‪‪❤︎‬

#05

[wichustar]

‪‪⭐️ WICHUSTAR ˚.⋆

about masterlist

[biellescouts]

boy best friend

ft. lee anton

a/n; thank you for the many anons about anton ive expanded out of nct territory,, keep the asks comin

cw: cursingggg, reader likes em submissive🤣 she just like me, making out, mama as a pet name, smut — anton gets hard from kissing, p in v sex, him talking nasty asf, he kinda cries, very switch vibes from him

summary: having a boy best friend is so embarrassing

“you know i almost died last night, bro?”

absentmindedly tapping on his bowl of cereal, anton leaned forward against the counter of his kitchenette. his brows furrowed in confusion. “you what?”

“so, i was using the bathroom last night, right,”

“uh… huh.”

“and some random girl just walked in and flicked the light on.” you reached into anton’s fridge to get a bottle of water, “i thought you were getting robbed.”

anton almost choked on his cereal, “oh no, i’m sorry. i think i actually heard you both yell.”

“yeah, you need to fuckin’ warn me, man. don’t let me stay over and then have girls over. i got cussed out.”

anton tried to stifle his laugh — to absolutely no avail.

all you wanted to do was quietly use the bathroom and you decided to leave the light off to like… save energy. only to end up being scared out of your skin by one of anton’s late night companions.

“god, what the hell!” the girl jumped backwards, almost hitting her head on the doorframe as you reached to cover yourself. “who are you??”

you raised a brow. you knew who she could have been, but—

“girl, who are you?” you countered.

you knew damn well you should have kept your mouth shut, because you got called the fuck out. ‘well, anton didn’t say he had a girlfriend, are you his girlfriend? did i just wreck a home?’ uh.. no. ‘how come you weren’t here when we got back but you’re here now?’ uhh… ‘if you’re not his girl, and he has no roommates, why are you here in the middle of the night?’ … — deep down you knew you were the problem here.

unlike anton, you weren’t lucky enough to have parents who would pay for you to live in a nice little apartment for the entirety of college, so you lived with your two roommates; one of which was at the height of a lover’s quarrel with her partner. things had gotten so bad between them that the morning of this incident — or rather the morning before — seeing as it happened at around 2am, anton kindly agreed to let you come back to his place after you finished work, and spend the weekend there. and so, you weren’t there when anton and this poor girl got back to his apartment, because your shift ended about an hour after they had knocked each other out. you poor soul.

“why would you say that?” anton laughed at you, “you don’t live here.”

like you didn’t know that… asshole. you flopped down in one of the dining chairs, attempting to flip your half drank water bottle, at his kitchen table. and failing. “i just couldn’t stop myself from giving attitude. because, why are you trying to talk to me and i’m on the toilet… i needed her gone out the room.”

“well. she’s never gonna text me now.”

“no?” you rose a brow at him, “well, would you have responded?”

anton was notorious (within your two person friendship) for losing the numbers of girls that he slept with. that or somehow indirectly manifesting for them to lose his number, so he had no choice but to move on to the next. he didn’t see this as sleazy, fuckboy activity, however. he was simply just moving forwards through life. so in response to your question? anton just smiled back at you from where he was stood in the kitchenette. he didn’t know the answer. not for sure at least.

“you know she thought we were dating. she was so mad at you.”

his eyebrows shot up, “well, did you defend me?”

“i said i would never date you, and that i was visiting because of the thing with my roommate.” in a display of nonchalance, you pressed down on your baby hairs and just looked on at him.

“wow,” anton pushed up off the counter and took his bowl to the sink. “that’s sweet of you.”

“y’know.” you waited for him to turn back and face you. “if i was one of these girls, i would hate the both of us.”

“why?”

you looked towards the ceiling, as if to try and find the words to say. “well, i feel like i’m always here— like at your place. and we know almost everything about each other, i got a key to your house; we’re just, like, a little too close.”

“first of all, you’re not here enough—”

you shot him a glare and he threw his hands up in defence. “anton, do you not see the problem with that statement?”

anton pursed his lips in supposedly deep thought. “damn. i think you’ve been cockblocking me.”

the way your brain short-circuited hearing him say that— usually it was you cursing. never him. “you’ve been cockblocking yourself, toni.”

“no, but i’m being serious. the girl i brought home was not the first girl i talked to that night. that usually doesn’t happen.” anton came to sit by you at the table, putting a chair right next to yours but turning it the opposite direction so he could be facing you. subconsciously, you rest your feet on his thighs causing him to catch your ankles in his hands as you tried not to roll your eyes at possibly the most sleazy, frat boy coded statement you had ever heard.

“do you actually hear yourself sometimes? this is not the sweet toni i grew up with. you’re something else.”

“god, you’re right.” he laughed out. “i think all the attention is getting to my head.”

you leaned forward towards him, “oh, you think so?”

anton pushed your shoulder gently, “leave me alone, i’m coming to terms with it, i’m—“ he struggled to find the word, “i’m self-reflecting.”

and then he paused. “does our friendship get you any less romantic attention?”

“hmm.” you had to think about it. though anton claims not to be a fuckboy intentionally — or what you liked to call a ‘self-proclaimed pussy magnet’ — you knew yourself that you weren’t as… sexually outgoing (?) as anton. “no less than i had before, i guess. people that know you, know about our weird little friendship and then; you poor thing, you have to talk to two girls before you can get laid. but the people that know just me don’t necessarily know about our weird little friendship.”

“huh.”

“‘cause i’m not trying to be like one of those girls that tells everyone about, ‘my homeboy this, my homeboy that’ and then everyone assumes we’re fucking and i cant even defend myself.”

anton tried to ignore his face warming up, “no, yeah. hah, is that really a thing?” a thought was definitely being formed.

“yes, bro, even i cringe at it. i don’t wanna be that girl.”

“wait so, some of these guys, these friends, are actually like, sleeping with each other?” anton scratched the back of his neck, that was prickling with nerves.

“i mean, yeah, probably. the way they act.” you just laughed obliviously while anton’s mind started to fill up with ideas. like, say, if you were the kind of person who talked to others about your friendship with anton. would people think you’re so close that you might as well just.. be with each other? would people accuse you of sleeping together or dating even if you weren’t?

“yo, imagine if that was us…”

your head jolted in his direction and pure confusion painted your features in an incredulous expression, “anton, can you not… oh my god.”

his head dropped in laughter. as well as defeat.

but you missed that, so you continued. “no, that would be horrible. why would you even put that in my head?”

“so, i’m actually right here.” anton waved his hand at you and you laughed.

“no, no,” rushing to defend yourself, “not in a mean way, i just. i wouldn’t like the attention from people and, yeah, no. i don’t know.”

“yeah, okay. i get that.”

“why do you ask anyway? what would you think if it was us?” you prodded back. you would never let him ask such a stressful question without getting him back. you needed to get even.

“oh.” anton was starting to think he should have never tried it with you. however. you getting that nervous from his initial asking the question gave him a slither of confidence. “i mean. i think that it would be interesting. it’d be kinda cool to see if we could get to know each other any more than we already do.”

“in what sense?”

“like sex stuff.” anton’s voice was soft and quiet. “like what you’re into, stuff like that.”

“wouldn’t you like to know, chanyoung.”

he smiled at you, squinting in acknowledgement of your teasing “i would. tell me something.”

you gave it some thought before replying, “are you serious?”

he replied, “are you?”

you weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but you took at as a case of ‘i am if you are, and if you’re not, neither am i.’

“okay, anton. it’s 9 in the morning, but uh.. i like a submissive man.”

the tips of anton’s ears grew hot. “oh, wow. tell me more.”

you laughed in his face. because no way these are the lines he uses when he’s picking up girls every other night. this was going to be the most embarrassing conversation you had ever had. like, ever. you crossed your legs over each other, still over anton’s thighs.

“there’s nothing more to that statement really. your turn.”

“i like… kissing. but not just kissing like.. kissing.” he dragged the word out a little, really putting umph on it like you were gonna know exactly what he was talking about. you were so annoyed.

“be so for real for a second.”

“what?!”

you sighed. “no, cause i really got a lot from that, thank you. now, i wish i’d kept quiet.”

“what, no! i’m just bad at explaining things.” you tried to retract your legs from anton’s and he grabbed your calf in attempts to stop you from curling in on yourself out of pure embarrassment.

you covered your face. “yeah, really bad.”

“listen, i could show you better than i can tell you.”

“i bet you could, toni, but that’s not gonna turn back time.” you immediately shot him down. before you realised. “wait okay, show me.

“oh, i didn’t think you’d agree. i thought the idea of getting intimate with me was horrible?”

“i mean that’s if people are aware of it and like… try to talk to me about it at school.

right now, nobody knows. so i guess it’s less horrible.”

“alright, c’mere.” anton held out his hand for you to lean into, taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. gently pecking your lips a couple times before ghosting the time of his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission. he ran the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip before pulling away just slightly to whisper, “can you open up a little?”

you furrowed your brows up at him and he took that as confusion, laughing a little “i wanna put my tongue there.”

you parted your lips a little and he kissed you with tongue, making the both of you sigh quietly. with each movement of his jaw and of his lips against yours, his tongue made contact with yours and it triggered a build of warmth in your lower abdomen. each time his tongue licked into your mouth, it pulled a whine out of the back of your throat. your hands rose up into his hair and you breathing started to quicken. at this point, even though you were feeling significantly warmer than you did a few seconds ago, you still didn’t realise what made this any different from ‘regular’ kissing. you figured anton was just being dramatic. that was until he sucked your tongue into his mouth along with your bottom lip. this made you straight up moan — you had to pull away.

“holy shit, anton.”

anton wiped the saliva off of his plush lips with his thumb. “see it’s like kissing but it’s kissing.”

“what the hell.” you huffed out in a deep exhale, twisting a curl around one of your fingers. you didn’t even know what to do with yourself after that.

anton tried to stop his eyes from dropping down to your heaving chest in the tight baby tee you were wearing as pajamas. he wanted to remain composed after putting the moves on you; maintain his shy, yet simultaneously confident demeanour. and then he remembered what you mentioned earlier. anton softened his voice ever so slightly. —if that was even possible.

“you know, you’re a really good kisser.” he held eye contact with you and the delivery of his sentence immediately made you wet.

“um, thank you.”

anton leaned closer to you, keeping his voice hushed despite the fact that you were the only two people in the apartment. “i didn’t expect it too, but kissing you made me really hard.”

“shit, really?” you were overwhelmed. you had just been kissed breathless by your best friend and now he was laying his truths all out on the table.

“i know you feel a type of way about it, but… i wanna fuck you."

“anton…”

“please,” you felt his thumbs rub you from both sides of your hips that he was now holding in his hands. he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth that made your eyes flutter closed. “i know it would feel so good.”

“toni, when you ask me like that—“

“you like that?” anton practically purred before attaching his soft lips to the curve of your neck. his hand slid down the front of your pajama pants to start rubbing you over your panties at a torturingly slow pace. “when i beg you like that? i know you do, you’re soaked.”

“fuck, toni…” you grabbed onto his shoulder for balance, lifting one of your knees higher to grant him a better angle at rubbing those tight circles over your bundle of nerves.

“hey, look at me.” he rubbed your clit faster, “can i make you cum before i fuck this pussy? huh? please?”

you could only lean back and moan in response.

“come on you gotta tell me. can i please?”

“mm-hm. yes, yes, baby.”

you dug your nails into his bicep and he groaned. “can i get i kiss, too?”

in a low whine, you pressed your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as you started getting closer to orgasm.

“yeah, moan for me just like that, baby. that’s so fucking hot. you gonna cum for me?”

you nodded at him and he continued with the same relentless pace of his fingers against your clothes clit until your hips started to shake with your orgasm.

“fuck, you’re so sexy when you cum for me. you gonna let me fuck you, mama?”

you were breathless in shock. in all your years of being friends with this anton, he had never talked so nasty.

anton swiftly lifted you onto the table and yanked your pajama pants down with your panties. with big, soft hands, he kneaded your thighs, “you’re dripping in front of me.”

“well, i just came.”

this made anton laugh, “well, i’m gonna make you cum again. ‘kay?”

you nodded as he pulled his dick out of his basketball shorts and started to jerk himself off, rubbing his tip against your slit. you went to hold onto his back with one hand and he took this as a sign that you were ready for him. pushing into you slowly, he muffled his own moan against your lips.

somehow, after only just put his dick in you, he was already a mess. “mmh, fuck you feel good. you feel so good around me.”

anton’s arms wrapped under your thighs, and started bringing your hips to meet his faster.

“fuck, toni, right there!”

he moaned into a sloppy kiss to your lips, “mm, right there? ‘m i hitting it right?”

“yes, keep going. you’re doing so good..”

anton didn’t change his position, only moving one of his hands to start rubbing your clit again. “fuck, keep talking to me like that.”

you held his neck to pull him closer to you, “you’re so good. and you look so pretty when you’re fucking me.”

all of your praise was going straight to anton’s dick. he was visibly finding it increasingly harder to keep himself together. he leaned forward to get closer to you, grinding his hips into yours. peppering kisses

“ah- uhm, i wanna cum. wanna cum for you.” anton’s voice was barely above a whisper as he rambled against your chest, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth to mumble his pathetic sounds. although, to no avail, he was still mumbling to you, teeth grazing the skin.

“you can cum toni, i’m close too.”

“you gotta cum first, baby,” what a gentleman. “if you cum first that’s gonna make me c-cum.” anton whined flicking his tongue against one of your nipples as if to punctuate, “ugh, please.”

maybe about 30 more seconds of anton’s desperate whimpering pushed you over the edge. and you didn’t want to dwell to much on why this was, but it was surely one of the most pleasurable orgasms you had ever had. and the irregular clenching of your pussy around his dick was the final completely it for him. he pulled out of you cautiously and instead of jerking himself to completion all over your naked body, he was reduced to grinding against your wet pussy, panting and sighing until his own orgasm washed over him.

“shit, anton are you crying?” you cradled his face, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb. he couldn’t even reply — he was inside of you, but you fucked the shit out of him.

“i’m a fuckin’ mess. i think we might have some built up tension or something.” anton got up from where he was leant against your chest. he pulled his shorts up and flopped down into a dining chair, dropping his head down onto one of your thighs where your legs were hanging off the table.

you shifted from your position of sitting up on your elbows to laying your back flat on the kitchen table. “don’t even say that.”

“okay.”

the two of you sat in your silence. it was comfortable silence for you, you hoped it was for him too.

without moving from where he was laid on your thigh, anton’s hand tapped against your leg to grab your attention. “so was that horrible for you, or?”

you could only laugh. “shut the fuck up, anton.”

a/n; *cracks my knuckles*

[paperbruise]

♰༻ hazy ︵

>> college au, collegefuckboy!wonbin, inexperienced!reader, fem reader, noncon, alc and weed mentioned, small(?) age gap (both adults), size kink, fingering, p in v, wonbin's kinda misogynistic, unprotected sex, porn w barely any plot???

as you stepped out of the car, the slight breeze that swept through the leaves and dust on the road made the black thong you were wearing peek out in plain view. the denim skirt over it was short, even shorter than your usual clothing. it felt like a costume. a desperate attempt at inclusion. you were the last to follow your group of friends into the house, watching as they laughed together, not even bothering to wait for you or to see if you were following. the atmosphere was already bustling. strobe lights, cups scattered all around, bodies grinding against each other in every corner of the room. the house had a pungent scent of weed and sweat. the sight of the chaos made you feel out of place. the smell of the house made you even more uncomfortable than the initial party itself. as you scanned the house, you watched a couple drunkenly smack their lips together in a corner, a group of guys snorting a mysterious powder. it felt awkward in your own head. you didn't belong here. not in the way that you were a recluse, but you certainly had never even thought of snorting powder, or drinking. your friends were already moving toward some group of guys, leaving you standing alone in the kitchen. you hesitantly poured a cup of liquor and downed it with a grimace.

the night went on in the same uncomfortable grime, with the exact same people. you pushed through the burning sensation in your chest, swallowing a few more cups of liquor. your stomach felt like an inferno and your head was light. the alcohol buzzed through your system, making everything feel much more loose. you stumbled through the house, opening doors frantically in a search for a bathroom. as you twisted the handle, you walked into a laundry room. sitting criss-cross apple sauce was a tall guy clothed in a baggy hoodie, black hair falling over his eyes. he looked almost too beautiful to be real. you hadn't met him before, but the alcohol that coursed through your veins moved you toward him. you gazed at him in a druken haze for a little while before turning to leave. however, his voice a low rumble, made you stop for a second.

"hey, wait."

you slowly turned around, and his and your eyes met once more.

"who're you?" he slurred, his eyes low and red-rimmed. "you're pretty." he gave a dopey smile, revealing white teeth. his smile was too practiced, too easy. he's obviously done this before. you felt a rush of heat crawl up your neck, mixed with the vibration buzzing through your bones from the drinks. "oh, thank you." unstable, but deliberately, you stepped further into the room, noticing the musky smell in the air and weed flakes on the floor. the miniscule conversation turned into laughter and deep conversations. he had such a way with words. well, to your brain, the intoxication makes his attention tooth-rottingly sweet. the alcohol made his voice feel loose and dreamy. the way he spoiled you with compliments made you melt. it was almost as if you were a dried plant, desperate for water with the way you soaked in his words. it was almost pitiful that your desperation would blind you. you would have said no when he told you he was a senior because you're only a freshman. you would've said no especially when offered the blunt. you hadn't even smoked a day in your life and you were way too scared to even try. oddly enough, the void in your chest demanded to be filled with thrill, and your mind demanded an escape. he flicked the lighter to life, heating the end of the joint. smoke filled the air as it burned, sending ash flakes to the white, tiled floor. it smelled like earth and gasoline. you looked at him nervously, watching as he took a drag. he blew the smoke out towards you.

"it's alright. it'll burn a little, but you'll feel good. c'mere."

his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. he held the blunt up to your lips, teaching you how to inhale smoothly. you coughed immediately, your throat burning, making your head spin even more than it already was from the liquor. it took a little before you started to notice the fuzzy feeling inside, the way your mouth was sticking together, how everything seemed so much louder and more direct. his skin felt warm against the fabric of your skirt, your legs laying on top of his. as the blunt burned between you both, his touches became bolder, his hands exploring the planes of your body. the alcohol lowered your inhibitions significantly, and the weed made you feel pliant. wonbin noticed how melted you were in his hands, how the weed made you so calm. it would be easy to touch you like that. you wouldn't fight him off, despite the fact he was 22 and you were 18, and how you've never really done this. you came here, wearing that thong, that slutty outfit. what else could you want other than to get fucked? wonbin saw an opportunity, so he took it. the soft caress of his fingertips against your smooth thighs made his heart twinge with excitement. the thought of corruption pleased him more than anything else in the room.

you don't even recall what he was rambling about, you just remember how he hauled you onto his lap, laughing mockingly about how easy it was to get you like this. you straddled him, your knees pressed against the cold, hard floor on either side of his muscular thighs. his large hand roughly pulled off your skirt, revealing your thong-clad pussy. the fabric was already wet. all it took was some pet names and some touch to get you moist, it was pathetic and unwanted. but nonetheless, wonbin only saw it as submission. it felt like your body was betraying you in some distant way, while your mind couldn't even form a coherent thought to tell you whether you wanted this or not. you rested your head against his shoulder, eyes half closed as your thong dropped down to your lower thighs. the moment his fingertip breached you, it stung. a bright, biting flash right at the opening. your body clenched instinctively, tears pricking your eyes. you whimpered softly, gripping his shoulders as he pushed deeper inside you, stroking your front wall.

"fuck, you're so tight. probably a virgin, huh? it's okay. i'll take care of you."

he pulled out his finger slightly, gentling the touch. his other hand moved to your hip, gripping tightly. he let his finger curl deep inside you every so often, guiding your hips so your clit is grinding relentlessly against his knuckles. you moaned uncontrollably. your body and mind were two opposite forces, yet, both were somewhat pliant as he got you wetter and wetter. a gasp fled your lips as he pulled his finger out abruptly. "you're small.. wonder if it'll bulge.." he muttered, more to himself than you. he used the hand that was inside you to unbuckle his jeans with haste, freeing them enough to be able to slide down his boxers and let his cock leak milky white goo against his hoodie. his tongue darted out to lick his lips, and he was breathing so heavy it was audible and strong against your ear. you babbled softly, incoherently from the alcohol and weed's heavy blanket as he moved. he softly interjected with occasional mhms and yeas just to keep you distracted enough so he could keep using your body for his own pleasure. as soon as he slowly started to slide inside you, an involuntary, choked gasp broke your babbling. he groaned loudly, sliding so deep inside you the head of his cock nearly slammed into your cervix. the sensation of his cock drilling through your walls felt torturous, yet the pressure was so intense, your body couldn't help but to expand for him.

wonbin felt your body inviting him in, and it just spurred him on further. he kept thrusting slow and deep, just riding out the feeling of your walls getting looser and wetter. you swore on your entire life that you didn't want this, that you never even introduced the idea of getting fucked on in a laundry room like this, but your body couldn't help accommodating his huge length. he focused intensely on your abdomen, watching his hips shift up and the bulge of his cock move higher with them. his mouth stays open, guttural groans and low moans spilling out as he speeds up. your head lolls against his shoulder, mouth open, high whimpers coming out uncontrollably. you were so full, so full of this random senior, raw. the pressure of him, the way he slammed into your cervix with his rhythm made heat pool in your belly. your stomach felt taut, and the pleasure was like a tight coil ready to snap. your drool dripped down onto his shirt, leaving a small wet patch. as you got closer, you clenched tightly around wonbin, making his rhythm even faster. the pleasure mixed with pain, and at this point, you were so close to the edge your legs started to shake against his. with a final thrust against your cervix, you finally came, a white-hot flash of intense pleasure that made you scream. your toes curled and your hips bucked against him. you immediately felt warm spurts inside you as he came, groaning and moving with shallow thrusts.

as wonbin stopped moving inside of you, you slumped against him, body heavy with exertion. the room was filled with your mingled pants, your fingers curled tightly into his shirt. he stayed like that for a moment, just still and deep inside you. his arms wrapped around you tightly, making you unable to even try and free from his grasp. you had no idea how you were going to get home right now.

[truekeylime]

by nature

anton x reader. wc 1,246.

we all get hard when our girlfriend calls us big and strong.

beware: handjob, use of the pet name 'baby' (we ALL fw it), kinda submissive anton yess

─────────────────────

anton loves being in control. he's always the one towering over you, making you feel small, teasing you. but deep down, you know he loves being on the receiving end even more. he can't help taking the lead whenever you're around even if it goes against what he truly wants. you know he'll only fall into his destined position if he's caught off guard.

you find him spread out on the couch watching tv, he doesn't even notice you approaching. you plop down against his side, facing him. he mumbles an absent greeting, eyes boring into the screen.

your hand goes over his clothed stomach, feeling the dents of his muscles with your palm. he glances down at your hand for a moment before looking back up. you continue feeling him up, reaching to feel his muscular chest for a split second. he's visibly distracted now. "wow." you whisper, slipping your hand under his shirt.

"how often do you work out?" you trace his abs with your fingertips. you already know the answer, but you'll do anything to hear his affected voice.

"few times a week." he breathes out.

your head rests on his chest, the bass of his pounding heart flooding your ear. your wandering hand trails to his bicep, squeezing it gently. "so big and strong," you murmur, "what are you training for?" you crane your neck to see his face. his eyes flutter shut every time you give him a squeeze. your palm leaves his arm and he regains consciousness, mouthing a 'huh' when he realizes you'd asked him something.

you reach down to grasp at his thigh through the thick fabric of his sweats, "you train legs too right? a lot of guys only focus on their upper body." you're barely doing anything and he already looks so bothered, your head rising and falling along with his heaving chest. you feel movement when his chin slightly bumps the top of your head, but can't guess if he's nodding in response or not. "you do?" you look up at him, he's staring down at your hand intensely, like he's trying to control it with his mind.

"yes." he says quietly.

your other arm that's been wedged between your body and the couch stretches to rest behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair as he lets out a loud sigh.

your hand creeps back up to his toned stomach, purposely skipping over the growing bulge in his pants. your nails drag against the hard-earned definition of his abs, you can hear his heartbeat quickening when your hand glides down, two fingers slipping just past the waistband of his sweats. they stay there unmoved, "should i start working out too? i feel like i'm missing out on something."

when he opens his mouth to respond, you press down on his lower abdomen, earning what sounds like a low groan mixed with his usual exhales. "are you okay?" you ask lightly, withdrawing your digits and patting the cloth of his waistband as if you're smoothing something.

"no, wait. please." he says hurriedly.

"please what?" if he wasn't so desperate you're sure he would have rolled his eyes. you wait for him to part his lips in response, eager to play your sound-drawing trick on him again.

but instead, his hand envelopes the back of yours. your fingers intertwined, when he guides you directly where he wants.

he retrieves his hand and leaves you in control.

"why can't you react normally when i compliment you?" you tease.

"your way of complimenting," he pauses, letting out a groan when you palm him over his sweats. "isn't normal." he finishes the sentence, his voice rising by the end of it when you grab his length.

"you don't like normal." you tug his sweats and boxers down together slowly, freeing his hard cock. he's already leaking.

he looks at you with wide eyes when you move like you're about to touch him, but then stop midway, raising your palm up to his chin.

your head motions towards your hand when he looks at you dumbfounded. you know he knows what to do, he just wants you to say it.

"spit." you order.

it's obvious he's fighting back a smile while he gathers as much saliva as he can in his mouth, before parting his lips and letting it spill into your palm.

you cup your hand, tilting it so the spit drips down his length.

you give him one long stroke, spreading the wetness so it coats his whole cock. his head instantly tips back against the couch, slack-jawed. you massage his tip with your thumb and he lets out a whimper. "you're so sensitive." you say.

he only nods. you begin stroking his length up and down slowly, earning breathy moans. "you like that?"

he huffs out a quiet 'yeah', biting his lip harshly when you grip the base of his cock. you sit up, your hand that was tangled in his hair reaching under his shirt, feeling for his abs again. "you're so hot, anton." you purr, stroking him faster. "i'd go to the gym with you if it meant you'd fuck me in the locker room."

"fuck." he ruts into your hand.

you egg him on. "it'd feel like this." your grip on him tightens, trying to simulate how you'd clench around him.

he lets out a guttural moan, bucking his hips up to fuck your hand. his eyes are screwed shut, you know he's imagining it.

you can tell he's getting close as his hips stutter, so you purposely slow the pace, stroking him lazily. "already, baby?" you coo at him.

he leaks more precum just from the gentle tone of your voice.

"please continue." he whines.

"you're so cute." you reach up to caress his cheek with your other hand while you continue to stroke him, building up the pace once again. he lets his head fall sideways to rest on your palm, absentmindedly nodding against it when you ask him another meaningless question about the gym.

you gently push his head upright, both hands now going to the base of his cock. with no warning, you duck down and lick the tip. "oh my god." he gasps. you stroke him faster, wrapping your lips around him. he whimpers, "please. faster."

you detach from him and look up to see his eyes closed as he thrusts into your hold, "tell me what you're thinking about." his cock twitches in your hands.

"i'm thinking," he's reckless now, his own hand going over yours to squeeze himself. "i'm thinking about you, fuck," he shuts his mouth to suppress a moan you're still able to hear, muffled. "us at the gym. you counting my reps, then taking me to the back." he whines when you twist around him.

"you wanna fuck me in the gym, baby? have all your friends hear?" you coo at him, or maybe at his dick when you lean down to place a sloppy kiss on the tip. his hips snap upwards, spilling his release all over your hands as he falls apart with a low moan. he's panting when you continue stroking him, milking him of everything.

he nods when you pat his thigh, telling him you're going to go get a towel to clean up his mess. "are you really gonna start going to the gym with me?" he calls out.

"maybe."

[loveanton]

no way back to eighteen | lee anton

⟶ summary: in english 102 you were asked to write a letter to the future; you wrote to yourself while anton wrote to you. two years after graduation the letters return but you’re too late to be eighteen and too late to start again.

˗ˏˋpairing: nyu student!anton x f!reader ❀ genre: slow burn, friends to lovers, miscommunication trope + situationship ❀ word count:  20.8k ❀ staring: manon (18-24)- katseye, anton (18-23) + sohee (18-24)- riize, jake (25)- enhypen. ⟶ warnings: swearing, emotional cheating (present timeline), jealousy/possessiveness, miscommunication, ambiguous relationship dynamics (situationship), implied sexual content, consumption of alcohol, toxic relationship dynamic, angst, unresolved tension, “right person, wrong time,” open ending. please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

✎୭: this was so fun to write! started it last year around christmas then lost the drive but so glad i picked it back up!! i recommend listening to: before you leave me by alex warren, yard sale by alex warren, i'll be waiting by cian ducrot choir version (fun fact, this is the song that inspired this fic), phases by pretty much and this city by sam fischer. enjoy my butterflies <3

NYU freshman year

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the day you met Anton Lee.

The way he smiled as he steadied the side of your bookshelf while you fumbled with the screws. The way he pointed to the stack of novels still waiting in their box and asked you a million and one questions about each and every one of them: why you owned them, what they were about, which ones you loved and which ones you thought to be overrated. He didn’t even seem to notice that you were sweating from the effort of screwing in the nails, too caught up in listening to your rambling answers to help steady the bookshelf.

It was move-in weekend. Your parents had driven away the night before, leaving you with swollen eyes and a lump in your throat while your roommate Manon laughed at you all night for crying. She called you a baby and said you’d survive but truth is, survival didn’t feel possible until two mornings later when Anton and his roommate Sohee came knocking on your door.

They came bearing gifts: bagels and watery hot chocolate stolen from the dining hall. “We saw you moving in,” Anton had explained quickly, voice tumbling over itself. “Thought maybe you could use some help.”

Then Sohee, grinning, lifted the plate in his hands and added, “Plus, we saw you at the frat party last night. Figured you’d need food.”

Manon gasped like they were saviors then shoved you aside to grab the first bagel and announced right then and there that the four of you were friends now. You could only laugh, stepping back to let them in, not realizing you’d just opened the door to the rest of your life.

From that morning on, the four of you were impossible to untangle. What was meant to be a favor quickly became a habit; Anton and Sohee were always at your door and Manon always let them in.

Friday nights meant football games where you painted your faces in sloppy stripes and screamed yourselves raw from the bleachers, even though you didn’t understand half the rules, just that your school was winning and that was enough.

Saturdays were for swim meets with posters in hand watching Anton slice through the water and touch the wall first every single time. His cheeks always burned when you swore he’d be captain next year, shrugging off the praise even as pride bloomed in his chest.

Sohee had his concerts. The three of you filed into the auditorium with flowers clutched tight, screaming every time he had a solo until the choir director threatened to throw you out. You would struggle to keep in your laughs for the rest of the night.

And then there was ballet (Manon’s bright idea), an elective she convinced you to take, neglecting to mention you’d be performing on stage three times that semester but Anton and Sohee showed up anyway, front row with phones raised high, clapping politely like you were professionals. Without fail, they always took you and Manon out to dinner afterward because they knew how hungry you’d be.

When November came around and the semester started to come to a close, you pushed tables together in the dorm lounge for Friendsgiving, each of you bringing something from home. Anton and Sohee taught you about their Korean traditions, Manon brought a mix of her Ghanaian and Swiss dishes and you explained yours between laughter while food was passed around. It felt like home.

They felt like home.

By December there was a tiny Christmas tree you and Anton decorated while Manon and Sohee strung lights around your room. You exchanged cheap gifts wrapped in too much tape and cards scribbled with words that mattered more than the presents themselves. When you all went away for the holidays, you kept in touch, making plans for what the spring semester would hold.

When spring finally rolled around, it didn’t feel quite as terrifying as fall had. New York was no longer something you were surviving but somewhere you were beginning to belong to.

You built your schedules together over late-night takeout the first week, promising to meet for lunch between classes and somehow you all ended up in the same section of English 102.

You were the only one who treated it like it mattered, you figured it was the English major in you. Manon used it as an extra hour of watching shows, Sohee half the time scribbled choreography notes in the margins or finished homework for music theory and to give Anton credit, he at least paid attention…even if you sometimes caught him doodling staff lines in the corners of his notebook.

It was a small class, tucked into one of the older buildings and the professor had a habit of asking open-ended questions that usually went unanswered but you liked her. She had a soft spot for fiction and a drawer full of chocolate she passed around during presentations.

The second semester moved faster than the first. There were fewer homesick nights and more impromptu trips to Chinatown; more movie nights in the dorm lounge with popcorn that always burned; more inside jokes scribbled onto whiteboards in the dorm halls; more of Anton sitting cross-legged on your bed with his guitar asking you to read his lyrics out loud just to hear how they sounded coming from someone else.

It’s the last week of classes and Sohee and Manon both opted to skip, completely over the school year while you decided to go, Anton tagged along so you wouldn’t be alone. The classroom is only half full and students are lounging around studying for their last finals.

You’re in the front row with Anton beside you, passing the time with a game of tic-tac-toe in the margin of his notebook until your professor claps her hands together. “Alright,” she calls, smiling at the groans she knows are coming. “Time to go over your last assignment of the semester and don’t worry, it’s not an essay.”

She reaches for a stack on her desk and lifts a small box of envelopes. “I want you all to write a letter. It can be to yourself, to a classmate, to anyone who’s made an impression on you during your freshman year. Seal it up, give it to me and I’ll send them back to you…two years after you graduate.”

You pout at the catch, two years? You glance at Anton expecting a joke but he’s sitting unusually still. His pencil, the one he always chews on, is balanced between his fingers frozen mid-tap against his notebook. You nudge him. “Earth to Anton?”

He blinks out of whatever world he drifted into and awkwardly laughs. “Yeah? Sorry…just thinking about who to write to.”

“Yourself,” you say easily, already reaching for the envelope your professor is passing down the row.

He hums noncommittingly and reaches for an envelope, turning it over in his hands slowly.

You don’t waste time and start writing immediately. You sign and date the corner of your lined paper and start spilling little pieces of who you think you’ll become. You ask future-you about the bestseller you hope you’ll write, ask if you officially move to New York, you add a line about Manon wondering if the two of you really commit to living together postgrad. Then you steal a peak at Anton who still seems to be lost in thought before hesitantly writing: I hope we stay close.

You don’t think much of it, it’s a throwaway sentiment. When you finish, you look up and see Anton still hasn’t written a single word. His notebook is blank, still untouched almost like he’s afraid to write.

“You okay?” you whisper.

He startles again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.”

He clears his throat, flips open his notebook and finally starts writing but not in his usual messy handwriting, rather slower and neater. You can’t see a single line of what he writes and you don’t try to. It feels…private.

When the lecture is over, your professor calls out. “Alright, pass them forward!”

You lick your envelope, seal it closed and hand it off. Anton hesitates for a moment before sealing his and slides it into the pile with everyone else’s. As you pack your bag, you say, “Kinda weird to think we’ll get these back in what…five years?”

He hums softly. “Feels so far.”

You don’t notice the way he looks at the envelopes as your professor tucks the box under her arm. You don’t notice the way his fingers flex like he’s itching to pull his back out. Once you make it outside Anton bumps your shoulder playfully as you walk. “Lunch?” he asks.

You smile and loop arms with him. “Obviously.”

You don’t think about the letters again.

Present Day

“Happy birthday to you~”

You stir awake to the faint sound of someone humming low and off-key in your ear. For a split second, you think it’s Manon, already back from whatever glamorous event she’s working in Paris this week but when you blink your eyes open, it’s your boyfriend Jake sitting at the edge of your bed, hair messy, still shirtless and holding a cupcake with a crooked candle stuck in the middle.

“Happy birthday to you…” he sings softly, dragging out the tune like he’s trying not to laugh at himself. When you groan and drag the blanket over your head, he nudges your leg gently with his knee. “Nope. Come on, you have to listen.”

You groan and roll onto your back covering your eyes with both hands. “Jake, it’s too early for this.”

“It’s nine,” he says through a laugh before going back to singing.

You peek at him between your fingers and see his proud smile and you don’t have the heart to argue. When he finishes, he leans over to kiss your forehead then whispers, “Happy birthday, pretty girl,” before offering you the cupcake.

You sit up, eyes still heavy with sleep, hair a mess and voice rough. “Where’d you even get a cupcake?”

He tilts his head towards your door “Bodega downstairs. I told them it was your birthday and he insisted on giving me the biggest one.”

You smile despite yourself and bite into the cupcake. A few crumbs fall causing Jake to brush crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. There’s something so intimate about it you glance away for a second, suddenly aware of the quiet apartment around you. Manon’s job as a social media coordinator for a global beauty brand has her in Europe more often than in the apartment you’ve shared since graduation. You barely see her these days except for late-night FaceTimes and the rare occasions when she’s home.

And Jake…well, Jake has slowly filled the leftover space.

You met him last spring at a mutual friend’s housewarming party; soft-spoken, polite, a little awkward but in a cute way. He works in Manhattan as a business analyst, wears button-downs even on weekends and chips in towards your rent on months you’re behind. He’s the kind of guy your parents hoped you end up with.

“So,” he says, settling beside you, his knee bumping yours. “What does the birthday girl want to do today?”

You shrug. “I work today, remember? Manuscript review.”

He frowns. “Are they seriously making you work on your birthday?”

“That’s the life of an editorial assistant,” you joke, nudging him. “Also, I really don’t mind. It’s kind of relaxing.”

He doesn’t look convinced but he wraps an arm around your shoulders anyway, pulling you into his side. You let yourself fall against him, warm and comfortable, your cheek resting on his chest. Your life isn’t perfect, you’re two years out of graduation, living with a best friend who’s never home, working a job that’s adjacent to the dreams you once wished on stars for but it’s safe and Jake has become part of that.

He kisses the top of your head. “Well, my parents want to take us out tonight. They reserved that Italian place you love downtown. They’re excited to celebrate with you.”

Your stomach flips. Jake’s parents adore you, they treat you like you’re already part of the family. His mother meal preps for you and his father forwards you articles about “the best books to read in your twenties,” because he thought you’d appreciate it as an aspiring author.

It should make you happy but somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny voice reminds you of a ghost from your past, someone you thought would be your forever. You shove the thought away. Jake is watching you, fingers still drawing circles on your knee, waiting for your reaction. You force a smile. “That sounds…nice.”

He beams at you. “Great! The reservation is for six pm.”

Jake takes your plate from you and sets it aside on your nightstand before crawling back toward you on the bed, his knee sinking into the mattress beside your hip.

“You know,” he murmurs, brushing your cheek gingerly, “you look really, really beautiful right now.”

You huff a sleepy laugh. “I look like a raccoon.”

He dips down to kiss the tip of your nose. “A beautiful raccoon.”

You swat his chest but he only laughs, leaning in to kiss you properly this time. His lips move against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. His hand slides to the back of your head, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw as his ring presses coolly against your skin. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

“____,” he groans against your lips, his voice filled with need.

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He pulls back just barely, lips brushing yours as he whispers, “Let me spoil you today.”

“Jake…” you start but he kisses the rest of your sentence away, smiling against your mouth.

His hands trail down your sides, fingertips tracing lazy lines over your hips. You shiver and he notices. “Come here,” he breathes, shifting suddenly. Before you can question it, his arms scoop under your thighs and back, lifting you effortlessly off the bed. You gasp, arms flying around his shoulders. “Jake!”

“What?” he teases, carrying you toward the bathroom with ridiculous ease.

“Put me down!”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No.”

You try to glare at him but it’s impossible when he’s looking at you like this: totally in love. He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, sets you gently against the counter and presses another kiss to your forehead. “Shower with me?”

His fingers toy with the hem of your sleep shirt, waiting for your answer. You breathe out a tiny laugh. “Are you trying to make us both late?”

He smirks. “Maybe.”

“Well…” you slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, “I guess we can be a little late.”

His grin turns boyish and triumphant. “Have I ever told you I love you?”

You laugh in response as he turns on the water, steam already curling through the room. You kiss him again, slow, sweet and a little dizzying. He smiles into it, hands tightening at your hips. For a few minutes, nothing exists except the heat of the room, his lips on yours and the familiar comfort of being held exactly how you want to be held. Eventually, he pulls back, brushing a thumb along your jaw one last time. “Okay,” he breathes, trying and failing to look composed, “we should actually get ready now.”

You nod but neither of you move until he leans in for one more soft kiss, barely a brush of lips, gentle enough to make your chest tighten. The two of you take turns washing the other off before exiting the shower to finish getting ready.

You brush your teeth beside him while he wipes steam from the mirror. It’s a familiar routine: him toweling off his hair while you lean over the counter to apply moisturizer. His overnight bag sits in the corner, small and a little pathetic-looking, holding only a few shirts and a toothbrush. He’s mentioned wanting a drawer here more than once, half-joking, half-hopeful. You always deflect with something logical like, “You don’t sleep over enough,” and he laughs it off but the truth sits heavy in your chest even now.

The last person who ever had space in your dresser…the last person whose hoodies lived on your chair, whose shirts were folded next to yours, whose medals hung on your desk when his dorm ran out of space…

You shut the thought down before it forms completely.

Jake buttons his shirt next to you, humming softly as he tucks it into his slacks and you force your heartbeat back into the present. “You look beautiful,” he says, straightening your collar with both hands and kissing your cheek. “Ready?”

You nod, stepping into your shoes while he slings his bag over his shoulder. A moment later, he takes your hand gently, squeezing once and the two of you head out the door together.

By the time you make it to the office, the day slips into its usual rhythm. You spend most of the afternoon hunched over your desk, flipping pages and scribbling notes in the quiet hum of the office. It’s not glamorous, not what you used to imagine when you thought about becoming a writer but it’s close enough to feel like you’re still reaching for it. Close enough to keep you here.

At some point, your coworker swings by with a quick, “Happy birthday,” dropping a mini chocolate bar onto your desk before disappearing again. You thank her, a little surprised, turning it over in your fingers before setting it aside.

You check your phone more than you mean to.

A text from Manon, some blurry photo from a rooftop in Paris, miss you, birthday girl!!! followed by a string of hearts.

Another from Jake: Can’t wait for tonight. What kind of cake do you like?

You purse your lips at the question before typing something back but your fingers hover for a second longer than they should before you lock your phone and flip back to the manuscript in front of you.

By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re gathering your things, slipping your notebook into your bag, the weight of the day settling into your bones. The city greets you with its usual hum: taxis blaring, people rushing, the air thick with late afternoon heat as you make your way down into the subway.

The train ride home is familiar. You stand wedged between strangers, one hand wrapped around the pole as the car lurches forward. You watch your reflection flicker in the window between stops, your mind drifting in and out of nothingness.

By the time you step back into your apartment, the silence greets you again. You move through it easily, showering quickly, changing into something nicer, smoothing out the details until you look like someone who has her life exactly where it’s supposed to be.

At exactly six, your phone buzzes.

jake <3: I’m outside.

You grab your bag, take one last look at yourself in the mirror then head downstairs. Jake is leaning against his car when you step out, a bouquet of flowers in one hand. He straightens the second he sees you, his entire face lighting up. “Wow,” he breathes. “You look…wow.”

You laugh, walking toward him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes, stepping forward to kiss you softly before handing you the flowers. “Happy birthday.”

“They’re beautiful,” you say, genuinely touched as you bring them closer.

“Wait,” he says quickly, reaching into his pocket. “I have one more thing.”

You blink as he pulls out a small, familiar red box. Your stomach dips slightly. “Jake…”

“Just open it,” he insists, smiling.

You hesitate for half a second before flipping it open. Inside sits a delicate gold Cartier bracelet, the light catching against it in a way that makes it sparkle. It’s beautiful no doubt about it but also unmistakably expensive.

For a moment, you don’t say anything. “Do you like it?” he asks, watching your face carefully.

You blink, forcing yourself back into the moment. “Yeah! Yeah, it’s…it’s really beautiful.”

“I saw it and thought of you, something you could wear every day.” He says, stepping closer. “Here, let me.” He adds gently, taking it from the box. “

You hold out your wrist and he fastens it carefully, his fingers brushing your skin as he adjusts it into place. He beams, clearly satisfied, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before opening the passenger door for you. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

Dinner goes by smoothly.

His parents greet you like they always do, his mother pulling you into a hug, his father smiling warmly as he asks about work, about writing, about everything you’ve been up to. The restaurant glows softly around you, low lights and quiet chatter filling the space as wine is poured and plates are passed. Conversation flows naturally. You laugh when you’re supposed to, answer questions easily, slip into the rhythm of it all like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

And then—

“Well, I was just telling Jake the other day…it won’t be long before we’re celebrating something even bigger, will it?”  His mother says, setting her glass down with a small smile, her eyes flicking between the two of you.

Your hand stills in his and Jake lets out a small, awkward laugh. “Mom…”

“What? You two are so good together. Anyone can see that.”  She says lightly.

His father chuckles. “Don’t mind her, she’s still upset that your brother eloped.” He turns to face you, “you’re already part of the family, hun.”

You nod automatically, the word family settling somewhere in your chest in a way that feels heavier than it should. “That’s sweet,” you say.

Jake squeezes your hand under the table in reassurance, like this is something good…something to be happy about and it is, it should be.

This is what people want, isn’t it? Warm dinners, parents who already look at you like you belong. A boyfriend who plans ahead, who shows up early with flowers and expensive gifts.

You used to think you wanted this. You still think you do. So why does it feel like you’re sitting just slightly outside of your own life, watching it happen instead of fully living it? You smile when Jake’s mom asks you another question, nodding along, answering without really hearing yourself. The conversation flows around you but your thoughts have already drifted somewhere quieter, somewhere harder to look at.

This isn’t how you imagined twenty-three.

You thought it would be louder, messier. Late nights that bled into early mornings, candles stuck into a store-bought cake at midnight because someone forgot to plan ahead. You thought there would be party-city decorations taped unevenly to the walls, balloons already starting to deflate.

You thought there would be handwritten cards, messy, rushed and filled with inside jokes. Cards that meant more than the gifts themselves.

You’ve spent so long telling yourself this is what you wanted: a life that makes sense, a relationship that feels safe, a future that doesn’t come with question marks attached and now that you’re sitting in the middle of it, surrounded by everything you once thought would make you feel whole, all you can focus on is the quiet, unsettling feeling that something is off.

That maybe wanting something for so long doesn’t mean it’s right when it finally finds you.

Jake squeezes your hand gently, grounding you just enough to pull you back into the moment. “Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low.

You nod too quickly, offering him a smile that feels convincing enough. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

And you almost believe it.

Nothing here is wrong. There’s nothing to point to, nothing to explain why your chest feels this tight, why your thoughts keep drifting just out of reach, why you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t quite name. So you let the conversation pull you back in, let yourself laugh when you’re supposed to, respond when spoken to, slip back into place like you’ve done all night but the feeling doesn’t go away.

It lingers, a persistent question you’re not ready to answer: why does something you’ve wanted for so long feel so unfamiliar now that you have it?

NYU sophomore year

You don’t realize what time it is until it’s already too late.

Your laptop screen is the only light in the common room, the rest of the floor is quiet. Your fingers move quickly over your keyboard, words spilling out faster than you can second guess them, the story in your head finally taking shape.

Manon had been there at some point, curled up on the couch scrolling through her phone but you barely noticed when she got up. Sohee had said something about grabbing water, or maybe snacks before disappearing. Anton had been sitting across from you, half-watching whatever you were writing, half-doodling in the margins of his notebook. You don’t remember when he left either.

You’re too deep in your fictive world to notice how all your friends have slowly abandoned you until a voice cuts through. “Yo.”

You glance up to see Anton leaning against the doorway, hair slightly messy, hoodie sleeves pushed up his arms. “I think I left my captain’s hoodie in your room,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Can you come check? I don’t wanna just go in there if you’re not—”

“Oh, yeah,” you say immediately, already pushing your chair back. “It’s probably on my desk.”

You follow him down the hall, still half in your story and unaware of the date and time. When you reach your door he lets you walk in first. The second the door opens you’re met with confetti to the face.

“Surprise!”

You jump so hard you almost drop your phone. Streamers fly into your line of vision, balloons bobbing against the ceiling as Manon and Sohee burst out from either side of your room, laughing as they shout over each other. “Happy birthday!”

You blink, completely stunned, your brain scrambling to catch up as you take in the decorations strung haphazardly across your walls, the pile of half-inflated balloons in the corner, the cheap plastic banner taped slightly crooked above your bed.

“Oh my gosh! What!? when did you??” You laugh breathless, pressing a hand to your chest.

“We’ve been planning this all week,” Manon says proudly, already reaching for you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you lightly.

“You were too busy ignoring us, writing your little stories to notice,” Sohee adds, grinning.

“I was not ignoring you!” you protest, laughing as you turn in a slow circle, taking everything in.

Up close, the details start to settle. You notice the fairy lights, finally. They’re strung the same way you always keep them but now they’re lined with polaroids of tiny moments clipped between the wires. You step closer without thinking and reach up to examine one between your fingers.

There’s one from your latest group trip to China town, Sohee had taken it after you had all gotten matcha at a new cafe. There’s another of  you asleep on Anton’s lap, you think it’s from midterms week. One of Anton, taken from further away standing by the pool, hair still wet, turning toward the camera like he didn’t realize he was being watched and then one of all four of you, squeezed together in your dorm room, slightly blurry but unmistakably yours.

“You guys…” you start but your voice trails off.

Behind you, a match strikes. You turn just as Anton leans over a small cake, carefully lighting each candle one by one, tongue pressing lightly against his cheek. The flicker of the flames catches in his eyes as he straightens then he starts to sing. “Happy birthday to you…”

Sohee joins in almost immediately, louder and off-key on purpose and Manon follows right after. Anton steps closer as he sings, holding the cake out toward you, the candles casting a soft light across his face. He’s smiling as he reaches the end. “…happy birthday to you.”

The song ends with laughter and clapping, Sohee whooping loudly while Manon squeezes your arm. Anton just nods toward the candles. “Make a wish.”

For a second, everything fades and all you can think about is this moment, the three people standing around you, the way it feels to be surrounded by something this loving. You wish, simply, that it never changes. That the four of you stay like this, that this…whatever this is, lasts.

You blow out the candles.

“Okay! Cut the cake I’m hungry.” Sohee cheers immediately.

Anton disappears for a second, setting the cake down to grab plates and a plastic knife. When he comes back, he hands you the first slice. You glance down at it, then back up at him. “Wait…this is my favorite!”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You mentioned it once.”

“When?” You ask.

“During Sohee’s birthday. You were complaining about the flavor.” He says, already cutting another slice.

You let out a scoff, shaking your head. “I was not complaining.”

“You were,” Sohee calls from across the room.

You playfully roll your eyes, “yeah well who wants an ice cream cake for their birthday? You can eat ice cream whenever!”

Anton huffs a quiet laugh, handing out the rest of the plates. Manon grabs your arm again before you can think too hard about it, pulling you toward the center of the room. “No more talking. We’re dancing.”

Before you can respond, Sohee is pushing something into your hands, a flimsy plastic sash that reads BIRTHDAY GIRL in glittery letters and Manon is already placing a slightly crooked tiara on your head.

You go along with it, laughing as she spins you around, the tiara slipping slightly and the sash twisting awkwardly across your chest. At some point, you catch Anton watching you from across the room. He’s leaning back against your desk, arms crossed loosely, a half-smile playing at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh at you.

You don’t linger on it. You let yourself get lost in the music and the company of your friends. Grateful to have a found family.

After your birthday, things don’t change. At least not much…not really.

The four of you still move through campus like a unit, still fall into the same routines, the same late-night hangouts and shared meals and crowded study sessions. You still end up in each other’s rooms, still spend weekends bouncing between games and practices and whatever last-minute plans Manon decides are non-negotiable.

Somewhere in the middle of it all though, something shifts…between you and a certain chestnut haired swim captain.

Anton ends up in your room more often, stretched across your bed with his head propped against your pillow while you sit cross-legged beside him, laptop balanced on your thighs. At first there’s always space between you, enough to pretend nothing’s different.

Until there isn’t.

Until one night you realize you're laying down now, shoulder pressed against his, your arm brushing his every time you move, neither of you shifting away. Until another night turns into you curled slightly into his side, his hoodie bunched under your cheek, his breathing slow and steady beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

No one says anything about it.

Lunches start happening without the others. At first it’s accidental, running into each other after his swim practice, both of you starving, deciding to grab something quick before your next class but then it becomes a habit. “Just us,” he’ll say, like it doesn’t mean anything. As if it’s not becoming something.

You wander through the city together, ducking into small places you find on a whim, sharing fries, trading bites, talking about everything and nothing all at once. He listens when you ramble about your stories, asks questions like he actually cares about the plot and fictional worlds you build. You start saving things to tell him.

You don’t realize you’re doing it until it’s impossible to ignore. Late nights turn into later ones. Text messages that stretch past midnight, then one, then two, until your phone is the last thing you see before you fall asleep and the first thing you reach for when you wake up. Your 8AM classes become harder to sit through, your focus slipping in and out because you’re thinking about something he said hours ago, replaying it without meaning to.

“Why are you smiling at your phone like that?” Manon asks once, eyeing you from across the room.

“I’m not,” you say too quickly, locking your screen.

She hums unconvinced but lets it go. You start doing that more than you’d like to admit, shrugging things off, brushing past questions, lying to your friends…to yourself.

You tell yourself it’s nothing, that when you choose to sit next to him instead of across from him, when your knees brush under the table and neither of you move that it’s platonic. You tell yourself that when people start to notice.

“You two are always together,” Sohee says one night, not accusing, just observant.

“We’re literally all always together,” you shoot back, a little too fast. Manon glances between the two of you, something knowing flickering across her face before she looks away.

You laugh it off. You tell yourself it’s easier that way because nothing happens. There are no confessions, no grand moments you can point to and say that’s where it changed. No one crosses a line that can’t be uncrossed. If anything, the two of you become experts at hovering just beneath it, circling something unspoken and pretending it isn’t there.

You let it, whatever it is, exist in that in-between space. Until it’s everywhere. Until it’s the first person you look for in a room and the last person you say goodnight to. Until it’s his hoodie thrown over your chair, his water bottle sitting next to yours, his name lighting up your phone more than anyone else’s.

It's not until you're packing up to go home for summer break do you realize the cold hard truth: you've fallen for Anton Lee and you have no idea what to do about it.

Present Day

It’s been a week since your birthday and dinner with Jake’s parents. Manon is back, the apartment finally feeling like itself. She has music low in the background as she sits cross-legged on the living room floor with her laptop open, clips from Paris flashing across the screen as she edits.

You’re in your room, standing in front of your mirror, finishing your makeup while Jake lingers behind you. Today is date night. He’s already ready, button-down crisp, sleeves rolled slightly and watch fastened neatly at his wrist. He’s been watching you for the past few minutes, leaning against your dresser patiently waiting on you. “You almost done?” he asks.

“Almost…two seconds.” You say, leaning in to swipe mascara across your lashes. 

“Mm,” he hums, pushing himself off the dresser. You don’t notice when he starts moving around your room, his attention drifting to the little things you’ve left out, your books stacked unevenly on your desk, the loose papers of your novel you edit at night, the memory box that sits in between your bed and night stand.

It’s tucked just slightly out of place, the lid not fully closed from the last time you went through it. Jake pauses, glancing toward you for a second before crouching down, curiosity getting the better of him. You’re still focused on your reflection when he lifts the lid.

Jake smiles faintly when he finds the box filled with letters and polaroid. He starts flipping through the pictures one by one; Manon mid-laugh, Sohee mewing at the camera, a blurry shot of what looks like a dorm hallway. He keeps shuffling through them until he comes across a picture of you and a man he’s never seen before.

“Babe. Who’s this?”  He calls, turning the photo slightly in his hand. 

You turn just enough to see what he’s holding and your stomach drops. It’s you after Anton’s swim comp wrapped in his captain's hoodie while he stands beside you, medal hanging from his neck and arm slung loosely around your shoulders.

You move before you can think about it. “Jake!” you cross the room quickly, faster than you mean to, snatching the photo and the box from his hands in one motion. “Why are you going through my stuff!?”

Jake blinks, thrown off, hands lifting slightly in defense. “Woah! I wasn’t…I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Well, it is,” you say, a little sharper than you intended, already setting the box aside like putting distance between it and him will fix something.

Jake exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Okay…I’m sorry. I just…I saw it and I got curious.”

You don’t respond right away, turning back to your mirror. Jake watches you for a second then asks. “Who is he?”

Your grip tightens around your makeup brush. “No one,” you say coldly.

Jake lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “He doesn’t look like no one.”

You don’t answer. “Is he an ex?” he presses.

You cringe before you can stop yourself. “Can you just…drop it please? I said it’s nothing, Jake.”

He frowns, something frustrated flickering across his face now. “I’ve told you about all my exes. Why are you hiding this?” He says, a little more pointed.

You open your mouth and then close it because what are you supposed to say? Anton wasn’t an ex but he also wasn’t someone who meant nothing. Whatever it was that the two of you shared existed in the realm of what if’s and dreams.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you say finally but it comes out weaker than you intend.

Jake studies you, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Then explain it.”

You let out a quiet breath and set your makeup brush down. “There’s nothing to explain. He was just…someone from school.”

“Just someone?” Jake echoes, glancing toward the box you shoved aside. “You’re clearly wearing his hoodie and he’s got his arm around you like…like that’s normal!”

“It was normal. We were friends.” You snap, more defensive now.

The word hangs there, thin and unconvincing, even to your own ears. Jake doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, his expression shifting from confusion to frustration like he’s trying to understand what you’re not saying just as much as what you are.

“Okay. I’m just gonna be blunt.” he says after a moment. Your stomach drops. “Do you have feelings for him?”

You freeze for half a second, your reflection staring back at you in the mirror, eyes just a little too wide, lips parted like you might actually answer him honestly and for the briefest moment, you consider it. You consider turning around, saying I don’t know or it’s complicated or something real but the truth is messy. The truth doesn’t make sense. The truth would ruin the life you’ve built these two years away from Anton so instead you laugh.

It comes out light and dismissive. “That’s…not even possible,” you say, shaking your head as you turn back to the mirror, picking up your makeup brush. “You can’t have feelings for someone you never even dated. That’s just…” you shrug slightly, meeting his eyes through the reflection, “...dumb.”

Even as it leaves your mouth, something inside you recoils. Still, you don’t take it back. You let the lie sit there between you. You add it to the long list of lies you’ve told. Jake watches you for a few seconds longer, trying to decide if he believes you or not. His gaze lingers, searching your face for any signs of hesitation. You don’t give him anything.

Eventually, he exhales. “…okay,” he says quietly.

He glances at his watch then back at you. “We should go. We’re gonna miss our reservation.”

You nod quickly, grateful for the out. “Yeah.”

You set your brush down and reach for your bag before following him out. You catch Manon’s eyes on your way out and there’s no doubt she heard your conversation. The frown she gives you on your exit speaks volumes.

NYU junior year

You don’t remember who pulled who into the room first. All you know is the music is louder out there but here it’s quieter. Anton’s mouth is already on yours, wasting no time the second the door shuts behind you.

The kiss is messy and rushed. You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s backing you up, hands firm at your waist as you stumble together, bumping into the edge of the bed. You laugh softly against his lips, breathless. “The door’s not even locked,” you murmur, glancing over his shoulder for half a second. “Someone could walk in.”

Anton doesn’t pull away, if anything he leans in closer, mouth dragging from your lips to your jaw then lower. “Let them,” he murmurs against your skin like the idea doesn’t bother him at all.

You huff out a quiet laugh, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging lightly just to hear the soft exhale it pulls from him. “You’re insane.”

“Insane about you.” He rebuttals.

His hands skim up your sides as your back hits the mattress as he follows you down and lays his body weight atop you. The room tilts slightly as you turn your head. The window is cracked open just enough to let the cool night air slip in, you can see the city lights flickering somewhere in the distance and all you can think about is how different this is. How far this feels from where you were just a few months ago.

Over the summer, you’d convinced yourself distance would fix it. Back home, surrounded by everything that came before NYU, it was easier to pretend. Easier to ignore the way your phone lit up with his name, easier to let texts sit unanswered a little longer than they should then a little longer after that. You told yourself it was space, that it was necessary. That whatever had started to grow between you at the end of sophomore year would fade if you just…stopped feeding it.

For a while, it almost worked. By the time you came back in the fall, you thought maybe the awkwardness would carry over, that things would feel different but Anton didn’t act like anything had changed. He showed up the same way he always did. Bright smiles, casual touches, sitting a little too close like he always had so you followed his lead.

You laughed like nothing had happened and slipped back into your routines. You ignored the way your chest tightened every time your hands brushed or when he said your name with reverence. You were able to keep it up until December.

The four of you had stumbled into a crowded frat house on a Thursday night. You’d gotten separated from Manon and Sohee somewhere between the kitchen and the stairs, weaving your way through strangers until you ended up by the makeshift bar.

You got to work on making yourself a drink when one of the football players approached you. It started the way those things always do: small talk, a drink pressed into your hand, someone leaning a little closer to hear you over the music.

There was no pressure behind it, no second layer to peel back and analyze. You took a sip of your drink and batted your lashes up at him. You opened your mouth to ask if he wanted to go somewhere more private only to be stopped by a hand wrapping around your waist.

Your entire body reacted before your mind had a chance to catch up, breath catching sharply. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. You knew the weight of his hand, the way his thumb slips under your shirt and rubs slow circles along your v-line.

“Hey baby,” he said over your shoulder.

You malfunctioned at the pet name while the footballer glanced between the two of you, something in his expression shifting. “Oh…are you…?”

“Yes,” Anton said, cutting in before he could finish.

You turned then, finally looking at him, your brows pulled together in confusion. You opened your mouth to question it, to push back but he was already moving. His grip wasn’t tight but it was possessive enough that you followed without thinking, letting him guide you through the crowd towards an empty hallway.

“Anton what was that!?”

He shrugged before letting you go. “I didn’t like it.”

You stared at him, trying to understand what that meant. “Didn’t like what?”

He clenched his jaw before responding. “All of it. The way he was flirting with you, looking at you. I didn’t like it.”

Your breath caught yet again but you tried to compose yourself. “Okay…but that doesn’t mean you can just…what, pretend I’m your girlfriend?” You said slowly, trying to keep your voice steady.

He huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head like you were missing the point. “Why are we still doing this?” he asked suddenly.

Your stomach dropped. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said gesturing vaguely between you, frustration bleeding through. “Pretending like nothing’s here.”

You blinked, your thoughts scrambling to catch up.

“I gave you space. All summer I let you pull away and I didn’t push, I didn’t ask questions and when we got back, I played along. I acted like it was fine.”

The words hit harder than they should. Maybe it was because he was right. You did feel it, you had always felt it. You had just been better at pretending you didn’t.

“Anton…” you started but it came out quieter than you intended.

He stepped closer closing the distance just enough to make your breath catch again but he didn't touch you. “When are we going to stop acting like this is nothing?” he had asked.

That night ended the way it probably shouldn’t have. With your back pressed against the cold tile of a frat house bathroom, your hands tangled in his hair as you kissed him like you were trying to make up for every moment you didn’t.

You’re pulled back to the present when Anton’s mouth dips lower and he leaves open mouthed kisses across your stomach. You sigh at the feeling of his tongue dragging across your skin before letting your right hand drop to his head to tug at his hair, relishing in the whimpers he releases.

You smirk at the hold you have on him, literally and metaphorically. You tug a bit harder when he leaves a kiss below your navel right above the button of your mini skirt. Before he can go any further, you tilt his head up to look you in your eyes.

You take delight in the way he obeys but your satisfaction is snubbed out by the reminder of what led the two of you to this room. “Who was that girl?”

Anton’s brows lift slightly like he genuinely has no idea what you’re talking about. “What girl?” he asks, voice calm.

You narrow your eyes at him, unimpressed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he presses, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

You let out a quiet scoff, your hand slipping from his hair as he shifts, sliding off you and settling beside you on the bed. The sudden space between you feels wrong immediately. You turn toward him without thinking and climb right back into his space, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. His hands automatically go to grip your waist and pull you in closer, bucking his hips a bit.

“I’m talking about the girl downstairs. The one who was following you like a lost puppy.” You say more direct now.

Anton exhales softly through his nose and grips your hips a bit tighter. “She wasn’t following me like a puppy,” he says, still playing it off.

You tilt your head, studying him. “Really?”

He shrugs but he doesn’t look away from you. “She’s no one.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” Your fingers press a little more firmly into his shoulder from frustration and jealousy.

“Why do you care?” he asks quietly, rolling his hips below you to create friction. You falter for half a second from the weight behind the question and your growing arousal.

“I don’t,” you say quickly, your gaze flicking away for just a moment before returning to him. “I’m just asking.”

He hums unconvinced, his right hand sliding a little higher on your hips, holding you there a bit more firmly now. “She’s just some girl Sohee was trying to set me up with,” he says, watching your face carefully.

Your expression tightens before you can stop it, something like a scowl flickering across your face as your fingers curl slightly against his shoulders. “Oh,” you say but there’s nothing neutral about it. You lean in before you can think too hard about it, kissing him again, harder this time. Anton moans against your mouth and kisses back with equal fervor, almost whining when you pull back.

“I don’t like that.” You murmur against his lips, shaking your head slightly.

Anton lets out a quiet breath, his grip on you tightening as he leans up to chase your lips. “She doesn’t matter. I promise.”  He says, the words brushing against your mouth.

His forehead bumps yours for a second, his gaze lingering like he’s waiting to see if you’ll push again, if you’ll question it, if you’ll admit why you even asked in the first place.

Instead you push him back to tug his shirt off and set off on laying kisses along the column of his neck and chest. Making sure to leave behind angry red bruises that show he’s off limits.

That’s how it goes with the two of you. Tonight it’s a girl downstairs, someone neither of you care about until suddenly you do. Yesterday it was the way Anton’s jaw tightened when your hand lingered a second too long on your partner during workshop, his quiet mood lasting the rest of the night until you finally snapped and asked what his problem was. Next week, it’ll be something else entirely.

It always is. You push, he pulls. He pulls, you push harder. Neither of you willing to step back far enough to end it, neither of you brave enough to step forward and call it what it is.

With spring break coming up, you only pray a change of scenery is enough to give the two of you some reprieve.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Seven days later

The ocean stretches out in front of you, endless and blue. Manon is beside you, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, already halfway through her third drink like she’s trying to make the most of the “unlimited” part of the resort package. You’re stretched out on your stomach, book open in front of you while Sohee and Anton ride jetskis in the clear blue water.

Spring break had been Manon’s idea. It started over winter break with a facetime call. She had been pushing for a cabin trip at first but Sohee and Anton were doing a cruise and your parents had planned a last minute family trip and suddenly the whole thing unraveled before it ever really came together. Manon had sulked for all of ten minutes before pivoting completely.

She proposed spring break in Cancun. Next thing you knew, you were booking an all-inclusive resort in Cancun, splitting costs and promising it would be fun.

It’s day three of five now and so far it’s been exactly what you expected. You’ve drank more than your liver can probably handle, eaten so much food to the point of expanding your stomachs and backs and the four of you have spent hours in the water with salt drying into your skin.

Somewhere in between all of it, you and Anton had smoothed over whatever that moment at the party had been but things haven’t exactly gone back to normal either. You think it’s all the sexual tension floating around the two of you. All four of you share a room, Anton and Sohee on one bed, you and Manon on the other. It’s hard to sneak away and get alone time. You’ve resorted to living vicariously through the characters in your books you packed.

Manon lets out a satisfied sigh beside you, tipping the last of her piña colada back before setting the empty glass in the sand. “Okay…I’m gonna go get us more drinks before they try to cut me off.” She announces, pushing herself up with a little wobble.

You snort, lowering your book just enough to glance at her. “You’re already pushing it.”

She waves you off like it’s nothing, already brushing sand from her legs and adjusting her bikini straps. “They love me,” she insists, flashing you a grin before turning toward the bar.

You watch her go, eyes narrowing slightly as she weaves her way across the sand, pausing once to steady herself before continuing on like nothing happened. Shaking your head, you let out a quiet sigh and settle back down, turning your attention to your book again. The pages of The Nightingale blur slightly in the bright sun but you try to focus anyway, letting the words pull you somewhere else.

You only make it a few lines in before something bumps lightly against your foot. You blink, glancing down to find a volleyball resting against your ankle, grains of sand clinging to its surface. “Sorry!” a voice calls from a few feet away.

You look up to see a guy jogging toward you, slowing as he gets closer. He lifts a hand in a small, almost shy wave, offering you an apologetic smile as he comes to a stop. “Didn’t mean to interrupt…uh that kind of rolled away from us.” He gestures back toward the makeshift volleyball court set up a little further down the beach, a few people still standing there watching.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, brushing sand from your forearm before reaching down to pick up the ball. “You’re good,” you say, offering it back to him.

He steps closer to take it, fingers brushing yours for a brief second. “Thanks…what’re you reading?” He asks, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

You glance down at the cover, holding it up slightly. “The Nightingale.”

He nods like he recognizes it, you’re not entirely convinced he does. “Is it good?”

You shrug lightly. “So far.”

He smiles at that. “I was gonna say, you look pretty into it.”

You huff a quiet laugh, closing it partway. “I was, until your game attacked me.”

He laughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Can…can I buy you a drink? As an apology.”

You hesitate for half a second, your instinct to say no rising automatically but it stalls before it reaches your mouth because what would you even say? “No, I can't, because there’s a boy on a jetski somewhere who gets jealous even though we’re not together?”

Before you can figure out how to turn him down politely, movement catches in your peripheral. Manon is making her way back across the sand, two drinks balanced in her hands, her sunglasses now crooked on her face. In front of you, Sohee and Anton are just stepping off their jetskis, laughing about something as they walk toward you.

Your stomach tightens. The timing is almost cruel. “Actually, I—” you start, already half-turning toward Manon, ready to use her as an out.

“Oh perfect,” Manon cuts in easily as she reaches you, not missing a beat as her eyes flick between you and the guy in front of you. “This one’s for Sohee,” she says, pressing one of the drinks into his hands the second he gets close. Sohee takes it without question, too busy thanking her to notice anything else.

You fight the urge to jump her. You have to remind yourself she has good intentions. You turn back to the stranger, forcing your expression into something kinder. “Yeah…um one drink is fine.”

Your eyes flick over to Anton but he lets nothing slip. He pushes his hair away from his forehead and laughs at a joke Sohee makes before settling down in the sand next to Manon.

“Cool, c’mon.” The stranger says, smiling a little wider now that you’ve agreed. He offers you his hand and you take it, dusting off sand from your stomach and thighs. You adjust your bikini straps before following after him.

Anton doesn’t look your way again.

The walk to the bar is short but it feels longer. The music gets louder the closer you get, you spot people crowded around the counter sipping on colorful drinks. The stranger introduces himself somewhere along the way, says his name is James. You tell him your name before settling against a free spot at the bar.

He leans forward slightly, catching the bartender’s attention. “Two tequila shots please.”

The glasses slide across the counter a second later, salt clinging to the rims. He picks one up and hands it to you, fingers brushing yours again. “To spring break,” he says with a grin.

You force a small smile, lifting your glass to meet his. “To spring break.”

He starts talking again, something about where he’s from, how long he’s been here but your attention drifts before you can stop it. Back toward the beach where Anton is perched in the sand soaking up the sun.

It makes your skin itch how unaffected he seems. Makes you feel dramatic for the reaction you had at the party. You wonder if he even cares, if whatever this is only feels like something more when you’re alone with him.

You swallow, the taste of tequila still lingering, suddenly too aware of everything.  “I’m sorry. I think I’m actually gonna go lie down. I’m not feeling great.”

James pauses, clearly thrown off but he recovers quickly. “Oh…yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” You nod, already stepping back.

He hesitates for a second like he wants to say more but then smiles. “Okay. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

You nod once. “Yeah…maybe.”

You don’t wait for anything else. You don’t grab your things or call out to Manon or wait for anyone to notice you’re gone. You just turn and walk, the sound of the ocean fading behind you with every step, replaced by the quiet of the hotel lobby as you push through the glass doors. The air conditioning hits your skin but it does nothing to cool the burning embarrassment building under it.

You make your way to the elevators without thinking, pressing the button and crossing your arms over yourself as you wait, your reflection staring back at you in the mirrored walls. The doors slide open and you step inside, pressing your floor and exhaling slowly. Just as the doors begin to shut, a hand catches them. They part again with a soft chime and Anton steps in.

The space shrinks immediately. You don’t say anything at first and neither does he. The doors close behind him and the elevator starts to move, the elevator music filling the silence between you.

For a second, you think about staying quiet and letting it pass. Letting this be just another thing that goes unspoken but the question comes out anyway. “Do you even care about me?”

Anton turns his head slightly, brows pulling together. “What?”

You shake your head immediately, already regretting it. “Never mind.”

The elevator climbs another floor. He waits a beat before speaking again, his voice deeper this time. “You looked pretty cozy at the bar.”

You turn to face him fully but he’s not looking at you. His gaze is fixed straight ahead, jaw set. You let out a small, disbelieving scoff. “So you can flirt with whoever Sohee throws at you but God forbid I let a guy buy me a drink?”

Anton exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Why are you bringing her up again? I told you she means nothing!”

“It’s the principle! You don’t get to act like that when you do the same thing. That's called hypocrisy Anton.” You shoot back, frustration rising now, pushing past whatever hesitation you had before.

“It’s not the same thing!” he snaps, finally turning toward you. “You’re the one who said we can’t tell anyone. What am I supposed to say to Sohee when he tries to set me up with someone? Huh? What was I supposed to say after the party about the hickies you left on my neck? You can’t get pissed at me for a boundary you insist on keeping!”

You falter at him throwing your rules back at you. You hate how he’s right, how you can’t come up with a logical and fair defense in response to instead you reach for the one thing that always gives you distance. “This is dumb. We’re not even together.”

The elevator dings softly as it reaches your floor. The doors slide open and you step out automatically, expecting him to follow, already bracing for the argument to continue the way it always does, looping back in on itself until one of you gives in.

However, when you turn around he hasn’t moved. He’s still standing inside, one hand braced against the railing, looking at you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. There’s something in his expression that makes your chest tighten.

He looks hurt. Genuinely hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet.

“Then let’s end whatever this is.”

Present Day

As the waves of pleasure finally begin to subside, you find yourself tangled between Jake’s arms and your sheets. Both your breaths mingle in the warm air and Jake wraps his arms securely around you, holding you close as his heartbeat gradually slows. You can feel the aftershocks of your climax coursing through you as your eyes slowly shut.

One of his hands is lazily tracing over yours, turning your palm up and brushing along your fingers. “I’m never gonna get tired of this,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything.

You huff out a quiet laugh, the corner of your mouth lifting into a smirk. “Mhmm, good I’ve got some more tricks up my sleeve.”

Jake lets out a groan, “Such a fucking tease.”

You laugh and open your mouth to retort but get cut off by the door swinging open. “Hey, do you have a—oh.”

Manon freezes mid-step, one hand still on the door, her eyes flicking from Jake to you tangled together in your bed. “Shit! Sorry! My fault!”

The door shuts just as quickly as it opened. You groan instantly, dragging your blanket up over your head like it might erase the last ten seconds. “Oh my gosh.”

Jake lets out a quiet laugh above you, chest rumbling against your cheek. “She definitely saw everything.”

“Stop. I can never leave this room again.” You mumble from under the covers, mortified, pulling them tighter around yourself.

He hums in agreement but his fingers hook into the edge of the blanket, tugging it down slowly until your face reappears. “Yeahhhh,” he says, amused, brushing your cheek. “That was…a little embarrassing.”

You narrow your eyes at him but there’s no real bite behind it. “How reassuring.”

He smirks in response before shrugging a shoulder. You try to hold onto the annoyance but it dissolves into a laugh as you let the blanket fall back to your chest. For a moment, neither of you say anything. His thumb finds your hand again, tracing the same absent pattern across your fingers. After a beat he speaks up again.

“You know…this could be avoided.”

You peek up at him, brows pulling together. “How?” you ask, still half-curled into him. “Our lease isn't ending anytime soon and Manon’s had a lifelong aversion to knocking.”

He smiles faintly at that but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. His thumb pauses against your hand for a second before continuing. “Well…what if you moved?”

You blink, your mind struggling to catch his drift “Moved where?”

He shifts a little beneath you, propping himself up just enough to look at you properly. “To my place.”

You stare at him for a second longer than you mean to, your mind catching up in pieces. “Your…place?” you repeat, slower this time.

“Yeah. I mean…it just makes sense, right? We’re already spending most nights together anyway.” He gestures vaguely around your room, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And no surprise interruptions.”

You let out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh but it doesn’t quite land. Your mind starts racing as you struggle to piece together where this is coming from. Realistically, this isn’t a crazy thing to bring up, this is the kind of thing people do. The kind of next step that fits neatly into the version of a relationship the two of you have.

You just hadn’t…thought about it…with him.

“Jake…” you start but your words die on the tip of your tongue. You push yourself up slightly so you’re not completely folded into him anymore and try again. “I feel like that’s…kind of a big step.”

He nods, like he expected that. “It is but we’ve been together for a year. It’s not like this is coming out of nowhere.”

Your gaze drifts for a second. His penthouse flashes through your mind; clean, quiet, perfectly put together. You’ve been there enough to know it’s nice…really nice. It doesn’t feel like a place you belong or could call home. “I just think…maybe we don’t have to rush it?” You say slowly, choosing your words carefully.

The second the words leave your mouth, you feel the shift. Jake’s hand stills against yours for half a beat before he lets it relax again. “Rush it?” he repeats.

You shake your head quickly, pushing yourself up a little more, tucking your blanket around you some more. “Okay maybe not rush, I just…” you exhale softly, searching for something that sounds right. “I like where we are right now. I don’t think we have to…change it yet.”

He watches you for a second, weighing what you’re saying. His thumb brushes over your knuckles again but the movement feels more less sure now. “I’m not trying to rush you. Just thought…we were on the same page.”

You nod, trying to offer him a reassuring smile. “We are,” you say, even though something in your chest tightens as you do.

He nods back, like he’s choosing to believe you. “Okay,” he murmurs.

NYU senior year

The summer after junior year, Anton Lee disappeared from your life.

Not all at once but rather slowly, as if he intended to hurt you the way you had hurt him. His texts came later and later until they eventually stopped altogether, conversations never got picked back up and there was a loud silence that filled in the blanks for you. This wasn’t temporary.

You tried to hide behind your ego, told yourself that it made sense. Said that after everything that had happened between the two of you, maybe this is how it was always meant to end.

When the line had been drawn as clear as could be, you filled your time with other things. You still talked to Sohee and Manon, spent hours writing in your room about a perfect world where things worked out for your main characters.

You convinced yourself you were fine. Better off even without Anton. It was easy to think that way when he wasn’t standing right in front of you. Then September came and with it, the last semester the two of you would ever share again.

Just like that, he was back. It dawned on you that it was just as easy for Anton to delude himself when you weren’t standing directly in front of him, when the two of you weren’t sitting side by side pretending nothing ever happened between the two of you in front of your friends.

Like clockwork, you fell back into your familiar pattern. Only this time, the Anton you had grown to love wasn’t the one who came back to you. You think you lost that version somewhere in Cancun.

This time around, you thought it couldn’t be as bad as junior year…how wrong you were.

This time, neither of you cared to pretend. Gone was the sneaking around, no more stolen moments hidden behind closed doors. Whatever this was between you existed out in the open now. Unlabeled and undefined but impossible to miss.

Parties turned into something else entirely. What used to be fun, loud nights with your friends became a game the two of you never agreed to but always ended up playing anyway. How far can you push before the other snaps? How much can you get away with before it finally crosses a line?

Anton started it more often than not. He’d lean a little too close to someone else, let his hand linger just long enough for you to notice, sometimes even going as far as taking them upstairs. They’d disappear for a few minutes, never long enough to confirm anything but never short enough to ignore. It was never enough to call him out without sounding crazy but it was always enough to make burning hot jealousy rip through your chest.

When you would finally corner him and ask him what the hell he was doing, he’d only smirk before asking. “Why do you care?” It would be followed by a condescending hum and, “We’re not even together.”

He would throw it right back at you. The same words you used first, the same ones you threw at him in Cancun. You would sneer at him before stomping off, your pride fully kicked in. You would find someone of your own, someone easy. You would let him talk to you, let him get you drinks, let yourself be seen with him just long enough to prove a point you didn’t even fully believe in.

It would work for all of an hour before your attention would start to drift back to Anton. All he would ever do is give you one look and suddenly nothing else mattered. You’d make some excuse, slip away and leave whoever you were with standing there confused while you found your way back to him like you always did.

Manon tried, truly, to get you to have some self-respect. She would set you up with people she thought were easier and healthier. You’d go along with it at first to humor her. You’d exchange numbers, let conversations start only to lose interest almost immediately. Your replies got shorter then slower, until eventually they stopped altogether. It never made it past that.

From what you heard from Manon, Sohee tried too. He pulled Anton aside more than once, told him he wasn’t being fair, that maybe he should date outside of the friend group, give someone else a real chance only to be told, “We both know what we’re doing.”

Eventually, they both stopped pushing. Not because they approved but because they realized nothing they said was going to change it because as much as the two of you didn’t work like this, you still worked everywhere else.

Anton still walked you back to your dorm after late lectures, hands tucked into his pockets while the two of you talked about nothing and everything all at once. He still bought you lunch when you forgot your student ID, didn’t even let you argue about it. You still showed up to his swim meets with posters you’d spent too long making, shouting his name like you were born to cheer him on.

You still sat together at family dinner with Manon and Sohee, still laughed at the same jokes, still fell into each other on the couch during movie nights like it was muscle memory.

You’re good at that part…too good and that’s what made it worse.

Manon and Sohee didn’t understand it. They couldn’t figure out how the two of you fit so easily everywhere else, how you could be this…effortless together, only for everything to fall apart the second it turned into something more.

But you know why and so does Anton.

Neither of you said it out loud but it lingered in every argument, every glance and every moment where one of you almost gave in and the other refused to meet you there.

He hasn’t forgiven you for Cancun. Maybe even how you treated him leading up to your fight. He’s still holding on to how easily you turned off your emotions when others were around, how quick you were to deny him the chance of ever being more than a dirty little secret.

As for you, you’re too proud to fix it first. It’s humiliating enough knowing how thoroughly he’s ruined everyone else for you.

So you don’t cave, even when it’s the only thing you want to.

To your relief, somewhere along the way the two of you stop fighting as much. Not because anything gets resolved or because either of you finally says the thing you’ve been circling for two years now but because there’s nothing left to argue about that hasn’t already been said in a hundred and one different ways. You think it’s because he didn’t want to be on bad terms during graduation.

The last few weeks fly by, it’s easy to not notice time slipping away from you when things are as easy as they once were freshman year.

Today is commencement.

Just like that, the last four years of your life collapse into a single moment. You’ve imagined this day a hundred different ways but none of them feel quite like this. None of them capture how quickly it slips through your fingers.

One minute you’re walking across the stage, heart pounding, the announcer calling your name, next it’s over. Your tassel is turned, people are clapping, caps are already being tossed into the air before you’ve even had the chance to process it.

It all blurs together.

The months of deadlines, the nights spent hunched over your laptop swearing you’d start earlier next time, the early mornings you dragged yourself out of bed for classes you almost skipped, the crowded study rooms, the shared meals, the laughter—it all collapses into this one fleeting stretch of time that feels both too fast and impossibly long.

No more classes to rush to. No more last-minute submissions or group chats blowing up at two in the morning. No more of this.

You barely have time to sit with that realization before you’re being pulled in every direction. Pictures with your friends, your family, your professors. Someone is fixing your cap, someone else is calling your name, your phone is buzzing endlessly in your hand. It’s overwhelming in the best way.

By the time your parents decide you’ve taken enough pictures and accepted more gifts than your arms are capable of holding, you find yourself sitting at a long table surrounded by the people who made these last four years what they were.

Come six o’clock, you’re tucked into your seat beside Manon and her sister, your cap and gown long forgotten in your dads car. Across from you, Sohee is mid story with your dad, hands moving animatedly as he recounts something from freshman year.

Beside him sits Anton. He sits a little more relaxed than usual, one arm draped over the back of Sohee’s chair, a small smile tugging at his lips as he listens. Every now and then he chimes in, correcting Sohee or adding details that make the story even funnier and it’s so normal.

Eventually, plates empty and conversations start to taper off. You push your chair back softly, leaning toward Manon. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” you murmur.

She nods without question, too caught up in whatever story Sohee’s telling now to look too closely. You slip out quietly, the noise of the restaurant fading behind you as the evening air hits your skin, cooler now.

You exhale slowly, stepping just far enough from the entrance to give yourself space, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses muffled behind you. For a moment, it’s just you and the quiet hum of the city.

The door opens again and you don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

Anton steps out beside you, he doesn’t say anything right away, just shrugs his suit jacket off his shoulders and holds it out toward you. “Here,” he says softly.

You hesitate for half a second before taking it, the fabric still warm from him as you slide your arms through the sleeves. It’s too big, swallowing you just slightly, the faint scent of his cologne settling around you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, pulling it closer around yourself.

He nods once, hands slipping into his pockets as he leans back against the wall beside you.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. Anton shifts slightly beside you before breaking it. “You wanna go for a walk?” he asks.

You glance over at him, really looking at him for the first time since you stepped outside. His hair is slightly out of place from the day, his tie loosened just enough to make him look less put together.

“Yeah,” you say, softer than you mean to.

He pushes off the wall and falls into step beside you, his arm brushes up against you but neither of you say anything or move away. You walk without a destination at first, letting your feet carry you down familiar streets, past places that have become second nature over the last four years. Neither of you rushes to fill the silence and for once, it doesn’t feel like something that needs fixing.

Eventually, without either of you meaning to, you find yourselves standing before your dorm. The place where everything started. You let out a small breath, something soft and almost disbelieving as you take it in. The windows are dark now, the halls inside probably already half empty with everyone moving out.

“Wow,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything.

Anton huffs a quiet laugh beside you. “How fitting.”

There’s another pause. You glance at the entrance, then back at him. “Do you wanna go in?” you ask.

The words hang between you. Anton’s gaze flicks from you to the building and back again. For a second, you think he might say no. Instead, he surprises you and nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly.

You barely have time to register his words before he’s putting in the building code and pulling the door open for you.

Inside, everything feels different. The lobby that once buzzed with voices and movement now sits in a strange, hollow quiet. A few stray boxes are stacked near the walls, abandoned or waiting to be taken, and the fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead.

It’s like stepping into a memory that’s already started to fade. You walk further in first, your eyes drifting over everything like you’re trying to hold onto it. The couches where you and Manon used to sit for hours, the corner where Sohee would pace while practicing, the hallway that always smelled faintly like burnt popcorn no matter the time of day.

“Feels weird,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Anton agrees quietly, falling into step beside you.

Your feet carry you on their own. Down the hall. Past doors left ajar, rooms half-empty, beds stripped down to their frames. The place that once felt too small for all the life inside it now feels too big without it.

By the time you stop, you’re standing in front of a door you’ve walked through more times than you can count. Anton’s old domr. He hesitates for just a second before pushing it open.

The room is almost empty. His side of the room is stripped down completely, mattress bare, desk cleared, shelves wiped clean like he was never there at all. Sohee’s side looks the same. The only thing left is what couldn’t be taken yet, suitcases by the wall, a few stray items waiting to be packed last.

It shouldn’t feel like a punch to the chest but it does. You step inside slowly, your gaze dragging over the space where you’ve spent so many nights cuddled in Anton’s arms.

“Damn,” you breathe, arms crossing loosely over yourself, still wrapped in his jacket.

Anton shuts the door behind you, quieter this time. “Yeah.”

The silence stretches again, heavier now. There’s nowhere to sit except the bed so that’s where you perch yourselves. You lower yourself onto the bare mattress, the springs creaking softly under your weight. He follows a second later, sitting beside you but not too close.

You take in the room again, noting the way things have changed over four years.

“I hated this year,” you admit after a beat.

Anton stills beside you but you continue. You swallow, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his jacket. “Not…the school year itself…just—” you shake your head faintly, searching for the right words. “Us.”

You let out a small, humorless breath. “I hated knowing I lost you before we even got back in the fall. The silence over the summer, the way everything after that just felt like we were…punishing each other.”

Anton exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “You think I didn’t hate it too?” 

You glance at him. “I hated all of it. You think I wanted that? I wanted to be with you.” He shakes his head slightly. “Every time I got close, every time I chose you…you pulled away.”

Your chest tightens. “I didn’t—” you start but the words fall apart before you finish your sentence. He’s right, you always chose to avoid him, from sophomore year when you realized you were falling all the way up to junior year after he confessed. He picked you yet you made it nearly impossible for him to stay with all the rules you set, the way you kept him hidden but would burn with fury when anyone else tried to fill your place beside him.

The truth sits there between you, ugly and unavoidable.

“It’s not too late,” Anton says quietly as you sit in your discomfort.

There’s no teasing in his expression now, no deflection, no pride. “We don’t have to keep doing it like that. We could…actually try.” He adds, softer now.

For a second, you let yourself imagine it. What that would look like. What it would feel like to finally stop fighting it, to call it what it is, to choose each other without all the conditions and rules and distance you’ve spent the last two years hiding behind.

Just as quickly though, reality comes crashing down. Every fight, every misstep, every moment where one of you reached and the other pulled away. Two years worth of proof, the two of you star crossed lovers destined to fail from the moment he showed up in front of your dorm and offered to help you build your bookshelf. You know how this ends.

Your gaze drops, your fingers smoothing over the edge of the mattress like it might ground you. “Sohee told me you’re leaving,” you say instead.

It’s a clear deflection and Anton picks up on it the second the words leave your mouth. He exhales, leaning back slightly on his hands. “Yeah. We’re going back to Korea for a bit. See where things go from there. Maybe LA after.” He admits.

You nod slowly, like you’re processing it, even though you already have.

“But that doesn’t mean—” he starts.

You don’t let him finish. “Long distance?” you ask, glancing at him.

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before nodding. “We could try. I mean it. Something real this time.”

Something real. The words settle in your chest, heavy. You want to believe him…you almost do but wanting something has never been enough for the two of you.

You nod like you agree, like you believe him, even though you don’t and before he can read too much into it, you lean forward, closing the space between you, pressing your lips to his. The kiss is softer than anything you’ve shared before.

It doesn’t feel like a fight or a distraction or something meant to prove a point. Anton stills for half a second surprised before his hand comes up to cup the side of your face, pulling you closer as he kisses you back.

His movements are slow and deliberate, almost like he’s trying to memorize you rather than consume you. His thumb brushes along your jaw, your cheek, as his lips move against yours with a kind of care you haven’t felt from him before.

His hands slide down from your face, pausing briefly at your shoulders before drifting lower, fingertips grazing along the edges of his jacket still wrapped around you. He tugs it gently from your arms, letting it fall somewhere beside the bed before his attention returns to you, eyes flickering over your face like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time in a long while.

You don’t look away.

Your breath catches softly as his hands find the zipper of your dress, hesitating for just a moment, giving you time to stop him, to say something, to pull away. You don’t.

He takes the hint and slowly unzips your dress. His gaze never leaving yours until the fabric is gone and discarded somewhere behind him.

He leans in again, pressing another kiss to your lips before letting it drift to your cheek, your jaw, the curve of your neck. Each touch softer than the last, like he’s making up for every moment he wasn’t like this before.

You let your hands move too, undoing his tie, then his dress shirt, guiding him just enough until he pulls back to shed the layers himself. The fabric drops to the floor without care, forgotten the second it leaves his hands.

When he comes back to you, it’s closer. His forehead rests briefly against yours, both of you breathing the same air, your breaths mingling together and become one. You take your time to remember his face, all the beauty marks and smile lines then his lips find yours once more.

There’s no urgency in the way he touches you, no rush to get anywhere else. His hands move as if he’s learning you all over again, like this version of you is something fragile. Something he doesn’t want to break.

You fall back onto the bare mattress together, the springs creaking faintly beneath you, the room around you stripped of everything except this.

Your orgasm crashes into you, shattering you completely. You barely register the sounds you’re making, Anton swallowing them with a desperate kiss. Your breaths tangle, uneven and shaky, his hands still holding you like he doesn’t quite know how to let go. “I love you.” He chokes out as he spills in you.

It feels like a freight train has hit you. Your chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts, your breath catching as everything inside you stumbles over itself. Your hand lifts on instinct, brushing his hair back from his face so you can see him clearly, really see him.

“I love you too,” you breathe. You finally allow yourself to say the words you’ve been aching to say for the past four years.

Anton exhales against your lips, something in his expression breaking open just slightly before he leans down again, kissing you reverently. You kiss him back just as gently, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there for a second longer before pulling back just enough to look at him again.

“I love you,” you say once more. Making sure he knows, he understands you have and will always love him.

Anton gently pulls out and a soft whimper escapes your lips at the loss but he’s quick to drop down beside you, pulling you into his embrace, cradling you against his chest like it’s second nature. His arms wrap around you securely, one hand splayed across your back while the other traces slow, absentminded circles into your skin. It feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes are already on you. “Did you mean it?” he murmurs.

You nod against him, your fingers coming up to rest lightly against his chest. “I always did.”

Anton exhales softly, his hand sliding up your back to rest at the base of your neck. “Then we can make it work. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

You don’t humor him with a response. Instead, you trace slow patterns into his skin, listening as he continues. “I’m being serious, ____. We could try. Long distance for a bit…until things settle.” His thumb brushes lightly along your shoulder. “And then I’ll come back to New York.”

Your heart stutters at that.

“I don’t wanna be anywhere else long term. We could…get a place. A brownstone, maybe. Fix it up how we want.” He says with a small laugh.

You smile faintly despite yourself, picturing it without meaning to. You had mentioned freshman year wanting to be a NewYork Times best selling author living in your very own brownstone, that’s how you would know you made it.

“You’d have your own space to write,” he continues, glancing down at you. “I could finally hear all those stories you never let anyone read. Help if you want or just…be there.” 

Tears slowly start to fill your eyes. “And you could tell me when my lyrics suck.” He adds teasingly.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “They don’t suck.”

“Some of them do,” he insists, nudging you slightly.

You hum, pretending to consider it. “Maybe.”

He smiles at that, something soft and boyish slipping through as he turns his head to look up at the ceiling. For a moment, you let yourself stay there. In the version of your life he’s painting so easily, as if it’s something already within reach. You nod along when you’re supposed to. Add small comments, let him talk, let him believe you’re right there with him.

His voice eventually slows, his words tapering off as the exhaustion of the day finally catches up to him. His grip on you loosens just slightly, his breathing evening out as sleep begins to pull him under.

You stay still beneath him, listening as his breaths deepen, as the tension finally leaves his body completely. When you’re sure he’s asleep, you tilt your head just enough to look at him again.

You take in the way his lashes rest against his cheeks, the faint crease between his brows that’s finally smoothed out, the pink of his lips. Your fingers lift slowly, brushing his hair back from his forehead one last time, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

“I love you,” you whisper, so quietly it drifts into the night.

You fight the tears as you pull away. Slowly untangling yourself from his arms like you’re afraid even the smallest movement might wake him, might stop you from doing what you already know you’re going to do. You gather your clothes from the floor, dressing in silence, your hands moving on autopilot.

When you make it to the door, you pause. You sniff once before looking over your shoulder. He’s still there, still unmoving. Still looking like something you could’ve kept if things had been different.

Your throat tightens but you don’t let it stop you. You open the door and slip out into the quiet hallway, letting the door close softly behind you. Only then do you allow yourself to cry, to mourn what you never let yourself have.

Present Day

By the time you step off the train, your head is still buzzing with red ink and rejected edits.

The day had dragged at the publishing house, hours blurring into each other under fluorescent lights while you sat hunched over your laptop, eyes burning, flipping between manuscripts and stories that weren’t yours. Words you were supposed to fix, shape and make better even as your own sat untouched in the notes app on your phone.

Your boss hadn’t made it any easier. Hurling insults from her glass office at the all editors as she sat with her legs up on her desk eating a deli sub.

All you want is your bed.

You dig through your bag as you walk, fingers brushing past your notebook, your wallet and the lip gloss you swore you lost two days ago. Your keys are always at the bottom no matter how many times you tell yourself to keep them somewhere easier to reach. You let out a quiet sigh, already half-annoyed at the effort it’s going to take to find them.

The sound of someone calling your name cuts through your annoyance. You look up and blink in confusion. Jake stands a few feet away leaning casually against his car, one hand resting on the hood of his stupidly nice sports car, the other tucked into the pocket of his slacks.

He smiles when your eyes meet his. “Hey baby.”

For a second, you just stare at him. You hadn’t been expecting him. Your fingers that are still in your bag tighten slightly around nothing, your thoughts lagging a step behind as you try to catch up. “Jake? What are you doing here?” You ask as you finally pull your hand free, letting your bag fall back against your hip. 

He pushes himself off the car, stepping a little closer as if he doesn’t see anything wrong with showing up unannounced. “I texted you. Figured I’d come pick you up.”

You blink, pulling your phone from your pocket. The screen lights up immediately, a string of notifications you hadn’t bothered checking once you left the office. His name sits there near the top.

“Sorry. I must’ve missed it.” You murmur, locking your phone again without really reading anything.

“It’s okay. I thought we could grab dinner or something. You look like you had a long day.” He says quickly. 

You let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “That obvious?”

“A little,” he admits, reaching out to brush his thumb lightly under your eye like he’s checking for something.

The touch is gentle and familiar. You should lean into it but instead you step back just slightly. “Yeah. It was…a lot.” You say, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

Jake watches you for a moment, something flickering across his face too quick to fully catch. “Well,” he says, straightening a bit, deciding not to push it. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

He gestures toward the passenger side, already moving to open the door for you. “Um…actually,” you start, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Raincheck? I kinda just feel like staying in tonight.”

Jake’s hand stills on the car door for half a second before he nods. “Cool, then I’ll take you to my place.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No. I think I’d rather just stay home.” You say softer now, shaking your head slightly. 

His brows pull together just a fraction. “Home?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, filling the space before he can. “Manon’s leaving soon, remember? That F1 thing in Miami? I haven’t really gotten to hang out with her before she goes so I just…I wanna spend some time with her.”

The lie comes out smoother than it should. You don’t mention that she’s probably already half-packed, that she’ll be out the door early tomorrow, that “spending time” really just means existing in the living room watching The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives together before retreating into your room to shower. Maybe use TikTok for a bit before crawling to your laptop to open the same document of your novel that hasn’t seen real progress in weeks.

Jake doesn’t need to know any of that though.

You watch as his tongue presses into the inside of his cheek, something tightening in his jaw as he exhales quietly through his nose. “____,” he says, and there’s a shift in it now. “Seriosuly?”

You blink at him, feigning confusion. “What?”

He lets out a short breath, pushing the car door closed. The soft thud echoes a little louder than it should between you. “Why don’t you like coming to my place?”

You straighten slightly, defensive before you can stop yourself. “I do like your place.”

“Okay, then why does it feel like you avoid it?”

“I don’t avoid it,” you shoot back, adjusting your bag again just to have something to do with your hands. “Jake, I just said I’m tired. I wanna go home.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “So come home with me.”

You exhale, slower this time, trying to keep the moment from tipping over into something else. “Jake…”

“Why won’t you move in?” he asks, more direct now, finally naming what this is realy about.

“Can we not do this today? I just got off work, Jake. I’m tired.” You sigh.

He shakes his head immediately. “No ____, because every time I try, you shut me down.”

“I don’t shut you down,” you say quickly.

His eyes widen just slightly, like he can’t believe you’re actually going to pretend that. “You don’t?” he repeats, incredulous now. “You brushed it off last week. You brushed it off the week before that. Every time I bring up anything about us moving forward, you throw up these impenetrable walls!” he gestures vaguely toward you, frustration bleeding through.

You roll your eyes. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what is it? Because I don’t understand what this is supposed to be anymore.” He presses.

You cross your arms over yourself, more to shield than anything else. “You’re making it into something it’s not.”

His jaw tightens. “Am I?”

You shrug, ready to dismiss him and this conversation but he speaks up again. “Is this about that guy in your memory box? In the polaroid?”

Your head snaps up, irritation flaring instantly. “Why are you bringing him up again? I told you he’s nothing!” The irony of your words are not lost on you.

“Because you clearly still feel something for him!” he fires back, matching your energy now, all the patience he’s been holding onto slipping. “You don’t react like that over someone who’s ‘nothing,’ ____!”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head like he’s the one being unreasonable. “You’re reaching.”

“Am I?” he pushes, voice rising just slightly. “Because from where I’m standing you’re looking really fucking guilty!”

You roll your eyes, already turning away from him like that’s the end of it. “This conversation is over,” you mutter over your shoulder, digging back into your bag as you head for your building.

“____.” He calls. You ignore it.

Your fingers close around your keys, finally finding them at the bottom and you pull them free. “Don’t walk away from me!” Jake booms from behind you.

You continue up the steps, not giving into the way he baits you. You clench your jaw as you reach for the lock on your door when he yells out again. “Why won’t you just choose me!?”

Unable to keep a hold on your cool, you whirl around, anger rising faster than you can contain it, words already spilling before you can catch them. “Because you’re not him!”

You gasp the second you finish your sentence. There’s no way you just said that. “Fuck—” you breathe, your voice breaking as your eyes widen. “Jake, wait—I didn’t mean that, I didn’t—”

Only problem with that is that you did mean it and Jake knows. “Yeah. You did.”

The calmness of his response is worse than anything else he could’ve done or said. You take a step toward him, panic rising now, hands half-lifted like you can fix it if you just say the right thing. “No, Jake, listen to me—”

He wastes no time in turning away from you and heading to his car without another word. You hurry after him, heart racing reaching for the passenger side. “Jake! Please! just let me explain—”

You try tugging the door open but the handle doesn’t budge, he’s locked the car. You look up just in time to see him start the engine, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not even sparing you a glance. “Jake!”

He doesn’t stop. The car pulls away from the curb in one smooth motion, tires scraping slightly against the pavement as he accelerates, merging into traffic and away from you. You swallow hard, your vision blurring just slightly as everything starts to catch up all at once.

For a second, you’re still facing the street like he might come back if you just stand there long enough but the space he left behind stays empty, cars passing through like nothing happened. You step back from the curb slowly, your footing uneven as you make your way toward your building.

The world around you keeps moving, people pass, a couple across the street glances over before quickly looking away, your neighbor lingers by the front steps a little too long before pretending to check her phone.

Heat creeps up your neck at the fact that she definitely heard but you don’t have it in you to care. Not really. You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and try to feign normalcy. Your phone buzzes in your hand, dragging your attention down to the screen.

It’s an email. The subject line almost knocks the remaining air from your lungs.

Subject line: English 102 – Letter to the Future, ____.

For a second, you just stare at it. You almost ignore it. You almost shove your phone back into your bag and deal with…everything else first but your curiosity wins out and your thumb moves before you can think too hard about it.

There’s a short message from your old professor explaining that the letters were scanned and sent out now that everyone has graduated, a small note about reflection and growth and how she hopes you’ve become everything you once wrote about.

Your chest tightens slightly as you scroll. Before you is a scanned copy of your own handwriting. You sink down onto your front steps without really deciding to, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you bring the screen closer to read.

Hi…me? This feels weird. I don’t even know how to start this without sounding dumb but I guess that’s kind of the point? You’re probably not the same person writing this anymore so…hi. I hope you’re okay….I hope you’re happy. Right now I feel like everything is just starting. Like I finally made it somewhere I’ve been dreaming about for years. New York still doesn’t feel real, like I’m going to wake up and be back home again lol. Did we stay? Please tell me we stayed. Also…did we write it? Our book? I keep telling everyone I’m going to be a New York Times bestselling author one day and they all nod like I’m insane or don’t have what it takes. I think I do though. I think I have it in me. I just hope you didn’t give up on that. Oh! And Manon, are we still friends? She’s literally my favorite person right now. We keep joking about living together after graduation like it’s a given. Did we actually do it? Because I feel like we would be so good at it. Does Sohee come to visit like he says he will? Does he freeload and steal our food before offering to pay us by singing old Justin Bieber?

There’s a pause in the letter. You can see it in the way your handwriting dips slightly, like you hesitated even back then.

Anton…I don’t know why I’m even writing about him but…he’s really nice. Like, really nice. Being around him makes me…happy. There’s something about him, I don’t know. Anyway, I feel like he’s going to do something big one day. I don’t know what yet but I know he has it in him. I hope he accomplishes all of it. I hope we stay close.

Your vision blurs before you even realize you’re crying. The girl who wrote this…she sounds so sure…so hopeful. So painfully unaware of everything that would come after. You let out a shaky breath, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them.

You don’t even notice the second email come in right away. It’s only when the ding sounds and your phone buzzes again, sharp against your palm, that your eyes flick to the top of the screen.

Subject line: English 102 – Letter to the Future, Anton Lee.

Your breath stutters. For a second, you think it has to be some kind of mistake, a glitch. Maybe your professor sent things out in bulk and accidentally attached the wrong file to the wrong name.

You tap it anyway.

The screen shifts and there his handwriting sits. Neater than yours and slightly slanted. You can almost see him again, hunched over his notebook in that classroom, chewing on his pencil, tapping it against the page while he thought too hard about the assignment. You start reading.

It’s kind of funny how we’re supposed to capture something meaningful in a letter like this. As if we can freeze a version of ourselves in time and trust that it’ll still make sense years from now. I don’t think it works like that. I think people change too fast for that. Or maybe not fast enough. Maybe we just carry different versions of ourselves at the same time and pretend they don’t contradict each other. Right now, I feel like I’m somewhere in between a lot of things. Not really who I was when I first got here but not fully who I’m supposed to be yet either. People talk about “finding yourself” like it’s a destination, like one day you just wake up and everything clicks into place. I don’t think that’s real. I think it’s more like…you keep going and hope you recognize yourself along the way. Freshman year is almost over and it already feels like something I won’t ever get back. Not in a sad way. Just in a…you don’t realize how important something is until you’re already moving past it kind of way. Like how certain days feel bigger than others for no reason. Or how certain people do.

Your breath catches before you even get to the next line.

I think you’re one of those people for me. I didn’t expect that. If I’m being honest, I didn’t expect to get this attached to anyone here. I’ve never really been good at that. Not in a cold way, I don’t think. Just…sometimes it feels like people experience things in a way I can’t fully reach. Like there’s always a small gap between what they feel and what I understand but with you, it’s different. Or at least it feels different.

You swallow hard.

I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like I’m overthinking something simple but I think about you more than I probably should. Not in a weird way. (Okay, maybe a little in a weird way.)

A broken laugh escapes you through your tears.

I think about the way you talk about things you love, the way you only ever read hard copy versions of books. The way you get frustrated when people don’t take writing seriously. The way you appreciate the more sentimental things life has to offer. It makes me want to listen. Even when I don’t understand half of it. I don’t know what happens after this year. I don’t know what happens after any of this, actually. Everyone keeps asking those big questions like where we’re going, what we’re becoming, what the point of all of this is supposed to be and I don’t have an answer. I don’t think anyone really does. But I do know this: I’m really glad I met you.

Tears slip faster down your cheeks, dripping onto your screen.

I almost didn’t, which is the craziest part. (crazy am i right?) If Sohee hadn’t dragged me to your door that day, I probably would’ve just…kept walking and you would’ve just been another person in the hallway. Someone I passed by without thinking twice. And now I can’t imagine this year without you in it. I don’t know if I’ll ever say any of this out loud. I feel like I won’t. Not because I don’t want to but because I don’t know if I’m supposed to. There’s a version of this where I tell you and everything changes. Maybe for the better, maybe not. And there’s another version where I don’t say anything and I get to keep what we already have. I think I’m a little selfish when it comes to that. So if you’re reading this and I never told you…I think I liked you. No

The word is scratched out slightly, like he went back over it.

I know I did. I just didn’t know what to do with it. Maybe by the time you’re reading this, I figured it out. Maybe I told you and we laughed about how obvious it was. Maybe we tried. Maybe we didn’t. Maybe we’re still in each other’s lives in some way that makes sense. And if we’re not…then I hope you’re still writing. I hope you didn’t let anything or anyone convince you to stop. I hope you became everything you said you would, even if it looks different than you imagined. And I hope, in some small way, I was part of that version of your life. You were my favorite part of this year. I think you might be my favorite part of college. And if I never got the chance to say it properly…then just know I would’ve chosen you.

The sob hits you before you can brace for it.

It tears out of your chest, sharp and broken, your whole body folding forward as if the weight of it all finally catches up to you at once. Your phone slips slightly in your grasp but you don’t let go, your fingers tightening around it like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

“Fuck—” you choke, dragging in a breath that doesn’t quite fill your lungs. Your shoulders shake, your head dropping as tears fall freely now.

You walked away. You walked away from him.

From every version of him that tried quietly, stubbornly and consistently to meet you where you were too scared to stand. The freshman who hoped you’d stay close, the sophomore who fell for you in all the ways possible, the junior who asked you to stop pretending and the senior who laid everything out and still chose you.

“____?”

A soft calling of your name cuts through your self deprecating thoughts. You don’t look up right away, too far gone. It’s only when you feel a shift beside you that you finally blink through your tears to find Manon perched beside you on your stoop.

She sets her bag down beside her and just looks at you for a second, taking you in, your tear-streaked face and your trembling hands. “You got the letter?” she asks gently.

You hiccup, the sound catching in your throat as your brows knit together. “W-what? H-how did you—”

Manon exhales softly, leaning her elbows onto her knees. “I got mine at dinner.” She folds her hands before continuing. “Anton told me he wrote to you.”

Your head snaps toward her. “What?”

She shrugs one shoulder, nudging her bag further aside with her foot. “Beginning of sophomore year.” she adds.

“He—” you start then stop because what is there to even say to that?

Manon watches you carefully for a second longer before letting out a quiet breath. She leans back slightly, bracing her hands against the step behind her. “Are you finally done running?” she asks.

The question lands like a slap to the face. For a moment, you don’t answer. You just stare at the ground between your feet, your tears slowing but not stopping, your mind replaying everything at once.

Manon doesn’t fill the silence, lets you sit in it however uncomfortable it may be. For the first time in two years, you don’t deflect. “I didn’t know…I didn’t know he—” your throat tightens again, cutting you off.

Manon hums quietly. “Yeah, you did.” She says.

You flinch slightly at that. She softens almost immediately, nudging your knee with hers. “Maybe not like this but…you knew.” She amends, nodding toward your phone.

You don’t argue. Manon exhales, dragging a hand down her face before resting her chin in her palm. “I knew about the two of you before…Sohee knew too, by the way. Maybe not everything but…we knew enough. His feelings weren’t exactly subtle.”

A weak, humorless laugh escapes you. “I thought we were so slick.”

“Please,” she snorts lightly. “Everyone could see it except you.”

You shake your head, more tears slipping free. “That’s not…”

“It is. I’ve been watching you self-sabotage for two years.” She cuts in frimly.

The words sting. Not because they’re harsh but because they’re true. “I got frustrated,” she admits after a beat, her tone quieter now.

“Watching you push him away then get mad when he didn’t stay exactly where you left him. Watching you settle for…less.” She gestures vaguely, she doesn’t even need to say Jake’s name.

Your gaze drops as you think about every time she defended Anton during senior year. Every time she looked at you like she was trying to understand why you kept choosing the harder option.

“I should’ve stopped you…with Jake I mean. I knew you didn’t love him the way you loved..the way you love Anton.”

You don’t deny it. You sniff, wiping at your face with the back of your hand as you look away, the street lights blurring together in front of you. The two of you sit in silence for a beat before Manon speaks up again.

“...I still talk to him.”

Your head turns so fast it almost hurts. “What?”

Manon shrugs, like she expected that reaction. “Not all the time but...yeah. We keep in touch. Sohee too.”

“He’s…okay?” you ask.

She nods. “He’s good. Booked and busy. Music stuff is actually going really well.”

You smile, at least he accomplished his dreams. Manon studies your face for a second before reaching into her bag, pulling out her phone. “Actually…” she hesitates then unlocks it, scrolling for a moment. “There’s something you should hear.”

She taps her screen then turns it slightly so you can see. “It’s his latest release, he sent it to me two nights ago.”

You look at the title and your heart constricts all over again. Before You Leave Me.

Manon presses play and you listen with baited breath. You don’t make it past the first verse before your vision blurs again.

Darling, handle me with care Cover me in bubble wrap I’m scared you really mean it That you’re never comin’ back

Your chest caves in slowly, your hand tightening around your phone as the next lines play.

Know I can’t change your mind But how could you just leave like that?

Manon doesn’t say anything beside you. She just lets it play, lets it sink in. The chorus hits and it feels like it knocks the air out of your lungs completely.

Just give me one more night Hold me like you’re still mine Oh, love me for right now Before you leave me

You squeeze your eyes shut but it only makes it worse. The memory overlaps with the sound, his arms around you, his voice against your skin, the way he held you like he already knew you were going to go. Like he was asking for something you were never going to give him.

I know it’s gonna hurt Watching your footsteps turn So, love me for right now Before you leave me

Your shoulders shake as the realization settles in. He knew. Some part of him knew. Even that night when he was laying there with you, when he was telling you about brownstones and writing and staying, he knew you might still walk away but he loved you anyway.

You drag in a shaky breath, pressing your palm harder against your mouth. “Stop.” You beg Manon, turning away from her. “Turn it off!”

She complies right away. The music cuts off mid-line, the silence that follows almost louder than the song itself. “I can’t—” you choke, dragging a hand down your face. “I can’t listen to that. I can’t!”

“Okay. Then what can you do?” She asks.

You blink at her, thrown off by the shift. “What?” you rasp.

“What can you do, ____?” she repeats, leaning forward now, elbows braced against her knees. “Because I’ve watched you do this for two years. Self destruct and wait for the damage to pass by.”

Your brows knit together, a weak shake of your head already forming. “That’s not—”

“You don’t get to sit here and act like this blindsided you. None of this is new. The only thing that’s new is that you can’t pretend you didn’t know anymore.”

“That’s not fair,” you mutter.

“No. It’s not. That’s the point.” She rebuttals.

She softens slightly. “You knew he loved you and instead of meeting him there, you made him work for it then punished him by walking away. You don’t get to fall apart like this and act like you’re helpless in all of it. You made choices too.”

“I was scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Manon says.

Nothing is said beyond that. After minutes of sitting in silence, Manon pats your leg softly. “His number hasn’t changed.”

She doesn’t linger after that. Manon pushes herself up, brushing her hands against her dress before reaching down to grab her bag. She pauses for half a second, like she might say something else but whatever it is, she decides against it. Instead, she gives your knee one last squeeze then she turns and heads inside, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving you alone on the step.

You sit there a moment longer, your phone still in your hand, his letter open on the screen waiting for you to do something with it. Your chest still aches and your eyes still sting but you sniff once and remind yourself you caused this pain.

You look down at your phone again and swipe out of the email, not wanting to face it anymore. Tonight, you need to forget it all. You inhale slowly and push yourself up from the steps. Your legs feel a little unsteady at first but you adjust, sliding your bag back onto your shoulder and wiping at your face with the sleeve of your jacket.

You walk aimlessly down the street back towards the subway entrance. You swipe your metro car and step onto the platform, the train arrives in five minutes. You get on, not thinking of the destination, just letting your feet carry you.

Your mind drifts, your thoughts looping through everything that’s just happened; Jake’s face, Manon’s words, the letter, the song…Anton. You stare out the window as the train carries you further and further into the city.

Eventually, the train slows and the doors slide open. You step out onto the platform you haven’t stood on in a while, the familiarity hitting you in a way that feels almost disorienting. Your feet move before you can second guess it, carrying you up the stairs and out onto the street.

You walk and walk and walk. You don’t stop until you’re standing in front of phebes. The neon sign flickers faintly above the door, the same way it always did. You can hear the music from outside, muffled but familiar.

For a second you just stand there taking it all in. You haven’t visited NYU since graduation, haven’t made it to this side of town since you left Anton. You push down the thought the second you push open the door. Inside, it’s exactly how you remember. Dim lighting, sticky floors and music just loud enough to drown out your thoughts if you let it. The layout hasn’t changed. 

You slide onto a stool at the bar without hesitation. The bartender who approaches you isn’t one you recognize. “What can I get you?”

You don’t hesitate. “Two shots of don julio, keep the tab running.”

The bartender nods, already reaching for the bottle. He pours quickly and slides the small glasses toward you with a dish of lime wedges. You grab the first shot and lick the salt rim before tossing the tequila back in one smooth motion. You suck in a breath through your teeth, chasing it with the lime, blinking hard as your eyes water.

“Rough night?” the bartender asks, seemingly unfazed.

You let out a humorless snort, setting the empty glass down a little harder than you mean to. “Try two years.”

He pauses for half a second, caught off guard by the honestly then offers a small awkward smile. “Yeah…that’ll do it,” he mutters, already stepping away to tend to someone further down the bar.

You don’t watch him go, you just reach for the second shot. This one goes down easier. Or maybe you just don’t care as much. Either way, you welcome the burn. You exhale slowly, fingers wrapping around the empty glass as you start to twirl it against the bartop. Your mind won’t stop.

Jake. Manon. The letter. The song. Anton.

You’re already lifting your hand to signal for another when the stool beside you scrapes softly against the floor. Your jaw tightens at the new presence, irritation flaring up faster than it should. It’s barely five pm on a Thursday, the place is practically empty. There are a dozen other open seats and this asshat chooses the one right next to you? Seriously?

You roll your eyes, turning fully now, already halfway into telling them to move. “Excuse me,”

The words die the second they leave your mouth and your eyes catch sight of who the stranger is. Sat before you is none other than Anton Lee.

For a split second, he looks just as caught off guard as you feel. His brows lift slightly, his posture stilling like he wasn’t expecting this either. It’s gone as quick as it came.

Your eyes tear away from his gaze to take him in greedily, trying to make up for two years worth of absence. His hair is longer now, falling around his face and dyed a deep auburn. It’s styled back enough to show his forehead.

Your gaze drops. His gold chain is still there, resting against his collarbone. The same Lange & Söhne Odysseus sits at his wrist. He’s dressed simply, jeans and a henley, sleeves pushed up to expose his forearms.

Your eyes lift back to his face. You find him staring at you too, like he was inventorying all the new details about you. Anton’s lips curve into a gentle smile despite everything that sits between you.

“Howdy, stranger.”

taglist: @emislove @liaajk @satsgu @oncyanii @yoursyuno @wonbunniez @sakvya @antonnuguholic @kylie99z @kimvitamingyu @prousthouse @jijiyi @night-poem @maripositaa @chocochipnim @lovialy

[letterfromhk]

j.sc )) ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗  ۪　too much for you? ⠀⠀ ♥︎ ᩙ𓈒 ⠀⠀˖ . ⸰

contains : mean!sungchan, established relationship, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f receiving), mocking/teasing, crying, light degradation, squirting mention, rough but consensual

word count : ~650

notes : ive tried posting this over a gazillion times but fucking tumblr keeps deleting it……. anyways!!!!!!! requested…..!!!!!!

you’re already shaking and it’s only the second round.

sungchan has you pinned to the bed, thighs spread wide by his strong hands, his face buried between your legs like he’s starving. his tongue is relentless, lapping, sucking, flicking your swollen clit while two thick fingers curl deep inside you, hitting that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes.

“sungchan—ah—please, i can’t—” you sob, hips twitching uselessly as another orgasm rips through you. your whole body convulses, thighs clamping around his head, but he doesn’t stop. he just laughs against your pussy, the vibration making you cry out louder.

he pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and smirk cruel. “already crying, baby? we’ve barely started.”

his fingers keep moving. slow, deliberate strokes that drag out every aftershock. you’re so sensitive it hurts, but the pleasure is overwhelming, turning your brain into static. tears spill down your cheeks as you whimper, hands fisting the sheets.

“look at you,” he mocks, voice low and mean, “shaking like a little leaf. so fucking pathetic. one more and you’re already falling apart?”

“too much… too much—” you choke out, but he just chuckles darkly and dives back in.

third orgasm hits harder. your back arches off the bed, a broken scream tearing from your throat as you squirt all over his tongue and chin. sungchan groans in satisfaction, licking up every drop like it’s his favorite treat, but he still doesn’t pull away.

instead, he adds a third finger, stretching you open while his mouth suctions around your clit again. the overstimulation is brutal now. every nerve on fire, pleasure bordering on pain. you’re sobbing openly, body trembling uncontrollably, legs kicking weakly against his shoulders.

“aww, poor baby,” he coos mockingly, pulling back just to watch you fall apart. his free hand presses down on your lower stomach, making everything feel even more intense. “crying so pretty for me. you gonna tap out already? i thought you could take it.”

“sungchan—please—i’m sorry—i can’t—” your voice is wrecked, high and desperate, but he only laughs again.

“can’t what? can’t come again? too bad.” he curls his fingers harder, faster, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “you’re gonna give me one more. right now.”

the fourth one crashes over you without mercy. you scream, vision whitening, body seizing as the pleasure rips through you violently. tears stream down your face, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. you’re a complete mess. shaking, twitching, pussy clenching uselessly around his fingers while he keeps pumping through it, drawing it out until you’re babbling nonsense.

only then does he finally slow down, sliding his fingers out with a wet sound that makes you whimper. he crawls up your body, hovering over you with that wicked smirk, eyes dark with satisfaction. his fingers still glistening with your release. trace your tear-streaked cheek.

“look at this pathetic little thing,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “all fucked out and crying just from my tongue and fingers. so sensitive… so easy.”

you can only sob softly, body still trembling with aftershocks. sungchan leans down and kisses your forehead almost gently, but the words that follow are anything but.

“don’t worry, baby. we’re not done. i wanna see how many more times i can make you cry before you pass out.”

he presses two fingers back against your oversensitive entrance, and your broken whine only makes him laugh again.

“that’s my good girl.”

[wichustar]

just found the most yummy video of wonbin whimpering oh my gosh *.❤︎₊ ⊹

[letterfromhk]

ᨳㅤㅤཾ 𓈒 ♡̽ㅤ᳸ fame is a gun ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳ ♪

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 셋 : porcelain cracks ❀꫶᳜᳝ᰭ✿⃨ ⠀━╋

contains : THE IMAGE OF THE GIRL IS FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES, YOU CAN IMAGINE YOURSELF AS ANY FEM IDOL OR OC OR EVEN YOURSELF obsessive behavior / stalking, invasion of privacy (leaked personal info, tracking), masturbation, implied dub-con , blackmail foreshadowing, emotional manipulation / gaslighting vibes, objectification, power imbalance (industry + family connections), paranoia / unease from creepy messages & photos, dark yandere themes & sasaeng romanticization, idol industry exhaustion & dehumanization

pairing : riize&sasaeng!anton & femidol!reader

notes : one month later.. & she’s finally here!! i recommend re-reading the other chapters now before you jump right into it! enjoy <3

taglist : @wprixee @fayepz @vivvangel @rixarchive @sakvya @channniebby @oncyanii @juneslittleworld @theycallmesya @tonddosstar @mimagnettic @momoparkim @hwalllllllelujah @vivicaaas2 @antonfixed

the inkigayo waiting room still smells like hairspray and nervous energy even though the show ended hours ago. you’re back in the dorm now, curled up on the big couch with your knees to your chest, oversized hoodie swallowing you whole. the girls are scattered around — yeojin half-asleep on the floor with a bag of chips, choerry scrolling comments out loud, dayeon braiding yoon’s hair while they both giggle at something on weverse.

you’re not really listening.

your phone is warm in your lap. screen dimmed. every few minutes it buzzes with new notifications, but you keep it face-down. you already know what they say.

#wonbiny/n is trending.

cute mc chemistry.

“they look so good together omg”

“wonbin fixing her hair?? husband material”

you bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts.

the memory of anton’s face in that hallway keeps flashing. the way his eyes went completely black when wonbin touched your hair, the way he pressed you against the vanity and kissed you like he was trying to erase every other person from your skin. “you’re mine.” the words still sit heavy in your stomach.

you hated how much you liked it.

you hated how wet you got the second he said it.

you hated that even now, hours later, just thinking about his voice makes heat pool low in your belly.

choerry suddenly laughs. “y/n, you’re trending with wonbin! fans are calling you the new it couple of sm.”

yeojin sits up fast, eyes sparkling. “show me the edits! i bet they’re cute~”

you force a tiny laugh and pull the hoodie sleeves over your hands. “it’s just mc stuff… don’t make it weird.”

but inside your head it’s already weird.

because anton saw it.

anton watched every second.

and you can feel him losing it, even from across the city.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

across seoul, in riize’s dorm, the living room is loud with game sounds and laughter, but anton’s room is dead silent. door locked. lights off except the cold blue glow of his laptop.

he’s been sitting in the same spot for two hours.

refreshing twitter. refreshing fancams. refreshing every single hashtag with your name next to wonbin’s.

each new edit feels like a knife twisting slow.

wonbin’s hand near your face.

your laugh when he leaned in.

the way you smiled at him like he was harmless.

anton’s jaw is so tight it aches. his fingers keep flexing like he wants to break something. or someone.

he opens the hidden folder. thousands of your photos. videos. the secret recording from the studio. the blurry shot of you stretching in practice. he clicks one — the inkigayo fancam where wonbin whispered something that made you giggle.

anton watches it on loop.

his breathing gets shallower.

he can feel the obsession thickening, turning darker, heavier. it’s no longer just “i want her.” it’s “no one else is allowed to even look.”

he types in the search bar again.

“luné center dorm building”

“y/n recent sightings”

new threads pop up. he reads every comment like scripture.

his hand drifts down without thinking, palming himself through his sweats while he stares at a photo of you and wonbin standing side-by-side on stage.

“she’s not yours,” he whispers to the empty room. voice low and cracked. “she’s mine.”

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

back at your dorm you finally open his chat.

no new messages from him since the show.

that silence feels worse than anything.

you type. delete. type again.

your thumb hovers.

you miss him so badly it scares you.

you miss the way he looks at you like you’re the only real thing in the world. you miss the fear that comes with it. you miss how safe and terrified you feel at the same time.

before you can stop yourself you send:

“are you okay?”

the typing bubble appears instantly.

then disappears.

then appears again.

you hold your breath.

his reply finally comes through. one single line that makes your stomach drop and your thighs press together at the same time.

“no.

come to me soon.

i need to remind you who you belong to.”

you stare at the screen until the letters blur.

your heart is racing.

part of you wants to block him.

part of you wants to sneak out right now.

you lock your phone and pull the hoodie tighter around yourself, trying to ignore how wet you already are just from those words.

the girls are still laughing about something silly.

you smile like nothing’s wrong.

but inside?

the porcelain is starting to crack louder.

and you’re not sure you want to stop it.

you’re still curled in the corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they can hide how badly they’re shaking. the girls have moved on to arguing about what drama to watch next, but their voices feel far away. all you can hear is the echo of anton’s last message burning in your brain.

“i need to remind you who you belong to.”

you feel sick. you feel guilty. you feel wet.

the worst part? you and anton never even said the words. never called it dating, never set boundaries, never made it official. it was just stolen kisses in hallways, late-night texts, and him whispering “mine” like it was already law. yet here you are. heart racing, thumbs hovering, ready to apologize for something that technically isn’t cheating.

you hate how much you want to fix it for him.

you type. delete. type again.

“hey… about today with wonbin. it was just mc work. he was being friendly, that’s all. nothing serious at all. i promise.”

you hit send before you can overthink it more.

the typing bubble pops up almost immediately. stays there for a long time. then disappears. then comes back.

when his reply finally arrives it’s short. too short.

“i saw the way he looked at you.”

your stomach drops.

you type faster this time, guilty words spilling out like you’re trying to scrub the stain away.

“i didn’t encourage it. i swear. i was just doing my job. i only smiled because we’re on the same show. you know that, right?”

another long pause.

then:

“do i?”

your chest tightens. you feel small again. the same dizzy, scared-small you felt when he had you pinned against the vanity. you hate that it turns you on even now.

“anton… there’s no one else. it’s just you. even though we never really talked about what this is… i still only want you.”

you stare at the message after you send it. cheeks burning. you sound pathetic. desperate. like you’re begging for his approval even though he never asked you to be his girlfriend.

the three dots appear again.

this time they stay longer.

when the reply comes it’s softer, but somehow worse.

“good girl. keep reminding me. i don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

your thighs press together without permission. heat floods low in your belly. you squeeze your eyes shut for a second, trying to push the feeling away, but it only makes the memory sharper. his hand on your throat, his voice cracking, the way he smiled when he saw your tears.

you feel guilty for liking it. you feel guilty for reassuring him like he already owns you. you feel guilty for how badly you want him to own you anyway.

you type one last thing, fingers trembling.

“i miss you already.”

his answer is instant this time.

“then come to me tonight. let me remind you properly.”

you lock your phone and press it to your chest. heart hammering so loud you’re scared the girls will hear it. yeojin is laughing at something choerry said, but all you can think about is anton’s eyes when he gets jealous. dark. unhinged. beautiful.

you know you should say no. you know you should set boundaries. you know this is getting dangerous.

but instead you just sit there, thighs sticky, guilt swirling with want, already counting down the minutes until you can sneak out again.

because even though you’re terrified,

you’re already his.

and you’re starting to like how much that scares you.

you can’t sit still anymore.

the dorm feels too loud, too bright, too normal. yeojin is blasting music and trying to teach dayeon the new tik tok dance while choerry films them. you’re pretending to laugh along but your skin is crawling. every time your phone vibrates you flinch like it burned you.

anton hasn’t replied to your last message yet.

that silence is worse than anything he could say.

you slip away to the bathroom, lock the door, and sit on the edge of the tub with your knees pulled up. the bruises on your hips from last night are starting to turn purple. you trace one with your fingertip and feel that awful, guilty heat bloom between your legs again.

you hate yourself for it.

you pull up his chat. stare at the last thing he sent:

“then come to me tonight. let me remind you properly.”

your thumb hovers.

instead of typing, you do something stupid.

you open your camera, lift your hoodie just enough to show the dark fingerprints on your hip, and take a picture. no face. no context. just the evidence of what he did to you.

you send it.

the second it delivers your stomach drops so hard you feel dizzy.

typing bubble appears immediately.

then a voice message.

you press play with shaking hands.

anton’s voice is low, rough, almost shaking.

“fuck… look at what i did to you. my pretty little doll wearing my marks like jewelry... i’m losing my mind right now. i want to come over and put more on you. i want everyone to see who you belong to. especially him.”

another voice note right after, even darker.

“if wonbin touches you again i swear i’ll lose it. i’ll drag you into the nearest room and fuck you so hard you forget his name. you’re mine. say it back. right now.”

your thighs squeeze together so tight it hurts. you’re soaked. again. guilt and fear and want all crashing together until you can’t tell which is which.

you whisper into your phone, voice tiny and trembling.

“i’m yours, anton. only yours.”

you send the voice note before you can chicken out.

his reply is instant. another voice message. this time he sounds completely unhinged, breathing heavy like he’s touching himself while listening to you.

“good girl… such a good fucking girl. i’m so hard it hurts. i need to see you tonight. sneak out. i don’t care how. i’ll wait at the side gate. if you don’t come i might actually go crazy.”

you stare at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs.

you know this is bad.

you know you should stop.

but the ache between your legs and the way your stomach flips when he sounds like that… it’s stronger than the fear right now.

you type with trembling fingers:

“i’ll try. after the girls fall asleep.”

his last message makes your whole body shiver.

“good. wear the hoodie i like. and don’t wear anything underneath.”

you lock your phone and press it to your burning face.

outside the bathroom the girls are still laughing and dancing.

you look at yourself in the mirror. flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, lips bitten raw.

you look exactly like what you are:

a pretty little doll slowly cracking apart…

and secretly loving every second of it.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the dorm is finally quiet.

yeojin passed out with her phone still playing tiktoks on loop, choerry and dayeon sharing the big bed, yoon already snoring softly on the couch. the only light left is the tiny blue glow from your phone screen under the blanket.

you’re shaking as you pull on the black hoodie he likes. the one that still smells faintly like his cologne from the last time he wore it. nothing underneath. just like he told you. your heart is hammering so hard you’re scared it’ll wake someone up.

you slip out the window like a thief.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the side gate is dark. he’s already there. black hoodie, mask pulled down, eyes burning the second they land on you. he doesn’t say anything. just grabs your wrist and pulls you into the shadows, walking fast toward his dorm like he’s scared you’ll change your mind.

the second his door closes behind you, he’s on you.

mouth crashing into yours, hands shoving the hoodie up, fingers digging into the bruises he left last night like he wants to make them darker. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you straight to his bed.

“missed you so fucking much,” he growls against your lips. “kept thinking about wonbin touching you. wanted to kill him.”

you whimper. scared. guilty. soaked.

he drops you on the mattress and climbs over you, yanking your hoodie off in one rough motion. you’re completely bare underneath. he stares like he’s starving.

“look at you… my perfect little secret.”

he fucks you hard. meaner than last time. no warm-up, no softness. just deep, punishing thrusts while he whispers filthy, obsessive things in your ear.

“say you’re mine while i ruin you.”

“i’m yours—ah—only yours—”

every time you moan too loud he slaps a hand over your mouth and laughs darkly.

“quiet, doll. can’t have anyone knowing what a slut you are for me.”

you come twice before he finally finishes, filling you again with a broken groan. he collapses on top of you, still inside, arms locked so tight you can barely breathe.

for a moment it feels almost tender.

then your phone starts exploding.

vibrate after vibrate.

you reach for it with a shaky hand.

manager unnie.

“where are you?! we just got a call from security. someone saw a girl sneaking out of the building at 2 a.m. they’re reviewing footage. the company is furious. get back here NOW.”

your blood turns to ice.

you show anton the messages. your voice cracks.

“i’m in so much trouble…”

he reads it. once. twice.

then he smiles.

slow. calm. almost sweet.

he takes your phone, turns it off, and tosses it across the room.

“don’t worry, baby. i’ll handle it.”

you blink. “how—?”

“did you forget? my dad’s the producer. i’m just the helpful son who wanted to learn. you’re the one who snuck out at night. they’ll blame you. not me.”

he strokes your hair gently, like he’s comforting a scared kitten.

“fame is a gun, pretty. and right now? it’s pointed straight at you.”

you feel tears burn your eyes. guilt, fear, shame. all crashing together while he’s still buried inside you, still hard, still smiling that soft, terrifying smile.

“but don’t cry,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your eye. “i’ll protect you. as long as you stay mine.”

he starts moving again. slow this time. deep. possessive.

“say thank you, baby.”

you choke on a sob and a moan at the same time.

“…thank you.”

he kisses you softly, almost lovingly, while he fucks you into the mattress again.

outside, the company is already waking up. security footage is being pulled. your manager is panicking. rumors are starting to spread.

but anton?

he’s warm. safe. in control.

and he doesn’t feel a single consequence.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the next morning hits like a truck.

your phone is blowing up before the sun is even fully up. missed calls from your manager, texts from the group chat, and one very cold message from the company’s PR team: “emergency meeting at 8 a.m. do not be late.”

you barely slept. anton kept you until almost 5 a.m., kissing your bruises like trophies and whispering how perfect you were for him. now you’re back in the dorm, hoodie still smelling like him, thighs still sore, trying to act normal while the girls stare at you like you grew a second head.

“y/n… where were you last night?” choerry asks quietly. her voice isn’t angry yet, just worried. “security called us at 3 a.m. saying someone saw a girl sneaking out.”

you mumble something about needing fresh air. it sounds pathetic even to you.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

by 7:45 you’re sitting in the conference room at sm, hands folded in your lap, head down. your manager is pacing. two higher-ups from the compliance team are there. the atmosphere is ice-cold.

“do you have any idea how serious this is!?” one of them snaps. “a female idol sneaking out at 2 a.m.?!! do you know what kind of rumors that creates? what it does to the group’s image? to luné’s reputation!?”

you flinch.

your manager sighs, disappointed. “we reviewed the footage. you climbed out the window. you weren’t alone. we saw the boy waiting for you.”

your stomach drops.

“it’s not what it looks like—”

“save it,” the other executive cuts in. “we don’t care who it is right now. what we care about is that our center, our face of the group, is behaving like this. you’re grounded. no solo schedules for two weeks. no personal phone for one week. we’re taking it. curfew at 9 p.m. sharp. extra dance practice every day until we decide you’ve learned your lesson. and if this happens again…”

he leans forward, eyes hard.

“we’ll consider suspending you from promotions. maybe even remove you from this comeback itself.”

the words land like bullets.

you feel tears prick your eyes but you force them back. idols don’t cry in meetings. you nod, small and obedient.

“i’m sorry. it won’t happen again.”

they don’t believe you. you can tell.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

when you finally leave the room your legs feel like jelly. your manager hands you a new cheap phone with only group and company contacts allowed. your real one is gone.

back at the dorm the girls are waiting. they already know.

yeojin looks hurt. “you could’ve told us… we were scared something happened to you.”

dayeon is quiet, but her eyes are disappointed. “we’re a team, y/n. if you’re going through something, we’re supposed to help.”

choerry just sighs. “you’re the center. everything you do affects all of us. please… be careful.”

you nod. mumble apologies. go to your room and curl up on the bed.

the punishment feels heavy. suffocating.

but the worst part?

even while you’re crying quietly into your pillow, you’re still wet at the memory of anton’s hands. still aching for him. still checking the cheap replacement phone every five minutes like he might magically text you.

you hate how much you want him right now.

you hate how the industry is punishing only you while he gets to sit pretty in his dorm, untouched, probably smiling because he knows you’ll come running again the second you can.

fame really is a gun.

and right now it’s pressed right against your temple…

while anton holds the trigger and whispers how pretty you look when you’re scared.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the dorm feels heavier than usual that evening.

the girls are trying so hard to be gentle with you. yeojin brought you your favorite strawberry milk and didn’t even tease when you barely drank it. dayeon sat beside you on the couch and quietly braided your hair while humming one of your old trainee songs. choerry kept refilling your water and saying soft things like “it’s okay, we’ve all messed up before.” yoon even saved you the last piece of the chicken they ordered.

they feel horrible for you.

they keep glancing at you with these sad, worried eyes, like they’re watching their baby sister get punished for something they don’t fully understand. none of them know the real reason you snuck out. they just see their center looking small and broken, and it hurts them.

you smile weakly every time they check on you. say “i’m fine” until the words taste like ash. but inside you’re spiraling.

your new cheap phone buzzes on the table. only group and company contacts allowed. no anton.

you haven’t heard from him since last night.

that silence is eating you alive.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

across the city, anton is losing his mind.

he found out thirty minutes ago.

one quick call from his dad (“the company caught your little friend sneaking out last night. they’re punishing her pretty hard. hope you’re not involved.”) and anton’s blood turned to ice… then immediately to fire.

he’s pacing his room like a caged animal. jaw clenched so tight it hurts. phone gripped in his hand like he might crush it.

sm is punishing you.

sm is taking away your freedom.

sm is taking what’s his.

the thought makes something ugly and dark twist deep in his chest.

he opens your old chat on his real phone (the one the company doesn’t know about). stares at your last voice note where you whispered “i’m yours.”

his breathing gets faster.

he types. deletes. types again.

finally sends from a new burner number:

“i heard what they did to you. they think they can control you? they think they can keep you from me? you’re mine. not theirs. i’m coming to get you tonight. be ready.”

your cheap phone stays silent, but the secret second phone you hid under your pillow lights up.

you read the messages with shaking hands. your stomach flips. fear and that awful, addictive thrill crashing together again.

you know you should delete it. you know you should tell the girls. you know this is getting dangerous.

instead you reply with trembling fingers:

“they took my real phone… i’m grounded. i can’t sneak out again so soon…”

his reply is instant. darker.

“then i’ll come to you. leave your window unlocked.”

you bite your lip so hard it almost bleeds.

the girls are in the living room watching a drama, laughing softly, still shooting you those pitying looks every few minutes.

they feel so bad for you.

they have no idea their sweet center is sitting here dripping wet, heart racing, already planning how to leave the window cracked open for the boy who’s slowly ruining her.

anton, meanwhile, is smiling at his screen. calm on the outside, completely feral on the inside.

sm thinks they can punish you?

sm thinks they can take his doll away?

he’ll show them.

he’ll remind you who you really belong to.

even if he has to climb through your window every single night.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the next two days are hell wrapped in pastel.

you’re exhausted from extra dance practice, your voice is hoarse from forced vocal lessons, and every time you check the cheap company phone you feel like crying. the girls are still being so soft with you — bringing you snacks, covering for you when you zone out in meetings, telling you “it’s okay, we’ll get through this together.” their kindness only makes the guilt heavier.

but anton?

anton is done playing safe.

he’s getting bolder. riskier. and terrifyingly smart about it.

wednesday afternoon, during luné’s scheduled break, there’s a soft knock on the practice room door. choerry opens it and her face lights up.

“anton? hi!”

he’s standing there in a simple black hoodie and cap, looking every bit the shy, polite maknae. he bows deeply, that sweet boyish smile on his face.

“sorry to bother you, sunbaenims. i heard what happened with y/n… my dad told me the company was really strict. i just wanted to check if she’s okay.”

the girls melt instantly.

yeojin waves him in. “aww you’re so sweet! come in!”

dayeon smiles softly. “she’s been really down. it’s nice that you care.”

anton steps inside, eyes immediately finding you. you’re sitting against the mirror, knees up, trying not to look as wrecked as you feel. when your gazes meet, his smile stays perfectly innocent for the girls… but his eyes darken just for you.

“hi, y/n,” he says gently. “i’m really sorry you’re going through this. if there’s anything i can do…”

choerry sighs. “the company’s being so harsh. they took her phone and everything. she didn’t even do anything that bad.”

anton nods, looking genuinely concerned. “yeah… my dad feels bad too. he said the higher-ups are overreacting because of the wonbin thing trending. they’re scared of dating rumors hurting luné’s image.”

the girls nod along, trusting every word because it’s anton — riize’s polite golden maknae, producer’s son, harmless.

he stays for twenty minutes. chats with them about the new album, compliments their choreo, makes yeojin laugh with a silly drum joke. all while sitting close enough to you that his knee brushes yours under the pretense of shifting position.

when he finally stands to leave, he bows again.

“if it’s okay… maybe i can bring some snacks or something tomorrow? just to cheer y/n up. my dad said it’s fine since i’m shadowing the album anyway.”

the girls agree immediately. “of course! you’re always welcome.”

as he walks out, he passes right by you and whispers so quietly only you hear:

“leave the window unlocked tonight. i’ll be careful. trust me.”

your stomach flips.

that night he doesn’t come through the window.

he comes through the front door.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the girls are in the living room watching a movie when the doorbell rings. choerry opens it and there’s anton again. holding a big bag of convenience store snacks and drinks, looking shy and apologetic.

“sorry for coming so late… i just wanted to drop these off for y/n. and maybe say hi to everyone?”

the girls light up. they invite him in without hesitation. he sits on the floor with them, shares the snacks, laughs at yeojin’s jokes, compliments dayeon’s new hair clip. he’s the perfect sweet boy.

but under the coffee table, his hand finds your ankle. fingers tracing slow circles on your skin. possessive. hidden.

when the movie ends and the girls start getting sleepy, he stands up.

“i should go. thank you for letting me stay. y/n… feel better soon, okay?”

you nod, throat tight.

as he’s putting on his shoes by the door, he turns back one last time.

“oh— my dad wanted me to tell you guys that the next recording session is pushed to friday. y/n, he said you should rest your voice until then.”

the girls thank him again. they trust him completely.

you walk him to the elevator like a good host. the second the doors close, he pulls you inside, backs you against the wall, and kisses you hard. one hand fisted in your hoodie, the other sliding under it to squeeze your bare waist.

“they think i’m such a nice boy,” he whispers against your lips, voice dark. “they have no idea i’m the reason you’re in trouble.”

he bites your bottom lip. “and i’m not stopping. they can punish you all they want. you still belong to me.”

the elevator dings at the lobby. he steps back instantly, sweet smile back on his face like nothing happened.

“goodnight, y/n,” he says loudly enough for the security camera. “rest well.”

you go back upstairs on shaky legs.

𓂂 ͙ 　ﾟ　　　*　　　. ◌⵿　　　ﾟ

the girls are already brushing their teeth, talking about how kind anton is.

“he’s such a good kid,” choerry says. “we’re lucky he’s around.”

you smile weakly and disappear into your room.

that night you leave the window unlocked.

anton doesn’t come.

instead, at 3:17 a.m., your secret phone (the one you hid) lights up with a new message from him.

a photo.

it’s a screenshot of the dorm security camera footage. the exact moment you climbed out the window two nights ago… but edited. the timestamp changed. the angle cropped.

under it, one line:

“i can make this disappear forever. or i can make sure everyone sees it. your choice, doll.”

then another message right after:

“i’ll be waiting at the side gate tomorrow night. if you don’t come… i might get impatient.”

you stare at the screen, heart pounding, thighs clenched, fear and arousal twisting so tight you can barely breathe.

the girls are asleep down the hall, still thinking anton is their sweet, harmless savior.

you’re trapped between their trust and his control.

fade to black.

[jhennic]

୨୧ post-practice sex w/ taro!

genre. smut, doggy, mirror sex, degradation, unprotected

your eyes wandered on shotaro for far too long.

but with his chest damp with sweat, hair tucked back by his backwards cap, and his sweats sagging just until you see his boxers—it made it impossible to look away and not become so utterly needy.

and shotaro noticed it. of course he did.

your big, dumb doe stare and the teasing licks of your lips have led you to this very moment. your back is arched in front of the huge mirror, ass perched up as your boyfriend relentlessly pounds into you.

what a view, honestly.. your pants pooling at your bent knees as shotaro’s nails dig into the flesh of your hips, pulling them back to sync his thrusts while his cock invades your warmth.

you were so horny out of your mind to even care if someone walked in. what mattered was he was taking you right where you wanted <3

“nasty fucking girl.. can’t wait ‘til we get home?” he mocks, the echo of his palm smacking against your ass filling the humid room. your head rests under your crossed arms, mascara-smudged tears slipping down your cheeks.

small whimpers of his name manage to come out of your mouth, otherwise, you’re gasping for air as his tip nudges your cervix. “can’t even talk, can you?” he chuckles, staring into the reflection as he yanks your head back by threading his fingers through your hair—all to see how much of a mess you look.

his pelvis repeatedly slaps against your ass, and the frequent pulses of your silken walls elicit low whines from his throat. “n-nghh! taro!” you mewl into your arm, the sound muffled as your vision slowly becomes white.

“i got you, baby. come like the slut you are,” he spits, tilting his head back and snapping his hips until you both release. your warm fluids seep onto the floor where he once danced, his own spurts painting your flushed ass cheeks.

from then on, you looked forward to watching him practice every single day.

© jhennic 2026 | sorry for being so mia, uni has been keeping me so busy :( i should be ready to jump back in though!

[wichustar]

omorashi/piss kink *.❤︎₊ ⊹

okay so imagine sungchan forcing you to hold your piss for almost the whole day, you guys finally get back to your place n you can’t stop whining from how full your bladder feels :///

sungchan makes you take off your skirt n underwear so you can finally pee but while he lets you empty your bladder he holds a vibrator on your clit, you wail out from the painfully pleasuring feeling while sungchan keeps praising you “good girl, you did such a good job for me, let it all out for me baby”

© byeolbinie

[ne0pearl]

girls on the internet

TW: cyber noncon,cyber bullying,stalking,threats,body image issues,mentioned self harm,insecurities

18+ MDNI

eunseok x fem!reader

your fingers shakily hover over the phone,screen lighting up with each new notification from the forum. your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your chest as you click on the notifications. the picture you posted of yourself an hour ago is still up,in it’s full glory. along with your cry for help in the description.

‘help me glow up. nothing in my life is going right,might as well be pretty while falling apart’

the description desperate. your sunken eyes and dull skin stare back at you in the dimly lit bedroom. the dings from the device interrupting the silence in the room. scrolling down you’re met with the cruel comments that are known to be thrown around in this forum. the people are cruel,no sugarcoating,no empathy. you knew what you were getting into when you clicked post,still,a few tears pooled in your eyes. some were being stoic and saying you should accept yourself,even if you were unfortunate looking. then some of them were telling you to slice your wrists because there was no point in living if you looked like that.

you sighed,closing your eyes for a moment so you don’t throw up from the disappointment rising in you. as you were about to swipe up,the phone buzzed again.

ssskie wants to send you a message

frowning,you hesitated opening the message,in fear of it being just another death threat. clicking on his profile first,his profile picture was just a landscape of the city and the name ‘seok’ in the bio. after a few seconds of debating,your thumb grazed the screen.

ssskie: you have potential

x: thank you?

ssskie: i can help you

x: okay. how?

ssskie: send me another picture

you bit your lip at his new message. the pictures you posted on the forum was your nicest picture. makeup done,hair done. and it was only for an event. looking at yourself in the mirror you looked like a complete mess right now. makeup smudged from the day. hair all over the place. in a faded band tshirt. anxiety rose in your chest as your insecurities dawned on you once again,being faced with the challenge of taking a picture of yourself.

x: i don’t look good

ssskie: i already know that. send me the picture.

x: i don’t look presentable at all right now

ssskie: said i would help you. how can i do that if i don’t see the blank slate i’m working with?

he did have a good point. quickly wiping the mascara under your eyes and brushing your hair,you opened the camera. after a few poses and clicks the sigh of desperation was immanent. every picture looked awful.

ssskie: i’m waiting

x sent a photo

ssskie: good girl. now send me a mirror picture.

x: why?

ssskie: we can’t work on the face without working on the foundation first

he was once again right. getting up from your bed you posed in front of the mirror,fidgeting from how uncomfortable you were with your body but still taking pictures of it. you clicked send.

ssskie: no shorts? naughty

ssskie: the scars make you look disgusting. if you want to be a pretty girl you can’t have scabbed blood on your arms

his words cut deep,your throat tightening. looking down at yourself,all of the flaws seemed to be glowing even brighter now. he was right. you do look disgusting. ding

ssskie: send me one without the shirt on. i can’t really see your body with how baggy it is

x: you want a picture of me without my shirt on?

ssskie: yes

x: i’m not sending you that

ssskie: thought you wanted help?

after a few moments of silence,you took your shirt off. standing in front of the mirror in your underwear,you tried to cover your breasts as much as you could with your hand as you snapped the picture. few snapshots later,with shaky hands you sent the picture.

ssskie: why are you covering yourself? i need to see everything

without questioning him again,in fear of angering him,you posed without covering your boobs. awkwardly standing in front of the mirror as you sent the explicit version.

ssskie: good girl. you’re learning quickly

x: so? what do you think?

ssskie: i said you have a lot of potential. let’s video chat

x: why?

ssskie: so i can tell you what you need to do

x: can’t you tell me here?

ssskie: no,it’s a lot

ssskie is requesting a video chat | accept/ignore

you felt like your nervous system was on fire when your phone started buzzing from his call. the anxiety closing up your throat and making you lose all motor function as you put your shirt on and scramble to find a good spot to prop your phone up.

accept

the screen went black for a second before fully connecting. on the other side was a guy. his computer screen illuminating his features. dark hair,dark piercing eyes as he sat on his desk leaning on his hand,his background otherwise dark. he hummed when he saw you. he was handsome,not really the type of guy you’d think would be on those forums.

“hello” he spoke. his voice deep,still soft as he tried to be formal. you just stared at the screen,an off putting feeling creeping up your neck. “a little disappointed you greeted me with your shirt on” he hummed again.

“i thought you only needed it for reference photos” the uncertainty in your voice made him smirk. he could see your fidgeting hands as you started to peel off the skin around your thumb. perfect. just how he likes it. “no,i’ll need to see you like this. photos can be quite deceptive. thought you should know that already,posting the nicest picture you have on the forum,asking for advice” he scoffed,clearly mocking your attempt at presenting yourself as more appealing than you actually were.

your silence ticked him off. “cmon,take off the shirt” he sighed as he slumped back in his chair. you still didn’t respond. eyes darting around your room,biting your lip. “i don’t want to” when you finally did,he tsked. “little one” his voice dropping down an octave,”i have your location right here,on my computer”. your body tensed as you heard those words. “you’re lying”.

you could feel your eyes pop out of your head as he said the exact street and number of your address. “i could come and see it myself anytime i want,don’t make this harder for yourself” a devilish grin appeared on his face as he saw the terrified expression on your face.

“strip”.

slowly,you pulled your shirt over your head. “your underwear too,turn around and give me a little show” he bit his lip as you stood up,turning around. your fingers going under the hem of your panties,slipping them down,bending over just slightly. you heard him take a deep breath. stepping out of your underwear,you turned to face your phone again,completely bare.

you saw him,slumped on his chair,with his hand palming his clothed erection. lips between his teeth as he watched you with lustful eyes. “you make me so hard” he groaned as he saw the tears streaming down your face and the slight shake of your shoulders. “keep crying princess” his hand tightened over his boner.

“touch yourself for me” his fingers went to unbuckle his belt and unzip his zipper as he pulled himself out. “how is that going to help me glow up?” the question seemed to snap him out of his lustful daze as he laughed. “you still think this is about me helping you?” his answer cut through you. the realization hitting you like a truck. he was using you. for his own twisted needs. this was never about ‘helping’ you.

“maybe i should really come down there and show you what this is all about” eunseok turned off the call,the screen redirecting him to the numerous massage logs with different insecure girls,all seeking help. all desperate for any kind of attention,willing to strip for him just for an ounce of affection or improvement. tucking himself back in he got up. putting your street in the gps,he entered his car. he was just hoping your parents weren’t home to hear their daughter’s wails.

[riizeblr]

yk how wonbin stutters right… thinking about bully reader who can’t stop playing w his little dick until he’s a stuttering mess and crying…

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: dub/noncon

“come on, it’s just one word,” you murmur, lips hovering over wonbin’s scorching cheek, streaked with tears and vibrant with a red blush. “one word and I’ll let you put this pathetic little thing away.”

“f-f-f,” wonbin splutters, biceps trembling as he gripped his thighs, not daring to get too close to your relentless hands.

you roll your eyes, “god, wonbin, it’s like you want me to keep playing with it. is that what you want? to keep cumming all over yourself?” you glance downwards, watching your fist twist around his stiff base, your thumb easily circling his red, swollen tip. his hips jerk minutely, his body seemingly unsure if it should fuck into the tight grip of your hands, or pull away from your hold on his sensitive cock.

wonbin shakes his head at your words, his eyes falling open, wide and wet as they instantly find yours. you follow the path of a stray tear that rolls down his cheek, disappearing behind his ear. “n-“ his plump pout wavers as he swallows, “-o…”

you click your tongue, “a full word.” you tug roughly at his cock, the corner of your lip curling slightly as he whines, his legs lifting off the ground, thighs pushing towards each other, “don’t cheat.”

wonbin releases a puff of air, the blow heating the winter air around him. “n… mmph…” he squirms again, cock pulsing in your hand. “n… plea-”

you grin, “there you go! you’re so close!” your spare hand pulls on his inky locks, the harsh grip making his head fall backwards, “I was starting to think there was nothing in here!”

[neccorporis]

cw: noncon. public sex. sub wonbin.

wonbin can’t contain the moan that escapes his lips, a mist forming over his glasses as he struggles to kiss you back, his lips move against yours — teeth clashing against yours, rough fingertips digging into the padded seat beneath him, his hips bucking with every movement of your hand.

he gasped, his mouth seeking hers again, chasing that steady rhythm from before, the soft touch of his lips trailing along the curve of her throat.

his breath hitches as your movements suddenly stop. the pink tip, nestled in his grip, is dripping with slippery pre-cum, making it easy to slide down his throbbing cock.

“no, s-stop…” he exhales, his voice hoarse and shaky as his fists clench at his sides. “not here, please…” his pleas are drowned out by the ambient clatter of cutlery and murmured conversations.

his brows furrow, his lips part in a soft snarl, thighs tense as his toes curl in his shoes. “but you are already so close…” you murmur, stroking his member with firm, steady strokes. wonbin lets out a sigh, blowing dark strands of hair from his face, too overcome by the sensation to keep his eyes open and scan his surroundings.

your lips return to his neck, placing wet kisses against his skin as your hand continues moving, the filthy squirt of pre-cum dripping with each thrust. a string of breathless curses escapes his throat as a thick, hot release coats your fingers. your hand doesn’t stop, working him through his orgasm, spreading the sticky cum around the base of his twitching, softening cock.

[bambigals]

lips on the intercom.

pairings — stalker!anton x fem!reader

warnings — noncon, stalking, sexual harassment, public sexual assault, obsession, unwanted groping, physical restraint, predatory behavior, implied coercion

you were too tired to care the first time you saw him.

it was past seven, and everything outside grew darker as the sun set. the train coach smelled faintly of damp coats and old air conditioning. you’d just finished your last class of the week, eyes dry from staring at slides for hours, your shoulders aching under the weight of your tote... all you wanted was to lean against the cool glass and zone out until your stop. that’s when you noticed him.

a tall guy, maybe early twenties... your age. leaning casually against the wall near the far doors. black hoodie, plain jeans, one hand loosely hooked into his pocket. his face was unfairly sharp for someone you’d see on public transport. hair falling into his eyes, cheekbones high, the kind of bone structure you’d expect from a campus heartthrob or some underground model. a handsome stranger. that was all you thought. your stop came, and you forgot about him.

but the next time you boarded, there he was again. same coach. same spot. same hoodie.

you thought it was a coincidence. you even caught yourself glancing over once or twice, just to check. he didn’t smile, didn’t look away when your eyes met, just watched you with an unreadable focus. it wasn’t the kind of stare that tried to be polite or quick. it lingered, like he was cataloging you piece by piece.

the following night, you noticed the little things. how he didnt have a bag with him, despite it being late enough that most people were heading home from either work or school. the way he boarded from the same door you did, no matter which station you got on from. the way he stood far enough to never touch you, yet close enough that you could hear the faint shift of fabric whenever he adjusted his stance.

when you stepped onto the train again the next day, your chest tightened. different hoodie this time, dark grey instead of black, but he stood in the same posture, eyes flicking to you like he’d been waiting. you told yourself you were imagining it. big city. busy nights. people overlapped all the time.

and yet… there was that moment, when the train rattled through a tunnel and you caught his reflection in the window beside you. he wasn’t pretending to look elsewhere. he wasn’t pretending at all. his gaze stayed on you... unblinking.

another night came, the pattern repeated. you were already tense before you even saw him. the station platform was unusually quiet, just the hum of the escalator and the faint echoes of footsteps. you told yourself not to check. don’t look for him. don’t give yourself more reasons to feel paranoid. but when the train doors slid open, there he was. same seat, same demeanor. watching you step in like it was routine. you sat two rows down, pulling your bag onto your lap, pretending to scroll through your phone. your eyes stayed fixed on the screen, but you could feel it. the prickling awareness of being seen.

then you heard it. at first you thought it was the hiss of the train brakes or the mumble of someone’s music bleeding from their headphones. but no… his voice was low, soft, almost too quiet to catch.

“…pretty… so tired tonight…”

your stomach dropped. was he talking to you? you looked up, and his gaze didn’t waver. lips moving faintly, his tone just above the clatter of the tracks.

“…mm… wanna see you… closer…”

you couldn’t be sure. maybe it wasn’t meant for you. maybe he was on a call. but his hands were empty, no phone, no earbuds. just that soft, muttered thread of words. like he wasn’t speaking to you exactly, but to himself… about you.

you tried really hard to ignore him let yourself sink further into the seat, body heavy with exhaustion, but then a lady stepped in. pregnant. her hands resting protectively over her rounded belly. the sight made guilt stab through your chest. you hated how your first thought was selfish, how badly you wanted to stay sitting, how the ache in your legs begged you not to move. it felt mean, wrong, but you couldn’t ignore it. with a reluctant sigh, you pushed yourself up, every muscle protesting. you forced a small smile at her as you passed, then made your way near the door, planting yourself against it for support.

you only closed your eyes for a few minutes when you realized the mystery guy got closer. you didn’t notice until you felt the warmth of someone behind you and the faint rustle of his jacket when the train swayed. he didn’t touch you, not really… but when you glanced over your shoulder, his head tilted the slightest bit, like he’d been leaning just enough to catch the scent of your shampoo.

your gaze should’ve snapped away, but it didn’t. it dipped lower, catching the unmistakable shape of his hand pressed flat against himself. he wasn’t hiding it. his palm cupped the heavy outline straining beneath the dark fabric of his sweatpants, fingers flexing like he couldn’t stop himself. the movement was deliberate… up, down, squeezing along the bulge of his cock like he was testing how hard he’d gotten just from standing this close to you. you saw the way his knuckles tightened, how his hips twitched forward almost subtly, dragging his length against his own hand.

that was when you noticed it. looped to his belt, half hidden under his hoodie. a faded lanyard, the kind given out by campuses. the ID card inside was scratched, edges cloudy, but the print was still legible. Anton Lee.

the name stuck in your head, sharp as a splinter. anton. not just a stranger anymore.

heat rose in your face, a sick, crawling kind of awareness rooting you in place. around you, the train rattled, people shifted, no one noticed. but you saw it. you saw the way his jaw clenched, a thin breath shuddering from his chest as he ground his palm down slow, like he was savoring it. then, he mouthed something. you couldn’t hear it over the chatter, but you could read it.

don’t get off alone.

it sent a chill down your spine. his voice was quiet, but the intent was clear. your instincts screamed for you to run, to escape his intoxicating presence. you didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to acknowledge what lay beneath the surface of this interaction.

your stop came. people filtered out around you, and you didn’t look back. until you reached the escalator.

you heard his footsteps. steady and matching yours. you took the long way out of the station, looping past the convenience store instead of going straight home. he didn’t close the distance, didn’t say a word... just trailed at that perfect distance, far enough to vanish at a glance, near enough to follow without looking like he was.

when you finally reached your street, you dared a glance over your shoulder. he was there. hands in pockets. watching you. and this time, when you unlocked your door, you swore you saw the corner of his mouth lift.

your body shivered and your hair was still frizzy from the gentle drizzle of rain. it had been days since you last saw anton, and as you boarded the train, you were too busy wiping your glasses to notice him. exhaustion from a late lecture weighed heavily on you. it wasn’t until the train jolted into motion that you felt that familiar itch at the back of your neck. you didn’t need to look, you already know. his reflection in the window confirmed your suspicion, same sharp jawline, same stillness, and that steady gaze that held yours even when you caught it.

the ride was quiet. just the squeal of the tracks, a cough from someone three rows away, and his whispers again. not constant and never obvious. just small bursts, like thoughts escaping before he could swallow them back.

“…mm… wearing that again…”

“…wet hair… pretty…”

you tried to tune him out, eyes glued to the scrolling station names. you told yourself not to flinch when the train rocked and his arm brushed yours. when your stop came, you moved fast, slipping into the crowd, hoping the rain would be enough to make him stay behind.

it wasn’t.

you caught the sound first. the unhurried taps of his shoes on wet pavement behind you. he walked slow, not rushing and that made your skin crawl even more. you took the usual route home, but halfway down the narrow side street, your umbrella got caught on a low hanging branch. cursing yourself, you stopped for a split second to free it, and it was long enough for him to close the distance. when you straightened, he was there. not touching, not blocking the way. just close enough that you could feel the faint heat of him against the cool rain. his eyes dragged slowly over your face, down your shoulders, then back up again.

“you always walk this way...” anton said finally. not a question. just an observation. his voice was quiet, low enough that you had to lean in without meaning to. the corner of his mouth curled, the same creepy smile you’d seen the other night.

“you don’t look scared...”

“i’m not.” you lied.

he chuckled under his breath, tilting his head like he was studying something rare. then, softer, almost to himself. “…bet you’d look so pretty pressed against that wall.”

you felt your heart pulsing in your throat. the wall he meant was right there, rough brick and half hidden from the streetlights. before you could move, his hand brushed your wrist. not gripping, just a fleeting touch, like he was testing how far you’d let him go. when you didn’t pull away fast enough, his fingers slid higher, curling loosely around your forearm as he guided you backward, step by step, until your shoulders met the damp brick.

the rain pattered harder, masking the sound of his breathing. you didn’t want to show him how scared you were, but you can’t control the tears from leaving your eyes. at this point, you’re helpless. he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his words against your cheek when he murmured.

“been thinking about you, every night on that train… how soft you’d be if i just…” his hand skimmed your hip. not groping. just slow traces that made your stomach knot.

“you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

the rain clung to your clothes, making the fabric heavy, clingy, almost see through under the weak streetlight. anton’s gaze was fixed on the way your shirt stuck to your chest, his breath slowing like he was trying to savor every inch. his fingers tightened just enough on your hip to make you feel the pressure through the damp fabric.

“god, you’re so fucking small up close...” he muttered, almost like it wasn’t meant for you to hear. his other hand came up, brushing the hair from your cheek, then lingering, his thumb dragging along your jaw. his lips ghosting yours, the hot breath fanning your face made you want to throw up.

“you’ve been walking past me for days, and you didn’t even notice...” he whispered, his voice rough.

“you think i don’t know exactly what time your classes end? what seat you take on the train?”

the words made you tense, but his body was warm, the wall behind you cold, and his hand… now sliding down, under your shirt. it made your stopped breathing. he touches were careful, like he’d been imagining this in detail long before tonight. his palm smoothed over your stomach before dipping lower, fingers pressing against the heat between your legs through your skirt.

“mm… so warm. if i split you open right now, you’d leak all over yourself...” he murmured, his eyes flicking up to watch your face.

the press of his fingertips grew firmer, pushing and poking sharply on your sensitive nub until you felt the heat coil low in your belly despite yourself hating it. his breathing hitched when you shifted against him, like the smallest reaction from you fed something in him. without warning, he stepped in closer. chest to yours, his knee sliding between your legs, nudging them apart just enough for him to slip his hand underneath. cold air rushed in before his fingers found you again, this time against bare skin.

“…fuck—so soft.” he hissed, curling his fingers, spreading you open just slightly. “been thinking about how you’d struggle to take me, squeezing me like a stupid girl” two fingers dipped lower, brushing where you were already slick from the mix of adrenaline and something you didn’t want to name.

“yeah just like that… let me feel you…”

he leaned in, his mouth at your ear, voice low and shaky now. “if you don’t stop me, i’m not stopping either.” the hand between your legs didn’t leave, even when you squirmed against the wall in a nervous half step. anton’s voice was low, almost soothing, like he was talking you into something instead of forcing it.

“that’s it… just relax for me, pretty.” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against your clit with the pads of his fingers, making the slick sounds between you embarrassingly loud in the quiet alley. “i told you… i’ve been waiting. you don’t have to think, just feel me.”

you barely had a moment to breathe before he pulled his fingers away, only to fumble at his belt. the quiet clink of the buckle felt deafening. your felt like your chest about to explode, back pressed harder into the wall like maybe if you tried hard enough, it could save you from him, but your body stayed where it was… like you were pinned by something invisible. anton didn’t look away from your face when he freed himself, his cock heavy and flushed in the cold night air. he stroked himself once, slow, the sound of his palm wet from you.

“look at you..” he whispered, almost a laugh in his tone. “already messy for me.”

he grabbed your thigh, lifting it slightly, pressing forward until the head of his cock nudged between your folds. anton didn’t even bother to take your panty off, just pulled it to the side and started shoving himself in you. you wanted to scream but nothing came out. the heat and the stretch were torture, your fingers instinctively clutching at the front of his shirt.

“shhh...” he soothed, his mouth brushing your temple. “let me in… you’re so tight, pretty… fuck—”

he pushed deeper, slow but relentless, until he was fully seated inside you, the wet sound of him filling you making his breath stutter. his hips pressed flush against yours, his hand still gripping your thigh to keep you open for him. the way he started kissing your neck like it was full of love... oh, you wished the thunder would strike you dead. you hated how it made you feel.

“god… i knew you’d fit me...” he breathed, eyes half lidded, lips brushing your ear. “knew you’d take me all the way in like a good doll.”

his thrusts started shallow, grinding deep into you with each push, his other hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you still. every time you made a small sound, he groaned, like your noises were enabling him.

“that’s right… just let me fuck my pretty passenger…” his words were broken by sharp exhales as his pace grew harder. “you’ve been walking past me for days, and all i could think about was this...” his hips slammed forward, abusing your cervix. you swear you weren’t able to breathe for a few seconds. he chuckled softly, the sound dark and almost affectionate.

“mine now… all mine, pretty thing.”

the pace turned rougher, the slap of his hips echoing in the narrow space, his breath coming out in short, desperate bursts. you barely realized his hand had slid between you again until his thumb pressed against your clit, forcing you to gasp as a wave of involuntary pleasure hit you.

“come on, doll… come with me.” he groaned, and your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. heat coiling, snapping, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you clenched around him.

anton’s thrusts turned brutal, chasing his own high even when your pleas were loud in his ears. he spilled into you without warning, the sensation was overwhelming you could feel your consciousness starting to leave you. he stayed buried inside you, his breath hot and rough against your neck, one hand still gripping the back of your head like he wasn’t ready to let go.

when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t gentle. the sudden emptiness made you stumble, and his hand caught your jaw, forcing your eyes up to his. the warmth you saw in his eyes from moments ago was gone. his expression was dead, the dark gleam in his eyes making the cold night felt harsher against your skin.

“you will be on this train tomorrow. and the next day too. i like knowing where to find my pretty doll...” he murmured, almost casual. like he hadn’t just drained the last of your will to live.

[wichustar]

seeing too many woke ppl on briizeblr

[letterfromhk]

( p.wb ) ゛❤︎ ✿̲ׄ .. every inch is mine

contains : rough sex, fingering, oral sex, squirting, overstimulation, edging, creampie, possessive dominance, dubcon, degradation, hair pulling, manhandling, cum cum cum cum, & psychological dominance.

pairing : touchy bf!wonbin & gf!reader

note : this has been marinating in my notes i think its time i release the beast. i’ll probably turn this into a full fic when im done with my few other drafts >_<.

wonbin can’t fucking stand it when you’re not touching him.

not even for a second.

you’re trying to brush your teeth at the sink? he’s right behind you, chest glued to your back, chin hooked over your shoulder, arms caging you in while he watches you in the mirror like a predator who finally caught his prey. one hand slides under your shirt, palm flat and possessive against your stomach, the other slips between your thighs from the front, cupping you through your panties like he’s claiming ownership. no words. just heavy breathing against your neck and slow, deliberate grinds of his hips so you feel exactly how hard he is just from being this close.

“stay still,” he murmurs when you squirm. voice low. dangerous. fingers press harder, rubbing lazy circles over your clit through the fabric until your knees buckle and toothpaste drips down your chin. he doesn’t let you finish brushing. just turns you around, lifts you onto the counter, and drops to his knees right there on the tile. panties shoved aside. mouth on you like he’s starving. tongue flat and relentless, sucking your clit until you’re gripping his hair and crying his name into the steam-filled bathroom.

you try to pull away when you come, overstimulated, shaking, he just growls against your pussy. “no. again.” and keeps going until you’re sobbing, thighs clamped around his head, squirting on his tongue while he drinks every drop like it’s his birthright.

ᨳㅤㅤཾ 𓈒 ♡̽

in the living room? you sit on the couch to scroll your phone for five seconds. he’s there in two, hauling you sideways across his lap, legs spread over his thighs, back against his chest. hoodie shoved up. tits out. one hand kneading them roughly while the other slips inside your shorts, two fingers curling deep inside you immediately. he doesn’t even look at your phone. just watches your face in the reflection of the dark tv screen, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, drooling a little when he hits that spot over and over.

“can’t even let me breathe, hm?” he teases, voice dark velvet. “poor baby. so needy for me you forget how to sit still.”

you whine. try to close your legs. he forces them wider with his knees. adds a third finger. stretches you open. fucks you with them until you’re dripping down his wrist, soaking his sweats.

“look at the mess you’re making,” he growls. pulls his fingers out, coated in you, and shoves them into your mouth. “clean them. taste how fucking desperate you get when i’m not inside you.”

you suck. greedy. teary-eyed. he watches like he’s hypnotized.

then he flips you onto all fours on the couch. no warning. shorts yanked down. cock out. slams in deep, raw, thick, stretching you until you scream. one hand fists your hair, yanking your head back so your spine arches. the other wraps around your throat, not choking, just holding. reminding.

“you’re mine,” he snarls with every brutal thrust. “every inch. every hole. every fucking breath. you don’t get to exist without me touching you.”

he fucks you hard, relentless, until you’re sobbing, coming around him, clenching so tight he curses. he doesn’t stop. keeps pounding through your orgasm, chasing his own. comes deep inside with a low, guttural groan, filling you until it leaks out around his cock, dripping down your thighs.

pulls out slow. watches the mess. scoops his cum with two fingers and shoves it back inside you, plugs you with them while he leans over your back, lips at your ear.

“keep it in,” he orders. voice wrecked but still commanding. “don’t you dare let it drip out. i want you full of me all night.”

then he pulls you into his lap, still plugged, still leaking a little, arms locked around your waist like steel. chin on your shoulder. kissing your neck slow, soft, possessive.

“no moving,” he whispers. “no leaving. you’re staying right here. on my cock. in my arms. where you belong.”

you nod. trembling. wrecked. smiling through the tears.

because he’s right.

you don’t want to be anywhere else.

and he’ll never let you forget it. ^_^

[soheeton]

the way i've been soooooo sick over this like i can't even bring myself to talk about it because it fucked me up that bad...

like i can't stop thinking about mean dom anton who is literally the most cocky mf because he knows how downbad you are for him. he uses it to his advantage. he makes you get on your knees for him, humiliates you, holds your jaw to force you to look up at him. anything he says, you do for him. he loves all of your attention and the way you listen to him so obediently.