˗ˏˋ ꒰ heartlink ꒱ ˎˊ˗
⟢ it's a match! in which you thought you matched with the love of your life. ˗ˏˋ ☆ ― read 001 002
pairing l. chanyoung x fem. reader word count 5.1k content warning stalking, reader wants to die smut advisory heavy noncon, use of the word rape, reader's emotions (while being raped emphasised here), he thinks reader wants it just as much
anton had always been good with people.
his mother said he was charming. his friends told him that he was pleasing to look at and be around with. he’s heard girls saying he’s easy on the eye.
he made girls glance thrice and made them giggle behind their hands as they whispered to one another.
anton had an effortless kind of charm—it’s in the way he smiled, in the way his eyes held warmth that made someone feel like they were special. like, he was seeing only them. he was great with his words too—he knew the right adjectives to use, the right tone to take, the exact moment to pause so his words could sink in just right. the right expression to have on his face, every crinkle and wrinkle, frowning, and nodding. it wasn’t something he forced—anton simply knew people.
he knew how to make them want to be around him, how to have and hold their attention without needing to put too much effort.
but that didn't mean they stayed.
because charm alone wasn’t sufficient.
for all the attention he received, anton was shy. painfully so.
a disease that ruined him.
it stole his words, made him hesitate, lost the chance, let opportunity after opportunity slip right through his fingers like silk. pretty pretty girls liked him, fawned over, swept under—but never stayed long enough to really know him as a person. they just liked him as an idea, a concept, an abstraction. they never saw past the quiet exterior nor understood that his silence wasn’t disinterest—that it was a hurdle, one that needed time, patience, and a little bit of faith.
they lost interest before he could show them what could’ve been. what he could’ve been. before he could even try.
it wasn’t fair—it wasn’t his fault.
so anton was determined to do something —to fix, to learn.
he learned how to tilt things in his favour, how to bend and mend moments to make them his. all needed was a little push, a little persistence, a little manipulation sprinkled here and there—there was no harm in that. as long as they never knew. anton could make fate bend.
if the universe wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, he would make it happen.
and for a while, it worked. too well, in fact.
anton got good, got better at it—he got better in wovening people to where he wanted them to be. it was so easy for him that the thrill of it dulled over time. there was no challenge, no fixation, no reward. once they were his, he realised that he didn’t want them anymore.
it was frustrating at first—he got what he wanted in his palm, but now he’s scraping them away like they meant nothing. he had worked so hard and learned so much to unfold things exactly where he intended. so he moved on—over and over—new person, new thread to tug, new tactics learned for his book—until he lost the appeal.
then he stopped altogether. went back to his old ways—not entirely—just focusing on what truly made him happy; his friends, his mother. but that didn’t last long.
until you.
until he saw you.
anton hadn’t even meant to see you that day. he was simply dropping off his friend, sohee, at his university since he had promised him the day before. and anton was barely paying attention to his vicinity until he did—because suddenly you walked past by his car.
and everything that anton thought he knew about himself, the things he thought he had grown tired of came roaring back to his life. it was like a realisation, a wake up call—so violent it nearly knocked the breath out of him.
the difference with you was you didn’t spare another, not even a glance in anton’s way. you walked past without a single idea that something about you had flipped a switch within anton that he never knew he’d never be able to turn it off.
you’re so perfect in anton’s eyes.
so perfect that he didn’t see you as a game—a challenge—but an end to his new persona. he had already learned how to make things happen; he just needed to do it again, and do it right this time.
this time, there would be no losing interest.
because this time, he wasn’t going to let you go again.
——
it started small. anton always started small.
a few days after something in him lurched, he'd gotten your name. it wasn’t hard at all—he just went through sohee’s following, and from there, searched for you in other people’s following. and after what felt like hundreds of profiles clicking, he found your social.
your schedule was another. thankfully, the university you attended didn’t offer as many courses as other universities did. you took nursing—anton thought it suited you. a pretty girl with a kind heart, and anton could only guess a purer soul.
a little bit of information that wasn’t his to have but found its way into his hands anyway was what anton called fate. sohee had access to the university’s system—just his academic email and password, and anton had the namelist of students, their course, and their class schedule. oh, where she would be and when.
then, it wasn’t about coincidences anymore. anton knew that much—he couldn’t just come up to you, throw some compliments and sweet talks, and expect things to fall into place. anton might be shy, but he wasn’t stupid.
with you, he needed precision, needed a reassurance that your paths would cross again. anton had played a game of luck and chances, and each time he did, he lost the enjoyment right after. so he tweaked things a little, modified, adjusted his ways to ensure you would not slip through his fingers the way so many others had.
he started watching.
initially, it was just curiosity. he told himself he just wanted to confirm that the university’s course schedule was accurate. just a few lingering glances and parking a bit too long after dropping sohee off. anton just wanted to know what kind of outfits you wore on monday, tuesday, wednesday, and friday.
then it became a habit.
he’s looking for excuses to be near the university—with only one being through sohee. he started sending, and picking sohee up after his classes. accompanied him, ate lunch with him, and even going as far as purposely having sohee toured him around the campus. he started memorising the times students flooded out of buildings, until he spotted you again.
but even that, merely observing wasn’t enough.
you still didn’t know he existed—didn’t notice his car or his presence lingering around too long for society’s acceptance around the nursing building.
so with the patience he had, he waited until the semester was over and it was dreadful for him. anton knew what he was doing was bad—practically stalking and coming up with nonsense excuses to be within your perimeter. with no idea of where you lived, or where you worked, he only knew so little about you through your social—the one where you barely posted anything.
if it was the old him, he would’ve given up—but that version of him died long ago. anton simply stopped for a while, took a breather, rested a little… gave you some freedom and peace before the new semester began.
it was the weekend of the first week of semester break when anton was over sohee’s shared apartment. sohee had invited some friends over—their high school friends—for a boys’ night where they just usually drank alcohol, played games, and talked. anton wasn’t much of a drinker, but he enjoyed his friends’ company—an easy camaraderie that naturally came with a decade of familiarity.
he was sitting on the couch, half-listening and nodding to a conversation about a professor sungchan loathed for being an asshole when a movement beside him caught his attention.
sohee was scrolling through tinder.
anton didn’t think much of it except the fact that sohee’s attention was on something else while his friend was ranting, and he wasn’t interested either—at first.
but then, sohee swiped left to the previous girl, and he saw you.
anton had almost missed it by a second—but there you were.
your profile was a picture you never posted on your instagram. your bio was short, just for fun, anton read in his mind. he didn’t know how long had you had your tinder account up—and he felt stupid for not going on that app when he’s around your campus.
he didn’t say anything, didn’t react—just kept watching from the corner of his eyes as sohee hovered over your profile, debating whether to swipe left or right.
by the look of it, it didn’t seem like sohee knew or recognised you from his university as he swiped right. anton’s grip on his drink tightened—it didn’t matter. anton had already seen what he needed to see. it was an opening to him. it was fate—and anton didn’t even believe in fate. he believed in making things happen.
…and he did. he excused himself to the bathroom to create an account—chose the best selfie, the one that his mother complimented a lot, the one he didn’t use for his instagram’s display picture. put up a nice bio upon first impression, set his location radius around your university to ensure his face, or yours, would land on either one’s screen.
then it was just a matter of time.
anton knew good things took time—patience always yielded results but… it had been days since he made his tinder account and you still hadn’t shown up on his feed. he knew for one that tinder’s algorithm centred on location-based and it prioritised people nearby which meant…
he wasn’t close enough to you. physically.
that night, an idea came to his head. he decided to look for you.
taking a long drive, anton’s fingers idly tapped against the steering wheel as he made his way towards where he first met you, the university. but a campus was too broad, so he needed to narrow it down. he drove around the neighbourhood with his tinder app on, refreshing every few minutes until your profile finally showed up.
anton inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against the headrest then took a screenshot of your profile, and swiped right. praying to all gods that it would be reciprocated. that you’d swipe right on him too. he was parked in front of an apartment complex. he had the base, knowing your room number wouldn’t be difficult then.
a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
it wouldn’t be long now.
——
“no please, anton—i’ll—i’ll unblock you please, please,” your lips begin to tremble, pleads and words spilling out in broken gasps. your breath feels short and thin, as if the air fails to reach your lungs. anton’s grip on your wrist tightens, his slender fingers pressing into your skin with insistence.
despite that, anton only smiles as he tugs you towards him. soft, patient, and mocking. “why do you always act like i’m a bad guy?” his grip squeezes around the curve of your wrist like a warning. “you act like i’m going to hurt you,” he chuckles—like it’s funny.
your stomach churns, feet stumbling as he tugs you away from the restaurant—away from your friends’ laughter and voices inside. panic bursts through your veins like ice as you think of every horrible outcome out of this. “no—please,” your breath hitches, you place your other hand on his hand, nails pressed into his skin in desperation to pry him off. “i swear, fuck, anton please, please—”
his fingers only tighten when he feels your effort—digging your heels into the ground and struggling against his grip, but it’s useless. the night air is too cold, but somehow your skin is burning and your chest is heaving in panic attacks as he drags you past the sidewalk.
no one’s paying attention, no one’s looking—just as anton likes it.
tears spill down your cheek before you even realise that you’re crying. there’s a heavy pressure in your chest that swells, crushes, and suffocates you. you shake your head wildly while hitting anton’s hand and wrist—anywhere that you can hit, reach, hurt him with all your might. your hair sticks to the dampness on your cheeks.
you can’t breathe.
the fear only becomes unbearable when your mind reminds you that anton was a swimmer—broad shoulders, muscular, long arms—stronger, stronger, stronger than you. the thought crawls up your spine and chokes the breath right out of you. you can’t go against him, you realise.
the tears only come faster and it’s starting to blur your vision as you beg and plead anton to let you go. he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look back at you. he’s already made up his mind on what he’s going to do to you. your pleas are falling on deaf ears.
the restaurant lights are getting smaller, your mother’s voice telling you to stay safe only gets louder in your head as you pray to all gods to save you. but the street is empty—and the sky is dark.
the only answer you get is the sight of anton’s car, and the sound of him unlocking it.
anton exhales through his nose, his grip shifting and tightening.
it happens so fast you don’t even have time to process it.
he tugs you forward towards him and moves his arm to press against the small of your back—you feel the ground slip from under your feet. a panicked cry rips from your throat as your frail body jerks forward. it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, or how much you beg—your limbs feel useless, like you’re not even in control of them anymore.
your hands push against his chest, gripping and tugging onto the fabric of his sweater but to no avail. your fingers ball into weak fists as you pound against him with all your might, sobs wracking your body.
anton doesn’t budge, nor does he flinch.
anton exhales—exasperated—he’s tired of your struggling. and suddenly, before you can react—let out a piercing scream and cry for help; his hands clamp down—curling around your wrist, the other gripping the back of your neck. hard.
“anton—fuck! i’m sorry—!” your voice cracks as your hip slams against the door, the handle digs into your side. you’re being so fucking hard to handle. anton yanks the backseat door open. “get in,” his voice is low, a quiet command laced with something you don’t want to push.
you shake your head frantically, rubbing your hands together in a gesture of supplication, tears streaming down like waterfall. “i’ll talk to you, anton, just—please don’t do this—” anton doesn’t respond. your tears and pleads don’t move him.
they only tighten his pants.
he rolls his eyes and groans as he grips your hair with his fist, lowering your head to propel you in. your breath punches out of you as your palms skid helplessly against the leather seat. immediately, anton slides into the backseat with you.
oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.
you crawl and press yourself against the other door, fingers clawing at the handle as you yank it open—it’s locked and it’s not even budging. “anton, please,” your voice barely comes out, your chest heaving with short sobs. you pressed your back hard, as if trying to merge yourself with his car, to distance yourself from him, but it’s a vehicle, there’s nowhere to go.
you feel suffocated, claustrophobic, the space closing in around you.
anton leans against the other side of the backseat. exhaling, slow and steady. one arm draped over the headrest as his long legs stretched out, manspreading like he didn’t just force a girl inside the backseat of his car. you’re choking on your own panic while he’s taking all the time in the world.
his eyes flicker over you, you’re not looking at him. you can’t bring yourself to look at him—you don’t want to look at the expression he has on his face. because it won’t match yours. it’s not regret, or fear, fear of getting… raped.
“i don’t know why you’re scared,” he finally says, tilting his head slightly as he looks at you. his voice is soft and… as usual, like it’s his effort to soothe you. it only makes the horror settle in your bones.
this guy is fucking nuts, you thought. you shake your head, tears slipping down on his leather seat. maybe if you speak nicer—softer, he’d think twice. hesitate. “please, anton—just let me go… i’m so, so sorry,” you sob, your voice barely above a whisper. your heartbeat slams against your ribs, your body rigid and uncontrollable.
anton simply watches you, then wraps his hand around your ankle. your instinct—in this case, fight or fight—kicks in before logic. you try to twist away, but his grip is unyielding. “no—no—!” you whimper and try to scramble back.
anton shifts his weight—his body crowding yours as he forces you down against his seat. you squirm, your voice high and desperate. his hand finds your wrists, pinning them down above your head. he has you trapped underneath him completely. “shhh, shhh,” he murmurs, his other hand snatches your cheek gently, lovingly, squishing your cheeks, your trembling lips pursed together. “you’re okay, you’re okay…”
anton hums as your pearly tears pile down his hand. “you always make things difficult,” he continues, tilting his head slightly as he leans down closer. his breath warm against your damp cheek “you’ll hurt yourself if you keep struggling.” he soothes.
he tilts his head slightly to graze the shell of your ear. his teeth catch on the skin. you feel his breath, the sensation and warmth shooting down your spine. “it’s just me,” his voice gentle—much like a lover than an assaulter—as he rolls his thumb against the beat of your pulse. he licks and sucks on the shell of your ear. “it’s just me,” he repeats.
you let out another quiet sob when you feel his bulge pressed against your clothed pussy. anton lets out a soft groan in your ear, “do you feel that pretty? i’m so hard for you,” he moans softly as he continues to rub his tent against your pussy. you shake your head violently, letting out whimpers and soft sobs. anton lets out a sharp exhale before clicking his tongue, looking at you struggling beneath.
your sobs are slowly grating against his patience…
“yn,” he says, his eyes sharp and irritated. his usual softness is gone.”i’ve been nothing but good, and patience with you,” he mutters, his grip on your cheeks tightening—almost bruising. “if you do anything weird, i’ll fucking kill you,” he continues, voice low and threatening.
terror grips you like a vice. your breath lodges in your throat as your body immediately stiffens. you stomach churns, you think you might be sick. puke on him, puke on him—his threat echoes, louder than the pounding of your heartbeat in your head. i’ll fucking kill you.
his threat sounds more like a promise—and you try to say something, apologise, or anything, but nothing comes out. you force a nod but your body won’t move. you’re trapless and helpless as you try to pacify him.
anton cracks a smile as he moves his hand from your cheeks, to pat your head, caressing your hair. “don’t make a sound,” he mutters as he begins tugging at your clothes—one by one—shushing and soothing your cries as he leaves you with nothing on but your pants and bra, his motions unhurried.
he sat back, humming softly. “‘m going to let go of your hands—and unless you want to touch me too, don’t even think about anything else.” anton says, slowly releasing his iron grip around your wrists. there’s an ache still pulsing, your arms remain above your head, fingers twitching to remember how to do something—but you don’t. you can’t.
anton leans down to place his lips on yours, his eyes flutter shut as he sighs against your lips. you don’t kiss back, but he doesn’t care. he deepens the kiss like it’s something you want too, smiling between the kisses. you only whimper.
anton continues to ravish you with his lips, his free hand travels down to unbutton your jeans, tugging it down just enough to display your plain panties, and to position himself between your thighs. “i really want to take my time with you, but it’s so cold,” he lets out a dry chuckle, but nothing’s funny. “anton, can—can we talk, please? please,” your voice comes in short. the air inside his car is thick as he slips his hand inside your panties.
it might be cold outside, but your pussy feels too warm for someone who claims to not want it.
you cry and squirm as you feel his palm makes contact with your bare cunt—anton now kisses the corner of your lips, slowly travelling down along your jaw and the curve of your shoulder. “you’re so tense. relax, pretty.” your stomach churns as his fingertips make minute circles on the nub of your clit. anton continues the simulation—drawing your juices out of you.
he smacks gently on your pussy and it makes a slick, wet sound in the car. you flinch, disgusted and humiliated with yourself. you can feel how wet you’re getting—you chant that it’s your body’s natural response to being touched in a sexual manner. this is not what you want—this is rape, rape, rape.
anton simply smiles at your reaction before finding your entrance, and slips his index finger in. he feels your gummy walls as he finger-fucks you. anton’s single finger reaches the angle and parts your hand couldn’t. he is in the position to push deeper, and he does. after a few seconds of thrusting his index finger back and forth, anton slides another finger inside, stretching your entrance. “you’re so tight, it’s only my fingers…” he murmurs innocently, lips pressed forward slightly in a pouting manner.
anton picks up his pace in fucking your pussy with his fingers, curling and pushing against your g-spot, your juices ooze on his hand, coating his fingers in a layer of your sweet fluid. anton watches you in amusement, lips parting slightly as he pulls out his fingers, glancing between his fingers, your teary face, and the way your pussy is twitching from merely his digits.
wow, he’d break you with his cock…
you cry and shut your eyes as tight as you can, refusing to believe that you are being put in this position. anton has you completely merciless underneath him—and there’s nothing you could do except pray that a meteor crashes the car and kills you, and him.
wasting no time, anton unzips and pulls down his jeans; you don’t see it but you can feel—tell that his cock is hung, throbbing, needy. he picks up your hips easily, bringing you up against his pelvis. “i hope i’m your first,” you hear anton mumble. you don’t know if he’s talking to himself, or you.
you feel him positioning the head of his cock at your clenching pussy, slowly pushing himself inside. your breath hitches and you almost let out a muffled moan before biting down hard on your bottom lip. you’re not going to give anton the satisfaction of getting a moan out of you. it burns, and it hurts, a lot. you feel his cock expanding and stretching and overwhelmingly filling the empty tunnel in the worst way possible. you cry.
on the other hand, anton grunts, sinking his erection deeper that he can’t see the base of his cock, totally ignoring the way you’re sobbing on his leather seat. “my goodness baby, you’re so,” anton exhales, feeling your muscles clamp around his cock. he pushes his hips forward, thrusting and beginning to move. the friction of his cock sliding back and forth out of you sends sparks to your core.
you can’t contain it—the air knocks from your lungs as anton only increases his pace. your tightness and your warmness sends anton to ecstasy. you clamp your hands on your mouth to suppress moanings, and anton doesn’t seem to mind it—not when he has you where he wants to.
he reaches really deep inside of you—mercilessly driving and ramming his cock in-and-out of your pussy. “anton…” you mewled, muffled. anton nods, biting hard his lower lip as he leans down to place a soft kiss on your hands. “say it baby, say my name, c’mon,” he moans, his voice strains.
you shake your head, turning your head to the side as your body betrays you. the shame of growing wetter sears through you. it disgusts you more than the man violating on top of you. your body betrays you—you can never forgive yourself, you’d kill yourself before ever admitting that it’s pleasurable.
anton’s hands move to your hips, digging his nails into your plush flesh as he pulls you towards him to sink his cock deeper—past your cervix, knocking on your womb. he rams into you while planting kisses all over your face and body. nipping and biting and marking on your skin like canvas.
this was an experience you’ve never thought you’d face. every inch of anton—as he drags his cock halfway out before forcing it back inside of you makes your body withers beneath him. you let out another round of muffled sobs. anton notices and his heart swells and aches—almost. he hums as he dips his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural body’s scent.
“you’re so soft, yn,” he murmurs against your skin. his movement slows, now pounding short and hard in what anton calls it intimate. “i love you so, so much, goodness,” he whispers, confessing on the curve of your shoulder, descending to your jaw, and up to your ear. anton kisses you everywhere his lips can reach, his hands combing and holding onto your head as he fucks you like a fleshlight.
“‘m gonna cum, pretty,” he moans in your ear as he rocks his hips back and forth, uneven breaths hitting your skin. his thrusts become more erratic as he chases his high—nearing his peak. you choke on your sobs as you finally move your hands off your mouth to place it on his chest—distancing yourself as much as possible. “anton, please, no,” you whimper, weakly protesting as it goes in one ear, and exits on the other. he doesn’t care—can’t bring himself to care about what you want at the moment. not when your warm, squelching wet pussy is inviting and begging him to fill your womb full with his love semen. “gonna fill your pretty body up with my cum, fuck—,”
not when he has you completely under his mercy.
anton’s thrusts become sloppy, his languid strokes losing its rhythm as his hips jerk spastically as he pumps his cock to its peak. he overstimulates and rams the spongy spot inside you. with a final slam, anton buries his aching cock to the deepest part of your cunt—his cock pulsing and throbbing and pumping as he empties himself inside of you. he feels his scrotum contracts as he spurts out thick ropes of cum inside your womb. you whimper—and you think you can feel the way your tummy bulge over and over as anton continues to fuck his cum into you. “mmh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” a low guttural groan builds in his throat as he moans, burying his face deep into your neck.
you don’t move. your body convulsing and you feel nothing besides—tainted, tarnished, corrupted. your body feels foreign—it doesn’t belong to you anymore, it’s his, his, his. your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. the air you desperately need only sticks to the roof of your mouth because it refuses to get past the lump that died in your throat.
your fingers twitch at his chest as anton still hasn’t stopped… besides his cum, disgust coils in your stomach. your ears ring, muffling his groans and moans and confessions. you wish you could die.
“i love you so much, pretty.” anton slowly pulls out, making sure his semen doesn’t ooze out of your pussy too much. he exhales at the sight of a white ring and the way his cum, and your juices coat nicely around his cock. a sight he wants to see everyday. his adam’s apple bobs as he tugs on his bottom lip, holding his cock by its base to scoop his cum trailing out of your pussy back in—just slightly slipping the head in.
he pulls back up your panties and pants—seeing his thick cum pass through the cotton fabric of your cute panties as he stuffs himself back in his boxer and jeans. he lets out a soft sigh as he leans down, wrapping his big arms around your shattered body. his chin rests against the crown of your head and his hand smooth over your back in mocking comfort. anton’s fingers trace patterns down the curve of your spine—letting out another sigh of content.
he’s way too warm.
when anton speaks, he’s back to his usual self. his voice gentle, soft, like the first time he had talked to you. “see?” he murmurs against your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo, that now is mixed with the smell of sex floating in the air. “i’ve got you,” he soothes, smiling. you shouldn’t have blocked him.
your stomach churns in agony as you stare at his sleepy face in your blurry vision.
——
“no, it’s okay, i got you,” you said, offering him a soft smile before tapping your card on the terminal. you placed your own snacks on the counter. anton, still holding his wallet in his hands, didn’t move as he stared at you—head empty a second too long. he was short a few dollars for some beers and cup noodles…
“oh—uhm,” he stammered, feeling guilty. “thanks…” he murmured shyly, throat suddenly dry.
you just replied with a nod, preoccupied with paying for your own things to notice that anton was still looking at you as he picked up his plastic bag from the counter. he swallowed his saliva, mind scrambling trying to figure out something else to say—to keep you just a second longer—trying to talk to you despite his shyness.
but before he could do anything, the cashier handed you your plastic bag, and you thanked her before walking away.
you didn’t even look at anton for the second time.
the door chimed and you were gone.
leaving anton dumbfounded, embarrassed as he stared at the door swung shut behind you.
anton swore that if he saw you again, he wouldn’t let you slip away so easily.
💌 i hope u guys like this!!!🥹🥹🩷🩷 tysm for overflowing heartlink with love n anticipation :(( 🪽