer.”
You giggled and climbed right back into his arms, looping yours around his torso and meeting his gaze. “I love you so much.”
“Love’s overrated,” he replied instantly, chuckling. Then, softer, forehead resting against yours, he added, “But love was worth a try with you.”
🪼⋆。𖦹°. synopsis: anton catches you touching himself in his bedroom after a night out with the boys, so he lets you use his body to get off
(,,>ヮ<,,)! ~ contents: smut!!! 18+, established relationship, softdom!anton, ab riding, masturbation, fingering, grinding, fingers in mouth, squirting, cum eating
🫧⋆. author's note: 260716 anton is driving me CRAZY. im not ready for waterbomb....
your back arched off of the bed as heat pooled in between your legs. your pants have been long discarded–your index and middle finger rubbing your swollen clit through the thin fabric of your panties. you traced the wet spot over your hole with the tips of your fingers, lightly pressing inside over the material.
it’s been hours since your boyfriend left to hang out with his friends. “baby, it’s boys night–we’re just gonna play some league and doordash some food,” anton begged into the crook of your neck, big arms wrapped around your waist as the two of you laid together on his bed. “i’ll treat you so good when i get back to make up for it, okay? i’ll bring home some snacks too…”
as much as you loved seeing your boyfriend plead and whine, you knew it would be selfish to keep him away from his friends.
so here you were: touching yourself in your boyfriend’s bedroom, imagining the very hands currently hovering over your leaking pussy were his. you bit your lip, trying to suppress the soft moans escaping your mouth.
you turned yourself over; your fingers weren’t enough, you needed more. your fingers weren’t nearly as big or long as anton’s, they couldn’t reach that sweet spot that makes you see stars. you grabbed hold of his pillow and began thrusting your hips against it, trying so desperately to come to your release.
you embraced the pillow, burying your face into it as your fingers led themselves right back to your inner thighs. tears streamed down your cheeks as you touched yourself: not because of the pleasure–but because of how much you missed your boyfriend.
“baby, i brought us some sushi. it’s downstairs if you want any-”
anton ruffled his hair as he walked into the bedroom and saw you: sprawled atop his bed with your hand in between your legs, eyes watery. you sniffled, embarrassed of being caught in the act. you face your back towards him, too shy to look him in the eyes.
“are you okay? do you need anything?” he asked. however, his voice lost that soft edge to it. “look at me.”
anton crawls on top of the bed, legs caging you in as he positioned himself on top of you. he straddles you, hands roaming your body before they settle on your waist. “did you miss me?”
you whimper, running your hand down his jaw as you pulled him close, crashing your lips onto his. anton follows your pace, lowering his body to meet yours before drawing his lips back.
“tony–please–” you muttered.
“fuck, just–” he gasped for breath as you kissed his collarbone. you sucked down, wrapping your arms around him as you bruised his neck. anton groaned, palming your breasts through your shirt. anton lightly pulled your head away from his neck and back to his lips, pressing his tongue into the heat of your mouth as he slowly rocked his hips against yours. the air between the two of you grew hot–soft moans and whimpers filling the room as your bodies ached. you tugged on his shirt. anton helped you lift the cloth up and over his head, exposing his bare torso.
one thing about your boyfriend’s body stood out to you: his abs.
you knew he had been working out a lot more recently, but hell–anton’s six-pack was no joke… his tongue explored your mouth as your hands roamed over his stomach, muscles tensing underneath your touch. with a few more caresses of his abs, you felt the bulge of his dick rub against your inner thigh.
“baby, can i ask you something?” he whimpered, grabbing your wrists.
“tony just say it, i just really need–”
“do you wanna ride ‘em?”
you paused and looked up at him, his hand still holding your wrists in place. “what?”
“my abs. i’m sorry if that’s weird–it’s just that i always see you staring at them…” he paused. “it…kinda turns me on…” he avoided your gaze.
your thighs rubbed together, panties absolutely drenched with this new information. you kicked your leg up and rolled the two of you over so anton was underneath you. your hips rested directly on his stomach.
“shit–you’re so wet, i can feel it,” he trailed his hands under your shirt. “can i take this off?”
“yeah.” you lifted up your arms, allowing your boyfriend to lift your shirt up and over your head before tossing it to the floor. he palmed your sides as he slowly pulled your hips back and forth, moaning as he spread your juices all over his abs.
“d–does that feel good?” he moaned. you responded with a nod; you couldn’t bring yourself to speak–rubbing your pussy all over him. it didn’t even matter that there wasn’t anything inside you–fuck, just feeling his six-pack on your clit was doing wonders.
you bucked your hips against him–thrusting onto him as he moaned softly. anton pulled down his sweats and briefs, slowly stroking the length of his dick.
“you’re doing really good for me baby, keep going…” anton shut his eyes and groaned before parting your lips with his free hand. he pressed the tips of his middle and ring finger into your mouth, murmuring a quiet ‘good girl’ as he slipped the digits in. the feeling of your tongue around his fingers and your pussy on his abs was enough to make him moan.
you continued jerking your hips against him–becoming an absolute moaning mess. “tony, i’m gonna cum–”
“already? just from this?” he laughed, rubbing his wet dick. the sound of slapping skin filled your ears; your boyfriend getting off just from watching you hump him may have just become one of your biggest turn-ons…
“tony–i’m actually gonna–” you moaned as you came to your release, squirting all over anton’s stomach. he moaned and splattered cum all over your back, thick white juices coating his long fingers as well. anton removed his fingers from your mouth and replaced it with his other hand, forcing his cum into your throat.
“baby you’re so good–so good for me…” he moaned as he watched you swallow his semen, lathering your juices over his body with his free hand.
he removed his fingers from your mouth, cum licked clean–almost as if nothing happened… he pulled you off of him, the two of you breathing heavily as anton placed you next to him in bed. you wrapped your arms around him, inhaling his scent as you slowly came down from your high.
anton caressed your back, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear. “i love you…i love you so much baby.” he whined.
anton who’s always a soft and smiley guy with a long patience but a sudden switch happened because he got jealous. maybe he gets jealous with another member or someone 🙉
it was a thursday night in seoul, the kind where the air still carried the leftover chill from march even though april had rolled in. you sat cross-legged on your dorm bed, the steam from the ramyeon cup warming your face as you slurped noodles straight from the container. the tv played some random variety show in the background, but your phone was the real distraction.
you: im eating ramyeon
the reply came after a minute.
anton: thats good
simple, like always. you typed again.
you: wyd?
anton: im studying
you stared at the screen for a second, the blue light reflecting off your eyes. third-year political science at snu wasn't a joke. anton spent most of his days buried in books or in the library, prepping for discussions on international relations or whatever dense theory they threw at them that week. he was soft-spoken when he talked to you, gentle even, always answering your texts even if it was just a short line. but you knew better than to ask him to drop everything and come over every time. he always found his way back eventually, though, slipping into your routine like he belonged there.
you didn't push tonight. instead, you finished the ramyeon, tossed the cup, and scrolled through messages. sungchan's text popped up from earlier. his apartment party tonight. nothing huge, just a bunch of his friends from different majors blowing off steam mid-semester. sungchan had become your friend through anton somehow, the three of you hanging out enough times that invitations extended to you even when anton was swamped.
you didn't tell anton. he was studying, and you didn't want to pull him away or make it seem like you expected him to babysit your social life. you threw on jeans and a simple top, grabbed your jacket, and headed out. the subway ride to sungchan's place near campus was quick, the car half-empty at this hour.
sungchan's apartment was already buzzing when you arrived. music thumped low from a speaker in the living room, not too loud but enough to feel the bass. about twenty people scattered around—some on the couch arguing over a game, others in the kitchen mixing drinks from whatever bottles were on the counter. sungchan spotted you right away, waving you in with that easy grin of his.
"hey, you made it. grab a drink, yeah? everyone's chill tonight."
his friends were the usual mix: loud but friendly, the kind who pulled you into conversations without making it awkward. you danced a bit in the cleared space near the speaker, nothing crazy, just moving to the rhythm while holding a plastic cup of soju mixed with something sweet. a couple shots went down easy, warming your chest. the room felt alive in that typical college way—laughs cutting through the music, someone yelling about a recent exam fail.
you were in the middle of the small dance area, half-laughing at a story one of the girls was telling, when a hand landed on your waist from behind. not aggressive at first, but definitely trying to pull you closer. you shifted, trying to turn and see who it was, but the crowd pressed in a little and the guy didn't let go right away.
"hey, come on—" you started, voice steady but annoyed.
"that's enough."
the voice cut through clear, low and even. you knew it immediately. anton. he wasn't shouting, wasn't making a scene, but the tone left no room for argument. his face was blank when you finally turned— no smile, no soft look he usually saved for you. just a tight jaw and eyes hidden behind those thin-framed glasses he wore when he read late.
he reached out, fingers wrapping around your wrist, not rough but firm enough to guide. you let him tug you through the room toward the short hallway that led to the bathroom. people glanced but didn't say much; sungchan's parties had their moments, and everyone knew anton was the quiet type anyway. the restroom door clicked shut behind you, the music muffling to a distant hum.
the small space felt even smaller with both of you in it. a single bulb overhead cast warm light on the tiled walls. you pulled your arm back gently, heart picking up for reasons that weren't just the drinks.
"anton, wait— it's not what it looked like. that guy just came up, i was about to—"
he didn't interrupt with words at first. instead, he adjusted his glasses with one hand, pushing them up the bridge of his nose like he did when he was trying to collect his thoughts after a long study session. his other hand stayed near your arm, not holding anymore but close. the blank expression cracked just a bit— not anger exactly, but something tighter, frustrated in that quiet way he carried everything.
"i know," he said finally, voice soft but edged. "saw it from the door. still didn't like it."
you opened your mouth to explain more, but he stepped closer. the air between you shifted, heavy with the faint scent of his usual detergent mixed with the night outside. his jaw flexed once, visible even under the light stubble he sometimes forgot to shave during crunch weeks. then his hand came up, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing near your cheekbone.
no big declaration. just the way he looked at you for a beat, like the studying and the distance and the random guy had worn through the usual gentleness for a second. he leaned in slow, giving you time, but when his lips met yours it wasn't tentative.
the kiss started firm, his mouth warm and insistent in a way that didn't match the soft-spoken guy who texted back short replies. you tasted the faint mint from whatever gum he chewed to stay awake during all-nighters. his free hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him as he backed you gently toward the sink counter. glasses fogged a little from the closeness.
you kissed back, hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the tension there from hours hunched over political theory texts. it deepened quick— tongues brushing, a quiet sound escaping him when you nipped at his bottom lip. his jaw moved under your fingers as he angled his head, kissing harder, like he needed to remind both of you why he came crawling back every time. one hand left your face to grip the edge of the counter beside you, steadying himself. the other stayed at your waist, thumb pressing in just enough.
"fuck..." he muttered against your mouth, pulling back half an inch to adjust his glasses again. they were crooked now, lenses slightly smudged. he looked at you, breath a little uneven, the blank mask gone and replaced with that familiar softness mixed with something hotter. his lips were flushed, hair a bit messier from your fingers.
you caught your own breath, the party noise still faint outside the door. "you were supposed to be studying."
"i was." his voice stayed low, almost a whisper. "got your last text. then sungchan mentioned you were here. couldn't focus after that."
he didn't apologize for showing up or for the tug to the bathroom. just leaned in again, slower this time, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing to your jaw. it wasn't rushed or dramatic—just real, the kind of moment that happened when two people orbiting each other in busy college lives finally collided. his hand slid up your back under your top, palm warm against skin, while you tugged lightly at the collar of his hoodie.
outside, someone laughed loud in the living room, a glass clinked. inside, it stayed just the two of you for a little longer, the makeout easing from that initial edge into something steadier, his gentleness creeping back in between the heavier kisses. anton wasn't the type for big scenes. he was the guy who studied late, answered texts simply, and showed up quiet when it mattered.
anton didn’t waste time. his hand was still around your wrist when he turned you around to face the sink, your hips pressing against the cool edge of the counter. the mirror in front of you fogged slightly from the warmth of the small room and your quick breaths. he stepped right behind you, chest to your back, and kept kissing you—mouth hot on the side of your neck, then moving to your jaw, then lower to the collarbone where your top had slipped a little.
his lips were firm, a little urgent, the kind of kisses that came from hours of holding back while buried in textbooks. you felt his breath against your skin, warm and uneven.
“anton… wait,” you said quietly, voice catching as his hand slid under your top. “not here. they’re right outside.”
he didn’t stop. when his mind locked onto something, he could be stubborn like that—quietly, without raising his voice or making it dramatic. he just hummed low against your neck, the sound vibrating through you.
“i know,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “but i saw that guy’s hand on you. didn’t like it.” his voice stayed soft, almost gentle even now, but there was an edge underneath. “just need a minute with you.”
you tried to turn your head to look at him, but he kept you facing the mirror, one hand on your waist holding you steady while the other worked the button of your jeans. the denim slid down your hips with a realistic tug—his fingers a little clumsy from the angle and the heat of the moment, but determined. cool air hit your skin as the fabric pooled around your thighs.
“anton—”
“shh,” he whispered, not mean, just focused. his hand slipped between your legs, fingers finding you already warm and slick from the drinks and the sudden closeness. he rubbed slow circles at first, gentle pressure that made your knees feel unsteady. “you’re so wet already.”
a small sound escaped you and you gripped the edge of the sink. he kept going, fingers playing, teasing the spot that made your breath hitch. then he slid one finger in, slow and careful, curling it just right. you arched slightly, back pressing into his chest. the movement made you lean more over the sink, and anton followed, leaning down with you so his body stayed flush against yours.
“fuck… you feel good,” he said under his breath, voice low and a little rougher than usual. he added a second finger, pumping steadily, the wet sound quiet but unmistakable in the small bathroom. his thumb kept rubbing outside, building it up. “been thinking about you all night instead of my readings.”
you breathed out a shaky laugh, trying to keep quiet. “you were supposed to be studying… not showing up here and doing this.”
“couldn’t focus after sungchan said you were coming,” he admitted, lips back on your neck, sucking lightly. “kept picturing you here, dancing, someone else trying to touch you.” his fingers moved faster, curling deeper. “this is mine tonight.”
your legs trembled a little and you felt the pressure building quick— the alcohol loosening everything, his steady touch doing the rest. you came with a quiet gasp, hips jerking against his hand, one palm slapping lightly on the mirror for balance. anton didn’t pull away right away. he kept his fingers inside you through it, slowing but not stopping until the waves eased.
when he finally slid them out, he brought them up to your mouth. “open,” he said softly. you did, tasting yourself on his fingers as he pushed them past your lips. his eyes met yours in the foggy mirror. “good girl. always so good for me.”
he kissed your temple, gentle now, while you caught your breath. you were sweaty, hair sticking a little to your forehead, cheeks flushed. anton’s free hand moved between you, unbuckling his belt with a metallic clink that sounded loud in the quiet space. he pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough, his cock hard and warm against your ass.
“sorry,” he whispered, voice back to that soft-spoken tone, almost apologetic even while he lined himself up. “i know it’s not the best place… but i need you right now.”
you nodded, still breathing hard. “just… be quick. someone might knock.”
he pressed in slowly, careful at first, a low groan escaping him as he sank deeper. “shit… you’re tight.” his hand gripped your hip, steadying both of you. once he was fully in, he paused, forehead resting against the back of your shoulder. “you know you can call me anytime, right? huh?”
you let out a small breathy sound as he started moving, slow thrusts at first. “yeah… i know.”
“good. because i’ll come crawling back to you every time,” he said, voice low against your ear, punctuating the words with a deeper push. “doesn’t matter how many readings i have. doesn’t matter if it’s late. i’ll be here.”
the rhythm built gradually—realistic, not perfect, the angle a little awkward over the sink but it worked. his hips snapped forward steadily, one hand sliding up your back under your top while the other stayed on your hip. the sound of skin meeting skin was muffled by your bodies pressed close.
“feels good?” he asked quietly, breath warm on your neck. “tell me.”
“yeah… fuck, anton, right there,” you answered, voice hushed. you pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. “don’t stop.”
he didn’t. he kept going, pace picking up just enough, glasses slipping down his nose again. he adjusted them quickly with one hand without breaking rhythm. “you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured. “all flushed and taking me in sungchan’s bathroom.” a small, almost shy laugh escaped him at how ridiculous it sounded, but he didn’t slow down. “never thought i’d be doing this tonight instead of highlighting articles on foreign policy.”
you smiled despite the heat, gripping the sink tighter. “you’re such a nerd… even when you’re inside me.”
“your nerd,” he corrected softly, kissing the side of your jaw again. he reached around with his free hand, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in time with his thrusts. “come on, baby. one more time. i want to feel you again.”
the second orgasm hit you harder, legs shaking as you clenched around him. anton groaned low, burying his face in your neck to muffle it. a few more thrusts and he followed, hips stuttering as he came inside you, breathing heavy against your skin.
he stayed there for a moment, both of you catching your breath, his arms loosely around you. the party noise filtered back in—someone laughing in the distance, music still playing. he pulled out carefully, grabbing some tissue from the counter to clean you up first, then himself. his movements were gentle again, the stubborn heat fading back into that quiet care.
“you okay?” he asked, voice soft as he helped pull your jeans back up, buttoning them for you. his glasses were still a little crooked, hair messy, cheeks pink.
you turned around to face him properly now, fixing his glasses for him with your fingers. “yeah. a little sweaty. you?”
“better,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “sorry if i got carried away. just… didn’t like seeing someone else touch you.”
“i know. it was nothing,” you told him, smoothing his hoodie. “but next time text me before you show up like a jealous boyfriend.”
he gave a small smile, the soft one that made his eyes crinkle a bit. “not boyfriend yet. but i can be. if you want.”
the words hung there, simple and real, no big confession under dramatic lighting. just anton, 21, third-year poli sci, buried in books most days, standing in a bathroom at his friend’s party with you after fucking you over the sink because he couldn’t stay away.
he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “want to stay longer or head out? i can walk you back. or we can go somewhere quieter if you’re not done with me yet.”
you hadn’t ended the night. the party was still going, and so were the two of you.