read is red

he’s been so patient with you.

weeks of soft kisses and careful hands and letting you hide your face when things got too intense. he liked it. liked how shy you still were. liked how you’d get pink all the way down your chest just from him saying dirty things in your ear.

but tonight he’s done being careful.

you’re sitting on his bed in one of his big t-shirts and a pair of plain white panties when he pulls the little pink vibrator out of the drawer. your eyes go wide immediately.

“sungchan…?”

“shh.” he kisses you slow and deep, one hand already sliding up under the shirt to rest warm on your stomach. “you trust me, right?”

you nod, small and nervous.

“good girl.” he turns it on. the soft buzz fills the room. then he presses it right against the front of your panties, directly over your clit, and holds it there.

the sensation punches a tiny shocked sound out of you. your hips jerk.

“ah—! jinsu, wait— it’s— it’s too much—”

he just watches, eyes dark and focused, mouth curved in a small pleased smile while he keeps the vibrator steady against the dampening cotton.

“too much?” he asks gently, even as he presses a little harder.

“y-yes— no— i don’t know— ah, it’s so strong, please—”

“i know.” he kisses the corner of your mouth. then your cheek. then the side of your neck, soft and sweet, while the vibrator keeps working you through the fabric. “you’re already getting wet. i can feel it. such a good girl for me.”

you whimper, high and needy. your thighs try to close but he shifts so one of his legs keeps them open. the buzz is constant and merciless. every time the pleasure spikes too fast he eases off just enough to make you chase it, then presses it back firmer. the torture is slow and deliberate.

“please, it’s— ah— i can’t—” your voice cracks into a soft whine. “it feels weird, it feels too good, please—”

his free hand slides higher under the shirt and finds your breast. he brushes his thumb over your nipple until it hardens, then pinches it lightly, rolling it between his fingers while the vibrator keeps buzzing against your clit through the soaked panties.

“look at you,” he murmurs, almost fond. “my innocent little girlfriend, squirming on a vibrator with her panties still on. so pretty when you get desperate.”

“n-not desperate—” you try, but it comes out as a high, embarrassed whimper when he pinches your other nipple harder. your back arches. “ah—! don’t— don’t say that, it’s embarrassing—”

he kisses the sound out of your mouth, swallowing the next whimper. the cotton between your legs is completely wet now. every buzz feels sharper because of it. you’re making soft little “ah-ah-ah” sounds with every pulse of the vibrator, hips twitching restlessly in his lap.

“please,” you breathe, voice already shaky and wet. “please, sungchan, it’s too much, i’m gonna— i’m gonna—”

“not yet.” he eases the vibrator off just enough to pull you back from the edge. you let out a frustrated, needy little cry and he laughs softly against your mouth. “so whiny already. cute.”

he shifts the vibrator lower, pressing the rounded head against your entrance through the wet fabric. he doesn’t push it in. just holds it there, letting you feel the shape and the relentless vibration while his mouth stays on yours and his fingers keep playing with your nipples.

“one day i’m going to put this inside you,” he whispers against your lips. “stretch this pretty cunt open while you still have your panties on. but not yet. right now i just want to watch you fall apart like this.”

“please—” you’re properly whining now, high and continuous. “please please please, i need— i need something, it feels so weird, sungchan—”

he turns the intensity up one more notch and you break with a loud, broken moan, thighs shaking, forehead dropping to his shoulder as you come in your panties. the sounds you make are soft and desperate and completely unrestrained. little sobs and whimpers and his name over and over while he holds the vibrator against you through it.

“that’s it. good girl. such a good girl for me. coming with your panties still on like that… so fucking cute.”

when the aftershocks fade he finally turns it off and sets it aside. your panties are a mess. you’re still trembling and making tiny leftover whimpers. he looks at you like he’s starving.

“turn over,” he says quietly. “on your hands and knees for me.”

you obey, still dazed and a little shy, but the second you’re in position and he pushes the shirt up you already start shifting restlessly.

“jinsu…” you whine softly. “what are you—”

the first spank cuts you off. firm. sharp. you jump with a little shocked cry.

“ah—!”

he soothes the spot with his palm before spanking the other side. then again. and again. steady, measured, turning your skin warm and pink while you gasp and rock forward with every hit. every single one pulls a high, vocal reaction out of you, soft cries and whimpers and little “please”s that don’t even know what they’re asking for.

“you take it so well,” he murmurs. another spank. another kiss pressed to the warm skin. “my sweet girl. letting me turn you into this. letting me make you all messy and pink and desperate.”

“it stings—” you whimper, pushing your hips back for more anyway. “sungchan, it stings, please—”

he spanks you until your eyes are wet and you’re properly crying out with every hit, voice high and needy and completely shameless. only then does he hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and peel them down just enough to expose you. you’re shiny and swollen and still twitching from the vibrator.

he doesn’t make you wait any longer.

he pushes into you in one slow, deep thrust and the sound you make is loud and broken. you’re so wet from everything he did that he slides in easily, filling you completely. your arms shake.

“ah—! so big— sungchan, wait, it’s— it’s so deep—”

“i know, baby.” he starts fucking you in steady, deep strokes, the kind that make your arms give out a little. every time he bottoms out he gives your ass another light spank, and every time you clench around him and cry out. “listen to you. so vocal. so fucking pretty when you get loud for me.”

he leans over your back, chest pressed to you, mouth finding the side of your neck so he can kiss and bite and murmur filth between soft, sweet kisses. you can’t stop the sounds pouring out of you. high whimpers and broken moans and his name like a plea every time he thrusts in especially deep.

“my innocent girl,” he says against your skin, voice rough. “look at what you’re letting me do to you. vibrator through your panties, spanking, taking my cock like you were made for it. you’re doing so fucking good.”

“please—” you’re sobbing it now, soft and continuous. “please please please, i’m gonna come again, i can’t— sungchan—”

you come with a loud, wet sob, face pressed into the sheets, and he fucks you through it without slowing down, chasing his own orgasm with sharper thrusts until he spills deep inside you with a low, punched-out groan while you keep whimpering and twitching under him.

he stays buried for a long moment, breathing hard, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, the back of your head while you make tiny leftover sounds against the sheets. then he carefully pulls out and gathers you into his arms, tugging the shirt down to cover you, tucking your face against his chest.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, thumb stroking your cheek. “was that too much?”

you shake your head, still floating, voice small and wrecked and a little sticky.

“…it was perfect. but my butt stings…”

he laughs softly against your hair, fond and a little proud, and holds you tighter.

you barely get the apartment door open before anton is on you.

he’s been like this the whole ride home. clingy. restless. hands never staying still. the second the door clicks shut he crowds you back against it, face buried in your neck, breath warm and a little sweet from whatever he’d been drinking. his hands are already under your shirt, palms sliding up your sides like he can’t stand not touching you for even a second. you can feel how hard he is already, grinding against your thigh without shame.

“missed you,” he mumbles, voice soft and a little slurred. “kept thinking about you all night. kept getting hard just imagining how wet you’d be for me. couldn’t focus on anything else.”

you laugh under your breath, trying to steady him. “you’re drunk.”

“mhm.” he nuzzles closer, lips brushing your jaw, then lower, mouthing at your neck like he’s already tasting you. “still want you though. want you so bad it hurts. please let me… just let me feel how wet you are. just for a second.”

his hand is already sliding down the front of your pants before you can answer, fingers pressing between your legs. he makes a tiny broken sound when he feels how slick you already are.

“fuck… you’re soaked. were you thinking about me too?” he rubs slow, messy circles over your clit through your underwear, making the fabric stick to you. “please don’t make me wait. i’ll cry. i swear i will.”

you let him touch for a while. let him get all soft and desperate against you, little punched-out noises spilling out of him every time you roll your hips into his hand. he’s so easy like this. so open. so needy. every time you kiss the side of his neck he melts further, fingers slipping under the soaked fabric just to feel how wet you are for him.

“you’re already this desperate?” you murmur. “barely even home yet and you’re fingering me against the door.”

he nods against your skin, hips stuttering harder against your thigh.

“can’t help it… you feel too good. always feel too good. please— please let me taste you. i need it in my mouth.”

you guide him toward the bedroom and he follows without resistance, still trying to keep his hands on you the whole way. the second the backs of his knees hit the mattress he pulls you down with him, letting you climb over him. for a few minutes he’s pure submission. head tipped back, thighs open, hands gripping your hips while you kiss down his chest and mouth over the dark, wet spot already spreading on his jeans. he keeps making these tiny broken sounds, hips twitching every time your tongue presses against the soaked fabric.

“feels so good… fuck, you’re so mean, teasing me like this—”

“you love it when i’m mean to you,” you say softly, and he nods fast, eyes shiny and a little unfocused.

“do, i do, i love it, please just— just a little more—”

then something shifts.

one second he’s under you, soft and open and begging. the next he’s flipping you with surprising strength for how drunk he is, pinning your wrists above your head, eyes dark and shiny and a little wild. his voice is still soft when he speaks, still a little thick from the alcohol, but the words are different.

“stay still,” he says, almost like he’s asking. “just stay still for me, okay? i wanna take care of you. i need to.”

he’s already pulling your clothes off with clumsy urgency, still making those little frustrated noises under his breath like he’s overwhelmed by how much he wants it. when he finally gets you naked he just stares for a second, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes locked on how shiny and wet you already are between your legs.

“look at you,” he whispers. “already dripping. gonna make such a mess of you. is that okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “make a mess of me.”

he makes a soft, relieved sound before he sinks down between your legs.

he doesn’t tease. anton’s too desperate for that. he licks into you like he’s starving, messy and loud, tongue flat and greedy. spit and slick smear across his chin almost immediately. he moans against your cunt every time you gasp, the sound wet and filthy, and when you tug at his hair he only presses closer, nose buried against your clit while his tongue fucks into you.

“taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, voice muffled, spit connecting from his mouth to your cunt when he pulls back just enough to breathe. “could stay here forever. could drown in it… but i need to be inside you. need it so bad.”

he sits up long enough to shove his jeans down, cock heavy and wet against his stomach, the tip already shiny with precum. when he lines up and pushes in, the sound he makes is almost a sob—high and broken and so fucking needy. the stretch is filthy, wet, the slick sound of it filling the room as he sinks all the way in.

“fuck— so tight. so warm. so fucking wet for me.”

he starts slow. deep, rolling thrusts that make his thighs shake. his forehead is pressed to yours, breath coming in soft little pants against your mouth. every time he bottoms out he lets out this tiny broken “ah—” like it still surprises him how good you feel. you can feel how wet you both already are, the mess of it spreading between your bodies with every slow drag of his cock.

but then the rhythm changes.

he sits up a little, one hand wrapping around your throat just enough to feel your pulse, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks. his thrusts get sharper. deeper. meaner. the soft, careful boy from a minute ago is still there in the way his voice cracks, but he’s fucking you like he wants to leave you ruined and dripping.

“take it,” he whispers. “take all of it. you’re doing so good for me already— look at you, taking my cock so well, making such a mess—”

he needs the praise. you can feel it in the way his hips stutter every time you give it to him.

“you’re doing so good, anton,” you tell him, voice rough. “fucking me so deep already. so messy.”

his eyes flutter and he makes this wrecked little sound, thrusting harder. the wet slap of skin on skin gets louder. filthier. every thrust pushes more slick out of you, coating his cock and dripping down onto the sheets.

“yeah? i’m doing good?” his voice is shaking. “tell me again. please. tell me i’m doing good while i ruin you.”

“you’re doing so fucking good,” you gasp. “using me like this… feels so dirty. so perfect.”

he almost sobs at that, hips snapping forward harder.

and that’s when the tables fully turn.

he doesn’t slow down. doesn’t soften. he just keeps going, deeper, meaner, the wet sound of it filthy and loud in the quiet room. every time you try to rock up to meet him he pins your hips down and fucks into you harder, chasing the little broken sounds that start spilling out of your mouth. spit drips from his open mouth onto your chest. his cock is shiny and dripping with you every time he pulls back.

“ah— anton, wait, it’s— it’s too much—”

“no,” he breathes, almost gentle, even as his cock drags against that spot that makes your vision blur. “you can take it. you’re taking it so well. just a little more. just let me ruin you properly. let me make you drip for me.”

your voice starts cracking. the soft, controlled responses from earlier turn into high, needy little whimpers you can’t hold back.

“please— fuck, please, it’s so deep, i can’t— it’s so wet—”

“you can,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, hips relentless. “you’re doing so good for me. look at you, already shaking. already so fucking messy around me. gonna make you come like this. gonna keep you full until you’re crying and leaking.”

you do start crying a little, overwhelmed, thighs trembling around his waist as he fucks you through it. every thrust punches another broken sound out of you, higher and needier than the last. the sheets under you are soaked. every time he bottoms out more slick squeezes out around his cock and drips down your ass.

“anton— anton please, i’m gonna— i can’t, it’s too good, please— i’m making such a mess—”

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice still soft, still a little wrecked from the alcohol, but so sure now. “whine for me. let me hear how ruined you are. you’re doing so fucking good, taking me like this. soaking the sheets for me.”

he doesn’t stop when you come. he just keeps going, fucking you through the aftershocks until you’re sobbing and clinging to him, voice completely gone soft and desperate. your cunt keeps fluttering and leaking around him, making the most filthy wet sounds with every thrust.

“please, anton, please, it’s too much, i can’t take anymore— it’s so messy, i’m so full—”

“you can,” he says, almost tender, even as he drives in deep and stays there, grinding against you until you twitch and whimper again. “you’re mine right now. let me finish ruining you. let me fill you up.”

when he finally comes it’s with a soft, punched-out moan, hips pressed flush against yours like he wants to stay buried forever, cock twitching as he pumps you full while you’re still shaking and oversensitive underneath him. you can feel it leaking out around him almost immediately, hot and thick, mixing with how wet you already are.

he doesn’t pull out right away. just stays there, breathing hard, face tucked against your neck, still making tiny little sounds every time your walls flutter around him and more of the mess drips out.

“…was i good?” he asks after a long moment, voice small again. “did i ruin you okay? made you all messy like i wanted?”

you can barely answer. your voice comes out broken and wet.

“you ruined me so bad,” you whisper. “i’m so fucking messy. can’t even think.”

he makes a soft, pleased little sound at that, soft and sticky and still inside you, already shifting his hips like he wants to start all over again even though he’s still half-drunk and the sheets under both of you are completely wrecked.

you remember that night all too well; no matter how much you tried to forget it — it played over and over in your head. the screaming , the cursing , the throwing glass around the house… it played in your head like a reoccurring nightmare — you kicked him out that night , slamming the door in his face.

he called so many times; but you ignored him , eventually blocking him , you just needed space for a bit to think — anton wasn’t gonna give you that , he showed up to the apartment , knocking on the door , speaking through the door to let him in , you were tempted , the way he spoke , so softly , you had to force yourself to walk away. this space was good for you , the both of you needed this time away from each other.

the thing is, anton didn’t want space from you , he needed you. you were his life line , his only reason for living… he couldn’t just let you go…

you knew you shouldn’t have unblocked him , never gave him the opportunity to have access to you while you were still healing and trying to figure things out — but he said he needed his clothes and some other things , and although you were pissed at him , you cared for the boy deeply and this was still his home so you let him come back — that was your biggest mistake.

“baby please — anton no.” you pushed him away , but he followed behind you. “we can just talk this out , i don’t want it to end like this.” he grabbed your wrist , spinning you around so you were facing him. “anton— no i’m not giving up on us.” he kissed your cheek , down to your neck. “please don’t end it , i need you.” he breathed against the wet spot. “do i need to get on my knees and beg , baby i will beg , i’ll fucking beg if i need to.” he gave you no room to breathe , you felt so overwhelmed. “t-ton.”

you felt his hands sliding down your waist , down to your bum. “shh , stop talking..” he said softly, taking you into his arms , your arms wrapped around his neck , he knew what he was doing , anton knew how to make you crumble in his arms even if you didn’t want to. “yo-you need to go, ge-get your things and leave.”

the quiver in your voice as he laid you down , crawling on top of you. “i don’t want to.” he said. “i want to stay here with you.” he kissed down your neck , you gasped. “i want to lay next to you.” he kissed all the way down your chest to your stomach , your legs responding to his words , opening slightly , he pried them open. “i want to feel you.” he kissed the inside of your bare thighs. “you smell so good.” kissing your clothed cunt. “i want to taste you.” he lick your folds , making your body arch up. “anton.” he moaned into your cunt as he licked you , like he’d been starving for you. “anton fuck.”

it’s like his tongue was magical , because as you came into his mouth and he drank you up like you were his favorite drink — you completely forgot why you were mad at him , all you could think about was him , that’s exactly what he wanted.

“hold still.” he pinned you down by your waist. “fuck.” his cock pressing against your hole. “so fucking tight.” you moaned as he pushed himself inside. “anton.” you yelled as he began to pound into you , he was gone for a week — but he was fucking you like he’d not seen you for ages. “fu-fuck , i missed you so much.” he groaned into your ear. “i missed the way you felt around me , the way your pretty pussy remembers my dick.” he was deep inside you , kissing your cervix. “you were made for me , made to be mine.”

your hands were pinned up above your head as he claimed you once again , you couldn’t do anything but moan his name as he carved himself back into your life. “you’re mines.” he whispered into your ear. “t-ton.” he moaned at the way you desperately called his name. “you can’t leave me , i won’t allow you to.” you clenched at that. “fu-fuck see? even your body knows , your body knows it belongs to me , just gotta get that stupid head to understand.” grunting out. “say you love me.”

“i-i love you.” you knew you’d end up regretting it again , but you didn’t care at the moment. “i love you so fucking much!” he growled , speeding up. “say you won’t ever leave me , say you’ll stay with me forever.” he grabbed your jaw. “fucking say it!” he yelled in between deep thrust. “anton i’m gonna cum!” he wasn’t ready for you to , he wanted to hear you’ll never leave him. “not until you say it.”

“fuck anton ! i’ll never leave you.” you moaned out , your body begging for a release. “please , please let me cum , i’ll never leave you, i promise.” your poor body was already trembling. “good job , now cum for me.” he whisper in your ear , biting down on the lobe. “cum all over my fucking cock.” you finally let go , your mouth dropped open as you came around him , he cursed , completely forgetting about his own orgasm until he felt his cock twitch , his seed spilling inside you. “ah sh-shit.” he bit on his lip , letting himself fill up your waiting womb , you let out an exhausted whimper. he kissed the side of your cheeks. “good girl , taking all my cum like that.”

“when you’re all round and swollen for me , you won’t be able to leave me.”

he’s leaning against the high–top table with his usual group of friends—jake, jay, heeseung, and others—laughing at something someone just said. the dim bar lights catch on his sharp jawline and the way his dark hair falls is perfectly messy. 

he looks good.

he always looks too good.

relaxed in that white button up with his sleeves folded that always made his shoulders look broader. but right beside him, tucked under his arm like she belongs there, is sooha.

his new girlfriend.

you’d heard about her two weeks ago—from your girlfriends, and then directly from jungwon himself. “sunghoon’s with this girl named sooha now,” he’d casually said over lunch, “she likes him, and he thinks why not.” 

months had passed since your breakup, the reminder still stung. especially because everyone knew it was your fault—the stupid fights you picked and the way you pushed him away until he stopped chasing.

and now here they are.

now he’s chasing over another?

sooha’s giggling, pressing closer. your fingers tighten around your cold glass.

ryujin follows your stare when she realises you’ve been too quiet. she winces. “fuck… that’s sooha. you good?”

you don’t answer right away. because sunghoon’s eyes finally drift across the bar and find yours.

i think i need a shower, my friends are taking shots, you think it’s happy hour, for me it’s not.

the easy smile on his face flickers. just for a heartbeat—his shoulders tense under that white shirt, jaw tightening as recognition hits. his fingers twitch slightly on her shoulder. sooha doesn’t notice—she’s still chatting with the others.

but his gaze stays locked on you—and you don’t pull away either.

you hold it. let him see the bitterness and something more intimate, like nostalgia, simmer under your skin. the unspoken cry because it’s over. you were the one who ruined things—sure—yeah. but seeing him move on before you feels like salt in the wound. 

he swallows, glancing quickly at sooha before his eyes flick back to you. 

oh you’re supposed to think about me  every time you hold her.

the restroom hallway is quieter, the music muffled. you push open the door to the sink area and freeze for half a second.

sunghoons’s there.

he’s at the far sink, washing his hands with his sleeves rolled up. his eyes lift immediately when you enter, meeting yours in the mirror. neither of you speaks. 

oh, well.

you step up to the sink right next to him, turning on the tap. the water runs cold over your delicate hands as you feel the heat of his glance on the side of your face. in the mirror, his reflection keeps flicking over to you—tracing your profile, your lips, the line of your neck.

you do the same, though. stealing glances at the way his slender fingers move along the slippery soap, the faint flush on his cheeks.

he finishes first. instead of leaving right away, he reaches for the stack of paper towels and holds it out to you. 

you turn off the tap, hesitate for a beat, then take it. your fingers brush his. 

you can fake it, but you know i know, know i know.

“girls night?” 

you crumple the tissue, meeting his gaze directly this time. 

“mmhm.”

a beat passes. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t offer any fake pleasantries about how you’ve been or how nice it is to see you again. he just looks at you—the same way you’re looking up to him. 

“...i… i didn’t think i’d see you tonight.” 

sunghoon lets out a slow breath, eyes dropping to your lips for a second before dragging back up. “...yeah. me neither.”

the silence stretches again, but it’s not empty. it’s full of everything you didn’t say when you broke up. all the nights you spent tangled in his sheets. all the nights he slept with your scent on his pillowcase.

you feel yourself getting bold, the shots and the ache mixing in your chest. you step a little closer, voice dropping.

“don’t you miss me?”

his eyes darken and for a split second, his eyebrows twitch. he doesn’t answer right away, but you see the way his fingers curl against the edge of the counter sink.

you push anyway, softer this time, almost pleading. “don’t you miss me, sunghoon?”

i want you to miss me, i want you to miss me.

he exhales sharply. for a moment, he looks away, but he doesn’t move. “i’m… getting to know her,” he says quietly, adam’s apple bobbing behind his skin. “you… you broke up with me.”

the words sting, but you don’t back down. he didn’t even say they’re dating. you tilt your head, looking straight into those eyes that used to look at you like you hung the moon.

“but don’t you miss me?” you whisper again, stepping closer until your cologne wraps around him. “don’t you miss the way we were?”

sunghoon’s resolve cracks so easily right in front of you.

his hand lifts like it has a mind of its own, fingertips barely grazing your waist over your top. not pulling you in, but not pushing you away either. his breathing gets a little shallower as he stares down at you, that familiar longing and missing flickering behind the guilt.

“yn…” he breathes, voice rough. “you can’t just say that to me.”

but sunghoon’s not walking away. he’s in a situation where the cuffs are too loose around his wrists. his fingers press a little firmer into your side, like muscle memory. his gaze drops to your mouth again, longer this time, and you can practically feel the pull.

the nostalgia turning into heat.

i want you to miss me, i want you to miss me.

you push up on your toes and kiss him first.

the second your lips touch his, sunghoon makes a low, broken sound in his throat. for half a heartbeat, he freezes—then he kisses you back like a man starved. his hand slides fully around your waist, yanking you flush against him at his other hand cups your cheek.

it’s messy, urgent, all teeth and months of pent–up frustration.

“ugh, fuck,” he breathes against your mouth between kisses, barely pulling back enough to speak. “what are you—”

you cut him off with another kiss, and he groans—walking you backward without breaking contact. he pushes the door to the men’s restroom open with his shoulder, thanking god that it’s empty before dragging you into the last cubicle. the lock clicks shut behind you with a finality that sends a thrill down your spine.

sunghoon spins you around, pressing your back against the cool wall. his mouth is on yours again—now deeper. one of his hands slides down to grip your thigh, hiking it up around his hip as he grinds into you.

“gonna get me in s’much trouble,” he mutters against your lips, but kissing you harder like he’s just saying it. his tongue slips into your mouth, tasting like the whiskey he was drinking earlier. one hand slides up under your top, palm hot against your skin.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, lips swollen. his eyes are glassy with want and guilt. 

“tell me to stop,” he rasps, forehead resting against yours. “right now. tell me.”

you shake your head, hands fisting the front of his button–up. “don’t wanna,” you murmur, pulling him in close. “i want you right now,” you whisper, “let’s fix this. i miss you, hoonie.”

sunghoon sighs and lets out a wrecked, “my gosh…” like he can’t believe how easy it is—how weak he is for you. his resolve completely shatters. 

he crashes his mouth back onto yours. in seconds, he’s hiking your skirt up around your waist, tugging your panties down just enough. you hear the sound of his belt buckle opening, then the zipper, then the hurried rustle of fabric.

you’re dripping, and he’s hard as fuck.

sunghoon lifts you up like you weigh nothing, pressing your back against the cubicle wall. your legs wrap around his hips instinctively. he doesn’t tease—doesn’t wait.

“can’t take back what you’re saying now,” he grunts as he wraps his hand around the base, positioning the tip at your entrance. “you’re taking me back.” 

then he pushes in—one long, rough thrust that buries him to the hilt.

you both moan aloud, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. he’s thick, stretching you open after months apart, and the sudden fullness makes your eyes roll back. sunghoon’s forehead drops to your shoulder, a shaky “fuck…” escaping him as your velvet walls clench around his cock.

there isn’t a need to adjust—not when your pussy’s molded to the shape of his cock.

sunghoon’s hips snap forward, fucking you hard and deep against the wall. the slap of skin on skin is filthy, loud, desperate. “shit—you’re so wet,” he groans. one hand grips your thigh while the other stays braced on the wall. “missed you so much… missed how fucking tight you get for me.”

you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders through his white button up as he pounds into you. “hngh—hoonie, fuck—you’re s’huge,” you gasp. every thrust hits that perfect, sending sparks up your spine. the door trembles slightly with the force of it. 

“look at me,” he demands breathlessly, slamming into you again. “you wanted this, right? say it, say it.”

when you moan out a broken “yes—wanted you,” he curses under his breath and kisses you again, messier this time, tongue sliding as he fucks you harder. his rhythm starts to falter, growing erratic and needy.

“gonna make you cum,” sunghoon pants against your mouth. “then you’re gonna take every drop like a good girl… just like you used to.”

his thrusts turn sloppy and desperate, hips snapping hard as he chases his high. your moans mix with his ragged breathing, the sound echoing obscenely in the cubicle. 

“fuck—i’m close,” he graons, voice strained. “where do you want it?”

you don’t even hesitate, “on my face.”

sunghoon almost roll his eyes in pleasure. with one final, hard, slam that knocks your cervix up—he pulls out suddenly, setting you down on shaky legs. your knees rest and press on his shoes ‘cause sunghoon refuses to let your pretty skin touch the dirty floor.

you look up as he strokes his wet, throbbing cock fast and rough right above your face. sunghoon looks the best when he’s jerking off.

“shit—look at me, pretty,” he pants, groaning. “keep on looking at me with those eyes.”

a few more strokes—sunghoon cums hard with a groan. thick, warm ropes of cum land across your lips, cheek, and chin. you keep your eyes on him the whole time—watching the way his face twists in pleasure, his white button–up rumpled and hair messy. 

the second he finishes, sunghoon bends down to pull you up and kisses you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue with a filthy moan. his hands cradle your face, thumbs smearing his release across your skin.

“you’re so insane,” he whispers, still breathing hard. “i—”

the main bathroom door suddenly swings with laughter.

“this place is packed tonight,” jake’s voice echoes. the tap turns. 

“did you see who’s here? yn and her friends are at the bar.”

sunghoon freezes completely, eyes blown wide. his hand instinctively flies up to cover your mouth, body pressing you harder. 

jay laughs, the sound way too close. “yeah, i saw. sucks to be sunghoon, man. can’t imagine running into your ex while you’re here with the girl you’re talking to. awkward as fuck.”

heeseung chimes in, lathering his hands with soap. “he’s acting weird all night. probably saw her and dipped. dude can’t catch a break.”

jake hums, pissing at the urinal. “of couse he dipped. he’ll relapse if he doesn’t.”

your eyes flick up to sunghoon’s face.

he avoids your gaze instantly, staring elsewhere like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. his lips are pressed into a thin line, cheeks flushed, and you can feel his heartbeat racing against you.

the boys keep chatting and laughing for another agonising minute before finally washing up and leaving. the door swings shut behind them, and silence falls again.

sunghoon doesn’t move his hand from your mouth right away. he just stares at you, breathing hard. then, slowly, lean to press a kiss to your forehead.

“yeah…” he admits quietly, voice barely above a whisper. his forehead drops to yours. “i miss you.”

Anton had come a long way. He was a man whore at the beginning of this fateful day. He was titled a slut, albeit for a good cause, but he was a slut nonetheless.

But he’s had a change of heart. He thinks it’s because you’re such a pretty sleeper. Your normally furrowed eyebrows smoothed out, the tension you perpetually held across your body eased. One final gentle breath turned to a quiet snore as you laid out across his chest. You even let out little sighs as you sluggishly adjusted yourself on Anton’s body.

Anton realized while looking at you that this was the idyllic life Sohee had told him about. Everything he told Anton about making sure he was the one that was there for his girlfriend all made sense. You were in bed knowing that he was there, sleeping against him like you needed him. Whenever you would snuggle closer into him he found himself no longer thinking about other girls. The self-appointed mission became irrelevant. Everything was in his peripheral because he was looking straight at you. If he hadn’t proved himself to you, you wouldn’t have told him thank you so earnestly. He only wanted to keep looking at you as you sleep blissfully.

So in that moment he retired from the cause. He hung his metaphorical hat and was officially through with his journey of closing the orgasm gap on campus. As his dick finally got soft enough to slip out of you he set out on another mission; to become the man you deserved. He would be loyal, he wouldn’t exploit your inexperience for his selfish desires, and he wouldn’t subject you to wondering how he felt about you ever again. He decided that you would never declare him an asshole ever again, that he would be the charming and kind sweetheart that he knew he could be.

He looked out your window to the setting Sun and rubbed your back gently. Everything about you was so soft. You stirred only for a moment to cuddle further into him. He smiled to himself and then looked at your serene face. When he saw a small smile subconsciously etch across your face he smiled even bigger. He was careful not to wake you as he shifted you to the side of his body. You only whined and Anton found himself instinctually kissing your damp forehead. He can’t believe you tuckered yourself out so quickly. He even felt selfish for being so alert. Like he was the reason you fucked yourself to sleep on him, even if he was no more than a toy. He was used for all but five minutes and you were already deep in sleep to snore. 

Anton has been in this situation before. Some girls went to sleep after having sex, the post-orgasm bliss lulling them into a catnap. When this would happen he’d quietly show himself out. He would tidy up any mess he made and leave without a trace. On the rare occasion that they’d ask Anton where he went he would sheepishly say he didn’t want to invade their space. 

But the mere thought of leaving your side made Anton’s heartache. He was still lingering on the lines of your face, only breaking away to kiss your forehead again. He pressed his lips to your skin for more than a minute, he even pulled you closer while he did it. Your body was heavy from sleep but you were pliant in his arm, body curling up to his as he held you close. He let your body go back to its previous position and he was slow as he took the slimy latex off his dick. He held his breath as he pulled his arm out from under you and eased himself out of your bed.

Instead of leaving like previous-Anton would’ve done, he put his shirt and boxers back on and slid into bed with you like he belonged there. You instantly started cuddling with him like he was supposed to be here. Your body was warm, and when Anton pulled your covers over you both he got a waft of your smell. He was eventually lulled to sleep too, feeling so calm he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you closer and letting his eyes close. Anton took the heavy drowsiness across his body as a sign to let himself fall asleep.

Anton woke up in the middle of the night to you moving beside him. He opened his eyes slightly to see you getting up from the bed and heard the creak in the mattress from the shift in your body weight. He closed his eyes again when he felt your absence from the bed. 

He listened to you walking around your room. He heard the sound of a lamp turning on and could see the light bleed past his eyelids. After hearing you pace around he felt a dip in the edge of the mattress beside him where you were sitting. Anton could feel your eyes on him, it was the same concentrated look he received in the library. 

After a moment he let his eyes flutter open, and he caught you still looking at him intensely. 

The air between you two was tense. Neither of you reacted, you didn’t look away and neither did Anton. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking. You reached out and touched his clothed chest. He reached out and touched the bottom of a large shirt you slipped back on at some point.

“You didn’t cum, did you?” you asked.

Anton debated on lying. He’s done it before, and he has faked it completely a few times. You just seemed so sad when you asked the question, like you were disappointed. You held your breath and hesitated when you asked it, too. Anton couldn’t handle being the reason you were doing a nervous tick, or that you were having thoughts of inadequacy. 

“I didn’t.” Anton shifted on the bed when you turned away from him. He pulled on your shirt slightly to get you to look at him again. “but that doesn’t matter to me,” he assured.

He was telling the truth. He was more than satisfied being your living, breathing toy. He already feels a rush remembering how you looked above him. Your eyes were trained on the bend of your elbow for the most of it, but there were moments where you looked down at him and he was lucky enough to catch your eye. You were hot all over, your skin wet to the touch. He was amazed that you ended up getting so warm so fast, and that you were squeezing him so tight. He existed for your pleasure, to heighten it. He wanted to cater to you. Not finishing didn’t feel like a shortcoming because it wasn’t necessarily his goal. He was satisfied seeing your flushed skin and feeling your walls pulse around his dick as you let out weak whimpers.

He thinks he could cum without being touched if he replayed the sounds you made when you were on top of him enough times. When you thanked him; all he would need is for you to just say it one more time.

But you scoffed like you didn’t believe him. You looked away and Anton still felt the need to prove himself to you. He was still a sweetheart, but for you and you alone.

“I really don’t mind,” he says.

Anton watched you turn his body towards him but still avoid his gaze. He could feel your embarrassment, see the hesitation in the way you messed with the bottom hem of your shirt.

“We’ve done this twice,” you say.

Anton nods. He can’t stop himself from smiling that he’s gotten so lucky twice.

“I feel like at this point I’m using you a little bit,” you laugh dryly. You still mess with the bottom hem of your shirt as you speak, and each effort Anton makes to look at you is thwarted by your wandering eyes. “I just have you come over to get off.”

“I really don’t mind,” Anton says truthfully.

“I know you don’t,” you say.

Both you and Anton sat in silence. He let you look around, mess with your shirt and your arm and tap your feet on the ground. He let you go through the motions, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t lament how fine he was with your current situation. If anything, he wanted more of it. He wanted it to keep happening.

“I wanna try something,” you say. 

Anton is nodding before you can even finish. You finally meet his eye, tilting your head a little bit. Anton sees you try to emulate the saccharine tone you’ve seen in all the pornos. Instead of leaning close and asking you a question that will get you to squirm away he nods slowly, trying to goad you on.

“Can I try it on you?” you ask.

Anton is fully sitting up on your bed now. He feels the excitement before he knows exactly what you’re proposing. 

He reaches towards you but you’re standing up from your bed, right next to the mattress. You point to your chair, neatly pushed underneath your desk.

“Sit down in the chair,” Anton is sitting against your bed frame, eyes wide and lips parted. When he takes to long he sees you get nervous again, looking down before you motion to the chair. “please,” you add.

Anton is fast pulling himself out of the bed. He’s even faster to sit down on your chair even in just his boxers and shirt, looking up at you still standing next to your bed. His hands go down his thighs, ending at the knee before he goes to your armrests.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks.

You don’t answer him. You completely submit speaking, instead you take slow steps towards him, your bare feet passing against your hardwood floor. Anton grips the armrests a little tighter.

He sees how slow and hesitant you are. He knows it would be easy to exploit that, to feed off your own anxiety. He could smirk up at you, or widen his legs mockingly. Or he could scoot to the back of the chair and look up to you with big worried eyes and ask if he’s doing this right.

But he’s retired from the cause. Even though he’s seen that look enough to know what you’re thinking about doing to him. He won’t make fun of you, or force you to vocalize them either. He has never wanted anything in return from girls but seeing you walk over to him in just a big shirt and underwear he feels the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

When you’re close enough that he has to look up he holds the armrest so desperately to stop himself from reaching towards you. 

Instead of crawling on top of him you press your legs against his knees. Anton is hesitant to spread them, so hesitant you have to put your hands on his knees and part them yourself. Anton feels his thighs stretch, and he instinctively goes to the edge of his seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

The question rages in his mind when he sees you slowly sink down to your knees. Anton follows your head as you go lower and lower, until you kneel and then both of your knees are pressed into your floor.

“Just wanna try something,” you answer quietly, staring between his legs. “I’ve never done it before.”

He wasn’t completely sure what to make of your demeanor. You were nervous, that he knew. Your hand was hesitant going over the plaid fabric of his boxers. You started off by pinching the fabric, then a heavy hand that turned light as you got closer and closer to where he was starting to ache.

He wanted to ask if you were scared of his dick. He would’ve replaced the word with it and then emphasize that you had only seen it in a dimly lit room before it was inside of you. You haven’t been face to face with ti before, and part of Anton wanted to remind you of that.

But he let himself fall privy to the calculating looks you were giving him before. Your eyes were large, not just from anxiety, but like you were watching him. Each move you made triggered a quick glance up towards him. When he took it upon himself to sigh lightly after your hand grazed over the bulge again, you gaze instantly shot up to his face.

He only moved when you did it first. He settled a little more into his seat and you were getting comfortable on your haunches. Your eyes kept flickering up towards him, and you ran your hand a little heavier over his bulge. His knuckles almost turned a ghostly pale from how tight he was holding the leather cushions of the armrests.

Anton knew the implication of you between his legs. He was fully expecting you to ride him in his chair, but your reaction to him not finishing was what set you on this current mission. You were bold enough to gauge for his reactions, driven by some sort of need to serve him how he’s served you. He let out another sigh and leaned a little more in the chair. He felt you scoot closer to his body on your knees, rocking the chair slightly with your movements. Anton dared to look down at you when he felt your other hand press into his inner thigh.

“You’re not just making those sounds for me, right?” you asked.

Anton shook his head looking at your pout. He already felt the sweat dotting his hairline.

“I just want you to know I like what you’re doing for me,” he said gently. He even reached a hand forward to cup your chin. “I’m happy with anything.”

“I know you are,” you said, almost mockingly. 

Anton can’t help himself. He felt himself throb at your determination, how you were a little bit upset at his indifference to not finishing. Anton knows the attitude is a product of you trying to get your nerves up, the same way you were rubbing your hands up and down his thighs. Anton’s leg tapped each time you got close to his crotch, and he hoped you were feeling up to, at the very least, looking at his dick. 

Despite barely being able to take him a few hours ago you already were rubbing your hands up and down his legs in an attempt to get your nerves up. 

Anton watched you hesitate, then bring your head to rest right where his boxers began on his thigh. Anton took a chance to scoot closer to the edge of his seat. The fabric of his boxers pressed a little tighter to his body. His bulge was more obvious now, and he saw you focus completely on him. 

Because of your trepidation, Anton is dedicated to seeming as nonthreatening as possible. He tries his best to not be wooed by your hesitation, despite the churn in his gut at the sight of you lifting your head from his thigh slightly.

“You’re so pretty,” he says gently.

Anton watched you shy away at the compliment. He twitched in his boxers when you smiled slightly, head still resting on his thigh. You peered up at him, he didn’t know if you were trying to look so flirtatious.

“Thank you,” you say. Your hand draws a delicate pattern on the soft skin of his inner thigh “I’m sure you tell everyone that, though.”

Anton shakes his head. Before he can tell you that he’s changed, your hand reaches through the flap of fabric through his boxers. Your soft hand wraps around his dick completely and tactfully pulls it out. Anton gasps and stiffens in his chair immediately seeing your hand wrapped around the base.

You freeze too. You look up at him and seem apologetic.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Anton shakes his head. Nothing was wrong, but he was expecting a little more hesitancy. You didn’t waste any time giving him an experimental stroke that made him lift from his seat slightly. You were looking up at him, repeating the same motion just to see him do it again.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered.

He let out a quiet breath, widening his legs a little more. Instantly you were scooting closer, and Anton could feel himself getting pulled into the seat. His implication of a reputation made it so he didn’t receive much. He didn’t complain, he figured that asking girls for head or handjobs kind of took away from his grand mission. 

But you wanted to do this. You were alternating between his dick and his face, moving your hand in the same motion over and over again. Both of you watched precum bead at his tip, both of you watched your hand collect it on the way down. He didn’t know you knew how to tease him when your soft thumb massaged the sensitive underside. Anton had to look away from you learning about him. He leaned his head against the back of the office chair, letting his head tilt from side to side.

“Feels so good,” Anton whispered.

You nodded and moved your face closer. He moved his hands underneath his shirt quick to rest over his tensed and clammy stomach. Anton knew distracting his hands would stop him from greedily touching your head or hair, or holding your shoulder to keep you in place. He wants you to do everything you want to do to him on your own volition. 

Anton feels you try different grips on him. A little tighter, a little loose. You go to his tip again and haphazardly spread his precum over the sensitive skin. Anton couldn’t stop himself from twitching upwards into your hand. He knows he’s your test subject. He’s careful to not do anything suddenly, instead letting you get used to all of him. He feels you rest your check on his inner thigh again. 

He digs his fingers into his stomach when he looks down.

You’re so pretty, leaned against him watching your hand and his dick get harder. Anton wants to tell you the pleasure is almost painful, and having you so close hurts.

“How should I do it?” you ask.

Despite barely being able to take him a few hours ago, you ask the question without pausing once. Your eyes flick up to his and he feels his body warm with excitement. His face becomes especially warm, and he finds himself looking away while he tries to articulate his answer.

“Let me take off my boxers first,” he says.

Anton sits up in his chair and you both reach for his waistband at the same time. He pushes and you pull, and his hard dick goes through the fly of his boxers again before smacking against his shirt. He’s still hard, even more now because you’re clearing your throat and scraping your nails lightly against his legs.

You take him in your hand again. You look up and Anton nods encouragingly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You jerk him off with the perfect amount of force, a little slow to build the tension. Anton can’t tell if this is beginners luck or if his body is already accustomed to you. Still, he understands the weight of the situation. He clears his throat and puts his hands in the gap between his tailbone and the back of the chair.

“If you don’t like it, or can’t take it—”

“You think I can’t take it?” you interrupt.

Anton wants to whine when your hand abruptly stops. He pitifully moves in your chair again, his body following after the previous motions of your hand.

Quickly he’s shaking his head, nails digging into his palm.

“No,” Anton stammers, pushing his hips up so his dick goes through your fisted hand again. He’s grateful you’re so focused on him that you don’t see how pitiful he’s become. “I just want you to know that there’s no pressure here or anything.”

“I know,” you say. “you’re only here because I asked you to be.”

He doesn’t know if it’s because his mind is operating at half its regular speed, but he caught a hint of bitterness in your tone. But he also liked the implication that he will always be there when you call. You didn’t have to put on that act of asking for help to get him to come over. He needs to tell you that he’s a changed man now. He won’t leave your dorm and try to sleep with anyone else. This is it for him, he’s convinced.

Instead, he nods his head until you go back to only looking at his dick.

“Just take it slow,” Anton says quietly. 

“Okay,” you say quietly.

He’s hot all over. He can’t take his shirt off because he doesn’t want to seem too big. He’s already at a disadvantage, because your body is between his muscular legs and he must look bigger from down where you’re kneeled. His oversized shirt does help him seem smaller, the way he melts into the chair relinquishes his control. He’s sweating everywhere, but he will just have to bear it. 

When your warm breath fans his flushed dick he thinks he’s going to burst into flames. He doesn’t know if he looking down at you when you’re like this makes you nervous, but he can’t resist. He can’t look away when he sees your mouth get closer to his dick.

“Maybe just try licking it,” Anton quietly suggests.

He was already weak. When you ignored his request and instead took his entire tip into your warm mouth he nearly melted out of his seat. Your plump lips wrapped around him tight. You were so soft around him that it took his breath away. His hands went from behind his back to gripping the armrests of the chair.

“God,” he breathed out.

You readjusted yourself on your knees, pressing one of your warm hands to the inside of his thigh and the other to wrap around the root of his dick. Anton looked up when he felt your wet tongue run over his slit. You work further down and he extends his legs, trying to find some sense of stability. 

This was moving too fast. Anton prided himself in having endurance during moments like these. He could go for hours and for multiple rounds without breaking a sweat. He knew he was able to go all night, but the way you worked further down made that tension twist in his body. You pulled your head up, and he watched you wipe the spit on your lips with the back of your hand. 

“You can stop if you want,” Anton says weakly.

He failed at adding bass to his voice. He sat up slightly in the chair through the overwhelming sensitivity. He finally put a gentle hand on your shoulder, ready to push you back if you tried coming close again. His balls were already tight, he was getting even harder in your hands even without you moving. He thinks if you even touch him anywhere else he’d finish immediately. 

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask.

Your voice is hoarse and the words come through puffy lips. Anton doesn’t know how he’s able to see something so beautiful. His dick twitches in your hands and he has to fight himself to not lean back in the seat.

He should nod his head. Give some sort of excuse like he’s given other girls when he’s had to leave. But your eyes are still hungry, looking up at him like you’re gauging his reactions.

“I really want you to keep going,” he answers truthfully.

He was fully convinced he was going to nod his head. In his mind he was very dedicated to you not putting in any more work. Your lips were already swollen and drool seeped from the corner of your lips. He saw that your eyes were a little teary too, and your eyelashes were clumped together from it. 

But when he looked at you and felt your hand give his still pulsing dick a delicate pump, he couldn’t help himself. He was answering with a weak voice while readjusting himself in his seat.

“Please don’t stop,” he said.

You didn’t say another word before wrapping your lips around his tip again. He tilted his hips upwards into your mouth, and kept a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t pull or push but he did squeeze. Each time he felt the pressure building up he clasped his hand. The motion helped pull him from the edge. Each time he heard you make a noise from the back of your throat or put a warm hand on his thigh his grip pulsed. He could see his fingers digging into your shirt. He wanted to ask if he was hurting you but the only thing he could manage when he opened his mouth were broken moans and tiny cries.

You brought your head up to focus on his tip. He felt the wet pressure and your tongue swiping across the sensitive skin. Your hand was completely slick from all the spit and precum. There was no resistance as you worked your hand up and down his dick. 

Anton watched the flick in your wrist, how you changed the position of your arm to get a better angle. Anton didn’t know what to do with the view. You went further than before, looking up at him through watery eyes like you wanted approval. If he could vocalize properly he would’ve told you that you were doing so well. He’s never felt like this before or gotten close to the peak so fast. 

When you gag again his hand goes so tight on your shoulder you look up at him. Your eyes that focused solely on his happy trail or your hand on his thigh finally peaked upwards at him. The sight made Anton tilt his head back to focus on your ceiling. He could feel his throat tighten.

“I’m close,” he croaked.

He said it as a warning. If he kept squeezing your shoulder he was sure he’d hurt you. Anton gripped his dick at the base, eclipsing your hand. Instead of pulling you closer or holding onto your shoulder he tries to push, because his warning didn’t seem to get through to you. Despite the panic in his voice you continue with the same speed, sucking and licking and bobbing your head.

“Baby,” he whines. “I said I’m really close.”

You only continue. He gets quick peaks of your face but a majority of his view is the back of your head as you go through the motions even faster. You hummed something that caused a jolt to go through his body. Your hand that was gripping his knee goes between his legs. Anton feels your soft hand massage his balls, and a cry rips through his throat. 

His sound bounces off your walls. He prays that your neighbors are sleeping. He can’t hold anything back when he leans in the seat to get a better look at your face. You’re too beautiful. Cheeks hollowed, eyes bleary. Your eyebrows are pulled together too as you focus. You take quick peaks up towards him and Anton bites his lip so hard he thinks it might bleed. 

Anton feels you pull in against his push. You take him as far as you can. He can feel your throat tighten around his dick, and he pulses when you gag. Anton can feel even more mess, dribbling from your mouth and going down your chin. The mess makes your fingers wet, and he can feel it on his thigh too. 

You pull back completely and Anton feels relief in regaining the slightest bit of control. It all burns up when he looks down at you and sees you lick your lips.

Your eyes focus on him for a moment, the hunger making them seem completely black. He doesn’t realize he was holding his breath until your attention goes back to his dick. He was nearly shaking and his hand is still clutching your shoulder for dear life. But it doesn’t matter. It’s your hand that goes to his dick, collecting all the spit and precum to aid your movements.

The moment of composure is burnt up in seconds. He leans forward, grip becoming bruising on your shoulder. You don’t stop, your soft grip becoming tighter and tighter as you pick up the speed. The slick sounds fill his ears, your almost desperate stare as you look between him and his dick. 

“Baby please,” he begs.

“Are you close?” you ask.

Anton slouches towards you, head nodding pathetically as you refuse to  stop. The hair that’s not stuck to his forehead cascades down the sides of his face, narrowing his view. He gets tunnel vision, it’s just you and him and his dick throbbing uncontrollably because of you.

“Really close,” he whimpers. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

He really has changed. He’s never lacked as much control as he has in this moment. His entire body tightens, a thin layer of sweat appears over every inch of skin. Anton brings his head back down to look at you. He fully expected you to finally detach from him, to push yourself away by the hand you had gently clasped around his balls. He expected his hand over yours would cease your movements. 

But you didn’t pull back, you didn’t ease up in the slightest. Anton’s hand over yours didn’t stop yours from moving. You leaned in close to watch. You were looking between his dick and his face, and Anton felt his cheeks get hot. You bit your lip and Anton has to stop himself from putting a shaking leg around your body to bring you impossibly closer. You seemed to read his mind because you came in closer, wrapping your lips around his tip and suckling. 

Anton’s protest about not wanting to finish in your mouth only comes out in whimpers and groans. He was planning on pulling out of your mouth and cumming pitifully in his palm while repeating your name and telling you thank you. He ended up instead holding your shoulder the tightest he’s ever had while his balls tensed.

One final moan was punched out of his gut before the tension across his body finally snapped. Against everything he felt himself spill into your mouth in thick uncontrolled spurts. He could barely apologize through the broken whines and the shaking in his legs. Before he squeezed his eyes shut he watched you pause for a split second and your eyes go wide before continuing to work your hand faster. Anton couldn’t stop giving you more and more, until he was so drained he slouched even further.

He was breathing like he had run a mile. His entire body was stiff, his muscles cramping as he winced through all the sensations.

“I’m sorry,” Anton heaved as you looked at you. 

He was still catching his breath when he saw the pearly white remnants on the corner of your lips. His mouth was agape, he swallowed thickly and tried his best to not get so wound up again.

“I should’ve stopped you,” he says.

He melts down from the chair to sit on shaking legs beside you. He wipes away everything that dribbled past your lips, wiping it on his shirt.

“I didn’t wanna stop,” you say.

When you speak Anton sees that there’s not a trace of it in your mouth. He forces himself to believe that he shot blanks because reality would be too much for his poor, newly-devoted heart to take. He just smiles and brings your head close with a gentle hand to kiss your forehead. He kisses your temples next, then your cheeks, lines from one side of your chin until he lands a kiss right on your lips. 

He still feels twitchy when he pulls away and sees you looking at him.

“Did you enjoy it?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Anton smiles and nods. “did you?”

You nod, wiping your mouth with your own hand before looking down nervously. Anton feels the emotion too, his cheeks flushing again remembering how he was acting a few minutes prior. 

You stand up from beside him and Anton bends his neck to follow you. He watches you adjust your shirt and your shorts. 

Just like nothing happened you go back to fixing things around your room. Anton at some point swept some things from your desk. He tries to pick it up for you but you’re faster. He’s still impacted by his orgasm, he’s a little sluggish and has to lean on your chair for support when he gets back up. You zip around your room, not looking at him. He thinks about what to say. Before he would’ve teased you for avoiding eye contact and acting like he’s not in the room. Now, he’s antsy too, teetering around your room while you smooth out the sheets on your bed.

There’s silence. You continue smoothing out the same spot on your comforter, despite it being pressed flat without a single crease.

Anton takes it as his cue to leave. He looks for his pants on your floor, and is walking around your room like he could be kicked out any second.

“You know,” you start.

Anton stops and looks at you. He can only see your back from the way you’re turned, hands gently pressing into your comforter. 

“We could do something like this again,” you say, still looking at your sheets. “I enjoy our time together.”

Anton feels himself perk up. He has a shy smile that isn’t a lie and the hand that goes to the back of his head isn’t a facade.

“I enjoy our time together too,” he said. “I think we should actually spend more time together.”

You turn and lean your body against your bed. He doesn’t know why you look confused.

“Your other girls wouldn’t mind?” you ask.

Anton is shaking his head fast.

“No other girls,” he answers quickly.

“Oh. Okay,” you say. Your hands on your thighs are gentle, the same way they were around his dick. “well. I’ll call you, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Anton says. “I’ll be there. Whenever.” 

You nod again, and Anton melts from your smile. He watches you saunter across your room to the connecting bathroom.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth then go to bed,” you say.

You raise your eyebrows and Anton understands. He’s been delicately kicked out of places before. Anton grabs his pants and pulls them up his legs quick. He grabs his bag, everything that’s his and walks past you to your door. 

“I’ll see you in class,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll see you in class.”

Anton left your dorm before you went in the bathroom. He heard the gentle sound of the lock turning in place and couldn’t stop the smile from beaming across his face. He felt relieved and content, he didn’t mind what hour it was when he headed towards the exit.

Anton was not quiet going into his room. He was on cloud nine, and that made him a terrible roommate. He was practically levitating from your dorm to his. He didn’t know what time it was when he let the door close behind him. He barely remembered to turn the dead bolt, letting the lock click in place obnoxiously.

He turned on the lights to the entryway and unloaded his backpack onto the pegged rack by the front door. He walked through the room like he was drunk, a bleary smile and a grin ear to ear. He kicked off his shoes, the thick rubber soles making contact with the wooden floors.

He sauntered across the dimly lit space of his room. He made a beeline to Sohee’s lofted bed. 

“Sohee,” he whispered playfully.

When he finally made it to Sohee’s bed he stood there for a moment. The silence filled the air, Anton leaned close to the pile of covers that was his roommates body. He was still grinning ear to ear. 

“Sohee,” he said quietly.

The mess of hair peaking from the covers didn’t budge at all. Anton leaned a little forward, blowing air directly onto Sohee’s head. He watched his hairs part from the current, then he saw a small movement. He chased after the movement with his fingers, poking the comforter gently.

“Sohee,” he repeated. “wake up.”

His body moved underneath the covers. He heard a groan, then more shifting. He heard a body turning, then the covers slowly came down. Sohee was revealed, with his face scrunched together and his eyes squeezed shut. He blinked even from the tiny amount of light in the room, adjusting to Anton in front of him and being torn out of an REM cycle. 

He immediately went to propping himself on his elbow. He rubbed his other hand down his face, ran it through his hair that was sticking up every which way.

“What’s going on,” he grumbled. 

Sohee canvassed the area in the room with his eyebrows scrunched. One eye was still squeezed shut, the other was barely open. He saw Sohee wake up more and more as he took in the look on his face.

“Sohee,” Anton repeated one more time. 

His roommate stopped moving to focus on him. Like he was keeping a secret and was too shy to spit it out, Anton balanced his head on top of his hands that were propped on the wooden edge of the bed frame. When he took too long to answer Sohee eyes darted back and forth like he might’ve missed what was said. 

“What?” he asked.

Anton was quiet for just a moment. Both of Sohee’s eyes were open now, staring at Anton waiting for something.

“I’m in love,” Anton answered.

Anton closed his eyes while he let the words sink in. He was so happy to vocalize it, he was so happy that Sohee was the first one to know.

When Anton opened his eyes he saw that the drowsiness and the confusion drained from Sohee’s face. He was just staring at Anton with his eyes narrowed and lips in a tight line. He blinked a few times, and Anton felt his eyes flutter from how happy he was. Anton wasn’t affected by the lack of Sohee’s amusement. He continued to smile, he even felt the flush go across his cheeks at finally vocalizing his confession.

Sohee’s hand went to his forehead spanning from temple to temple to massage it gently. He did this for a minute. Anton let out a blissful sigh, then Sohee took his hand away from his head. He tilted his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Anton, I don’t have time for this.”

Sohee went back down to his pillow. Before he could bring the covers back up to his hairline Anton stopped him.

“I’m serious,” he said quickly.

“I don’t care if you’re serious or not.” Sohee says. 

He tries looking at the clock on Anton’s desk but he can’t see it. He squints, then gives up all together. Anton is still staring at him with a big smile on his face.

“It’s too late for this,” Sohee grumbles

“You don’t understand,” Anton said, leaning closer.

Anton was sure Sohee didn’t understand. So much had happened between the time he ghosted Sohee in the library to chase you to your dorm and you falling asleep on his chest after you rode him. 

Anton wanted to tell Sohee all of this. Or at the very least the abridged version of this. Before Anton could vocalize the type of night he had—because he was standing in front of Sohee with his lips parted as he recounted everything—Sohee stuck up a hand to stop him.

“I really don’t want to hear it,” he says.

Anton listens to his roommate. 

“I’m really in love,” Anton says. “you wouldn’t believe it.”

“You’re a whore and she’s a freak. A match made in nymphomanic heaven,” Sohee mumbles.

Sohee turns over in his bed and pulls his covers up. Anton doesn’t pull back, instead he stays beside the wooden bed frame. 

“She said that we are going to hang out more,” Anton said wistfully.

Sohee stops adjusting in the bed. 

“Like as a couple, or like” Sohee looks up to the ceiling and moves his hands in a vague gesture. 

“As a couple, I hope.”

“Well,” Sohee turns back on the mattress to look at Anton. “does she know that?” he asks.

For the first time Anton is pulled out of his idyllic haze. Him wanting to see you again should’ve been sentiment enough. You said yourself that you wanted to see him again. But Anton never got the chance to actually tell you that he was retiring from the cause solely to cater to you. He was lost in the bliss of having you touch him and be in your space. 

Sohee seems to notice because he smiles and points to his face. 

“Maybe you’re the one who’s going to get played now,” Sohee says smiling.

Anton smacks Sohee’s hand out of his face.

“I never was playing anyone,” he says factually. “I was always very upfront with all the girls I saw.”

“Well, now you have to upfront with one more,” Sohee says factually. “probably more upfront than you’ve ever had to be.”

There’s silence between the two of them. Sohee laughs again when Anton finally retreats from his bed to get ready to lay down. He takes off his shirt that smells like you and takes off his pants, all while thinking about what his next steps should be. He hears his roommate laugh at his contemplation.

“I’ll be upfront with her tomorrow,” Anton says when he sits on the edge of his bed. “I think I’ll tell her at the dining hall.”

Sohee fully laughs at that. Anton looks up at him to watch him cover his face as he tries to contain his laughter. 

“Anton. You are such a romantic,” he laughs.

Anton lays down hearing Sohee’s laugh devolve into quiet chuckles. 

“I don’t even want to know what y’all were doing in her room,” Sohee laughs even harder, the delirium getting to him. “I don’t even wanna know a little bit.”

Anton had come a long way. He was a man whore at the beginning of this fateful day. He was titled a slut, albeit for a good cause, but he was a slut nonetheless.

But he’s had a change of heart. He thinks it’s because you’re such a pretty sleeper. Your normally furrowed eyebrows smoothed out, the tension you perpetually held across your body eased. One final gentle breath turned to a quiet snore as you laid out across his chest. You even let out little sighs as you sluggishly adjusted yourself on Anton’s body.

Anton realized while looking at you that this was the idyllic life Sohee had told him about. Everything he told Anton about making sure he was the one that was there for his girlfriend all made sense. You were in bed knowing that he was there, sleeping against him like you needed him. Whenever you would snuggle closer into him he found himself no longer thinking about other girls. The self-appointed mission became irrelevant. Everything was in his peripheral because he was looking straight at you. If he hadn’t proved himself to you, you wouldn’t have told him thank you so earnestly. He only wanted to keep looking at you as you sleep blissfully.

So in that moment he retired from the cause. He hung his metaphorical hat and was officially through with his journey of closing the orgasm gap on campus. As his dick finally got soft enough to slip out of you he set out on another mission; to become the man you deserved. He would be loyal, he wouldn’t exploit your inexperience for his selfish desires, and he wouldn’t subject you to wondering how he felt about you ever again. He decided that you would never declare him an asshole ever again, that he would be the charming and kind sweetheart that he knew he could be.

He looked out your window to the setting Sun and rubbed your back gently. Everything about you was so soft. You stirred only for a moment to cuddle further into him. He smiled to himself and then looked at your serene face. When he saw a small smile subconsciously etch across your face he smiled even bigger. He was careful not to wake you as he shifted you to the side of his body. You only whined and Anton found himself instinctually kissing your damp forehead. He can’t believe you tuckered yourself out so quickly. He even felt selfish for being so alert. Like he was the reason you fucked yourself to sleep on him, even if he was no more than a toy. He was used for all but five minutes and you were already deep in sleep to snore. 

Anton has been in this situation before. Some girls went to sleep after having sex, the post-orgasm bliss lulling them into a catnap. When this would happen he’d quietly show himself out. He would tidy up any mess he made and leave without a trace. On the rare occasion that they’d ask Anton where he went he would sheepishly say he didn’t want to invade their space. 

But the mere thought of leaving your side made Anton’s heartache. He was still lingering on the lines of your face, only breaking away to kiss your forehead again. He pressed his lips to your skin for more than a minute, he even pulled you closer while he did it. Your body was heavy from sleep but you were pliant in his arm, body curling up to his as he held you close. He let your body go back to its previous position and he was slow as he took the slimy latex off his dick. He held his breath as he pulled his arm out from under you and eased himself out of your bed.

Instead of leaving like previous-Anton would’ve done, he put his shirt and boxers back on and slid into bed with you like he belonged there. You instantly started cuddling with him like he was supposed to be here. Your body was warm, and when Anton pulled your covers over you both he got a waft of your smell. He was eventually lulled to sleep too, feeling so calm he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you closer and letting his eyes close. Anton took the heavy drowsiness across his body as a sign to let himself fall asleep.

Anton woke up in the middle of the night to you moving beside him. He opened his eyes slightly to see you getting up from the bed and heard the creak in the mattress from the shift in your body weight. He closed his eyes again when he felt your absence from the bed. 

He listened to you walking around your room. He heard the sound of a lamp turning on and could see the light bleed past his eyelids. After hearing you pace around he felt a dip in the edge of the mattress beside him where you were sitting. Anton could feel your eyes on him, it was the same concentrated look he received in the library. 

After a moment he let his eyes flutter open, and he caught you still looking at him intensely. 

The air between you two was tense. Neither of you reacted, you didn’t look away and neither did Anton. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking. You reached out and touched his clothed chest. He reached out and touched the bottom of a large shirt you slipped back on at some point.

“You didn’t cum, did you?” you asked.

Anton debated on lying. He’s done it before, and he has faked it completely a few times. You just seemed so sad when you asked the question, like you were disappointed. You held your breath and hesitated when you asked it, too. Anton couldn’t handle being the reason you were doing a nervous tick, or that you were having thoughts of inadequacy. 

“I didn’t.” Anton shifted on the bed when you turned away from him. He pulled on your shirt slightly to get you to look at him again. “but that doesn’t matter to me,” he assured.

He was telling the truth. He was more than satisfied being your living, breathing toy. He already feels a rush remembering how you looked above him. Your eyes were trained on the bend of your elbow for the most of it, but there were moments where you looked down at him and he was lucky enough to catch your eye. You were hot all over, your skin wet to the touch. He was amazed that you ended up getting so warm so fast, and that you were squeezing him so tight. He existed for your pleasure, to heighten it. He wanted to cater to you. Not finishing didn’t feel like a shortcoming because it wasn’t necessarily his goal. He was satisfied seeing your flushed skin and feeling your walls pulse around his dick as you let out weak whimpers.

He thinks he could cum without being touched if he replayed the sounds you made when you were on top of him enough times. When you thanked him; all he would need is for you to just say it one more time.

But you scoffed like you didn’t believe him. You looked away and Anton still felt the need to prove himself to you. He was still a sweetheart, but for you and you alone.

“I really don’t mind,” he says.

Anton watched you turn his body towards him but still avoid his gaze. He could feel your embarrassment, see the hesitation in the way you messed with the bottom hem of your shirt.

“We’ve done this twice,” you say.

Anton nods. He can’t stop himself from smiling that he’s gotten so lucky twice.

“I feel like at this point I’m using you a little bit,” you laugh dryly. You still mess with the bottom hem of your shirt as you speak, and each effort Anton makes to look at you is thwarted by your wandering eyes. “I just have you come over to get off.”

“I really don’t mind,” Anton says truthfully.

“I know you don’t,” you say.

Both you and Anton sat in silence. He let you look around, mess with your shirt and your arm and tap your feet on the ground. He let you go through the motions, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t lament how fine he was with your current situation. If anything, he wanted more of it. He wanted it to keep happening.

“I wanna try something,” you say. 

Anton is nodding before you can even finish. You finally meet his eye, tilting your head a little bit. Anton sees you try to emulate the saccharine tone you’ve seen in all the pornos. Instead of leaning close and asking you a question that will get you to squirm away he nods slowly, trying to goad you on.

“Can I try it on you?” you ask.

Anton is fully sitting up on your bed now. He feels the excitement before he knows exactly what you’re proposing. 

He reaches towards you but you’re standing up from your bed, right next to the mattress. You point to your chair, neatly pushed underneath your desk.

“Sit down in the chair,” Anton is sitting against your bed frame, eyes wide and lips parted. When he takes to long he sees you get nervous again, looking down before you motion to the chair. “please,” you add.

Anton is fast pulling himself out of the bed. He’s even faster to sit down on your chair even in just his boxers and shirt, looking up at you still standing next to your bed. His hands go down his thighs, ending at the knee before he goes to your armrests.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks.

You don’t answer him. You completely submit speaking, instead you take slow steps towards him, your bare feet passing against your hardwood floor. Anton grips the armrests a little tighter.

He sees how slow and hesitant you are. He knows it would be easy to exploit that, to feed off your own anxiety. He could smirk up at you, or widen his legs mockingly. Or he could scoot to the back of the chair and look up to you with big worried eyes and ask if he’s doing this right.

But he’s retired from the cause. Even though he’s seen that look enough to know what you’re thinking about doing to him. He won’t make fun of you, or force you to vocalize them either. He has never wanted anything in return from girls but seeing you walk over to him in just a big shirt and underwear he feels the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

When you’re close enough that he has to look up he holds the armrest so desperately to stop himself from reaching towards you. 

Instead of crawling on top of him you press your legs against his knees. Anton is hesitant to spread them, so hesitant you have to put your hands on his knees and part them yourself. Anton feels his thighs stretch, and he instinctively goes to the edge of his seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

The question rages in his mind when he sees you slowly sink down to your knees. Anton follows your head as you go lower and lower, until you kneel and then both of your knees are pressed into your floor.

“Just wanna try something,” you answer quietly, staring between his legs. “I’ve never done it before.”

He wasn’t completely sure what to make of your demeanor. You were nervous, that he knew. Your hand was hesitant going over the plaid fabric of his boxers. You started off by pinching the fabric, then a heavy hand that turned light as you got closer and closer to where he was starting to ache.

He wanted to ask if you were scared of his dick. He would’ve replaced the word with it and then emphasize that you had only seen it in a dimly lit room before it was inside of you. You haven’t been face to face with ti before, and part of Anton wanted to remind you of that.

But he let himself fall privy to the calculating looks you were giving him before. Your eyes were large, not just from anxiety, but like you were watching him. Each move you made triggered a quick glance up towards him. When he took it upon himself to sigh lightly after your hand grazed over the bulge again, you gaze instantly shot up to his face.

He only moved when you did it first. He settled a little more into his seat and you were getting comfortable on your haunches. Your eyes kept flickering up towards him, and you ran your hand a little heavier over his bulge. His knuckles almost turned a ghostly pale from how tight he was holding the leather cushions of the armrests.

Anton knew the implication of you between his legs. He was fully expecting you to ride him in his chair, but your reaction to him not finishing was what set you on this current mission. You were bold enough to gauge for his reactions, driven by some sort of need to serve him how he’s served you. He let out another sigh and leaned a little more in the chair. He felt you scoot closer to his body on your knees, rocking the chair slightly with your movements. Anton dared to look down at you when he felt your other hand press into his inner thigh.

“You’re not just making those sounds for me, right?” you asked.

Anton shook his head looking at your pout. He already felt the sweat dotting his hairline.

“I just want you to know I like what you’re doing for me,” he said gently. He even reached a hand forward to cup your chin. “I’m happy with anything.”

“I know you are,” you said, almost mockingly. 

Anton can’t help himself. He felt himself throb at your determination, how you were a little bit upset at his indifference to not finishing. Anton knows the attitude is a product of you trying to get your nerves up, the same way you were rubbing your hands up and down his thighs. Anton’s leg tapped each time you got close to his crotch, and he hoped you were feeling up to, at the very least, looking at his dick. 

Despite barely being able to take him a few hours ago you already were rubbing your hands up and down his legs in an attempt to get your nerves up. 

Anton watched you hesitate, then bring your head to rest right where his boxers began on his thigh. Anton took a chance to scoot closer to the edge of his seat. The fabric of his boxers pressed a little tighter to his body. His bulge was more obvious now, and he saw you focus completely on him. 

Because of your trepidation, Anton is dedicated to seeming as nonthreatening as possible. He tries his best to not be wooed by your hesitation, despite the churn in his gut at the sight of you lifting your head from his thigh slightly.

“You’re so pretty,” he says gently.

Anton watched you shy away at the compliment. He twitched in his boxers when you smiled slightly, head still resting on his thigh. You peered up at him, he didn’t know if you were trying to look so flirtatious.

“Thank you,” you say. Your hand draws a delicate pattern on the soft skin of his inner thigh “I’m sure you tell everyone that, though.”

Anton shakes his head. Before he can tell you that he’s changed, your hand reaches through the flap of fabric through his boxers. Your soft hand wraps around his dick completely and tactfully pulls it out. Anton gasps and stiffens in his chair immediately seeing your hand wrapped around the base.

You freeze too. You look up at him and seem apologetic.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Anton shakes his head. Nothing was wrong, but he was expecting a little more hesitancy. You didn’t waste any time giving him an experimental stroke that made him lift from his seat slightly. You were looking up at him, repeating the same motion just to see him do it again.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he answered.

He let out a quiet breath, widening his legs a little more. Instantly you were scooting closer, and Anton could feel himself getting pulled into the seat. His implication of a reputation made it so he didn’t receive much. He didn’t complain, he figured that asking girls for head or handjobs kind of took away from his grand mission. 

But you wanted to do this. You were alternating between his dick and his face, moving your hand in the same motion over and over again. Both of you watched precum bead at his tip, both of you watched your hand collect it on the way down. He didn’t know you knew how to tease him when your soft thumb massaged the sensitive underside. Anton had to look away from you learning about him. He leaned his head against the back of the office chair, letting his head tilt from side to side.

“Feels so good,” Anton whispered.

You nodded and moved your face closer. He moved his hands underneath his shirt quick to rest over his tensed and clammy stomach. Anton knew distracting his hands would stop him from greedily touching your head or hair, or holding your shoulder to keep you in place. He wants you to do everything you want to do to him on your own volition. 

Anton feels you try different grips on him. A little tighter, a little loose. You go to his tip again and haphazardly spread his precum over the sensitive skin. Anton couldn’t stop himself from twitching upwards into your hand. He knows he’s your test subject. He’s careful to not do anything suddenly, instead letting you get used to all of him. He feels you rest your check on his inner thigh again. 

He digs his fingers into his stomach when he looks down.

You’re so pretty, leaned against him watching your hand and his dick get harder. Anton wants to tell you the pleasure is almost painful, and having you so close hurts.

“How should I do it?” you ask.

Despite barely being able to take him a few hours ago, you ask the question without pausing once. Your eyes flick up to his and he feels his body warm with excitement. His face becomes especially warm, and he finds himself looking away while he tries to articulate his answer.

“Let me take off my boxers first,” he says.

Anton sits up in his chair and you both reach for his waistband at the same time. He pushes and you pull, and his hard dick goes through the fly of his boxers again before smacking against his shirt. He’s still hard, even more now because you’re clearing your throat and scraping your nails lightly against his legs.

You take him in your hand again. You look up and Anton nods encouragingly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You jerk him off with the perfect amount of force, a little slow to build the tension. Anton can’t tell if this is beginners luck or if his body is already accustomed to you. Still, he understands the weight of the situation. He clears his throat and puts his hands in the gap between his tailbone and the back of the chair.

“If you don’t like it, or can’t take it—”

“You think I can’t take it?” you interrupt.

Anton wants to whine when your hand abruptly stops. He pitifully moves in your chair again, his body following after the previous motions of your hand.

Quickly he’s shaking his head, nails digging into his palm.

“No,” Anton stammers, pushing his hips up so his dick goes through your fisted hand again. He’s grateful you’re so focused on him that you don’t see how pitiful he’s become. “I just want you to know that there’s no pressure here or anything.”

“I know,” you say. “you’re only here because I asked you to be.”

He doesn’t know if it’s because his mind is operating at half its regular speed, but he caught a hint of bitterness in your tone. But he also liked the implication that he will always be there when you call. You didn’t have to put on that act of asking for help to get him to come over. He needs to tell you that he’s a changed man now. He won’t leave your dorm and try to sleep with anyone else. This is it for him, he’s convinced.

Instead, he nods his head until you go back to only looking at his dick.

“Just take it slow,” Anton says quietly. 

“Okay,” you say quietly.

He’s hot all over. He can’t take his shirt off because he doesn’t want to seem too big. He’s already at a disadvantage, because your body is between his muscular legs and he must look bigger from down where you’re kneeled. His oversized shirt does help him seem smaller, the way he melts into the chair relinquishes his control. He’s sweating everywhere, but he will just have to bear it. 

When your warm breath fans his flushed dick he thinks he’s going to burst into flames. He doesn’t know if he looking down at you when you’re like this makes you nervous, but he can’t resist. He can’t look away when he sees your mouth get closer to his dick.

“Maybe just try licking it,” Anton quietly suggests.

He was already weak. When you ignored his request and instead took his entire tip into your warm mouth he nearly melted out of his seat. Your plump lips wrapped around him tight. You were so soft around him that it took his breath away. His hands went from behind his back to gripping the armrests of the chair.

“God,” he breathed out.

You readjusted yourself on your knees, pressing one of your warm hands to the inside of his thigh and the other to wrap around the root of his dick. Anton looked up when he felt your wet tongue run over his slit. You work further down and he extends his legs, trying to find some sense of stability. 

This was moving too fast. Anton prided himself in having endurance during moments like these. He could go for hours and for multiple rounds without breaking a sweat. He knew he was able to go all night, but the way you worked further down made that tension twist in his body. You pulled your head up, and he watched you wipe the spit on your lips with the back of your hand. 

“You can stop if you want,” Anton says weakly.

He failed at adding bass to his voice. He sat up slightly in the chair through the overwhelming sensitivity. He finally put a gentle hand on your shoulder, ready to push you back if you tried coming close again. His balls were already tight, he was getting even harder in your hands even without you moving. He thinks if you even touch him anywhere else he’d finish immediately. 

“Do you want me to stop?” you ask.

Your voice is hoarse and the words come through puffy lips. Anton doesn’t know how he’s able to see something so beautiful. His dick twitches in your hands and he has to fight himself to not lean back in the seat.

He should nod his head. Give some sort of excuse like he’s given other girls when he’s had to leave. But your eyes are still hungry, looking up at him like you’re gauging his reactions.

“I really want you to keep going,” he answers truthfully.

He was fully convinced he was going to nod his head. In his mind he was very dedicated to you not putting in any more work. Your lips were already swollen and drool seeped from the corner of your lips. He saw that your eyes were a little teary too, and your eyelashes were clumped together from it. 

But when he looked at you and felt your hand give his still pulsing dick a delicate pump, he couldn’t help himself. He was answering with a weak voice while readjusting himself in his seat.

“Please don’t stop,” he said.

You didn’t say another word before wrapping your lips around his tip again. He tilted his hips upwards into your mouth, and kept a hand on your shoulder. He didn’t pull or push but he did squeeze. Each time he felt the pressure building up he clasped his hand. The motion helped pull him from the edge. Each time he heard you make a noise from the back of your throat or put a warm hand on his thigh his grip pulsed. He could see his fingers digging into your shirt. He wanted to ask if he was hurting you but the only thing he could manage when he opened his mouth were broken moans and tiny cries.

You brought your head up to focus on his tip. He felt the wet pressure and your tongue swiping across the sensitive skin. Your hand was completely slick from all the spit and precum. There was no resistance as you worked your hand up and down his dick. 

Anton watched the flick in your wrist, how you changed the position of your arm to get a better angle. Anton didn’t know what to do with the view. You went further than before, looking up at him through watery eyes like you wanted approval. If he could vocalize properly he would’ve told you that you were doing so well. He’s never felt like this before or gotten close to the peak so fast. 

When you gag again his hand goes so tight on your shoulder you look up at him. Your eyes that focused solely on his happy trail or your hand on his thigh finally peaked upwards at him. The sight made Anton tilt his head back to focus on your ceiling. He could feel his throat tighten.

“I’m close,” he croaked.

He said it as a warning. If he kept squeezing your shoulder he was sure he’d hurt you. Anton gripped his dick at the base, eclipsing your hand. Instead of pulling you closer or holding onto your shoulder he tries to push, because his warning didn’t seem to get through to you. Despite the panic in his voice you continue with the same speed, sucking and licking and bobbing your head.

“Baby,” he whines. “I said I’m really close.”

You only continue. He gets quick peaks of your face but a majority of his view is the back of your head as you go through the motions even faster. You hummed something that caused a jolt to go through his body. Your hand that was gripping his knee goes between his legs. Anton feels your soft hand massage his balls, and a cry rips through his throat. 

His sound bounces off your walls. He prays that your neighbors are sleeping. He can’t hold anything back when he leans in the seat to get a better look at your face. You’re too beautiful. Cheeks hollowed, eyes bleary. Your eyebrows are pulled together too as you focus. You take quick peaks up towards him and Anton bites his lip so hard he thinks it might bleed. 

Anton feels you pull in against his push. You take him as far as you can. He can feel your throat tighten around his dick, and he pulses when you gag. Anton can feel even more mess, dribbling from your mouth and going down your chin. The mess makes your fingers wet, and he can feel it on his thigh too. 

You pull back completely and Anton feels relief in regaining the slightest bit of control. It all burns up when he looks down at you and sees you lick your lips.

Your eyes focus on him for a moment, the hunger making them seem completely black. He doesn’t realize he was holding his breath until your attention goes back to his dick. He was nearly shaking and his hand is still clutching your shoulder for dear life. But it doesn’t matter. It’s your hand that goes to his dick, collecting all the spit and precum to aid your movements.

The moment of composure is burnt up in seconds. He leans forward, grip becoming bruising on your shoulder. You don’t stop, your soft grip becoming tighter and tighter as you pick up the speed. The slick sounds fill his ears, your almost desperate stare as you look between him and his dick. 

“Baby please,” he begs.

“Are you close?” you ask.

Anton slouches towards you, head nodding pathetically as you refuse to  stop. The hair that’s not stuck to his forehead cascades down the sides of his face, narrowing his view. He gets tunnel vision, it’s just you and him and his dick throbbing uncontrollably because of you.

“Really close,” he whimpers. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

He really has changed. He’s never lacked as much control as he has in this moment. His entire body tightens, a thin layer of sweat appears over every inch of skin. Anton brings his head back down to look at you. He fully expected you to finally detach from him, to push yourself away by the hand you had gently clasped around his balls. He expected his hand over yours would cease your movements. 

But you didn’t pull back, you didn’t ease up in the slightest. Anton’s hand over yours didn’t stop yours from moving. You leaned in close to watch. You were looking between his dick and his face, and Anton felt his cheeks get hot. You bit your lip and Anton has to stop himself from putting a shaking leg around your body to bring you impossibly closer. You seemed to read his mind because you came in closer, wrapping your lips around his tip and suckling. 

Anton’s protest about not wanting to finish in your mouth only comes out in whimpers and groans. He was planning on pulling out of your mouth and cumming pitifully in his palm while repeating your name and telling you thank you. He ended up instead holding your shoulder the tightest he’s ever had while his balls tensed.

One final moan was punched out of his gut before the tension across his body finally snapped. Against everything he felt himself spill into your mouth in thick uncontrolled spurts. He could barely apologize through the broken whines and the shaking in his legs. Before he squeezed his eyes shut he watched you pause for a split second and your eyes go wide before continuing to work your hand faster. Anton couldn’t stop giving you more and more, until he was so drained he slouched even further.

He was breathing like he had run a mile. His entire body was stiff, his muscles cramping as he winced through all the sensations.

“I’m sorry,” Anton heaved as you looked at you. 

He was still catching his breath when he saw the pearly white remnants on the corner of your lips. His mouth was agape, he swallowed thickly and tried his best to not get so wound up again.

“I should’ve stopped you,” he says.

He melts down from the chair to sit on shaking legs beside you. He wipes away everything that dribbled past your lips, wiping it on his shirt.

“I didn’t wanna stop,” you say.

When you speak Anton sees that there’s not a trace of it in your mouth. He forces himself to believe that he shot blanks because reality would be too much for his poor, newly-devoted heart to take. He just smiles and brings your head close with a gentle hand to kiss your forehead. He kisses your temples next, then your cheeks, lines from one side of your chin until he lands a kiss right on your lips. 

He still feels twitchy when he pulls away and sees you looking at him.

“Did you enjoy it?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Anton smiles and nods. “did you?”

You nod, wiping your mouth with your own hand before looking down nervously. Anton feels the emotion too, his cheeks flushing again remembering how he was acting a few minutes prior. 

You stand up from beside him and Anton bends his neck to follow you. He watches you adjust your shirt and your shorts. 

Just like nothing happened you go back to fixing things around your room. Anton at some point swept some things from your desk. He tries to pick it up for you but you’re faster. He’s still impacted by his orgasm, he’s a little sluggish and has to lean on your chair for support when he gets back up. You zip around your room, not looking at him. He thinks about what to say. Before he would’ve teased you for avoiding eye contact and acting like he’s not in the room. Now, he’s antsy too, teetering around your room while you smooth out the sheets on your bed.

There’s silence. You continue smoothing out the same spot on your comforter, despite it being pressed flat without a single crease.

Anton takes it as his cue to leave. He looks for his pants on your floor, and is walking around your room like he could be kicked out any second.

“You know,” you start.

Anton stops and looks at you. He can only see your back from the way you’re turned, hands gently pressing into your comforter. 

“We could do something like this again,” you say, still looking at your sheets. “I enjoy our time together.”

Anton feels himself perk up. He has a shy smile that isn’t a lie and the hand that goes to the back of his head isn’t a facade.

“I enjoy our time together too,” he said. “I think we should actually spend more time together.”

You turn and lean your body against your bed. He doesn’t know why you look confused.

“Your other girls wouldn’t mind?” you ask.

Anton is shaking his head fast.

“No other girls,” he answers quickly.

“Oh. Okay,” you say. Your hands on your thighs are gentle, the same way they were around his dick. “well. I’ll call you, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Anton says. “I’ll be there. Whenever.” 

You nod again, and Anton melts from your smile. He watches you saunter across your room to the connecting bathroom.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth then go to bed,” you say.

You raise your eyebrows and Anton understands. He’s been delicately kicked out of places before. Anton grabs his pants and pulls them up his legs quick. He grabs his bag, everything that’s his and walks past you to your door. 

“I’ll see you in class,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll see you in class.”

Anton left your dorm before you went in the bathroom. He heard the gentle sound of the lock turning in place and couldn’t stop the smile from beaming across his face. He felt relieved and content, he didn’t mind what hour it was when he headed towards the exit.

Anton was not quiet going into his room. He was on cloud nine, and that made him a terrible roommate. He was practically levitating from your dorm to his. He didn’t know what time it was when he let the door close behind him. He barely remembered to turn the dead bolt, letting the lock click in place obnoxiously.

He turned on the lights to the entryway and unloaded his backpack onto the pegged rack by the front door. He walked through the room like he was drunk, a bleary smile and a grin ear to ear. He kicked off his shoes, the thick rubber soles making contact with the wooden floors.

He sauntered across the dimly lit space of his room. He made a beeline to Sohee’s lofted bed. 

“Sohee,” he whispered playfully.

When he finally made it to Sohee’s bed he stood there for a moment. The silence filled the air, Anton leaned close to the pile of covers that was his roommates body. He was still grinning ear to ear. 

“Sohee,” he said quietly.

The mess of hair peaking from the covers didn’t budge at all. Anton leaned a little forward, blowing air directly onto Sohee’s head. He watched his hairs part from the current, then he saw a small movement. He chased after the movement with his fingers, poking the comforter gently.

“Sohee,” he repeated. “wake up.”

His body moved underneath the covers. He heard a groan, then more shifting. He heard a body turning, then the covers slowly came down. Sohee was revealed, with his face scrunched together and his eyes squeezed shut. He blinked even from the tiny amount of light in the room, adjusting to Anton in front of him and being torn out of an REM cycle. 

He immediately went to propping himself on his elbow. He rubbed his other hand down his face, ran it through his hair that was sticking up every which way.

“What’s going on,” he grumbled. 

Sohee canvassed the area in the room with his eyebrows scrunched. One eye was still squeezed shut, the other was barely open. He saw Sohee wake up more and more as he took in the look on his face.

“Sohee,” Anton repeated one more time. 

His roommate stopped moving to focus on him. Like he was keeping a secret and was too shy to spit it out, Anton balanced his head on top of his hands that were propped on the wooden edge of the bed frame. When he took too long to answer Sohee eyes darted back and forth like he might’ve missed what was said. 

“What?” he asked.

Anton was quiet for just a moment. Both of Sohee’s eyes were open now, staring at Anton waiting for something.

“I’m in love,” Anton answered.

Anton closed his eyes while he let the words sink in. He was so happy to vocalize it, he was so happy that Sohee was the first one to know.

When Anton opened his eyes he saw that the drowsiness and the confusion drained from Sohee’s face. He was just staring at Anton with his eyes narrowed and lips in a tight line. He blinked a few times, and Anton felt his eyes flutter from how happy he was. Anton wasn’t affected by the lack of Sohee’s amusement. He continued to smile, he even felt the flush go across his cheeks at finally vocalizing his confession.

Sohee’s hand went to his forehead spanning from temple to temple to massage it gently. He did this for a minute. Anton let out a blissful sigh, then Sohee took his hand away from his head. He tilted his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Anton, I don’t have time for this.”

Sohee went back down to his pillow. Before he could bring the covers back up to his hairline Anton stopped him.

“I’m serious,” he said quickly.

“I don’t care if you’re serious or not.” Sohee says. 

He tries looking at the clock on Anton’s desk but he can’t see it. He squints, then gives up all together. Anton is still staring at him with a big smile on his face.

“It’s too late for this,” Sohee grumbles

“You don’t understand,” Anton said, leaning closer.

Anton was sure Sohee didn’t understand. So much had happened between the time he ghosted Sohee in the library to chase you to your dorm and you falling asleep on his chest after you rode him. 

Anton wanted to tell Sohee all of this. Or at the very least the abridged version of this. Before Anton could vocalize the type of night he had—because he was standing in front of Sohee with his lips parted as he recounted everything—Sohee stuck up a hand to stop him.

“I really don’t want to hear it,” he says.

Anton listens to his roommate. 

“I’m really in love,” Anton says. “you wouldn’t believe it.”

“You’re a whore and she’s a freak. A match made in nymphomanic heaven,” Sohee mumbles.

Sohee turns over in his bed and pulls his covers up. Anton doesn’t pull back, instead he stays beside the wooden bed frame. 

“She said that we are going to hang out more,” Anton said wistfully.

Sohee stops adjusting in the bed. 

“Like as a couple, or like” Sohee looks up to the ceiling and moves his hands in a vague gesture. 

“As a couple, I hope.”

“Well,” Sohee turns back on the mattress to look at Anton. “does she know that?” he asks.

For the first time Anton is pulled out of his idyllic haze. Him wanting to see you again should’ve been sentiment enough. You said yourself that you wanted to see him again. But Anton never got the chance to actually tell you that he was retiring from the cause solely to cater to you. He was lost in the bliss of having you touch him and be in your space. 

Sohee seems to notice because he smiles and points to his face. 

“Maybe you’re the one who’s going to get played now,” Sohee says smiling.

Anton smacks Sohee’s hand out of his face.

“I never was playing anyone,” he says factually. “I was always very upfront with all the girls I saw.”

“Well, now you have to upfront with one more,” Sohee says factually. “probably more upfront than you’ve ever had to be.”

There’s silence between the two of them. Sohee laughs again when Anton finally retreats from his bed to get ready to lay down. He takes off his shirt that smells like you and takes off his pants, all while thinking about what his next steps should be. He hears his roommate laugh at his contemplation.

“I’ll be upfront with her tomorrow,” Anton says when he sits on the edge of his bed. “I think I’ll tell her at the dining hall.”

Sohee fully laughs at that. Anton looks up at him to watch him cover his face as he tries to contain his laughter. 

“Anton. You are such a romantic,” he laughs.

Anton lays down hearing Sohee’s laugh devolve into quiet chuckles. 

“I don’t even want to know what y’all were doing in her room,” Sohee laughs even harder, the delirium getting to him. “I don’t even wanna know a little bit.”

two months in isn’t long. not really. not in the grand scheme of things, not in the way people measure real, lasting relationships—but it feels long when it’s him. when it’s sohee, who took five whole months just to get here with you. five months of lingering glances across tables, of him second-guessing every text, of you standing your ground and refusing to move things forward unless he did it first.

you remember how that felt—watching him think, watching him hesitate, watching him try. it was frustrating, sometimes. painfully slow. but there was something about it that made you stay. something about him.

he was just sohee.

soft in a way that didn’t feel weak, just unfamiliar. careful with you, like you were something worth handling gently. it made you want to ruin him a little. push him. see how far he could go if someone just nudged him enough.

and now, two months into actually being his, you’ve learned exactly how easy it is to get a reaction out of him. how his ears turn red when you get too close. how his hands don’t quite know where to go when you touch him first. how he looks at you like you hung the moon and he’s still trying to figure out how you ended up in his orbit.

it’s addictive.

so yes—things have been good. more than good, actually. stupidly good. the kind of good where arguments don’t last longer than a few minutes because you just end up poking at his sides until he breaks into quiet laughter, or pressing a kiss to his cheek until he forgets what he was even upset about in the first place.

two whole weeks without a single fight.

which is why last night felt different.

you had gone out with your friends, nothing unusual. loud music, cheap drinks, bodies packed too close together in a way that made everything feel a little warmer, a little looser. you didn’t think much of it. you never really do.

you definitely didn’t think about sohee—at least, not in the way you probably should have.

not when one of your guy friends threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side while he laughed at something you barely remember. not when you stayed there for just a second too long, your head tilted toward him, your body swaying slightly from the alcohol in your system.

you didn’t think about how it might look.

not until you saw sohee.

he had just gotten there to pick you up, standing a few feet away, frozen in place like he didn’t quite know what he was looking at. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel anything about it.

and for a second—just a second—you hesitated.

before you slipped out from under your friend’s arm.

before you went to him.

before you fixed it.

it was quick, though. quick enough that you could pretend it didn’t matter. quick enough that you could brush it off.

you had stumbled into him with a soft laugh, arms wrapping around his waist, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek like nothing was wrong at all. like he hadn’t just watched another guy touch you in a way that maybe felt too familiar.

he didn’t say anything.

he never really does.

and this morning, you didn’t respond to his last text either.

not on purpose. not really. you got busy and forgot.

but now, standing in your apartment kitchen, you can feel it sitting between the two of you.

thick. quiet. wrong.

sohee has been off since he got here. not cold, not distant in an obvious way—just… sulky. quieter than usual. moving around your space like he’s thinking too much, like every little thing is taking more effort than it should.

you noticed it the second he walked in.

and you ignored it.

on purpose.

because part of you—an annoying, stubborn part of you—keeps thinking that if he was more confident, this wouldn’t even be a problem. if he trusted you more, if he trusted himself more, he wouldn’t be walking around like this over something so small.

if sohee were more confident, he wouldn’t be so bothered that someone had their arm around you.

if sohee were more confident in your relationship, he would have said something already.

so you let it drag on through dinner. through the quiet clinking of utensils, the soft hum of nothing conversation, the way he avoided looking at you for just a little too long.

and now you’re both in the kitchen, the air heavy with everything he’s not saying.

he’s at the sink, finishing up the dishes, sleeves pushed up just enough to expose his wrists. the sound of running water fills the space, steady and grounding in a way that almost makes this feel normal, almost.

you step up behind him without thinking too much about it, slipping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against his back like you always do. your chin finds its place on his shoulder easily, like it belongs there.

“what’s wrong, sohee?” you say, voice soft—sweet, even. the cutest version of yourself, carefully crafted because you know exactly what it does to him. your bottom lip juts out just a little for extra effect, even though he can’t fully see it from this angle.

you know he can’t resist you like this.

not for long.

he finishes rinsing the last dish, setting it aside before shaking the water off his hands instead of reaching for the towel like he normally would. the droplets scatter slightly, careless in a way that feels unlike him.

then he turns his head just enough to look at you.

and it’s not the look you’re expecting.

it’s not soft. not immediately.

it’s a little… dirty. a little annoyed. something sharper than you’ve ever seen from him before.

your breath hitches without permission.

you’ve never seen him like this, not at you.

“sohee…” you whine, quieter now, the sound slipping out of you before you can stop it. instinctively, you loosen your hold on him, backing off just a little like you’ve suddenly stepped too far.

you know it’s your fault. you just wish he wasn’t like this about it.

because in your head, it’s simple. it should be simple. if he were more sure of himself, more sure of you, then none of this would feel so heavy. he wouldn’t be standing here like this, holding onto something you already decided wasn’t a big deal.

he turns around fully then, facing you.

“i just don’t understand…” he mumbles.

and for a second—just one—you see it. the way his eyes flicker over your face, catching on your expression, your lips, the way you’re looking at him. they soften, just barely, like he’s about to fold the way he always does.

but then it’s gone.

just like that.

he looks away, breaking the moment before it can settle, before it can turn into something easier.

he walks past you to the fridge, opening it without another word. the cool light spills out, casting a faint glow against his face as he reaches in and grabs a water bottle.

you watch him the whole time.

the way he twists the cap open. the way he tips his head back, taking a long swig like he needs it—like he needs something to fill the space he’s refusing to.

he still won’t look at you.

“don’t understand what, hee?” your voice comes out softer this time, barely above a whisper.

not because you feel bad, but because you want him to say it.

you want him to finally tell you what’s been sitting in his chest all day, what’s been pulling his shoulders tight, what’s been making him act like this instead of just giving in to you like he always does.

and maybe—just a little—you want him to feel bad too.

for making you sound like this.

“i’m going to sound stupid,” he says with a sigh. he rubs his hands down his face in distress, fingers pressing harder than they need to like he’s trying to push the feeling out of himself.

you bite back a sigh of your own.

it’s frustrating, in a way you don’t want to admit out loud. you wish he could just say it without all of this buildup, without making it feel heavier than it needs to be.

“you won’t. just tell me,” you say, softer now, coaxing. you tilt your head just slightly, trying to catch his eyes again, trying to pull him back into something familiar.

he does look at you, but it’s wrong.

"i want to know," you press a little harder.

his gaze feels… empty. not soft, not warm, not melting into you the way it usually does. it lands on you, but it doesn’t hold you.

“why didn’t you respond to me at all today? my texts.”

your lips part slightly, and for a second, you almost laugh. is this really about that?

“i just forgot, baby,” you whine, dragging the word out like it should smooth everything over, like it always does. you shift your weight, watching him move to stand across from you, leaning against the counter like he needs the support.

“that’s not true, yn,” he says, voice quiet—too quiet. “don’t lie to me. please?” his eyes look sad.

you exhale out of slight frustration at the sight.

“then why didn’t you text me again, sohee?” you shoot back, your tone still sweet, still careful, but there’s something sharper tucked underneath it now. “why didn’t you call me if it bothered you that much?”

you widen your eyes just slightly, like you’re confused. like you’re trying to understand him.

like you’re the one being reasonable.

“why is it my fault?” sohee says, his voice tired in a way you’ve never heard before.

you frown immediately, the expression coming easily.

his words land heavier than you expect. they sting—just enough to make you want to push back.

“and who was that guy?” he adds, his voice stronger now. not loud, not yet—but firmer. steadier. like he’s finally holding onto something.

“don’t you trust me, sohee?” you plead, your voice softening again instantly, like a reflex. you step a little closer, your brows pulling together, your lips pressing into that pout you know he hates resisting.

you’ve never seen him this upset before.

it makes something in your chest twist.

he scoffs, and it makes your stomach drop.

“who was he, yn?” he presses, his voice cutting through yours. “you aren’t answering my question.”

“he’s just a friend! a friend from high school,” you explain quickly, like that should be enough. like that should end it.

“does that make it better?” he shoots back immediately. “do you think that makes me feel better?”

you blink at him.

he doesn’t usually talk like this.

“sohee, i like you,” you insist, the words coming out a little more desperate than you intend. you don’t know what to do with him like this—standing there, not folding, not softening, not reaching for you.

just pushing.

“you go out and have fun with your friends, okay, you should,” he says, his voice uneven now, like it’s starting to crack under the weight of everything he’s been holding in. “i don’t have a problem with that. at least let me know when there’s going to be guys present, is that okay for me to ask?”

you nod quickly, your pout deepening, your expression softening like you’re trying to meet him halfway. like you’re trying.

“and then you didn’t text me back today,” he continues, his voice rising just a little, frustration slipping through now. “how… how am i supposed to be okay, yn? i… i felt so stupid when i went to pick you up last night. i felt so small watching another guy with his arm around you!”

the words hang in the air.

and for a second—just a second—you see it.

how much it actually got to him.

how much it hurt.

your chest tightens.

but instead of sitting in it, instead of letting it settle, you push back.

“you’re overreacting,” you say, the words slipping out more bluntly than before. “it wasn’t even like that, sohee.”

his expression changes immediately.

something in his face drops.

“overreacting?” he repeats, almost incredulous.

“yes,” you press, stepping forward now, like closing the distance will give you control again. “he had his arm around me, so what? i went to you right after, as soon as i saw you.”

you gesture vaguely, like it’s obvious. like he should’ve understood that without needing it spelled out.

“after,” he echoes, and there’s a sharpness in his voice now that makes your stomach twist again. “after you stayed there.”

you hesitate, just for a second, but it’s enough.

“you did,” he says, nodding to himself like he’s confirming it. “you stayed there. you didn’t even—” he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply, running a hand through his hair.

he looks frustrated. overwhelmed.

“i didn’t think it was a big deal,” you say quickly, your tone softening again, trying to reel it back in. “i didn’t think you’d get this upset over something so small.”

“small?” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “you think that was small?”

you feel something defensive rise up in your chest.

“i think if you were more confident, it wouldn’t matter this much,” you say before you can stop yourself.

the second the words leave your mouth, you see it.

the way they land.

it’s subtle, but it’s there, like something inside him cracks.

“wow,” he breathes out, shaking his head slightly. “so now it’s because i’m not confident enough?”

you open your mouth, scrambling.

“that’s not what i meant—”

“then what did you mean, yn?” he cuts you off, his voice louder now, finally breaking past that careful restraint he always keeps. “because that’s exactly what it sounds like.”

you take a step back without realizing it.

he’s never raised his voice at you before.

“i just—i don’t understand why you’re making this such a big deal,” you say, your voice quieter now, but still pushing. “you’re acting like i did something wrong.”

his laugh this time is sharper.

“you did!” he says. and that makes your chest tighten.

“i didn’t cheat on you,” you snap, your tone defensive now, your arms crossing over your chest. “you’re acting like i did something terrible.”

“i didn’t say you cheated,” he fires back immediately. “but you don’t get to decide what hurts me and what doesn’t.”

the words hit harder than you expect.

and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

he exhales again, shaking his head like he’s done. like he’s tired.

“i just… i don’t like how you handled it,” he mutters. “and then you ignored me all day like it didn’t even matter.”

“i didn’t ignore you on purpose,” you argue. you know it won't sound true now.

he doesn’t respond. he just looks at you, and it’s worse than him yelling.

it’s quiet and final.

he pushes himself off the counter suddenly, the movement abrupt enough to make you flinch. without another word, he turns, walking out of the kitchen.

your stomach drops.

“sohee?” you call after him, your voice following as you trail behind him into the living room.

he doesn’t stop.

he walks past the couch, past the coffee table, straight toward the front door.

your chest tightens, panic starting to creep in now, sharp and unfamiliar.

this isn’t how this goes. he’s supposed to soften by now. he’s supposed to let you pull him back, let you wrap around him, let you fix it the way you always do.

he’s not supposed to leave.

“sohee, wait—” you say, your voice higher now, more urgent as you stop in the middle of the living room, watching his back.

he reaches the door. his hand wraps around the doorknob, and that’s when it really hits you.

you might not be able to stop him this time. sohee hears your footsteps retreat to the couch.

his grip tightens on the handle.

once you sit on the couch, your eyes are glued on his back. for a second, you think he’s going to open it. the panic in your chest spikes. you slip the collar of your off shoulder sweater as far as it'll go in an attempt to appeal to him physically.

“sohee…” you say again, softer this time, not as calculated, not as sure.

just enough to try and pull him back—before he decides to let go of you instead.

"you're not really going to leave me, are you?"

the fragility in your voice does it.

he turns and for a second, sohee thinks he forgets how to breathe.

you're curled into yourself just enough, sweater slipping off your shoulder, eyes glassy—tears clinging to your lashes like they might fall at any second. your lips are parted, trembling just slightly, like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

it doesn’t even cross his mind that you never look like this.

that you’re letting him see something you don’t show anyone.

he’s already moving.

crossing the room before he can think twice about it, before he can hold onto the frustration sitting in his chest. it melts too quickly, too easily, the second he’s in front of you again.

his hands come up to your face without hesitation, cupping your cheeks so gently it almost hurts.

“no, baby,” he breathes, voice breaking as he leans down closer to you. “i’m sorry. i was wrong, i’m so sorry, my pretty.”

the words tumble out of him, messy, rushed, like he’s scared you’ll pull away if he doesn’t say them fast enough.

“i'm really sorry, yn,” he repeats, softer now, his thumbs brushing just under your eyes, careful of the tears that did fall. “thank you for giving me a chance.”

his lips press together into a small pout, mirroring yours without him even realizing it, his eyes searching your face like he’s waiting for permission to breathe again.

you let the silence stretch just long enough, just long enough for him to feel it.

“i forgive you,” you mumble, voice quiet, fragile. your hand lifts slowly, resting over one of his where it holds your face. your fingers curl slightly, holding him there.

you tilt your head just a little, your gaze flickering down to his lips before coming back up.

“kiss?” you whisper. “i’ve missed you so much.”

he nods immediately—too fast, almost frantic, sitting down beside you.

and then he’s leaning in.

your lips meet softly at first, barely there, like he’s testing it. like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed.

you don’t give him time to overthink.

your fingers tighten around his wrist, pulling him closer, deepening it just enough to make him falter for a second against you. his breath catches, lips parting instinctively as he follows your lead.

he kisses you like he always does—careful, a little unsure—but there’s something else underneath it now. something more desperate. like he’s trying to make up for something he thinks he almost lost.

his hands slide from your face, hesitating only for a second before settling at your waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your sweater like he needs to make sure you’re still there.

you can feel the way he’s holding back, the way he always does.

so you push, just a little.

your hand slides up his arm, slow, deliberate, until it reaches his shoulder, pulling him closer into you. your lips move against his more confidently, guiding him, letting him follow the rhythm you set.

he makes a soft sound—barely there—but it’s enough.

his grip on you tightens just slightly, his body leaning into yours more fully now, like he’s giving in.

like he always does.

you can feel how careful he’s trying to be, how much he’s thinking even now, even like this.

it almost makes you feel bad but instead, you kiss him a little deeper to see how far he’ll go.

your hand trails lightly along the inner seam of his sweatpants, dragging higher as you kiss him harder. when he sighs softly under your touch, you slip your tongue into his mouth. you press a little firmer against his growing bulge and he groans into the kiss, your tongues twisting together messily.

“is this ok?” he asks, which you find silly considering you’re the one touching him.

you nod against his face, continuing your ministrations.

sohee finally slips his hands beneath your sweater, timidly settling them on your waist. his thumbs rub against the skin of your ribs just beneath your chest, hesitant at first, like he’s still asking for permission without saying it out loud.

you take the hand that isn’t palming him and guide it higher until it cups your bare chest.

you groan softly when his thumb flicks over your nipple, and the sound seems to go straight through him. his hips press instinctively into your hand, slow and needy.

“you’re so soft,” sohee whimpers against your mouth.

you let out a breathy little laugh at that.

“you’re so hard.”

when you pull away, sohee follows immediately, chasing your lips before he can stop himself. his eyes are blown out now, dark and glassy, his cheeks already flushed pink. his lips are wet from your shared spit, swollen from kissing you, and the look in his eyes makes something warm curl low in your stomach.

you want to ruin him a little more.

it’s cute, honestly, how easy it is to get him like this.

“how far do you want to go today, hee?”

sohee blinks at you, like the question dragged him back into his body.

“i’ll take however much you give me,” he says finally.

the answer catches you off guard.

you don’t want to admit it, but after earlier, you need him closer than ever. maybe sohee feels the same way. maybe that’s why his hands keep tightening on you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens them.

the thought of him at the door still lingers unpleasantly in your chest.

you stand from the couch first, reaching for him.

the air between you has changed. quieter now. heavier. unspoken.

but you suddenly feel the need to be intentional with him.

sohee takes your hand carefully, almost delicately, and follows you toward your room without a word. his eyes linger on the soft sway of your hair as you walk in front of him, on the sliver of bare shoulder peeking out from your sweater.

he wants to kiss it.

he wants to bury his face in the crook of your neck where your perfume always settles.

the second you step into your room, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and tug him closer. you give him one quick kiss before your hands wander beneath his shirt, palms gliding slowly over warm skin.

sohee just stands there, watching you carefully, waiting for direction.

he doesn’t want to mess this up.

you pull his shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly before pressing your palm against his chest.

with a small push, you guide him down until he’s sitting on the edge of your bed.

you keep eye contact with him as you slip your shorts down your legs, followed by your panties.

sohee watches every movement like he’s scared to blink and miss something.

when you settle yourself over his lap, straddling him slowly, a shaky breath leaves his mouth the second he feels your bare heat against the bulge in his pants.

“kiss me,” you say quietly, your hands resting on his shoulders.

his skin feels warm beneath your palms. you want more of it against yours.

sohee obeys immediately, bringing his lips to yours almost too quickly. his kisses are messy now, rushed in a way they weren’t before, like he can’t think straight anymore. your hands roam over his shoulders and down his back while he kisses you harder than usual, trying to keep up with you.

“yn,” he whimpers suddenly, hips bucking up into you.

the movement pulls a soft sound from your own throat. you slide your fingers into his thick hair, scratching lightly against his scalp as he shudders beneath you.

sohee’s hands find your bare hips and stay there, gripping carefully but firmly enough to keep you pressed against him.

he lets you take control again.

he follows your lead in the kiss so obediently that when you suck softly on his tongue, he makes a broken little sound into your mouth like he might actually fall apart from it.

“i need you,” he pleads quietly once you finally pull back, his forehead falling against yours. his voice sounds wrecked already. “please?”

instead of answering him, you reach down between your bodies and pull his cock free from his sweatpants.

sohee whines immediately at the touch, his body twitching beneath you. he looks overwhelmed already, flushed and throbbing in your hand, his lips parted as he tries to steady his breathing.

he looks like he might cry.

and something about that makes your stomach twist pleasantly.

“are you sure, sohee?”

you lift yourself slightly onto your knees, giving him room to kick his sweatpants down and off completely. the fabric falls forgotten onto the floor while his chest rises and falls unevenly, still breathless from kissing you.

meanwhile, you look almost perfectly composed above him.

the contrast makes him dizzy.

you both understand the weight of continuing this. you both want it. but underneath everything else, somewhere buried beneath the lingering tension from earlier, a quieter feeling settles in your chest. some small part of you still feels guilty for the way this happened—for the way he apologized first, for the way you pulled him back to you so easily. you want him to be sure.

you want this to come from love, not panic.

sohee nods quickly, eyes glossy as he looks up at you.

“yes, please, yn,” he says softly. then, quieter: “can i make you feel good first?”

you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

he’s sweet for asking.

“i would love that, hee,” you coo softly, leaning down to place a quick kiss against the tip of his nose before pulling your sweater over your head.

the second the fabric leaves your body, sohee twitches beneath you again.

his eyes drag over you helplessly, like he doesn’t know where to look first. you can see the way his throat moves when he swallows, his hands flexing at your waist before he carefully guides you backward onto the bed until your head sinks into the pillows.

he follows immediately.

one of his hands comes up to cup your chest again, warm and careful against your skin. the touch pulls a quiet moan from your lips, your back arching slightly into his palm.

sohee looks almost dazed hearing the sound.

he leans down to kiss you again, slower this time. then your jaw. then just beneath your ear.

his lips trail lower and lower until he reaches your chest.

sohee likes taking his time with you. he’s made that very clear in the past.

he treats your body like something precious, something he wants to memorize properly. when he decides he’s given enough attention to one side of your chest, he makes sure to give the other the exact same amount.

it’s incredible how much self restraint he has for someone sitting between your thighs with such a painfully obvious erection.

“so soft,” sohee murmurs against your skin, echoing what he said earlier like he still can’t get over it.

you slide your hand over his where it rests on your breast, lacing your fingers with his loosely.

“all for you, baby,” you breathe out.

the words hit him instantly.

sohee moans softly against your chest, the sound muffled against your skin as he sucks especially hard at your nipple before soothing over it with his tongue. the reaction he gets from you only encourages him more.

his kisses continue downward afterward, slower now, lingering against the softness of your stomach and along your abdomen like he’s trying to worship every inch of you on the way down.

when sohee’s breath fans against your heat, it’s enough to make your head spin.

he presses a few wet kisses to your center first, slow and lingering, before pushing his tongue inside as far as he can. your hand immediately flies to his hair with a broken whine, fingers tightening instinctively in the soft strands.

sohee loves doing this for you.

he loves being able to pull reactions out of you like this, watching your body respond to something only he can give you. he loves the feeling of your hands in his hair, the sounds that fall out of your mouth without you meaning to make them. he loves watching your body slowly loosen beneath him, your chest rising harder and harder all because of him.

so he keeps going.

he laps at your core eagerly, still a little messy with it, still learning, but so determined to make you feel good that it almost drives you crazier than someone experienced ever could.

your chest jolts suddenly before your thighs tighten around his head.

sohee’s still somewhat new to this, and because of that, he always tries everything he can think of until you come apart for him.

his chin is already wet with you, but he couldn’t care less.

if anything, he likes it.

when your whimpers start turning into desperate little repetitions of his name, sohee brings one of his hands up between your thighs, rubbing careful circles over your clit while he keeps his mouth on you.

“sohee,” you gasp, tugging harder at his hair.

he glances up at you at the sound, eyes dark and blown wide already, and for a second he genuinely can’t believe how pretty you are like this.

completely undone for him.

“i know, baby,” he murmurs against you.

the vibration of his voice sends you over the edge.

your body tenses immediately before melting all at once, your back arching as a soft cry leaves your throat. sohee keeps going through it, taking everything you give him eagerly until you’re squirming and whining for him to come back up to you.

when he finally kisses you again, you can still taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes your head spin.

you feel sohee hot and hard against your stomach. he lets out a shaky whine when you wrap your hand around him, his head tipping back before he shakes it almost violently, like the feeling is already too much.

“i need you right now, yn,” sohee pleads. it almost sounds like he’s going to cry.

you feel the same desperate pull toward him. he’s panting against your face, breath warm and uneven while you try to gather your thoughts long enough to be reasonable. you’re still sorry for earlier, even if you hate admitting it to yourself, and you don’t want this to just be the two of you getting swept up in the moment.

“sohee.”

the seriousness in your voice makes him stop grinding helplessly against your leg.

his eyes lock onto yours immediately, and you can almost see the haze lift from them a little.

the look on his face makes something ache inside your chest.

“i’m really sorry about earlier,” you whisper. “and last night.”

you pause, your throat tightening as tears begin pooling in your eyes.

“i know i was wrong.”

“yn—”

you shake your head before he can stop you.

“i want you to be sure,” you continue softly. “that you really want this, and really want me. you deserve so much and you’re such a sweet boy and sometimes i think—”

“yn, i want you. i really do.”

his voice is immediate this time.

certain.

he brushes the hair away from your face carefully before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second.

he means it.

sohee isn’t stupid.

he knows how much you’ve slowed your usual pace down for him. he knows how lucky he is that you gave him a chance in the first place. he knows you could’ve gotten bored of him months ago and found someone easier, someone smoother, someone who already knew what they were doing.

but you stayed.

and he knows you well enough by now to understand something else too—that part of the reason he always gives in to you so easily is because of how happy it makes you. he likes seeing you get your way. he likes indulging you.

because to him, you’re precious.

adorable. sweet. beautiful.

and kind, even when you don’t think you are.

otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying right now over wanting to make sure he was really ready for this.

“you don’t need to apologize for anything, baby,” he murmurs softly. “i’m ready and i want this. i want you.”

the words finally force the tears from your eyes, and sohee smiles immediately when he sees them, kissing them away one by one before they can fall any further down your cheeks.

you let out a shaky breath and nod at him slowly.

“do you want me to be on top?” you ask quietly, looking him directly in the eye.

sohee shakes his head almost immediately. “no, you don’t have to.”

“ok,” you murmur back, bringing your thumb up to trace along his bottom lip.

his mouth parts slightly beneath the touch.

then sohee shifts between your legs, sitting back on his knees.

you stare at him for a second.

his cheeks are pink, hair messy from your hands, lips swollen from kissing you. he looks nervous and overwhelmed and impossibly pretty all at once.

“you’re so pretty,” you coo softly.

“i was gonna say the same thing,” he laughs shyly before clearing his throat, suddenly looking embarrassed again.

“do you have any, um…”

“condoms? no,” you finish for him.

sohee’s eyes widen immediately at your answer.

“i’m on the pill, hee. it’s okay,” you reassure him softly. “and besides… i want to feel you for our first time.”

his breathing deepens noticeably at your words.

you can practically see the thought go through his head.

our first time.

sohee nods slowly, trying to hold himself together.

you reach up and pull him down gently by his shoulders until he’s hovering over you again. with one hand, you wrap around him carefully and guide him between your thighs, tapping the tip of him against your folds.

sohee’s entire body tenses.

he fights the urge to hide his face in the crook of your neck out of pure embarrassment, but he wants to see you. he wants to watch your face when he enters you.

his breath catches just from the feeling of you against him. he’s not even sure he’ll survive long enough to make it all the way inside without losing his mind.

his chest presses against yours as you guide him toward your entrance. one of his hands braces carefully beside your shoulder while he slowly eases more of himself into you.

the pressure of him finally pushing inside makes your body clench around him immediately.

“sohee,” you cry softly, your back arching despite how close your bodies already are. the sound nearly destroys him.

sohee lets out a broken moan, head falling forward as he pants against your skin.

“you’re so soft inside too, baby,” he whispers shakily. “just let me stay here for a second.”

“ok, hee. take your time,” you whisper back, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders.

he tries to gather some kind of composure, but it feels almost impossible with his hips fully pressed against yours like this.

you whine softly when he finally pulls back just enough to push into you again.

“so warm and so tight,” he pants against your skin, eyes squeezing shut for a second from how good you feel.

you guide one of his hands up to your chest and another moan leaves him immediately.

“you feel so good,” you say weakly.

every time sohee draws his hips back, little sounds keep slipping out of your mouth that only push him closer and closer to the edge. the pace he settles into has sweat beginning to gather at his temples, but he refuses to slow down. he doesn’t want to stop.

sohee thinks he could stay like this forever. watching your eyes glaze over because of him does something dangerous to his ego, makes a new kind of confidence bloom in his chest that he didn’t know he had before. and being this close to you—connected to you like this—makes something warm ache inside him.

“i needed this,” you breathe against his ear.

sohee whimpers softly at your words.

“i needed to feel you. i needed you close to me,” you continue, your voice breaking apart between breaths. “you feel so deep, hee…”

the praise makes his head spin.

sohee pushes himself up slightly so he can look at you properly. you look beautiful beneath him right now, flushed and emotional and completely wrapped around him, and he hopes desperately he’s making you feel even half as good as you’re making him feel.

“i love you, yn,” sohee confesses suddenly.

the words slip out before he can stop them.

his thrusts turn sloppy immediately afterward, his body betraying how close he is, but he stills for a second once the confession leaves his mouth like he’s waiting for your reaction. you let out a shaky cry at his words, fresh tears gathering in your eyes almost instantly.

“i love you, sohee.”

his expression softens so much it nearly hurts to look at.

he leans down to kiss you again, and when his hips start moving once more, you can feel how little control he has left. he’s trying so hard to drag the moment out anyway, trying to stay close to you for as long as he can.

when he finally mumbles against your lips that he’s close, you wrap your legs tighter around his waist to keep him there.

with one last broken moan, sohee comes apart completely. you release at the same time, your walls clenching around him and milking him completely dry.

afterward, he stays above you for a few quiet seconds, both of you trying to catch your breath.

then he slowly pulls away and settles beside you against the pillows.

“i love you, yn,” he repeats softly, turning onto his side to look at you.

there’s nothing in his gaze except pure endearment.

it almost makes you want to hide beneath the covers.

“i love you too, sohee,” you smile back weakly. after a second, your expression softens further. “thank you for staying,” you whisper.

sohee’s face immediately twists into something guilty and tender all at once.

“thank you for everything,” he says quietly. then, after a pause: “i know i’m still learning, and that it’s annoying sometimes. i just want to do this right.”

his earnestness is one of your favorite things about him.

it makes loving him feel easy.

“i’d do anything for you, hee.”

sohee pulls you into his arms immediately, tucking you against his chest carefully.

after a moment, he presses a kiss into your hair.

“i’ll change your sheets later,” he whispers.

“clean freak,” you mumble sleepily against him, already feeling yourself start to drift.

he laughs softly under his breath.

sungchan had you pinned to the mattress, his tall broad body completely covering yours as he fucked you deep and slow. his big hands held your thighs open wide, hips rolling in that steady rhythm that always made your eyes roll back. sweat glistened on his chest, dark hair messy from how hard you had been pulling it.

“fuck, look at you,” he groaned, voice low and raspy. “taking my cock so well like always. such a good girl for daddy.”

you whimpered underneath him, nails digging into his shoulders as he hit that perfect spot over and over. sungchan leaned down and kissed you messy, tongue sliding against yours before he pulled back just enough to look at you with those dark hungry eyes.

“you know what i keep thinking about lately?” he whispered, thrusting harder, making the bed creak. “i keep imagining you pregnant with my baby. your belly all round and pretty, tits full and heavy… walking around our apartment in one of my shirts because nothing else fits anymore.”

you moaned louder at his words, clenching around him. sungchan smirked, clearly pleased.

“yeah? you like that thought too?” he pressed one big hand to your lower stomach, right where he was deepest. “right here. i want to fill you up until you are carrying my kid. maybe even twins. imagine how cute you would look holding our baby while i rub your swollen belly.”

his thrusts got deeper, more purposeful, like he was trying to reach your womb. you were a mess underneath him, crying, shaking, babbling his name as he kept talking.

“you would be the best mommy,” he murmured, kissing your neck, then your chest, sucking on your nipples like he was already imagining them leaking. “so soft and sweet, rocking our little one to sleep while i watch. then at night i would lay you down and fuck another baby into you because i cannot get enough of you like that.”

“sungchan— please—” you sobbed, legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

he groaned and sped up, pounding into you harder. “gonna cum so deep inside you tonight, baby. gonna pump you full until it sticks. you want that? want daddy to breed you and make you all swollen with my kids?”

“yes— yes please— i want it,” you cried, tears slipping down your cheeks from how intense it felt. “want your babies… want to be full of you—”

that broke him. sungchan growled and buried himself to the hilt, cumming hard with a long moan. you felt every hot pulse as he filled you up, so much that it started leaking out around his cock. he stayed deep inside, grinding slow to push it further in, like he was making sure it took.

but he was not done. he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulled your hips up and slid back in with a wet sound, fucking his cum even deeper.

“one is not enough,” he panted, voice hoarse. “need to give you more. imagine you holding our baby in your arms, all pretty and tired, and i come home and breed you again while the little one naps. you would look so fucking beautiful like that.”

you came again with a broken scream, clenching around him so tight he groaned loudly. sungchan followed right after, filling you for the second time, hips stuttering as he emptied everything he had.

afterwards he collapsed beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms, big hand gently rubbing your tummy like you were already pregnant. he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, all soft and loving now that the heat had settled a little.

“i mean it, you know,” he whispered against your hair, voice gentle. “i think about it all the time. you holding our kids. our family. you being the mommy to my babies. it makes me so fucking crazy for you.”

you nuzzled into his chest, still trembling and full of his cum. “i want it too… want to have your babies, sungchan.”

he smiled that big bright sungchan smile and hugged you tighter, one hand still protectively on your stomach.

“good girl,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “then let me keep filling you up every night until it happens. daddy is going to take such good care of you and our little ones.”

divider @ suupersonic

he had been working nonstop recently, glued to his computer during the time he was actually home, giving you minimal attention. its been a while since the two of you had some real.. fun, and you could not take the neglect any longer—you needed to be handled.

anton was in the bedroom, as always, only to be seen working, occupying his little desk in the corner. you were always free to enter the room if you pleased, you were always respectful and nothing you did ever distracted him to an unbearable point, but when you walked in the room, your intentions were purely impure.

you wore black distressed low rise daisy dukes, and a wine colored halter neckline fitted top that cut off right below your belly button, lace on the cups. the v line was deep, accentuating your cleavage. there’s no reason for you to be wearing such an outfit, but why not doll up a little? plus, he’ll surely get the message.

you walked in the bedroom like you always do, nonchalantly strolling across the room to meet him. he doesn’t look away from his computer, lazily uttering a ‘hey’ when your presence is felt. you linger a bit behind him as he sits in his chair—hands gaining a consciousness of their own, your fingertips meet his broad shoulders, lightly starting to message. he sighs with content as the sound of typing slows, but it’s still ongoing. you move your hands across his chest, leaning in to hug from behind while nuzzling your head into his neck, biting his clothed shoulder softly. he chuckles, finally taking his hands off the keyboard, but you only to be disappointed when he grabs both your hands as they had started to move downwards. “what are you doing” he says playfully, turning in his desk chair, keeping your hands in his.

his eyes immediately dart to your chest when he fully faces you, shamelessly staring and slightly shifting in his seat. he huffs, looking back up to your eyes waiting for a response, tilting his head. “hey” you flirted, leaning close to reach behind him, closing his laptop, keeping eye contact. you lean back, standing straight again, moving your hands to cross your arms. your voice came out sultry, and almost demanding, “i wanna hang out, it’s been a while”. he smiled teasingly, “i have a lot to catch up with” he clarified, but it almost feels like he’s provoking you. you roll your eyes, “you work all the time, whats to catch up with?”, “i don’t work all the time”, “yes you do” your speech coming out whiny, your breath audible through your words, “you’re neglecting me”. he chuckles again, shaking his head, getting up from his seat. his height is noticeably, you look upwards as he puts his hands on each side of your face, placing a kiss on your lips, letting it linger before he breaks it, “have i really been neglecting my baby?” he says with a smug smirk on his face. you bite your lower lip, attempting to hold back your smile, nodding a little too quickly.

you couldn’t help but to lean for another kiss, much more hungry than his. your hands travel up his chest, then to his neck, wrapping your arms around him. he gave in, his hold firm on your hips, battling your tongue for dominance. he stumbles back slightly, reaching the edge of his desk to support himself, then pulling your body flush with his with ease, gaining a lead in the race, devouring your lips as you get more submissive. short breaths and soft moans start to escape you in between kisses—you can start to feel his hardness press against you.

you break the kiss, breathlessly speaking, “can i show you something?” you cajoled flirtatiously. he just stares back at you, watching you lower, knees magnetic to the ground. you never break eye contact as you swiftly unbuckle his belt, the largest grin settling on your face. you couldn’t tell if his eyes were on yours or your breast, but it didn’t matter, the dark lustful look his pupils had already made you soaked.

once you shoved his pants down, you wasted zero time, immediately wrapping your hand around his shaft, gently stroking, darting your tongue to his tip. with only one lick, he lets out a deep sigh, relaxing his shoulders, tilting his head, still looking down at you. you move your tongue to the base, continuously dragging your licks up his length. your movements are purposely slow, leisurely spreading the mix of precum and saliva all over his cock in up and down lines, giving a kiss every time you land on his head. anton’s breath had become extremely heavy, one hand gripping the desk as the other moved to cup the back of your head.

you stop the tease, finally taking the full tip, swirling your tongue around, humming softly. “fuck..” he groans, gripping your hair a little, trying to repress any more force. you squeeze your thighs together before pushing your head all the way down in one swift motion, running your hands up his thighs, blinking the wetness from your vision as the head jabs the back of your throat. his grip tightens at the unexpected rush, strands of hair pulling from your scalp, the painful sensation causing you to hum a moan around him. he lets his head fall back, letting a whimper escape his lips. you slowly pull him out almost completely, just to bash against him again, doing it a few more times, getting your mouth acclimated to the size.

anton couldn’t take the elongated test anymore, pushing his hips forward and back at a faster pace. you started to gag ever so slightly, the sound added to the mix of your moans, making his groans grow louder and his grip more tighter. soon enough, you let him take full control as he pushes your head down for you, using you like a fleshlight, your nose meeting his hip line. drool drips from your mouth, pooling in between your breasts, the sound of slurps and slight gags filling the room all whilst you keep your stare on him. you move your hands away from his thighs to land in between your legs, squeezing your thighs together as hard as you could.

“fuck.. you’re so fucking good y/n..” his gaze meeting yours, weakly trying to keep his eyes open. you can tell he’s peaking, his whimpers becoming uncontrollable while repeatedly whispering your name and swears, so you start to hum against him. it doesn’t take long before he locks his hips, slamming your head down, keeping it still, jabbing the back of your throat, almost completely blocking your airway. you finally close your eyes shut, focusing on relaxing the throat as hot liquid fills your mouth, allowing it to flow down your esophagus, gulping it down as tears roll down your face.

after a minute, he loosens his grip and pulls out. you let out a loud gasp, a trail of cum connecting between his cock and your lips. you quickly catch your breath before launching forward, catching his manhood again to lick him off clean from any evidence. he’s panting uncontrollably, a corner of his lip raising weakly as he watches. you take the hand that gripped on the edge of the desk and move his thumb in a wiping motion against your chin, taking any cum that leaked out and sucking it off his thumb. “god y/n..” he whispers, his voice an octave lower as he moves his other hand from the back of your head to your cheek, petting and messaging it lightly. you take his thumb out with a pop to kiss the back of his hand, “i needed this.. i missed you” your voice coming out quite but hoarse. “i’m sorry” he says, almost inaudible.

i appreciate you for your time, tell me what you think 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

you’ve always gotten what you wanted. there was never a moment you didn’t. your parents made sure of that. your brother did too. so when you set your mind on eunseok, it felt inevitable—like he would fall into your hands the same way everything else always had.

except you knew beomgyu wouldn’t allow it.

eunseok was the one thing he never let you touch.

the first time beomgyu ever told you no, you were children, asking to play with him and eunseok. still, they both showed up to your tea party later that afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor like nothing had happened. years later, as preteens, beomgyu shut his door in your face when you asked for help with your homework. eunseok solved the problem for you at the dinner table that night instead.

by the time beomgyu and eunseok were preparing for college, your gratitude for eunseok’s kindness had twisted into something else entirely. stolen glances that lingered too long. smiles meant only for you. a warmth you learned to tuck away whenever beomgyu entered the room, careful to keep what felt like yours hidden in plain sight.

eunseok’s been gone for a year.

the last time you held him was when he climbed into your room in the middle of the night, careful not to make a sound, just to tell you he was leaving. the last time you saw him was from behind, watching the familiar slope of his shoulders disappear into airport security. the last time you heard from him was a postcard sent to your dorm from greece, written like nothing had ever been unfinished between you, saying he’d decided to stay an extra month.

“beomgyu’s going to have it rough, huh?” you’d said when eunseok finally told you, forcing a laugh that came out wrong. “his best friend gone all across europe for a whole year.”

you’d already known, of course. you always did. a month earlier, you’d overheard beomgyu in the kitchen, telling him to go, to have fun, to not think about home. eunseok hadn’t argued.

“yn,” he’d said that night, your name soft in his mouth, almost careful.

you tried to pull away then, to pretend this was just another goodbye. he didn’t let you. his hands stayed at your waist like they belonged there, thumbs brushing familiar paths as if by habit. when you cried, he wiped your tears with a tenderness that felt too practiced, too intimate to mean nothing. he held you against his chest until your breathing evened out, until sleep claimed you the way he never quite could.

when you woke up, he was gone.

your phone buzzes with a notification from someone who isn’t eunseok, so you don’t bother checking it. stretched out in the guest room of beomgyu’s new apartment, you stare at the ceiling and think about how this makes two christmases without him. you wonder, briefly and stupidly, if he’s noticed the same thing.

the thought sits heavy enough that you don’t hear the front door open. it isn’t until three firm knocks hit your bedroom door that you react. you roll your eyes. beomgyu had said he’d be back late—so why was he home already?

“i’m studying right now,” you call out, dry and unimpressed. “naked.”

a scoff comes from the other side of the door, followed by a voice you know too well.
“is that supposed to make me leave?”

your body reacts before your mind does. you jolt upright, heart slamming into your ribs, breath catching like it’s been stolen from you. by the time you reach the door, your hands are shaking.

you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

your arms wrap around his waist, tight and desperate, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t anchor him there. the force of it knocks the air from his lungs, and for a split second, you’re embarrassed by how much you need this—how quickly your control slips the moment he’s in front of you. his body feels achingly familiar, solid in a way you’ve missed more than you ever admitted to yourself.

his arms come around you immediately, sure and instinctive, holding you just as closely, just as carefully, like no time has passed at all.

“you’re not beomgyu,” you breathe into his chest, the words more confession than observation.

“and you’re not naked,” he murmurs with a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head—gentle, practiced, intimate enough to mean something. "who's more disappointed?"

you pull back just enough to kiss him.

he meets you immediately, like he’s been waiting for it, tilting his head down until your lips fit together the same way they always have—familiar, soft, devastating. the sweetness is still there, but it’s layered now with hunger, with everything you didn’t let yourself want for the past year. you kiss him long and slow, pouring every unanswered thought into the space between your mouths.

“i thought you weren’t coming back for another month,” you murmur against his lips, breathless.

he shakes his head, his mouth still moving gently against yours. “wanted to surprise you.”

your heart stutters. “me?” the word slips out barely louder than a whisper.

he smiles and nods, like it’s obvious. like it could only ever be you.

you don’t quite believe him. not fully.

“how are you even here?” you ask. “how did you know i’d be here?”

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head at you. “i still talk to beomgyu almost every day. he sent me the address when he moved.”

“he gave you the door code?” you narrow your eyes. “he knows you’re back?”

“i guessed the door code,” he admits easily. “and no. you’re the only one who knows.”

something warm and dangerous coils low in your chest.

“come,” you say softly, already reaching for him.

you guide him to the bed, and he sits without question, watching you like he’s trying to memorize every detail. you stand between his knees, close enough to feel his warmth, close enough that stepping back would hurt. you cradle his face in your hands, thumbs tracing his cheeks, then his jaw, reverent and unsteady. the look in his eyes makes your breath catch—open, wanting, a little afraid, like he’s been holding onto this too.

you ruffle his hair once, a familiar, almost teasing gesture, before your hands slide down to his shoulders, then along his arms. slowly, deliberately, you bring his hands up to your face and press a kiss to his knuckles, lingering.

“your hands are tan,” you murmur, guiding them down to your waist, keeping them there. your own hands return to his face, grounding yourself. “but everything else is the same.”

he swallows. “is that good?” he asks quietly, like the answer matters more than anything else.

when you don’t respond, his grip on your waist tightens, pulling you closer until there’s no space left to question. his forehead dips toward yours, breath warm, uneven.

“did you miss me, yn?” he whispers.

your mouth feels dry as you look at him—at his pink lips, his wide, shining eyes, the way he’s bracing for your answer like it might undo him.

“yes,” you breathe. “eunseok. so much.”

he stands suddenly, hands firm at your waist, and before you can even react he’s guiding you backward, laying you down on the bed with a level of care that makes you want to cry.

then his mouth crashes back into yours and there's nothing gentle about it.

the kiss steals the breath from your lungs, deep and unrelenting, like all that restraint finally snapping. his hands stay careful while his lips move against yours with a desperation that makes your head spin. it doesn’t match, and somehow that makes it worse. he’s holding you like something precious while kissing you like something he’s been starving for.

your lips only part when he pulls away just long enough to tug his shirt over his head, tossing it aside without looking. before he can hover over you again, your hands are already there, pressing into the warmth of his bare back, urging him down until his weight settles against you.

“don’t—” you breathe, fingers digging in, “don’t go anywhere.”

a soft, broken sound leaves him at that, and then he’s kissing you again, slower now but no less intense. his mouth trails along your jaw, lingering, before moving down your neck—familiar and deliberate, because he knows exactly where you’ll react. your breath stutters, your hands tightening against his skin.

“eunseok,” you mumble, voice wrecked. “did you miss me?”

he stills for half a second, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm and uneven against your skin.

“every day,” he whispers. “don’t ask me that like you don’t already know.”

his lips press back to your neck, softer now, almost aching, like he’s trying to say everything he couldn’t over the past year without using words. one of his hands slides up to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“i tried not to,” he murmurs between kisses. “i really did.”

you tilt your head instinctively, giving him more, pulling him closer with a quiet sound that feels like surrender.

“you’re here now,” you whisper back.

he exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to yours again. “yeah,” he says. “i’m here.”

and then he kisses you like he plans on staying.

his hands slip beneath your shirt, skimming your ribcage as his lips never leave yours. you let eunseok kiss you however he needs to, running his tongue over your lips before sticking it in your mouth.

his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, restless, distracting enough to make you squirm.

“take it off,” you murmur against his mouth. “please.”

he nods, but instead of listening, he pulls back just far enough to breathe, forehead dropping to yours as if he’s steadying himself.

“is beomgyu coming back tonight?” he asks quietly.

you close your eyes with a soft sigh and sit up, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. a new message lights up the screen, and you can’t help the grin that curves your mouth before you set the phone face down again.

you answer him without words.

your fingers hook into the curve of his silver chain to bring him closer to you.

“the snow’s too heavy,” you whisper, tracing a slow line along his jaw. “beomgyu can’t drive anymore.”

his gaze flicks back to yours, sharp and hungry, like he knows exactly what you’re offering.

“so,” you continue softly, leaning in just enough for him to feel your warmth, “you can stay.”

your thumb brushes his pink bottom lip.

“play with me all night,” you murmur. “like we used to.”

the words barely leave your mouth before eunseok moves.

his hand slides up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you into another kiss—deeper this time, slower. your breath catches as his mouth presses against yours again, warm and insistent, and whatever space was left between you disappears.

you kiss him back just as fiercely.

your hands slide over his shoulders, across the heat of his back, feeling the way his muscles tense under your palms. he exhales softly against your lips when your fingers press in, like the touch alone is enough to undo him. the sound sends a rush of warmth through you.

“yn…” he murmurs, barely pulling away before kissing you again.

his thumb brushes along your jaw while his other hand settles at your waist, under your shirt, holding you firmly against him. the kiss turns messy—mouths opening, breaths tangling, the kind of kiss that keeps deepening instead of ending. every time you think he’s about to stop, he just pulls you closer and kisses you again.

your fingers slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and he responds immediately with a quiet groan that vibrates against your mouth.

“how do you want it today?” he breathes, lips brushing yours.

eunseok has always been one to give you whatever you wanted, in and out of the bedroom. if you asked for the moon, he might actually try to give it to you.

“doesn’t matter,” you whisper, chasing another kiss. “just need to feel you right now, seok.”

he sighs against your lips at your words. his hands stay at the hem of your shirt, pulling away to look you in the eye for permission to remove it. when you nod, he pulls it off your head quickly. his hands are shaking when they reach up to cup your chest, and a small gasp escapes your lips.

his mouth collides with yours messily as he continues to play with your chest. your tongues tangle, and you’re starting to feel dizzy from the lack of air.

“how did we get so bad at this?” you laugh against his lips at your clumsiness.

“i’m a little out of practice,” he pants, softly tucking your hair behind your ear. your heart swells upon hearing his words. you didn’t think he would have messed around with other girls when he was abroad, but you couldn’t expect him not to, either. whatever you and eunseok were before he left had no label, no commitment, and no rules.

still, his confession gave you a slight ego boost. you can’t help but grin ear to ear as he rids himself of his pants. when he's done, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him down into you, until your chests are pressed flush, skin warm against skin.

“wow, you really meant it when you said you want to feel me,” eunseok laughs, looking into your eyes adoringly. you can’t believe that this is your real life and that eunseok is smiling down at you with your chest against his in the middle of december.

both of your hands move to cradle his face and bring him back to your lips. upon contact, you immediately turned your face to get a better angle to shove your tongue into his mouth. eunseok lets out a breathless moan at your aggression. he was completely at your mercy, he decided.

you must be too focused on relearning the inside of eunseok’s mouth because you fail to notice his hand finding its way down your body until he’s cupping your heat. you bring your hips closer to his hand that begins pressing into you. when you let out a whimper, he takes control of the kiss. you moan and arch your back off of the bed when he gathers your wetness between his fingers.

“you’re so fucking wet,” eunseok and you look at the wetness coating his fingers. your face goes hot in embarrassment.

“it’s been a long time, so… i’m sensitive,” your voice is small. “i don’t know how much i—”

“that’s ok,” he coos, his forehead against yours. “i’m here now. we have time, baby. i’m here to make you feel good.”

one of his fingers slides inside of you, pumping slowly. you moan quietly, spreading your legs wider for him. “eunseok…” you groan against his lips. his eyes never leave yours.

it’s been a year. a year of pretending this didn’t matter, of swallowing down every thought of him, every memory that came too easily at night. and now he’s here, exactly the same, exactly where he used to be, like nothing between you was ever temporary.

you think you should be embarrassed by the noises your body is making in response to eunseok, but when he inserts another finger, you feel completely overwhelmed and full of him.

“yn, this is crazy,” he breathes against your lips, thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a quicker speed. “you’re so wet.”

“please,” you plead, not knowing for what. when he curls his fingers, you see stars. the thought of his fingers being the only ones to stretch you out for the first time in so long makes eunseok feel dizzy.

“i missed you so much, yn,” he coos to you sweetly when he can tell you're close.

you have half of a thought to reach down and touch him too, attempting to ungrip the sheets beneath your hand. but he speeds up even more, and your breaths turn into pants, and your orgasm crashes over you before you know it.

as you come down from your high, eunseok begins trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. they grow warmer as he moves down your neck, lingering in places that make your breath catch, your chest still rising and falling unevenly.

when his mouth reaches your chest, you thread your fingers into his hair, holding him there—not forcefully, but like you need the weight of him, the warmth, the proof that he’s real.

your fingers tighten slightly in his hair.

“i shouldn’t have let you leave,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

he stills for just a second at that, breath warm against your skin, before pressing another kiss there—softer this time, almost apologetic.

“you didn’t let me,” he murmurs. “i just… went.”

his hands slide up your sides, slower now, less desperate, more intentional. there’s something different in the way he touches you now—like he’s not taking it for granted.

you swallow, your heart beating a little too fast.

“i thought about you,” you admit quietly, staring somewhere past him. “more than i should have.”

he exhales against you, a shaky, quiet thing, like the words hit deeper than he expected. his forehead rests briefly against you before he looks up, eyes searching your face.

“i didn’t stop,” he says. “not once.”

something in your chest tightens at that.

you’d always known, somewhere deep down, that this wasn’t just habit or convenience, not just something easy and secret to fall back into. but hearing it—feeling it in the way he’s holding you, like you might slip through his fingers if he loosens his grip—makes it harder to ignore.

your hand drifts from his hair to his cheek, thumb brushing lightly across his skin.

“eunseok…” you start, softer now, uncertain.

he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes closing for a brief second, like he’s been waiting for it.

“i missed you,” he says again, quieter this time. “i think i—”

he stops himself, jaw tightening just slightly, like the rest of the sentence scares him. but you already feel it.

it’s in the way he came back early. in the way he looked at you the second you opened the door. in the way he’s touching you now—careful, like this means more than either of you ever said out loud.

your chest aches with it.

“don’t,” you whisper, not pulling away, your fingers still resting against his face. “not if you’re not going to finish it.”

his eyes open again, meeting yours, conflicted and wanting all at once.

“i don’t want to say it wrong,” he admits.

your heart stumbles, because you think you might already know what he means. and worse—you think you might feel it too.

your hand slides back into his hair, pulling him up just enough to kiss him again, slower this time, softer—but somehow heavier with everything neither of you is saying.

you reach your hand down, testing the space between you, wanting to feel him, to close whatever distance is left.

his hand catches your wrist gently before you can go further.

“you don’t have to, yn,” he murmurs, voice softer now, like he’s trying to hold onto something fragile.

you look at him, really look at him—at the way his eyes search yours, at the way he’s holding himself back.

“i missed you, seok,” you say, your voice quieter than before, but steadier. sweeter.

something in his expression gives.

he exhales slowly, tension leaving his shoulders as his grip loosens, his hand slipping away from your wrist. not stopping you this time—just letting you choose.

the moment stretches between you, heavy and warm.

when your hand grips him over the thin fabric of his boxers, he reacts instantly—his head dropping into the crook of your neck, like it’s the only place he can steady himself. his breath is uneven against your skin, warm, familiar, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“yn…” he breathes, barely holding it together. you smile as you sit up to help him out of his boxers completely.

“hi,” you giggle when his cock springs free, the tip leaking. he lays back down, his cheeks turning pink and his member twitching under your unrelenting gaze.

“stop,” he mumbles weakly, closing his eyes. “i haven’t even seen it like this before.”

your face goes red at his words. “you really must have missed me.”

you know you’re right because his breath hitches as soon as your hand wraps around his twitching cock. you stroke him slowly, indulging in the small sounds he’s letting out.

“feels good.” he’s hiding his eyes behind his forearm, but you want to see him fully.

“eunseok,” you coo softly, strokes speeding up. “can i see you?”

he shakes his head at first, a quiet, almost helpless sound leaving him. eunseok’s pants mix with the wet sound of you jerking him, mirroring how his fingers sounded inside of you earlier.

“please?” you whisper, hand slowing down just slightly. there’s a pause—just a second—but it feels longer.

then, slowly, he lowers his arm.

his eyes meet yours, glassy and overwhelmed, lips parted like he’s trying to catch his breath. there’s something raw there, something unguarded you don’t think you’ve ever seen so clearly before. it makes your chest tighten.

“there you are,” you murmur, softer now, smiling as you lower yourself down.

“yn, i’m really, really—” his whines are cut off with a hiss when your tongue circles his tip. your left hand continues to pump him slowly as you place soft kisses around his tip. “baby, i’m really close,” he pants, his chest rising and falling quicker.

his hands grip the sheets when you place your lips around his tip fully. he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and you bob your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks.

you mean to pull off of him to tell him it’s ok to cum, but his body tenses before you know it and he’s twitching and releasing in your mouth. you swallow what he gave you before you lay beside him.

“thank you,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss into your hair.

when his breathing finally evens out, he shifts beside you, slipping his boxers back on before gently pulling his shirt over your body. the fabric still carries his scent. then he slides back into bed, like he never plans on leaving.

you settle into your place against him without thinking, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart—the sound you missed more than you ever admitted.

“i missed this,” you mumble against his skin.

his hand comes up to your head, patting softly, absentminded, familiar. it doesn’t take long before sleep pulls you under.

it’s almost noon when you wake.

you haven’t slept like that since he left last year. somewhere in the blur of it, you remember the ghost of his lips against your forehead—but sleep had held you too tightly to follow it.

when your eyes finally open, you’re alone.

the light spilling through the window is pale and cold, reflecting off a fresh blanket of snow outside. the other side of the bed is empty. cold.

your breath quickens.

you pull on pajama pants and a sweatshirt with unsteady hands before stepping into the hallway. “eunseok?” your voice is small, but if he were here, he’d hear it.

no answer.

beomgyu’s door is still closed. the apartment is quiet—too quiet. it used to be normal. now it makes your chest tighten, your heart picking up with every step you take further from your room.

was it a dream?

you try to retrace it, every detail, every touch, wondering if your mind could really make something feel that real. but the thought hits you all at once, sharp and familiar—waking up alone was always the worst part.

your least favorite part of whatever this was between you and eunseok. because he was never someone who stayed. and you always hated that.

your cheeks are already wet by the time the front door opens.

“yn?” beomgyu’s voice calls out, softer than usual, a plastic bag rustling in his hand. “yn, are you crying?”

he finds you curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. another set of footsteps follows quickly behind him.

eunseok. his cheeks are pink from the cold, and his lips are fixed into a pout.

you wipe at your face quickly, standing up. “no,” you say, even though they’ve already seen. both of them are looking at you now—worried, confused.

“the snow is really pretty,” you add, gesturing vaguely toward the window, turning your head away from eunseok. but you can still feel him looking at you.

“she doesn’t even care that you’re back,” beomgyu calls as he disappears into the kitchen.

eunseok doesn’t move, not until beomgyu is fully out of sight.

then he steps closer, dropping down in front of you so you can’t avoid him anymore. you finally look at him, lashes still damp.

“what happened?” he asks quietly, his hand lifting to your cheek, gentle.

your voice wavers. “you left again.”

he frowns. “we were getting food.”

“i thought i imagined it,” you admit, swallowing hard. “or that it was a dream. you always leave me, eunseok.”

something in his expression shifts.

“i came back,” he says, softer now. “i’m not leaving you again, yn.”

you have to look away. you want to believe him. you really do. but you know better. because eunseok has always been the one thing you could never keep.

“i really wanted pasta for lunch,” beomgyu calls, popping his head back into the room, “but eunseok insisted we get takeout from your favorite place, yn. you really do always get what you want.”

you let out a quiet breath.

“everything i want,” you say, your voice steady now, even if your chest isn’t, “but not the one thing i need.”

you walk past eunseok and into the kitchen, leaving him behind.

lunch is already on the counter.

anton, the moment he grew fond of you, swore to himself that he would work harder than destiny. than the universe. than the whims of any god.

that man has been helplessly in love with you since day one. no one can change his mind.

anton is the most patient man to ever walk this earth.

he patiently waits for you when classes are finally over. you pace slower than him when walking together.

when you asked him to teach you some bass basics, and you were struggling, you never heard him hiss or groan in annoyance. it was new to you because you were used to hearing people complain when you were asking for nothing more than help.

anton is the gentlest soul. he was your classmate in high school, the quiet boy who was into music and sports. often carrying his cello and training bag, he would sometimes intentionally bump his things against your desk every morning just so you would notice him and greet him "good morning."

eventually, you became friends and bonded through silly conversations, trips to convenience stores, or random weekend study "dates."

by senior year, it was safe to say he was a close friend who obviously liked you. he wasn't even subtle, yet he remained remarkably nonchalant about it. (he didn't confess, but his actions were telling.)

anton never made you feel pressured to return his feelings. still, both of you stuck together like constant companions.

he was simply charming back then. he always accompanied you to the bus stop, a ten-minute walk from school.

being in love with you meant becoming a total loser for you. imagine him riding the bus, pretending to get off at a stop after yours just so he could linger with you a bit longer. in truth, he didn't even need transportation...he lived within walking distance of the school.

he noticed that you sometimes skipped lunch (to save money or sleep). so, he’d bring far too much food to share with you. he reasoned it as "bulking" for training whenever you asked why his meals were so proportionately large.

anton was always ecstatic whenever you asked him about music. whether it was an inquiry about instruments or what songs were trending, he’d geek out, genuinely pleased that you were interested in his world.

thus, he created a playlist of all his recommendations and shared it only with you. even his friends weren't allowed to listen to it; you were the only one with the link.

besides, he had a folder full of draft compositions, all inspired by you.

one time you mentioned liking a certain drink from the store, and the next thing you knew, it was a consistent sight on your desk every other day.

anton never stares directly at you for too long because he’s afraid his eyes will give him away.

instead, he became a master at watching you out of the corner of his eye. anton memorized the way you tie your hair or the specific sound your shoes make in the hallway.

but he's also incredibly attentive when you speak in class or tell him something you've discovered. you would become self-conscious because he would never break eye contact while you spoke.

anton swore he loved the idea of memorizing your features, yet he mastered the skill of grasping every word you yapped about despite being drowned in the beauty right in front of him.

often, he would look away instantly when he felt his nose burning with a pink flush.

you had to admit that your first love was memorable because it was anton.

...and you for anton.

as you grew older, it was a slow realization that you were just like anton—reserved and quiet. you shared so many interests and opinions, but the contrast was that you were too scared of love.

he was full of it, deserving and willing to give it all.

maybe he didn't deserve you. or rather, any part of your life that felt insecure when you let him in. his upbringing felt worlds apart from yours.

so, as romantic as it seemed, when anton confessed to you while the rain was pouring, you respectfully rejected him and bid him a final goodbye.

your world crushed as you saw his eyes, and how his expression showed he was trying so hard not to beg for answers.

"tell me you don't want me to leave, and i won't." it was hard to hear him, his soft voice clashing with the heavy rain. even if you tell him you don't want him to go, he is still fated to leave for his dreams.

of course, you didn't want anton to leave. he's the only person who sees through you, who genuinely cares for you, and totally understands you.

he was the only person you had.

but then again, your worlds were apart.

anton saw how you looked at him as if he were a stranger. you were the first to break eye contact, running away from him that night.

he stayed frozen there, standing in the middle of the park, drenched. all he could think about was you. he spent another thirty minutes alone in the rain, just in case you changed your mind and ran back.

when anton moved overseas to pursue his dream, you accepted the fact that your shared chapter had ended.

even though the only way you knew how to move forward with life was with him.

during college, you decided to distance yourself from everyone and start a new life. part of that meant leaving someone behind who wasn't there anymore.

anton, on the other side of the world, never stopped thinking about you. he tried asking your mutual friends how you were, but no information ever came back to him.

on your birthday, anton flew recklessly back home (without his parents' knowledge) just to gamble on the chance of seeing you after a year apart.

every year, he typed a "happy birthday" to your old number. he would stare at the blinking cursor, never moving past the drafted text.

anton usually celebrated your birthday in total silence, perhaps just by buying your favorite snack and eating it alone.

he wanted to respect your peace. he knew you so well. you had many reasons to be distant and alter your life, and he wished he could help you lessen the burden. so, showing up suddenly didn't feel right.

but a plane has already brought him back home.

instead, he waited at a cafe near your university, hidden in a hoodie and mask.

he had no idea whether you would even walk by or go to that cafe.

finally, after three hours of hoping and inhaling iced americanos, the bell chimed. there you were—the person he loved so much, despite the painful silence between you.

you had changed, and it was physically visible. he couldn't pinpoint if it was for better or worse, but he wouldn't dare bother you.

you ordered an iced latte and the cheapest cake the cafe had. for a student on a budget, it was enough.

anton devised a simple plan: buy a whole cake of your favorite flavor, ask the server to hand it to you with some made-up excuse, and hurry back to the airport.

you were surprised that day by a "lucky birthday promo." you went back to your dorm happily with a box of strawberry shortcake you had been eyeing for weeks.

the universe had finally favored you. from then on, you promised yourself you'd be a frequent customer there until you graduate.

little did you know...

all thanks to the guy who flew back overseas that night, uncaring of the consequences. at least he knew you were well.

you stopped listening to his playlists. you didn't want to be reminded. but the moment you found out he was still consistently adding new songs, you found yourself saving them again.

anton never stopped adding music to that old playlist he exclusively shared with you. he wasn't sure if you were listening, but the chances were never zero. for years, he added songs he wanted you to hear—songs that resonated with his longing.

it was still you. it was always you for anton.

for his junior recital, titled "Saudade," anton performed pieces by his assigned composer. he also finally completed the drafts he started in high school—the ones you saw only in the hidden music room. the ones you gave suggestions for, despite knowing nothing about the musical notes. the ones you teased him about dedicating to you.

on a random day, you decided to check how he was doing. you jumped from site to site, glad to see him thriving.

you stumbled upon his soundcloud. a three-minute song titled "saudade" was there. you tried to stay composed until you heard a familiar giggle fading softly after the bridge.

anton had sampled your giggle from that silly high school video of the two of you doing dinosaur impressions.

oh.

anton remembers you more than he ever truly knew you.

guess who flew back just to stop by your university on graduation day?

anton was also graduating in two days. he thought, time zones be damned.

he didn't ask if outsiders were allowed. he just roamed outside the venue until the ceremony ended. he spotted you from afar, taking photos with friends.

he wanted to give you flowers, but he didn't know how. so, he settled for the contentment of seeing you happy.

he wore a white long-sleeve shirt that fit his figure perfectly. he blended into the crowd, though people whispered about how handsome he was as they passed.

coincidentally, you saw a familiar face in the sea of robes. your gut told you it was him, but by the time you pushed through the crowd, he was gone.

maybe you were daydreaming.

you swore it was anton. but there was no way he’d fly back just for this. he probably forgot about you already.

anton focused on his career during those years, becoming successful immediately after graduating. he thought that if he ever ran into you again, he wanted to be "worthy" of standing beside you.

months later, when a friend invited you to a reunion at a new family restaurant, you never expected anton to be there.

and god. locking eyes with anton again—it was a struggle to convince yourself that this was reality.

you were mesmerized by how well he had aged. he looked intimidating, secure, and grown.

there was no way a man like this was still single.

there was no way anton would ever care about you like he used to.

when you finally crossed paths, anton’s reserved nature acted as a shield for the fact that he was actually shaking inside. his teenage self was screaming internally. it brought him back to the memory of you looking so dangerously pretty during the senior ball.

you had a way of making him feel incredibly uneasy, almost as if a million butterflies were fluttering in his stomach whenever you were around.

he was more nervous than he’d been at any recital.

anton wanted to see if you remembered him. you didn't react when he arrived at the table. it was awkward; you were sitting right across from him. people started to ask why you weren't close anymore.

"anton, here's the menu," you spoke quietly, handing it to him. the unexpected exchange went completely unnoticed by the rest of the table, oblivious to the tension building in the air.

as he looked across the room, he felt as if time had come to a standstill in that fleeting moment. everyone's chatter faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the pounding of his heart in his ears.

it was as if the world outside had dissolved, leaving only him and the source of his sudden, eager focus, enveloping him in a bead of heightened awareness.

when the group laughed at a story, anton still had the habit of not looking at the one telling the story. instead, he looked at you.

he just wanted to see if you were laughing, or if you felt left out. your reaction was the only one that mattered.

to lighten the mood after the heavy meals everyone had shared, a game started at the table. it was simple: there were random icebreaker questions on cards that anyone could answer freely. although it was somewhat boring, it helped spark conversations and allowed everyone to catch up.

yuha shuffled a card and read it aloud: “when was the last time you traveled alone?” everyone groaned, collectively agreeing that the card was boring. you didn’t have an answer, so you silently agreed with them.

as you picked a new card, anton coldly spoke up. “2023. 2026.” you looked up at him, and he was already sipping his drink. 

“aigooo, no need to brag, nyc boy,” one of your classmates next to him cooed. 

the years he mentioned were significant to you, so you watched him intently, wondering where someone as busy as him traveled alone during those times. 

anton took another sip of his drink before glancing at you, as you were already conversing with yuha.

2023. your birthday.

2026. your graduation day.

later, he volunteered to drive friends home, and you were assigned to his car along with two classmates.

you discovered that he was residing in your building, sharing an apartment with your best friend's brother. they were living together temporarily while he searched for a place of his own, creating an unexpected connection just down the hall.

a true coincidence. destiny had favored him this time.

"unlucky" for you, you had to sit in the passenger seat.

anton was quick to notice you shivering and adjusted the temperature without a word.

when he overheard you were sick, he dropped a bag of supplies at your door. he texted, "i had extras, thought you might need them," even though the receipt showed he bought them five minutes prior.

"it's been five years. i'm sure he has moved on," you told your best friend.

moved on?

anton is immovable when it comes to you.

even now, he drinks the tea you liked and reads the niche authors you mentioned once in passing.

in the years apart, anton found ways to keep you in his life without you being there.

it wasn't obsession; it was just that those things were the only physical tethers he had left.

with his gentle nature, his yearning was physically painful to witness—if only you could see it. he was constantly fighting the urge to reach out.

once, he was already in the elevator when the doors reopened to find you aggressively pressing the buttons, panting. you hurried inside, desperate for the doors to close.

you leaned heavily against the cool, glass wall, your heart racing as the weight of your emotions felt almost tangible as you tried to gather yourself.

when you finally lifted your gaze, there stood anton beside you, his presence steady and reassuring in the midst of your turmoil.

you fixed your posture and sniffed, looking at him with the same eyes that had cried in the rain years ago.

the air felt tight. anton was so surprised that he couldn't find the words to ask what happened.

in a millisecond, you found yourself buried in his chest, arms latched around his back as if anchoring yourself to him. a wave of emotion surged through you, and soft sobs escaped your lips, muffled against the fabric of his shirt.

the world around you faded as you lost yourself in the comfort of his embrace, finding solace in the rhythm of his heartbeat echoing against you.

anton wanted to hug you back so badly it hurt, but he was terrified of overstepping. he let you clutch his shirt, his hands clenched at his sides, fighting the urge to hold you.

anton used to be the calmest person to hold you.

the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, jarring you from your thoughts and pulling you back to the present moment.

“i’m so sorry,” you stammered, your breath still quickened by the adrenaline. “a drunk man was... chasing me. i got so scared.”

with a deep, apologetic bow, you rushed out of the elevator, eager to put distance between yourself and the unsettling encounter.

you enjoyed reconnecting during hangouts at anton and sungchan's place with your best friend, yuha, and you occasionally bumped into him around the building, sharing small talk.

yuha, the typical best friend that she is, always insists you come to his brother's place so you can see anton.

after one busy week, you finally decided to go for a grocery run. you normally went with sungchan, but out of courtesy, you had to ask anton as well.

"oh. sungchan decided to just sleep and let me come with you," he awkwardly hissed.

when in fact, he actually pushed sungchan before leaving their unit.

the idea of shopping together felt casual yet friendly, an opportunity to bond over shared experiences as neighbors.

while strolling the aisles, your shoulders brushed as you reached for the same item. he went completely still. he didn't pull away. for a loser like him, he savored that half-second of contact like it was oxygen.

you tried to hide a smile when your hands grazed while grabbing a pastry. "hey. look, it's your favorite," he remarked.

he still had the same effect on you.

and he still had the same foolish heart for you.

just as anton memorized your features, he could recognize the sound of your heart the moment you entered a room.

when he spotted you talking to the same mean relative who had mistreated you since high school, he saw the tension in your jaw and the way your eyes lost their spark.

he approached the apartment security with firmness, requesting their assistance in drawing away the intruders from the premises.

after a tense wait at his car, he felt a wave of relief wash over him when the security personnel finally took matters into their hands.

you were so thankful and pleased to hear the admin's mention of the possibility of blacklisting your relative, ensuring they wouldn’t trouble you on the premises again.

anton doesn't just like you—he studies you well.

he leaves for work at the same time as you, so you often meet in the lobby. through those shared encounters, anton was content with the simple "good mornings" you exchanged.

eventually, he found the courage to ask if you needed a ride.

anton was a liar. he would drive thirty minutes out of his way just to spend more time with you in the quiet of his car, where the world felt small, and it was just the two of you and the hum of the engine.

still a loser in love. you never knew he was lying about his workplace location.

shared rides became a space for catching up, until the atmosphere no longer felt thick or uncomfortable.

anton is usually composed, but after a few drinks at a classmate's engagement dinner, his walls thinned.

he was honest.

anton leaned his head back, eyes half-closed, watching you across the table with a look of such raw longing it made your breath hitch. he whispered, "i miss you," and then immediately looked away, blushing.

that didn't exactly help you sleep that night.

just like several years ago, anton became a constant in your life again.

he had a hectic day on your birthday, but rushed to your unit an hour before the day ended. luckily, you were awake.

you were surprised to see him holding the same cake brand you received "for free" back in college.

you both stood there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. a soft smile crept across your face, slowly thawing the uneasiness between you. "i... i wanted to give you this," he said, breathless, his eyes flickering with a mix of excitement and worry.

you felt a rush of warmth as you stepped aside, inviting him into your space.

soon, you found yourself cozily settled on the couch next to him, the lights spread around a warm glow in the room. anton began to sing the softest version of "happy birthday," his voice still a gentle caress that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

as you swayed the cake back and forth, the flickering candle casting playful shadows on your face, a sense of bliss surged through you.

with a deep breath, you closed your eyes to make a wish, then you blew out the candle in one breath.

anton, captivated by the scene unfolding before him. the view in front of him felt surreal.

all the waiting, all the years. it was clear that you were truly worth every single moment.

"what did you wish for?" anton asked as he sliced a piece for you.

"hmm. it's a secret."

he handed you the plate and smiled. "how can i make that wish happen if you won't tell me?"

one evening after his jog, he saw you with someone else in the lobby.

you were grinning, holding a box of chicken tenders from that guy (who held the elevator open for two minutes, uncaring of the sensor).

anton became incredibly polite, but his eyes went cold.

it was funny; you realized you knew him too well. the way he gripped his phone and how his voice dropped an octave.

"not the best chicken tenders," he broke the silence. you looked at him, amused. "very, very overcooked."

"too salty. if you got the yangnyeom flavor, it tastes like shi—"

you laughed. "actually, these are for sungchan. he asked me to pick them up for him. you can take them home."

right. wait, what? sungchan? my roommate? anton thought. stupid jealousy.

you handed him the bag. he was embarrassed, but his nonchalant facade held up.

before stepping off at your floor, you chuckled. "jealous over a delivery guy? tsk." the doors closed on his flustered face.

anton will mention tiny details—a specific keychain or a song you hummed once. you realized he was always paying attention, even when he seemed indifferent.

anton resigned himself to the idea that you might not choose him, so he settled for being the person you can always fall back on.

just like the old days. he remembered using family connections to get you scholarships, helping you confront your deadbeat parents, or gathering sign-ups for your part-time job. he even secretly paid classmates to buy the baked goods you sold. he even had revenge on those guys from the other class who made fun of you once.

even now, you don't know the half of his hidden efforts.

anton was the only person who truly treated you well.

once, you mentioned your laptop was dying, and you panicked over work files.

days later, he brought a giant box to your door. "you can use this for now. it's my extra."

before you could refuse: "it's not brand new." (it was.) "i didn't buy it." (he did.) you accepted it out of necessity, promising to pay him back.

"no need. use it however you want."

he can provide for you more than just the problems that need fixing, more than the convenience you wanted. definitely, he will provide for you however he wishes.

you also had a fair share of moments that you 'yearned' for him.

you find out through sungchan that anton also goes to your building's gym. therefore, that motivated you to become a 'gym person'.

suddenly, you're there every morning at 6:00 am or every saturday night at 9:00 pm.

you definitely had no idea how to use the specific machines near you.

"sungchan's the one who invited me," you boasted to anton, who was only wearing a tank top with his snapback backwards. damn it.

"i don't see a sungchan here every time i come, yet you’re here," anton smirked, almost walking past you. he paused and added, "sungchan trains on a different day. you might want to check on that."

one time, in all this pretentiousness, you were "cooling down" on a mat, but really, you’re just watching him do pull-ups in the mirror.

you started to admire the way the view of his broad shoulders and arms move when suddenly, his eyes met yours through the mirror.

instead of looking away, he holds the gaze while doing one more slow, effortless rep.

you were so flustered that you had to break eye contact right away and move somewhere you can't see him. when did he even get so hot?

sungchan had invited you over for a group dinner, excited to host after yuha had unexpectedly dropped by their place earlier that day.

to the siblings’ surprise, anton dedicated three hours to deep-cleaning the apartment.

once he finished tidying up, he rushed to take a shower, but not before he was left with the crucial part of picking the perfect outfit and perfume.

"anton, come out of the bathroom when i say, uhm… just a heads-up, the floor isn’t dry yet. i had to mop it again!" sungchan called out with a lie.

"okay!" anton’s cheerfully replied, unaware of the scheme that sungchan had. he invited you earlier than the actual dinner time, eager for a little fun at both of you and anton’s expense.

"you can come out now!" sungchan announced, barely able to contain his excitement.

when you stepped into the apartment, you were greeted by the sight of a shirtless anton, clad only in his denim shorts, who had just come out of the bathroom.

water droplets glistened on his skin, and he looked momentarily startled at your sudden appearance.

“i’m sorry! i wasn’t looking!” you covered your eyes in an instant. the shirtless guy was already tomato red.

“yes, you were~” sungchan sung while moving across the kitchen. his laughter threatened to erupt as he watched the scene unfold, a devious grin spreading across his face with the scenario he had orchestrated.

one quiet night, you stopped in your tracks while walking back from the convenience store. "why are you so nice to me?"

this stirred something in him. he finally found the courage to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. his fingertips trembled—as if his existence was a ticking bomb.

anton felt defeated by the sudden question. he looked at his shoes, then back into your eyes with an intense, careful gaze. "i've longed for you for all the years i had you, and all the years i could only remember you. i'm clinging to the hope that you'd eventually look at me and see someone you could love."

he sighed. "guess i was so nice to you."

anton doesn't look away anymore. he looks at you with a heavy, grounded stare, full of yearning that he no longer tries to mask.

as you looked back at him, you realized your own feelings had never truly faded. you were certain this time: you were finally ready to let him in.

the following night, a heavy, hesitant knock sounds at your door.

it was anton, he’s leaning against the doorframe, looking exhausted. the memory of his confession from the previous night never stopped replaying in your head. it's worse now that he's actually in front of you.

his crisp black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows didn't help your current state.

"i left my keys on the kitchen when i rushed this morning. sungchan is out. sooooo, can i stay here for a bit?"

your pulse thrumming in your ears. "sure, chanyo- anton. come in."

the atmosphere in your apartment shifts instantly. "i'll get you a blanket." you said, in attempt of escaping his presence.

"let's talk about last night." he walks toward you, stopping just inches away.

you try to back away, but you almost hit the wall next to you.

he places a hand on either side of you, effectively trapping you in his personal space. "please?" he pleaded.

anton was so close to your level. you can feel your chest ripping out any moment, you avoid his gaze as you can feel his eyes memorizing your face.

"i don't have anything to say to you," you murmured. in response, anton’s jaw tenses.

he looks down at your lips, "you sure?" you looked away and nodded.

you gazed at him once more, a wave of longing washing over you. anton leaned in closer, his warm breath grazing your skin as his nose delicately brushed against yours.

he felt a shiver run through him, every nerve ending alive with anticipation and desire. "you're a loser, anton." you murmured while his lips were just inches away from yours.

"i know." he says, a faint smirk appearing before he finally loses his composure. your thoughts surrendered to the following actions you made.

you don't say a word. you just reach up and clutch his sleeves. when you finally kissed him, it started gentle and innocent, a reminder of how your love started.

finally, he was able to relax his clenched fists at your side. he pulls back just an inch, looks at you, and kisses you again with ferocity. you pulled him closer as the kiss started getting desperate.

just moments after, you were both back on the couch. his hands, which usually stay strictly at his sides to avoid 'overstepping', are suddenly everywhere.

anton tilted your head back to deepen the angle of the kiss. he backs toward the couch, and you follow down instantly to straddle his lap. "now i understand why you didn't want to talk." anton mutters against your jaw, his breath hitching. you can feel his smirk form.

you lean down to kiss the sensitive hollow near his temple that smells like his perfume that you like. you pull away as you notice something. "you have a tattoo here?"

he pecks your lips before responding, "mhm." he fixed a strand of your hair and pulled your face down softly again for a longer, passionate kiss.

a low, jagged moan vibrates in his throat when you wrap your arms around his neck. you decided to move your lips again somewhere.

you softly sucked on the same spot again, teasing him.

anton quietly whimpered.

he actually did whimper.

"stop," he hissed. you were barely holding your grin from the response you got. "i swear."

just a mess for each other. years of pining and yearning had led to this moment.

you pulled away to breathe. he instantly helped you adjust your weight on his lap, both hands were on your sides.

"tell me this isn't your first kiss, anton." you bit your smile. you are a hundred percent convinced he kissed other people back in new york.

anton's head found your shoulder, his shyness evident in the way he hid his face to you. "it is." his voice was barely above a whisper.

a skeptical smile spread across your face as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to fully process the moment. no way.

"so, you're saying that-"

"yes. i waited years for this exact moment. so please, baby, let's continue where we left off." he rubbed the sides of your waist softly, in motions fueled by familiarity and desperation.

you chuckle. it was also your first, but for a guy who's hot and out of anyone's league like him, you still can't believe he waited years for a kiss, as if he was so sure this would happen soon.

every time your hips move against his thighs, anton's breath hitches, and your fingers dig into the muscles of his shoulders.

his hands slide up from your waist, a low growl escapes his throat, coming from a sound of pure, agonizing relief.

anton started to internally suffer the moment he felt you grind your hips down into his in a slow, torturous rhythm. you can feel the hardness of him through his jeans. you smirk during the kiss, as you thought to yourself that he had been holding back far too much. "you're hard."

"kiss my tattoo again and it'll grow bigger." he snickered.

"shut up."

he then started planting desperate kisses on your neck, resulting in him learning your weakest spot. then, he gasps against the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

this time, you were the one physically trembling now at the contact. you gasp his name, while tossing your head back.

anton's lips were back on yours upon the gasp of his name. the friction beneath both of you became a blur of heat and denim.

he hooks his hands under your thighs, pulling you even tighter and closer on his crotch, ensuring you can feel him. when you grind down on him in the perfectly aligned position, he lets out a jagged breath, "baby, please."

his self-restraint snapped. your shirt bunches up, and his hands slide underneath, his palms hot against your skin as his thumbs start to trace the underside of your chest. you moan at the sudden contact you felt next, and you were sure he smirked in between the ongoing kiss.

the friction was tortorous. your fingers moved to tangle in his hair, pulling his head to keep his mouth on yours.

then, it was time again to breathe. you needed something beyond this. when he finally met your eyes again, you sheepishly buried your face in the crook of his neck, while his breathing came in ragged. "i waited for you," you mumbled.

"i love you. so very much." anton gently tilted your chin up with his finger, his gaze filled with warmth. 

"should i say it back now, or should i wait for a more appropriate moment?" you teased playfully, giving his cute, big nose a gentle boop. 

"appropriate can wait, i suppose," he replied with a mischievous smile, and in a swift motion, he unbuttoned his shirt.

the man who swore to work harder than destiny has finally won.

when anton moved into his new apartment, the extra room caught your attention. it looked more than just a typical guest room. it was a room that had soft lighting from the window, with a view of the city, and a thought that reminded you of the type of bedroom you once mentioned wanting.

“this place looks like a jackpot for you,” you said.

"you like it here?" anton asked in confidence, making you look at him in confusion. "i mean, yes. it is a jackpot. i think i made the right choice."

more than the plans he had for himself that included you, he also has curated a life that had a permanent, person-shaped hole in it, trusting that eventually, you’d find your way back to fill it.

you definitely liked it there, and anton was certain of that. so, he has yet to figure out how to tell you that it was actually your room in his own place.

finally, spring came.

“happy birthday, chanyoung,” you murmured, the soft glow of the candle illuminating his face, and suddenly his new apartment was enveloped in a tranquil stillness because of this moment.

the dim lights created a cozy atmosphere that wrapped around both of you like a comforting embrace. you watched your boyfriend close his eyes and take his time before blowing out the flame.

"what did you wish for?"

he looked at you for a solid minute. "my wish already came true."

both of you beamed. he finally leaned in to hold you. "i'm not going anywhere this time." he kissed the top of your head. anton made a quiet pledge to himself at that moment that he would continue loving you like it was breathing.

it had been ten years. through high school, college, and adulthood, anton had waited. he didn't just believe in luck or coincidence. he believed more in the stubborn force of his own devotion.

and he would gladly do it all again in the next life, if it meant finding you over and over.

a love that once ended in the quiet passing of autumn had finally bloomed again in the spring.

because love endures.

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

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

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

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

—

First quarter, freshman year.

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody knows what it's like to be us.

—

Winter quarter, sophomore year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Autumn quarter, junior year.

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

Spring into summer, and the winter's gone

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

You're always gonna be someone that I want

—

Spring quarter, senior year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anton, don’t—”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Post grad. Three years.

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

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

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

Somebody finds me in the state I am,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a breath. “Okay.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

You closed the distance between you and kissed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anton—I’m gonna—”

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

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

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

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

Then he looked down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summer is falling, it's a distant dream

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

you had known anton for a few months now through mutual friends in the industry. he was the tall maknae of riize, always polite and a little quiet around most people. but lately something had shifted. every time you ran into him at events or late night practices, he seemed determined to catch your attention in new ways.

today was no different. you were at a small gathering at the company building, relaxing on the couch with a drink when anton appeared. he had changed out of his practice clothes into a simple black button up that hugged his broad shoulders and long frame. his hair was styled neatly, and he carried two glasses of water instead of alcohol.

“noona,” he said softly, voice deeper than usual as he sat down close beside you. “i brought you water. you have been dancing a lot tonight. don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

you raised an eyebrow, amused at how seriously he delivered the line. “thank you, anton. very thoughtful.”

he smiled, that shy dimple showing for a second before he tried to look cooler. his long legs stretched out as he leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the couch behind you. “i have been working on some new choreography. maybe later i can show you? privately. i think you would like the way it moves.”

you bit back a smile. he was trying so hard to sound smooth and sexy, eyes flicking to your lips then quickly away. his cheeks had the faintest pink tint despite his efforts.

“privately, huh? are you trying to impress your noona?”

anton swallowed but nodded, scooting a little closer so his thigh pressed against yours. “yes. i want to impress you. you are always so confident and pretty. it makes me want to be someone you notice more.”

his honesty made your heart flutter. he was younger, taller than most, with that charming mix of american accent and korean softness. you reached up and lightly fixed his collar, letting your fingers brush his neck. he shivered visibly.

“you already notice me plenty, anton. what is this sudden pursuit about?”

he turned to face you fully, dark eyes earnest but heated. one large hand gently took yours, thumb stroking over your knuckles. “because i like you, noona. a lot. more than just as a friend. i have been thinking about you every day. trying to be cooler, sweeter, sexier so maybe you would see me the same way.”

the confession hung in the air. you could feel the warmth radiating from his tall body. he leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you did not. his lips met yours in a soft kiss that quickly grew deeper as he gained confidence. one of his hands cupped your cheek while the other rested on your waist, pulling you closer.

when he pulled back for air, his voice was husky. “did that feel good? i have been practicing how to kiss you in my head for weeks.”

you laughed softly, tugging him back in by his shirt. “it felt very good. but you do not have to try so hard to be sexy, anton. i already like the real you.”

he blushed deeper but smiled against your lips, kissing you again with more passion. his long fingers tangled gently in your hair as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until you were both breathing heavier. he was careful but eager, like he wanted to memorize every second.

“noona,” he whispered between kisses, voice low and sweet. “can i take you somewhere quieter after this? just us. i want to talk more. or… not talk. whatever you want. i will be good for you. i promise.”

his tall frame hovered protectively as he waited for your answer, eyes shining with hope and a hint of that sexy confidence he had been practicing. you could tell he was still a little nervous underneath, but the way he looked at you made it clear he was completely serious about pursuing his older noona.

you brushed his hair back and nodded. “yes, anton. take me somewhere quieter.”

his whole face lit up with a bright, genuine smile before he leaned in for one more lingering kiss, soft and full of promise.

anton’s hand stayed warm around yours as he led you out of the gathering and down the quieter hallway of the company building. the late hour meant most rooms were empty, and he seemed to know exactly where he was going. his tall frame walked close beside you, shoulders brushing yours every few steps like he could not bear any distance.

he stopped at a small practice room that was dimly lit, mirrors lining one wall and soft mats on the floor. the door clicked shut behind you both, and suddenly the air felt heavier, warmer.

“this is one of the smaller rooms,” he said, voice a little lower than usual. “no one comes here this late. we can be alone.”

you leaned against the mirrored wall, watching him with an amused smile. “you planned this, didn’t you?”

anton rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink again, but he tried to play it cool. he stepped closer until he towered over you, one hand resting on the mirror beside your head. “maybe a little. i kept thinking about being alone with you, noona. about showing you the new choreography… or maybe just showing you how much i like you.”

his free hand gently touched your waist, long fingers splaying across the fabric of your top. he was so much taller that you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. the height difference made something flutter in your stomach.

“show me then,” you whispered.

that was all the encouragement he needed. anton leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time, like he wanted to savor every second. his lips were soft and warm, moving with growing confidence as you kissed him back. one of his hands slid to the small of your back, pulling your body flush against his tall frame. you could feel the lean muscle under his shirt, the way his breath hitched when you tugged lightly at his hair.

“noona,” he murmured against your mouth, voice husky. “you taste so good. i have been wanting this for so long.”

he kissed you deeper, tongue brushing yours shyly at first, then bolder when you made a soft sound of approval. his long body pressed you gently against the mirror, trapping you in the best way. one of his knees slid between your legs, not pushing too far, but enough to make you feel surrounded by him.

you broke the kiss for air and teased, “you are getting very good at this, anton. practicing in your head paid off.”

he laughed softly, embarrassed but pleased, and buried his face in your neck for a moment. “i watched a lot of videos on how to kiss properly. i wanted to be perfect for you.” then he pulled back, eyes dark and earnest. “but i do not want to be perfect. i just want to be yours. can i be your good boy, noona?”

the words sent heat rushing through you. you cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “yes, anton. you can be my good boy.”

that seemed to flip a switch. he kissed you again, more eager this time, hands roaming carefully over your sides and hips. he lifted you effortlessly with his long arms, setting you on the low bench against the wall so your faces were closer. now he stood between your legs, tall frame bending down to keep kissing you like he could not get enough.

every kiss grew hotter. his fingers traced the hem of your top, slipping underneath just enough to brush warm skin, but he never rushed. he was still so sweet, checking your reactions with those big dark eyes.

“tell me if it is too much,” he whispered between kisses, even as his hips pressed closer. “i want to make you feel good, noona. i want to chase you until you only think about me.”

you smiled against his lips and pulled him closer by his shirt. “you are doing a very good job so far, baby.”

anton made a quiet happy sound at the pet name and kissed down your neck, soft and careful, leaving little marks that made you shiver. his hands stayed respectful but possessive, holding your waist like he never wanted to let go.

when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen and his hair was messy from your fingers. he looked at you with pure adoration mixed with that sexy confidence he had been practicing.

“can we do this again tomorrow?” he asked, voice soft but hopeful. “and the day after? i want to keep pursuing you, noona. properly. dates, texts, everything. until you are mine for real.”

you brushed his hair back and nodded, heart full. “yes, anton. keep chasing me.”

he grinned wide, that bright genuine smile breaking through the cool exterior, and hugged you close, tall body wrapping around you protectively.